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roosterforme · 1 year

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How You Play the Game Part 1 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: When Bradley wins a box seat ticket for the first game of the World Series final, he doesn't think his day could get any better. But when he's given a seat in the press box by mistake, he meets a gorgeous sports writer from New York. And he has one of the best nights of his life.

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, and smut (18+)

Length: 6300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x female reader

Check out my masterlist for more! How You Play the Game masterlist. Banner by @thedroneranger

Bradley was half asleep, sipping on his coffee while he drove to North Island from his house in the soft pre dawn light. He really hated these early training days that started at six o'clock and didn't end until after dinnertime. He'd be in the air all day, and then he'd probably be too tired to stay awake to watch game one of the World Series.

Everyone on base was excited that the Padres were playing the Angels. A Southern California showdown for the ages. Tickets to game one in San Diego were selling for almost a thousand dollars per seat, but the sports radio host Bradley was listening to was giving them away.

Bradley yawned as the host asked, "Who was the first major league baseball player to pitch a ball over 100 miles per hour?"

"That's easy," Bradley mumbled. "Nolan Ryan." And then he realized that it was 5:30 in the morning and perhaps nobody else who was listening knew that fact. "Huh," he grunted, reaching for his phone at a red light. He dialed the number and was shocked when he got through to the host.

"Good morning, caller! What's your name? Where are you from?"

"I'm Bradley. From Coronado."

"Do you have an answer for me, Bradley? Which major league player was the first to pitch over 100 miles per hour?"

"That would be Nolan Ryan."

"You sound confident in your baseball knowledge," the host replied. "Double or nothing? I'll upgrade your ticket to a seat in a box suite if you can tell me which team Ryan was pitching against."

Bradley smiled to himself as he pictured the boxes of his dad's old baseball cards that he still had in his garage. "He was pitching against the Chicago White Sox."

And just like that, Bradley was the proud owner of a suite ticket for game one of the World Series at Petco Park later that night.

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Your flight from New York to San Diego had been delayed so many times, you were a little surprised you managed to get to your hotel in your rental car and then make it to the game on time. At least you'd been able to start writing your article on the flight. Unless the game went into extra innings, you should be able to finish by your midnight deadline. Because if there was one thing the New York Times didn't mess around with, it was the hard cutoff for your submissions.

As you made your way to the media entrance at Petco Park, you pulled out your lanyard with your credentials and looped it around your neck. As soon as someone learned that you were a sports writer for the most prestigious newspaper in the country, they were either impressed or they did a double take. You were a freshly thirty year old female with a ten year career in sports journalism, and you didn't take shit from any guys about it.

In fact, you loved it when men tried to one up you. Because they never could. You knew more than they did about sports, you were an amazing writer, and you found pleasure in shutting them down. Preferably in front of their friends. And then they would inevitably try to ask you out. And you would shut that down, too. It was a game that you were very good at now.

As you were scanned into the ballpark by a security officer, you quickly made your way up to your assigned press box. You expected the heavy hitters to be there. And of course you'd be the youngest, and probably one of just a few women in attendance. As you climbed the narrow stairs and swiped your badge one last time, you opened the door and strolled past a table filled with food and drinks. And then you saw them: Carl from ESPN, Jack from The Chicago Tribune, Harold from the Los Angeles Times, and Quincy from the Philadelphia Inquirer. You would keep your guard up, because it was just a matter of time before one of them made some sort of comment about your ability to do your job.

The room was already filling up as you claimed a spot on one of the narrow counters where you could set up your computer and get to work. You removed your lanyard and tossed it next to your stuff, and then you waved to Raya from MSN Sports, the only other female in the room. When you turned to grab a drink and some food, you noticed the flash of a handsome face and a mustache. And then you stifled a scream as you saw and felt a plastic cup of cold beer meet your chest before soaking the front of you completely.

"Oh, fuck!" came the deep, raspy voice of the most handsome man you could remember seeing in recent history as he stared at your chest. You supposed it was a fair trade, because you couldn't look away from his face no matter what you did. He was hot; all tan skin, brown eyes, and wavy, brown hair. And the blush that crept in and colored his cheeks made him look boyish as he glanced up to meet your eyes. "I'm so sorry!"

When he swallowed hard, and his eyes drifted down to your chest again, you looked down as well. Great. Your light blue lace bra was plainly visible through your white blouse, and the beer was even dripping onto your jeans and your new, white Chucks.

You just shook your head and shrugged. "It's okay. Shit happens. But why did you bring a beer in here?" you asked. But he still looked so embarrassed and flustered, you decided to mess with him. "Who do you write for? I'll send them my laundry bill."

"Write?" he asked, and yep, that was confirmation that he had the sexiest voice you had ever heard.

"Yeah," you said, feeling a little flustered yourself as you reached for some napkins to dab your shirt dry. "Tampa Bay Times? Boston Globe? Oh Lord, don't tell me you're from Barstool Sports. I don't recognize you, and I'm pretty sure I'd remember you." That was a lie; you would definitely have remembered him.

"No," he said, watching your every move. "I don't write."

You laughed as his gaze flicked up from your chest to your eyes when you looked up at him. "That explains the alcohol, then. But why are you in the press box? Did you get lost up here?"

He smirked at that. "No. I won a radio contest and got a seat in a box suite. But somehow my ticket got mixed up, and they sent me a media pass instead."

"Really?" you asked, eyeing him up and down now. "I had to pay for a four year journalism degree for my media pass, and you're going to tell me I could have just listened to the radio?"

His laugh was infectious and his smile made you a little giddy as he held out his hand to you. "I'm Bradley. I don't think I could manage to write an article about sports, even if I was getting paid to do it. You must be very talented." You preened a bit at his words as you shook his hand. "And I'm really sorry about the beer," he added, gesturing to your shirt. "I'd offer to get you a drink or dinner, but the food in here is free, and you're actually working. So, I'll just stand here like an idiot and keep shaking your hand and apologizing until you tell me your name and tell me to stop. I'm really sorry about your shirt." He was still shaking your hand, and now you couldn't stop smiling.

You told him your first name and then you said, "You can stop shaking my hand now, Bradley."

"Let me grab you some water?" he asked, and when you nodded, he turned toward the bar in the far corner. And you took in his tall frame, broad shoulders and massive biceps which were highlighted by his Padres shirt.

"Oh no," you whispered to yourself, still mindlessly dabbing your wet blouse with some napkins.

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Bradley turned toward you with two water bottles, and thankfully this time he managed to keep the drinks in his hands. You were so fucking cute, and your wet shirt was doing crazy things to him. He couldn't stop smiling, and when you looked up at him and cautiously accepted your drink, you were smiling too.

"Thanks for not drenching me again," you said, tapping your drink to his. And then Bradley heard an older guy call your name, and you turned in his direction.

"Nice shirt," he shouted so everyone was suddenly looking your way. "That how you plan on getting an exclusive with one of the players? Sex sells now? I thought this was about the game."

Bradley was appalled that another journalist was talking to you like that, but before he could say that your wet shirt was actually his fault, you were shouting back at the guy.

"Harold, you couldn't even drag your sorry, old ass down to the field fast enough to get an exclusive with the mascot. I don't know how you're not retired or dead yet. Didn't you cover the 1922 World Series?"

Bradley watched Harold purse his lips at you before he turned away and took a seat. And when Bradley glanced down at you as you sipped your water, you looked completely unfazed. And he was ridiculously turned on.

"Damn, nobody should be messing with you," he said, thoroughly impressed. "You're an Ace."

You just rolled your eyes, but you looked very pleased by his words. He already knew he wanted to talk to you all night, but now you were setting your drink down next to your computer and opening it as you sat. "This is a boys club. Just a dick measuring contest. I can't let up for a second or I'll get steamrolled."

Bradley let his eyes dip down to your damp shirt as he asked, "I don't want to commit another beer related crime. You seem to know how this press box stuff works. Mind if I sit with you?"

"Not at all," you told him as you licked your lips. "As long as you don't spill anything else on me."

Bradley eased himself down on the stool next to yours, and his knee brushed your thigh. He watched you filling out a baseball stat sheet while you opened up a document on your computer.

"So what was the trivia question?" you asked as you sipped your water again.

"Trivia question?" he murmured, watching your lips wrap around the rim of the bottle before you took a drink.

"Yeah, isn't that how you won the pass? For the box seat? Even though you're slumming it with the journalists now?"

"I wouldn't call this slumming it," he said, eyeing your pretty face. "But yeah, they asked who was the first pitcher to throw a ball over 100 miles per hour."

"Oh. Nolan Ryan. Angels versus the White Sox. Nice," you said as you smiled at him. Fuck. You liked sports. You wrote about sports. You were gorgeous, and you knew more about sports than he did. Bradley let his mind drift to peeling off your damp, white shirt and licking the taste of beer off your chest while you moaned baseball stats and ran your fingers through his hair. He could definitely get into that. He briefly wondered if you were going to be at the next game here on Sunday.

And then you were keeping the game stats in your notebook at the same time you typed up notes, and Bradley realized he had missed the first few pitches. "Oof, that was a sloppy curveball," you muttered as you peered down at the field before checking the overhead screen. "He's supposed to be their Ace."

"Nah, you're the Ace," Bradley said, and you turned to grin at him as your fingers brushed against his. There was not a lot of room at this little countertop, and when you tried to nudge his arm out of the way, he wrapped it around the back of your stool.

"How am I supposed to keep my stats with you taking up so much space?" you asked, but your tone sounded playful, and you leaned a little closer to him. "You're massive."

Those words spoken in your voice had his cock stirring. "Yeah well, not a lot I can do about that, Ace."

That grin was back as you tapped the end of your pencil against your lips, and his gaze followed the motion. "So what do you do, Bradley? I'm going to guess you're not a waiter since you can't walk without spilling drinks. And you're definitely not a writer."

"I'm a pilot. A naval aviator," he told you softly, running his thumb along your back and watching you bite your lip.

"Fascinating," you told him before returning your attention back to the game and scribbling down the pitch count. And that's when Bradley's gaze landed on your badge which was sitting next to your computer.

He recognized your full name immediately. "Holy shit. You write for the New York Times."

"Yeah," you replied, turning to look at him before pulling your lip between your teeth again.

"Ace. I recognize your name. You're the best sports writer in the country."

Bradley was blushing, he knew he must be, but your bright smile was focused on him, and he couldn't keep his fingertips from drawing lazy shapes along your back where his hand rested.

"You know me?"

He nodded and raised an eyebrow at you. "You're famous. I read your articles all the time. I downloaded the New Your Times app solely for you."

When you laughed and gently bit the eraser end of your pencil, Bradley groaned. "You're funny," you told him.

"You're gorgeous." The words were out his mouth before he could stop himself. He thought about apologizing, but then you leaned in a little closer and ran your pencil eraser up his thigh along his jeans.

"Stop distracting me," you whispered, kissing his cheek before returning your attention to your computer. Your lips had brushed the end of his mustache, and he could still feel the soft sensation there as you gazed at him from the corner of your eyes. This was going to be a long night for Bradley.

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Bradley had called you gorgeous. He was playful, and he kept a smile on your lips. When he made a comment about the Angels' catcher, you told him, "You're completely right. I'm adding that to my piece." And he blushed that deep shade of pink again.

"Damn, Ace. I'll be thinking about your voice when I read your article tomorrow morning."

"Mm," you hummed, marking down another strikeout. "It would be fun to read it to you. I think you'd blush. The whole time."

His lips were parted, and he looked a little surprised. "It would be the filthiest of dirty talk," he muttered, and when you giggled, he grinned.

You had to bite your lip against the desire to kiss his cheek again. "World Series articles and pitching stats? That's what's gonna do it for you, Bradley?"

"Shit, how dirty can you make those pitching stats?" he whispered, thumb still skimming along the back of your shirt.

"You'd be surprised," you told him, shooting him an innocent look as he nodded at you.

"I'm sure I would."

The more you scribbled down in your notebook as the game progressed, the closer Bradley got to you. His big palm was warm on your back and you found yourself leaning into him more and more. By the eighth inning, his leg was pressed up against yours and he just kept getting closer.

"Ace, you're killing me," he murmured, taking your pencil and erasing the sloppy note you had written about the Padres relief pitcher. "Let me help."

You laughed as he rewrote your note very neatly followed by what you assumed was his phone number. Oh, he was a bold one. Very handsome, very funny and very bold.

Without a word, he handed your pencil back to you. "What am I supposed to do with that?" you asked, tapping his phone number with the pencil.

His breath was warm on your cheek as he said, "Save it in your phone. Call it. Text it. Let it know when you're in San Diego. I don't know, Ace. I just like you."

Your lips parted right as the Padres catcher hit a home run, and as everyone else in the ballpark erupted in cheers or groans, Bradley pressed his lips softly to yours. And then you tossed your pencil aside and ran your hand up along his neck. His lips were soft, but damn, his mustache was rough and you liked it.

You pulled back a few inches. "And if I text you, you're going to write back?" you asked.

"Immediately," he promised.

"Well then maybe I'll save your number."

He groaned softly as you marked down the home run. "Are you covering game two on Sunday?" he asked as the ninth inning started.

"I'm covering every game," you told him, letting your hand rest on his thigh. The soft noise he made had you scraping your fingernails softly along his jeans as he watched your hand instead of the game. "I'll be back and forth between San Diego and Los Angeles for the next two weeks or so, if they go to seven games. Which, in my professional opinion, they will."

After your fingers grazed his zipper, you watched his head tip back, the veins in his neck working as he swallowed. You were pretty turned on now, too. And the way he was responding to you was making things worse by the minute.

"I'm gonna have to drop a grand on a ticket to see you back here on Sunday, aren't I?" he asked as you shrugged and ran your finger along his belt loop. Then you released him and turned back to type a few sentences for your article.

"Listen," you told him without looking at him. "There's no guarantee I'm even going to let you have my number, so I wouldn't worry about that just yet."

He was quiet for a beat as you typed away, and then he said, "How about you let me buy you a drink for real? Right after the game tonight?"

"I have a deadline to meet," you told him, and he looked disappointed as he nodded. "But my article is almost done. And my hotel is right across the street. We could go to the bar there?"

"Absolutely," he murmured, his fingers still at your back. "Anywhere you want."

As soon as the game ended with a Padres victory, you tossed your computer and notebook into your bag, and you were on your feet next to Bradley. "Let's get out of here."

You took his big hand in yours, glancing up at him occasionally as you tried to beat most of the crowd to the exit. And each time, he was looking back at you, smiling. You led him across the parking lot, and your hotel was in sight when you pushed him up against the brick wall outside of the ballpark. Bradley welcomed your body against his, and he looked at you like he couldn't believe this was happening just before you kissed him.

It was dark over here, even the streetlights were dim. His hands were on your back as your fingers tangled in his hair, and you were rubbing yourself gently against him.

"Ace," he grunted against your lips. "You gotta let me buy you that drink."

You could feel him growing harder for you as you kissed him and tasted his tongue. Suddenly the hotel bar was the farthest thing from your mind. It had been replaced by thoughts of your hotel room bed instead.

"Come on, Bradley," you whispered, linking your fingers with his and leading him further down the sidewalk. He went with you willingly, leaning down to kiss your cheek and your neck as you waited in a crowd of people for the light to change at the crosswalk.

"You smell good. Like the beer I spilled on you," he groaned, holding you close. The movement of his lips had his mustache prickling your neck. You wanted to feel it on all your sensitive skin. You wanted to see if you could make him blush in bed.

You and he stumbled across the street and into the hotel lobby where you eyed the bar as he wrapped his big hand around your waist. You looked up at him and asked, "Wanna skip the bar and go up to my room? Find out if I taste good like the beer, too?"

The sound of Bradley's groan as his hand slid down to your butt had you pressing yourself against his thigh. "Lead the way, Ace."

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The elevator ride to the top floor was filled with the sound of kissing as well as the little gasping noises you made. Your hands were at the fly of his jeans as he pushed you back against the wall and devoured your mouth. Bradley was so hard and ready for you, he was honestly surprised. He just met you. This was not a usual occurrence for him.

"Bradley," you moaned, unbuttoning his jeans as the elevator jolted to a stop. You abandoned his jeans for his hand and pulled him down the hallway, running toward your room and laughing. You stopped in front of one of the doors and started to dig in your bag.

He stood behind you and ran his lips along your neck as you gasped for him. You were so responsive, stroking something deep down inside of Bradley every time you reacted to him. He wrapped his hands around to the front of your jeans and started to play with your button as well. When his fingers met the soft skin of your belly, your head tipped back against him.

"I can't find my room key," you moaned as he ran his hands up inside your shirt. He watched as you gripped the bag with both hands and let your eyes drift closed.

"You're not really trying very hard, Baby," he said with a smirk. He couldn't believe you right now. So pretty and so lost to his touch. He was throbbing and aching for you, too.

"Because you're teasing me!" you complained with a laugh. But then you turned in his arms, and suddenly Bradley's hands were on your bare back. Your eyes were wide, bag clutched between your body and his. "This is... not something that I usually do. Especially not when I'm on the job." Your voice was soft, and as you nervously bit your lip, Bradley leaned down to kiss your cheek.

"Same, Ace," he promised with a smirk. "In fact, I've never had a woman seduce me this quickly before. You're irresistible."

Your laughter was the best thing he had ever heard. "I thought I was the one being seduced here?"

"No," he said, reaching into your bag and plucking out the key. "You're in charge." He handed it to you, and you wrapped your fingers around the back of his neck and kissed him hard before you turned and unlocked the door with your other hand. You pulled Bradley with you as you stumbled backwards into the dark room.

As you searched blindly for the light switch, you pushed Bradley against the wall. You had your fingers in the hair at the back of his head and your tongue was in his mouth as you located the switch.

"That's better," you mumbled breathlessly as you turned on the light, and Bradley pulled away from you a few inches.

"You're fucking gorgeous," he whispered as he tightened his right arm around your waist. He wasn't being shy about how hard he was for you, and you weren't being shy either. You whimpered as you rubbed yourself gently against him, and he ran his thumb along your cheek and down to your lips. "I haven't been this turned on in so long."

Then Bradley watched you reach down and pull off your white shirt in one smooth motion, leaving you in that sinful looking blue bra before him. You were stroking him through his jeans with your right hand when you whispered, "I thought you were going to taste me, Bradley." Your eyes were wide and innocent looking as you challenged him.

He nodded slowly. "I wanna taste you everywhere." Then he scooped you up as you laughed, and he carried you to the king sized bed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "You gonna let me do that?"

"Yes," you whispered right next to his ear, and Bradley eased you down onto the bed with his body weight on top of you. As you started tugging on his Padres shirt, he managed to remove his shoes before reaching down both of your calves and yanking yours off. He tossed them blindly behind himself, wincing as he hit the wall with both of them.

But you just laughed and pulled his tee shirt up, leaving him in his white tank. You were holding his shirt in your hand as he pressed his lips to yours. "You taste so good here," he whispered, running his tongue along your bottom lip as you wrapped your leg around his hip. Then he kissed your chest before licking a stripe across the top of your lace bra as you bucked your core against him. "Fuck," he groaned. He licked and sucked on the top of your right tit. "Your skin tastes like that spilled beer. I love it on you."

"Well then, you better clean me up with your tongue, since it's your fault in the first place." You tipped your head back, and arched your back off the bed, and Bradley followed your lead, letting his big hands find the clasp of your bra. You moaned softly as he unhooked it and moved his fingers around to ease the fabric away from your body.

"God damn," he groaned before taking your nipple between his lips. Your fingers were tight in his hair as he sucked on you, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb against your other breast.

"Bradley!" you cried out when he rubbed his mustache across your nipple. He was dying to fuck you, but you were letting him tease the hell out of you, and he was loving this.

"You like that?" he asked, enjoying all the cues you were giving him. He couldn't stop grinning as you whimpered a soft little yes before pulling his undershirt off.

When you ran your fingers through his chest hair and down his abs, Bradley swallowed hard. Because you didn't stop there. You reached right for his unbuttoned jeans and eased his zipper down. He held himself over you, looking down into your needy eyes as you ran your fingers along the elastic of his underwear before delving inside. You licked your pouty lips before you wrapped your hand around his cock, and then you closed the distance up to his lips with the softest, sweetest kiss. You stroked him slowly while barely brushing your lips against his, and it was driving him absolutely insane.

"Ace," he grunted, and you squeezed your hand around his cock and giggled while he moaned for you. Then you gasped and let go of him. "What's wrong?" he asked, immediately pulling himself away from you while he panted.

Your eyes looked concerned, so he put a little more distance between your bodies. "I don't have any condoms," you whispered as you eased your hand away from him.

Bradley pressed his lips to your forehead. "I think I have one in my wallet. It's new."

"Oh," you gasped. "Should have known," you told him. "You're pretty gorgeous, too."

Bradley wanted to ease your mind, let you know that he didn't hook up with a lot of women anymore. He wanted to tell you that the condom was there for just a special occasion like this one. He wanted to explain to you that the last few he'd had in his wallet had been sacrificed to Jake when he'd been in a pinch at the bar.

But you were easing him onto his back, and he supposed it probably wouldn't make much of a difference. It wasn't like you were going to want more from him than just tonight. Besides, he hadn't had anything that wasn't casual in a very long time.

You were on top of him now, straddling his waist in your unbuttoned jeans, and you were reaching for both of his hands. And when you had your fingers laced with his and pinned his hands over his head, Bradley closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch. Your lips were soft on his face and your thumbs were stroking along his palms in a way that was not only turning him on more, but also providing him with some comfort.

When you whispered his name, he opened his eyes and he felt surprised by the realization that he only met you tonight.

"Maybe you should get that condom ready?" you asked softly, rolling your hips against Bradley's torso.

"Yeah," he grunted. And then you were easing down his body, taking his jeans and underwear with you. Bradley propped himself up on one elbow as his cock sprang free. You made eye contact with him, lips parted on a soft whimper.

"Bradley," you sighed, tugging his jeans, underwear and socks completely off.

Before you tossed everything aside, he mumbled, "Grab my wallet, Baby." Your eyes met his with so much need before you focused on taking the leather out of the pocket of his jeans, it had him reaching for you.

You shoved it into his hand before you scrambled back up his body and brushed your fingers through his hair, kissing his lips like he was every goddamn thing you wanted.

Bradley removed the condom and tossed his wallet onto the floor. Then he had you underneath him again. You still smelled like the spilled beer as he kissed his way along your chest, and you were trying to wriggle out of your jeans. "I can take care of that," he whispered, pressing the condom into your hand. Then he had every scrap of fabric removed from your body, and he didn't know if he could handle how perfect you really were. "Ace," he groaned when you eased your feet up his biceps and let your ankles rest on his shoulders.

Bradley's lips found the inside of your right thigh as if he was drawn to you like a magnet. Your eyes were half lidded, and you had one hand in his hair and one on your tits. How was he going to recover from this?

"Let me taste you," he begged, and when you nodded, his lips were on your pussy immediately. He groaned, already addicted to the way you tasted here too. He kissed along your slit and buried his nose against your clit.

"Oh!" you gasped, tightening your grip on his hair and spreading your legs wider for him. Bradley's cock was throbbing against the bedding as he slid his tongue up through your soaking wet pussy until his lips were wrapped around your clit.

"Yesss," you hissed, gently riding his face as you whispered his name. And with each stroke of his tongue, you got a little louder, your fingers pulled his hair a little more. Oh, he was so fucking turned on for you, he wasn't sure he'd last more than a minute once he had that condom on.

"Bradley!" you gasped, pressing your heel into his back while he sucked on your clit. "Put the condom on."

It took him a little bit to get his lips away from your pussy, because he really wanted to get you off with his mouth. But then he rationalized that you wanted him to get you off with his dick instead, and that sounded perfect, too.

"Okay," he panted, brushing his wet mustache against your belly as you opened the condom for him. He rolled it on and kissed your lips as he pressed himself to your core. Now you were holding him in place by his hair as you returned his kisses, softly moaning into his mouth as he pressed his tip into you. You felt warm and tight and perfect, and as you took every inch of him, he stroked his thumb along your cheek.

"Oh god," you whimpered, frantically kissing him and licking his mustache. Your voice was coming in little gasps, and he loved the sound of it.

Bradley withdrew and thrust back inside you, and you rolled your hips with his. "You gotta tell me what you like, Ace. I want to make you feel good."

He watched your eyes go a little wider before you reached for his hand. When you took his index and middle fingers between your lips and started sucking on him while he fucked you, he groaned. "Baby. God that feels fucking great. But don't make me cum yet."

With a soft whimper, you swirled your tongue along his fingers before popping them out of your mouth and guiding his hand down between your bodies to your clit. Bradley had to suck in a deep breath and think about one of his superior officers leading a boring lecture to keep himself in check. He never felt close to the edge this fast, but as he ran his wet fingers along your clit and fucked you into the bed, he knew he could cum if he let himself.

"Bradley," you whispered, and he buried his face against your neck. "Harder."

He bit his lip and fucked you harder while you whined his name, and he kept his fingers on your clit, trying to work you up. He needed to get you off. He absolutely needed to do this. Because he was hoping you'd call him or text him. He wanted you to save his number and use it. He was already dying for more.

"Ace," he groaned, pressing his lips to your neck as your fingers drifted down his shoulders to his back.

You moaned, "I like it when you call me that," so Bradley pressed the nickname against your lips with his until you were gasping and clenching around him. When you came for him, you took his fingers from your clit and laced your hand with his as his movements grew more erratic.

He was saying something as he came inside you, but he wasn't exactly sure what. And you were looking up at him with a soft, fucked out smile and pushing his hair away from his forehead with your warm hand. And then you let him collapse on top of you while he was still buried inside you, and you ran your fingers back through his hair.

Bradley settled his cheek against your chest and let himself enjoy the feel of your breathing evening out after your orgasm. You were still making soft sounds as you rubbed your calf along his leg. He could have stayed just like this all night. You felt that good.

Just as he looked up at you, about to ask if there was any way you'd want to see him again this weekend, you laughed softly.

"Wow. That was fun."

Fun. He wanted to be more than a fun time. "And good, I hope?" he asked softly.

"More than good," you whispered, laughing again. "Amazing."

Bradley smiled at you, and he knew he was blushing. "Yeah. Amazing is the right word for it."

And you were smiling so much, Bradley laughed as you tried to hide behind your hand. He leaned in and kissed your wrist. "Ace, I-"

Bradley jerked away from you as an alarm went off somewhere in the room. When you sat up, he gently eased himself out of you with a grunt.

"That's my thirty minute warning," you told him, scrambling out of bed. "I need to finish my article and submit it."

"Oh," he said, watching you bend to locate your phone. "Right."

You looked at him and licked your lips nervously as you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. And then you bent to start retrieving your clothing, and Bradley's heart sank as he stood as well. Wordlessly, he went into the bathroom to take care of the condom and wash his hands, and when he came back out, you were dressed in your underwear and the white shirt he had messed up.

"I guess," he whispered, pulling on his own underwear, "I should go then."

You pressed your lips together and nodded slightly. "I guess so."

"Okay," he said, quickly getting himself dressed in everything except his Padres tee. He just held that while he looked at you. "You have my number."

"I do," you whispered.

"You can use it," he told you with a smile, and you leaned in to kiss his cheek. And then your lips were on his. And then your fingers were in his hair again.

You moaned and then pulled away from him, and Bradley forced himself to walk backwards to the door, not wanting to take his eyes off you.

"Bye, Bradley."

He didn't want to say goodbye to you, so he said, "See ya, Ace," and then he was out in the hallway with the door closing behind him.

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

Oh, Bradley! I love Ace, and I hope you do, too! Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 2

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cj-schlatt · 3 months

Text

Take Me Out - Part One

Pairing: MLB player!Schlatt x gn!sideline reporter!reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Schlatt is the new first baseman for the New York Mets, and you’re the team’s new sideline reporter.

Content: Fluff!

A/N: I went with the Mets over the Yankees because a.) I’m a Red Sox fan, and b.) the Yankees are strict and only allow mustaches (long live the chops). Enjoy! :)

You feel like a kid on the first day of school. You’ve got that nervous, butterflies-in-your-stomach kind of feeling, but in a good way.

It’s your first official day as the sideline reporter for the New York Mets, and you couldn’t be more excited. All those long nights of studying, all your hard work to obtain your communications degree, have finally paid off.

You can’t help the grin that spreads across your face as you enter Clover Park for the first time. You’re in beautiful Port St. Lucie, Florida, and Spring Training is just getting underway. The smell of freshly-cut grass hangs in the air as you watch the players running drills on the field.

It’s here, as you speak to a member of the production team near the dugout, that you catch your first glimpse of him.

His laugh is what you hear first. Instinctively, you turn towards the sound, and that’s when you see him. He’s standing near first base, facing away from you, showing off the number 99 that covers his broad back.

Schlatt, everyone calls him, despite the surname stitched across the back of his jersey. His reputation precedes him. Everyone has heard the scouting reports, seen the viral videos passed around social media. In the minor leagues, he’s been known for his antics, taunting runners on the opposing team when they reach him at first base. It’s his first year being called up to the majors, and he’s one of the big stories for the team, the player to watch.

You’ve done your homework. You know all about Schlatt and his rather colorful personality. He’s certainly one of the more animated players in the sport, always fired up after a solid hit or a particularly impressive defensive play. He’s cocky, and, honestly, he has every right to be. He’s the Mets’ number one prospect, an above-average first baseman and strong power hitter. You know he’s going to be a handful in interviews, but you’re up for the challenge.

You can’t tell from this angle, but you know that if Schlatt were to turn around, you’d see the infamous mutton chops. Second to his spectacular playing ability, his unusual facial hair has been one of his defining characteristics since he was first drafted. Love it or hate it, it gets the fans talking, keeping that oh-so important spotlight on him.

You’re pulled out of your musings by a shout of, “Look out!” followed by a baseball whizzing past your head, narrowly avoiding you. You look to the field to see a few players standing around sheepishly.

“You okay?” To your surprise, it’s Schlatt who turns to ask you.

You give him a thumbs up. “All good,” you call out to him.

With a satisfied nod, he turns back to face the field.

It’s going to be an interesting season, you think.

You’re packed into the press room like sardines, shoulder-to-shoulder with fellow reporters. You all crowd around the podium where Schlatt sits, an array of microphones and cell phones in front of his face to catch his every word.

The press conference begins, and you’re called upon to ask the first question.

You open your mouth to speak.

Before you can get a word out, an older, male reporter begins talking over you. “What do you think—”

“Hey,” Schlatt cuts the reporter off sharply. “Let ‘em speak.” He gestures to you.

You feel your cheeks heat as seemingly every pair of eyes in the room turns towards you. You take a breath, then, as calmly as you can, ask your question: “What’s your takeaway from day one of Spring Training?”

Schlatt hums thoughtfully before answering, “That we look good out there, but we still have a lot of work to do before we’re ready for Opening Day.” He leans back a little in his chair and adjusts his cap. “That all?”

“One more thing: got any advice for a rookie reporter, as a rookie yourself?”

He grins wide. “Just enjoy it. We’re in the big leagues, baby!” he whoops, and the crowd erupts in laughter and scattered applause.

Before moving onto the next reporter, you swear Schlatt shoots a wink in your direction.

Spring Training flies by. Before you know it, you’re on a plane to New York for Opening Day. The sun is shining bright on Citi Field, helping to warm the chilly air.

You’re trying your best to soak it all in. This is what you’ve dreamed of for so long, and you want to enjoy every moment of it.

What an exciting Opening Day it turns out to be. The Mets and Phillies have gone back and forth, earning runs and keeping the score close throughout the game.

It’s now the bottom of the ninth, and the teams are tied three-to-three. There are two outs, no one on base, and Schlatt is up at bat. The count is full—three balls, two strikes. It all comes down to the next pitch.

You watch with bated breath as the Phillies pitcher throws a blazing fastball towards the plate. Schlatt swings the bat, and—CRACK! Just from the sound, you know it’s gone, and Schlatt does, too. He stands in the batter’s box for a few moments, watching the ball sail into the stands, before beginning his victory trot around the bases.

The crowd is going absolutely crazy. Lights are flashing all around, and music is blaring through the stadium speakers. The Mets dugout empties to meet Schlatt at home plate, where they convene in a huge group, shouting and high-fiving one another.

As the celebration on the field dwindles and players are headed off the field, you’re able to get Schlatt’s attention for a post-game interview. You can hear Gary, the announcer, in your ear, setting it up for the viewers at home.

“Schlatt!” you have to practically yell over the crowd. “That was amazing! What’s going through your mind right now?”

He’s breathing heavily, standing with his hands on his hips and leaning in to hear you better.

You think he starts to talk, but you’re suddenly doused in ice-cold liquid. You gasp and instinctively try to back away, but it’s too late. You realize, belatedly, that another Mets player has dumped the Gatorade cooler in celebration, but seems to have missed his mark.

“What the fuck, man?!” Schlatt shouts at his teammate, instinctively putting an arm around your shoulder, as if to shield you from another onslaught.

You shiver, not completely sure if it’s from the unexpected contact or the fact that you’re soaking wet in New York in early April. Maybe it’s a little bit of both.

The station must have cut back to the booth by now. At the very least, the audio will have been muted momentarily when Schlatt swore. Still, you’re pretty sure that, even though the camera is there, it’s not broadcasting you in all your drowned rat glory.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Schlatt mutters to himself before focusing his attention on you. “Are you alright? Lemme get you a towel.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you try to tell him, but he’s already jogging towards the dugout and returning moments later with a clean towel, ironically emblazoned with the Gatorade logo.

“Thank you,” you say, taking the towel and attempting, maybe in vain, to dry yourself off. You’re at least able to get the worst of it so there is no longer Gatorade running into your eyes, which is an improvement.

Schlatt crosses his arms and shakes his head. “I’m sorry about him.”

To be honest, you’re surprised he’s still here, still talking to you. You figured he’d want to get out of here as quickly as possible, but here he stands, looking genuinely concerned.

“It’s alright,” you try to brush it off.

“No, it’s not,” he insists. “I’ll talk to him, make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You smile appreciatively. “Thank you,” you say again.

He smiles back at you softly. It’s so unlike him, you think—or, at least, so unlike the version of himself that he presents on the field and in interviews. It’s like you’re getting a peek at the real Schlatt, the man behind the persona.

You’re whisked off the field soon after. The production team assures you that you don’t have to stick around for the post-game press conferences, insisting that you go home and get cleaned up, for which you’re very grateful.

One very uncomfortable (but thankfully short) walk later, you’re back at your apartment. You quickly peel off your ruined outfit and hop in the shower, eager to wash off the day (and the Gatorade).

Soon, you’re curled up on the couch, cozy in your pajamas. It’s then that you feel your phone buzz, pulling it out of your pocket to reveal a wall of notifications. Confused, you unlock your phone, trying to make sense of the influx of Twitter mentions.

You nearly drop your phone when you open Twitter.

There, on your screen, is a video of you, microphone in hand as you begin interviewing Schlatt, before the Gatorade shower interrupts you both. The video doesn’t end there, though. You watch in disbelief as Schlatt puts his arm around you and continues talking to you, unaware that the camera is still rolling. Sure, there are a few moments where the audio is muted to cover up Schlatt’s f-bombs, but it appears that SNY aired your entire interaction with Schlatt.

You scroll down, eyebrows raising as you read through the replies. There are screenshots of Schlatt with his arm around you, followed by incomprehensible strings of letters and an impressive amount of emojis. You don’t really know what to make of it, and you try to put it out of your mind as you get up to make yourself dinner.

An hour or so later, you get a text from an unknown number:

can we talk?

A second message comes through moments later:

it’s schlatt

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you think! :)

#schlatt #jschlatt #schlatt x reader #jschlatt x reader #x reader #cj's writing

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thatchickwiththecamera · 2 months

Text

ROOMMATES | Jesse Cash One Shot

Pairing: Jesse Cash x Reader

Warnings: Contains Smut, 18+ Only

Your studio in the house wasn’t the same as the spare rooms Michael and Noah used or the garage space Jesse converted to write and produce music. Your desk and iMac were set up in one corner, with a small makeshift reading nook in the neighboring one by the window. The other half of the room had a couch flanked by two tall reading lamps on either side with miscellaneous shelves and crates of camera gear along with a few spools of various colored backdrop paper hung neatly on the wall.

You worked as a digital media creator and while you worked in the music industry, your realm of expertise was more in tune with the world of photography, videography, and graphic design as opposed to the actual creation of music like your roommates. You had met the guys through working on a few projects with your friend Orie McGuiness and when he moved out he had vetted you as being the perfect person to take over his portion of the lease.

Living in a house full of creatives was quite the experience. It wasn’t unusual for one of the guys, mainly Noah or Jesse, to randomly pop in unannounced while you were in the middle of a project. Your studio was sort of neutral ground. It was a place where they could take a break from their own work while still being in a creative environment. They’d come in and inquire about whatever project you were currently working on and you’d take the time to get a fresh eyed opinion on the progress you had made.

Noah would sit on the couch and tell you all about the newest anime he was watching, what artists he and Jolly had recently been hired to write for, or whatever new ideas he, Matt, and Davis had come up with for the next tour.

With Jesse you’d end up talking about almost anything and everything. One day you’d have a long discussion about something as simple as pro baseball box scores and your mutual appreciation of the Red Sox. Other days you’d talk about things like why Anthony Green has been in so many rock bands, and why Circa Survive was your favorite over Saosin.

If it was too hot to sit outside, Jesse liked to come in and commandeer your reading corner, claiming that your window had the best natural lighting in the house. Which had also led to a portion of your bookcase being overrun with books Jesse had finished and insisted that you should read next.

There were many nights where you’d both end up in your studio reading. It was one of your favorite routines that had developed since you had moved in two years prior. Either one of you would be in the chair in the corner and the other would be on the couch, or sometimes, you’d both end up curled up on opposite ends of the couch under the two reading lamps with whatever books you had become engrossed in that week.

Around six thirty, you heard the door to the studio open. Right on time.

You looked over from where you sat on the couch to see Jesse walk in with the latest Stephen King novel he was reading wedged under his arm. You slipped your bookmark between the pages of your new Sarah J. Maas bestseller and moved the pile of pillows next to you. He kicked off his shoes and settled into the other end of the couch. You shared a smile before the both of you slipped into a comfortable silence.

About an hour or so had passed before Jesse reached down and grabbed one of the discarded throw pillows and tossed it toward you. You set your book down and watched as he laid his head against the pillow now propped up against the side of your lap and kicked his feet out, resting them against the opposite end of the couch. Once he was comfortable, he reopened his book and continued reading. You smiled to yourself before resting your arm against the top of the pillow and returning to your own book.

As you got lost in the pages of the fantasy book, your fingers began absentmindedly fiddling with the mess of curls that peaked over the top of the pillow. Jesse hadn’t cut his hair since the start of the year and the brown coils he usually hid under his favorite black ball cap had grown long and wild over the last six months.

You found yourself drawn into the rhythm of reading, the soft hum of the air conditioning providing a soothing background noise. Jesse’s presence beside you was comforting, his warmth seeping into your side where he leaned against you..

Lost in the world of your book, you almost didn’t notice when Jesse shifted beside you, stretching out his legs a bit more. You looked up instinctively, meeting his eyes briefly before he glanced back down at his book, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Hey, do you ever wonder if there’s more out there?" Jesse's voice broke the silence, his question unexpected but not entirely out of place given the late-night contemplative mood.

You considered his question, choosing your words carefully.

"More in what way?"

He hesitated, as if searching for the right way to phrase his thoughts.

"I mean... more than like what we're doing now. More than just work and routines. Like... possibilities we haven’t explored."

The air between you felt charged, the weight of his words hanging in the small space of your studio. You could feel your heart race a little faster, a mixture of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside you. But before you could respond, the door to the studio swung open abruptly, startling both of you.

Noah stood there, grinning mischievously.

"Hey, sorry to interrupt... but I need Jesse’s help with something. You guys are reading together again, huh? Cute."

Jesse shot Noah a playful glare, but you could see the slight flush in his cheeks as he quickly straightened up, removing himself from the cozy position against you.

"Yeah, I'll be there in a sec," he replied, gathering his book and pushing himself off the couch.

"We'll talk more later," he added with a meaningful look before following Noah out of the room.

Left alone in the wake of their departure, you let out a sigh of mixed emotions. It seemed every time the atmosphere between you and Jesse began to hint at something more, it was swiftly interrupted or diverted. The unresolved tension lingered in the air like an unfinished melody, leaving you wondering what could have been said if only there had been a few more moments of silence.

With a shake of your head, you returned to your book, though your mind kept wandering back to Jesse’s question and the unspoken connection between you.

—

A few days passed and you hadn’t seen Jesse much. He was busy fine tuning the last few guitar riffs and lyric ideas he had in preparation for when he met with the rest of the ERRA boys to track their new album the next week.

It was a little after two in the afternoon when you emerged from your studio and shuffled your way downstairs to the kitchen. You hadn’t planned on working as long as you had that morning, but you had found yourself locked in on your most recent project and had lost track of time. You hadn’t realized how late it was until your stomach started growling from lack of food.

You popped a snack plate of leftovers in the microwave to reheat and decided to knock out some of the dishes that were left in the sink from earlier in the day when the guys had made their morning coffee. You were drying Noah’s white ‘Shuh Da Fuh Cup” mug when you heard the sound of the sliding glass door open.

You looked up to see a shirtless Jesse walk in wearing a pair of athletic shorts and sneakers. His curly hair was damp and his upper body glistened with a layer of sweat from working in the backyard all morning under the blazing California sun. Living with three guys, you were very much used to seeing the guys lounge about and walk around the house in various states of undress.

But your eyes couldn’t help but follow his form as he walked through the kitchen. Noticing the details of the familiar tattoos that adorned his stomach, chest and arms as he grabbed a clean glass from the drying rack next to you and filled it with water from the tap.

He leaned back against the island where you were standing and raised the glass to his lips. Adam’s apple bobbing with each gulp. The colors of the flower on his right hand were highlighted as his long fingers wrapped around the glass. Your mind started to drift and you couldn’t help but wonder what that hand might feel like wrapped around your throat.

“Enjoying the view?” He asks.

The sound of his voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You’d been caught and felt a blush start to creep across your face.

Your eyes flicker to his and he smirks at you in amusement before downing the last of the water. The smell of sweat mixed with his body wash filled your nose as he reached around you to place the empty glass in the sink. You could feel the heat radiate off his sun kissed skin.

His face came dangerously close to yours, eyes never breaking contact. You roll your eyes and he sends you a playful wink before making his way out of the kitchen and toward the stairs, presumably up to his room to shower.

You stood there for a moment trying to process what had just happened before you were startled by the sound of the microwave over the stove. With a sigh you retrieved your food and retreated back upstairs to continue working.

As you returned to your studio, the encounter with Jesse in the kitchen replayed in your mind like a scene from a movie. His casual remark about enjoying the view left you flustered, but you couldn’t deny the thrill it sent through you. Jesse had always had a playful, teasing side, but lately, it seemed his interactions with you held a subtle undercurrent that made your heart race.

Back at your desk, you tried to refocus on your work, but your thoughts kept drifting. You found yourself glancing at the doorway, half-expecting Jesse to reappear, yet knowing he was likely downstairs working in his studio by now. The memory of his closeness, the scent of his sweat mixed with the faint trace of his cologne lingered in your memory.

The afternoon sun cast warm hues through the window, illuminating the room in a comforting glow. You tried to lose yourself in editing photos, tweaking colors and compositions, anything to distract you. But every now and then, your mind would wander back to his question from a few days earlier. The one about possibilities unexplored, about more than just the routine of work and friendship.

Hours passed in a blur. The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the room. You glanced at the clock and realized it was nearly time for dinner. With a sigh, you saved your work, shut down your computer, and stretched out your stiff limbs.

In the kitchen, you found Noah already cooking up something, dancing and singing to a song that blasted from the bluetooth speaker on the island. He greeted you with a grin and a teasing comment about being lost in your work again. You chuckled in response, helping him set the table as you exchanged small talk about the day.

Soon, Jesse sauntered in, dressed casually in a worn band tee and joggers. His hair was still a little damp from his earlier shower, curls slightly tamed, and he greeted you with a genuine smile.

You couldn’t help but notice the ease with which he moved around the kitchen, effortlessly sliding into conversations with Noah about the new songs they were working on.

Dinner passed in a haze of laughter and shared stories. It was just you, Jesse, and Noah since Michael was off spending the weekend with his girlfriend. The familiar banter and camaraderie among the three of you was comforting.

After dinner, you cleared the table together, rinsing dishes and stacking them in the dishwasher. Jesse volunteered to dry, and you handed him plates and glasses with a smile, trying to ignore the way your fingers brushed against each other’s.

As you finished up in the kitchen, Noah excused himself to take a call from Matt about one of the band’s upcoming studio sessions. Jesse leaned against the counter, watching you quietly with that thoughtful look that always made your heart skip a beat.

"So," he finally said, breaking the silence, "did you get much done today?"

You nodded, a nervous energy tingling in your fingertips. "Yeah, I made good progress. How about you? Productive day in the backyard this morning?"

Jesse chuckled, setting down the dish towel and stepping closer to you. "Yeah, it was alright. Hot as hell out there, though."

You laughed softly, feeling the proximity between you like a magnetic pull. "I can imagine."

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze dropping to the floor before lifting to meet yours again.

“Listen, about earlier... in the kitchen."

Your heart skipped a beat, anticipation and uncertainty swirling in your chest.

"Yeah?"

He took a deep breath, his expression earnest yet guarded.

"I just... I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable or anything. I was just teasing."

You shook your head, smiling softly.

"It’s okay, Jesse. I know."

There was a pause, his eyes searched yours, as if trying to decipher something hidden beneath the surface. You held your breath, waiting for him to say something more.

But before either of you could speak, the sound of footsteps echoed down the stairs, signaling Noah’s return. The moment shattered and Jesse stepped back, running a hand through his curls.

Noah announced he was headed out for the evening. He had to go to their friend Davis’ house to work on finalizing the designs for the next few merch drops and some visual ideas for the band’s upcoming tour.

With Noah's departure, the house suddenly felt quieter. You and Jesse exchanged a glance, a flicker of something unspoken passing between you before you turned back to finish drying the last few dishes.

"I should probably go and finish up the track I’m working on," Jesse finally broke the silence, his tone casual but his eyes lingering on you.

"Yeah, I've got a few things to wrap up myself," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nerves dancing in your stomach.

As you moved toward the stairs, a sudden loud rumble of thunder startled you. You glanced out the window to see dark clouds rolling in, blotting out the remnants of daylight. The distant flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows across the walls.

"Looks like we're in for a storm," Jesse remarked, his voice low.

"Yeah, seems like it," you agreed, feeling the tension in the air thicken with the impending storm.

You retreated to your studio upstairs while Jesse headed to the garage. The sound of rain started as a soft patter against the window, gradually building into a steady downpour. You tried to focus on your work, the glow of your computer screen casting a faint light across the dim room.

Minutes turned into hours as the storm raged outside, the occasional flash of lightning and rumble of thunder punctuating the night. The power flickered once, twice, before finally plunging the house into darkness. The sudden quiet was almost deafening, the absence of the hum of appliances and electronics leaving you acutely aware of the sound of your own breathing.

You sat back in your chair, momentarily stunned by the abrupt darkness. You reached for your phone, activating its flashlight to navigate your way downstairs.

As you made your way downstairs the light from your phone cast eerie shadows against the record plaques and framed tour posters hung along the wall. The power outage seemed to have affected the entire neighborhood, plunging everything on the block into darkness.

Navigating carefully through the hallway, you headed towards the kitchen where you knew there were candles stored for situations like this. As you rounded the corner, you nearly collided with Jesse, who seemed to be on the same mission.

"Shit! Sorry!" he exclaimed, steadying you with a gentle hand on your arm. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," you replied, heart still racing from the unexpected encounter. "Just looking for some candles."

"Yeah, same here," Jesse said, his voice low. "I think they're in one of these..."

Together, you searched through various drawers, finally locating a cabinet of miscellaneous colored and scented candles. He lit a few and placed them strategically around the kitchen, casting a soft, flickering light that danced across his features.

You struggled to reach where the emergency lantern sat on the top shelf in the kitchen cabinet and had to resort to climbing up on the counter to grab it. You felt a hand ghost your lower back steading your movements as you lowered yourself to a sitting position on the counter top, legs dangling over the side. You handed the lantern off to Jesse.

"Thanks," you murmured, he lit the lantern and set it beside you on the counter.

“No problem,” he replied, voice husky in the quiet room.

The warm glow illuminated his features, making his eyes sparkle with a mixture of amusement and something deeper. He moved closer and stood between your legs, hands resting against the counter on either side of where you sat, his gaze locking with yours. His eyes scanned your face looking for a sign to stop as he leaned closer. The air between you crackled, the charged atmosphere inside mirroring that of the storm outside.

Your noses brushed against each other, breath intermingling for a moment before the remaining distance between you vanished. The kiss was tentative at first, a soft exploration of lips meeting in the dim candlelight. But as the moment stretched, the intensity between you grew, fueled by the proximity and the emotions that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

His lips were warm against yours, a contrast to the cool touch of his fingers on your skin. The kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, both of you had been waiting for the moment, this acknowledgment of the desire that had been building between you.

Time seemed to stand still in that moment, the storm outside forgotten as you melted into each other's embrace. One of his hands ran up your arm and rested against the side of your neck as the other slid around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. Your hands found their way into his mess of curls. The scent of his aftershave mingled with the subtle aroma of wax and rain, the mixture of smells enveloping you both.

When you finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Jesse rested his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on the exposed skin of your thigh. The silence around you was profound, broken only by the soft crackle of the candles and the distant rumble of thunder.

His eyes darkened as a flash of lightning illuminated his face through the window. His lips connected with yours once more and he lifted you from the counter, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you toward the couch in the adjoining living room.

You sat straddling his lap as his hands found their way under your shirt. You lifted your arms and the article was quickly cast aside. His own shirt soon followed. You ran your hands over the tattoos of the chieftess and eagle across his chest and the roaring tiger that covered his stomach. His arm snaked around your back and unhooked the clasp of your bra before throwing the article on the floor.

He rolled you off his lap and positioned you so you were now laying down on the couch. He crawled between your legs and hooked his fingers under the waistband of your shorts. You lifted your hips, allowing him to slide them off along with your underwear.

He stood up and discarded his joggers and briefs before settling back down between your legs. Your hands shot up and covered your face realizing how exposed you now were.

He reached up and softly grabbed your hands and pulled them away from your face.

“Don’t you ever try to hide from me, Darlin.” he said, planting kisses along the backs of each before placing them above your head, securing them in place with his left hand. “I want to see that pretty face as I watch you come undone.”

He planted another tender kiss upon your lips and watched you react as he ghosted his fingers over your core.

You let out a shaky breath as he gently slipped a finger inside and fell into a steady rhythm before adding another. You struggled against his grip as his thumb rubbed against your clit. His movements never stopped even as he started planting kisses across your throat and chest.

He took one of your breasts in his mouth. Your head snapped back against the pillow behind you at the added sensation when he bit the sensitive bud of your nipple before soothing the pain with the pad of his tongue.

With each move his eyes looked up at you, watching as your face contorted with pleasure, letting out shaky breaths and moans from the stimulation. He left a trail of wet kisses down your stomach and he released your hands as he kissed your inner thigh.

“Oh, Fuck!” You gasped, hands quickly finding their way into his curls as his tongue flicked over your clit before biting and sucking on the bundle of nerves.

The pleasure in your voice made his dick twitch and flipped a switch in him. He devoured you like a starved man and it drove you over the edge. You felt the familiar feeling of an orgasm build and tighten like a knot in your stomach. You tried to move your hips to match his movement but he firmly held you in place, leaving you writhing under his grasp.

“Jesse” you whined.

His name sounded like a prayer on your lips as you grew closer to your climax, and he was there to worship you with his whole being. The knot snapped and your hands tightened their grip through his now tangled curls. But he didn’t stop, continuing his physical praises as the orgasm washed over you like a flood.

You let out a whimper from the absence as he made his way back up your body and planted another searing kiss against your lips.You wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him deeper into the kiss.

“Fuck, this is better than I dreamed.” he said with a sigh before kissing you again.

He pulled back, letting out a gasp as he felt your hand reach down between the two of you and grab hold of his cock. You watched as he shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath as your thumb swiped away a bead of precum from the tip. His breathing became sporadic as you worked your way over the sensitive member.

He had enough of your teasing. You gripped his arms, nail leaving indentations against the tattooed skin as he gently slid the head into your entrance, pausing for a moment to allow you to adjust before sinking the rest of the way. He wrapped your legs around his hips and pressed his forehead against yours, eyes locked, as he thrusts faster, harder, deeper.

You moved your hips to match his thrusts as you both chased your highs together. Your eyes flutter closed as you feel that familiar pressure begin to build once more.

“Look at me, darlin,” he commanded. “Look at me when I’m fucking you.”

Your eyes snap back open, his words making your eyes almost roll back in added pleasure. His pupils were blown with ecstasy making his light brown eyes almost appear black in the candlelight. He picks up his pace with a grunt. You pull him close, wrapping your arms around his middle, snaking a hand up through his hair, giving a gentle tug as his hips snap into you.

“Fuck, Jess.” you cry. “I’m so close…”

“Doing so good for me, darlin.” he praises through gritted teeth.

You moan against his mouth as he slots his lips against yours in another deep kiss.

White flashes line the edges of your vision as you cry out in pleasure. Jesse buries his face in your neck as he fucks you through your orgasm, his breath shaking as chases his own not long after.

As your breathing finally returns to normal, he stands up and pads over to the kitchen, taking his added warmth with him. The cool air in the house washes over you despite the storm also knocking out the A/C. He returns a moment later with a clean damp washcloth for the both of you.

He disappears upstairs for a moment before returning dressed in a pair of his briefs like how he usually sleeps with a folded up white t-shirt in his hand.

He motions for you to raise your arm and slips the oversized shirt over your head. It's his favorite shirt with a map of Alabama record stores on the front.

“Damn, you look good in my shirt.” he states, pulling you up from the couch and kissing your forehead. You wrap your arms around his middle as he holds you close.

A mischievous smile then slides across his face. He bends down and wraps his arms around your thighs, throwing you over his shoulder.

“Goddammit, Jesse!” you exclaim, hitting his lower back with your fists.

His hand smacked your bare ass peeking out from under the shirt as he carried you up the stairs and into his room. He threw you onto his unmade bed before climbing on after you, pullig you flush against him, and tossing the discarded comforter over your bodies.

He wrapped his arms around you and nuzzled his face into your hair. You happily laid like this for a few moments, both of your energy spent from the activities downstairs.

“Hey, Jess?” you ask.

“Hmm?” he replies, voice muffled by his face pressed against your neck.

“You ever wonder if there’s more out there?” You ask, referring back to your unfinished conversation from the other night.

You felt him smile.

“I used to.” He replied.

“What changed?” You asked, turning now to face him.

“I met you.” He replied simply, before pulling him toward you and wrapping his arms around you.

You rested your head against his chest and snuggled into him further.

He continued, “Everything I need is right here.”

You lay like this wrapped up in each other’s embrace for the next hour or so before the lull of the moment is broken by the sound of the front door and Noah’s familiar voice breaking through the silence after he stumbles upon the pieces of clothing you had left behind.

“I fucking knew it!”

#author: thatchickwiththecamera #jesse cash #erra #erra band #jesse cash fanfiction #jesse cash x reader #jesse cash smut #jesse cash fanfic #jesse cash one shot #jesse cash oneshot

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rainydayandmondays · 10 months

Text

Thanksgiving Potluck

Summary: It’s time for the annual Thanksgiving potluck at work. Andy wants to make sure that he brings something special for you. You worked so hard, you deserve it.

Pairing: Andy Barber X Reader, Jake Jensen

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: 18+ only. Explicit language, explicit sexual content, male masturbation, slight non-con

Author's Note: This came about after seeing a challenge to write a spicy Thanksgiving story. With the blessing of @georgiapeach30513 to use Andy Barber, this is what I got.

You had been planning the department’s Thanksgiving potluck for weeks. Running around, trying to get everyone to sign up to bring in something, even if it was just silverware and napkins. Andy never participated in these get-togethers. They were some weird kind of team building bullshit that he had never really subscribed to. Why play nice that one day, while all the remaining days everyone was trying to one up each other. Comparing their win-loss ratios like they were some goddamn a-list athletes. The fucking Red Sox, they were not.

But you had started earlier this year, right around Valentine’s day. He remembered your first day, you wore your pink button down shirt the first two buttons undone and your simple gold necklace nestled in the crux of your shirt. Your pencil skirt was knee-length but seemed to hug from your waist to your hips. He imagined his hands could skim down the sides of it as if it was a second skin. Then your sensible flats, all that up top and did you finish with three-inch heels? No, just sensible flats. The red nail polish on your fingers with a small heart decals on each ring finger, let him know that you enjoyed celebrating holidays.

He watched you as you grew into the department, quickly planting roots and befriending each person you met. You were easy to get along with, never really asked for much, but always willing to give. He had spent most of October working with you. You were assisting on the research for his latest case, spending nights in the conference room with law books spread out in front of the two of you and boxes of half-eaten Chinese in each of your laps. You had asked about his story as you took a break from the mind-numbing reading of passage after passage. He had given you the cliff-notes version. The “everything is pretty on the outside” story. Loving wife at home and kid excelling in school. It was easier that way. Even if he could tell you didn’t totally buy it, you let him lie.

You on the other hand, were open. Told him everything. You were a paralegal, barely starting out with dreams of making it to law school one day. A sick mother at home had meant your law school dreams had taken the back burner. Your mom had been part of the last of the baby boomers and their idealized version of marriage. She had taken care of the household, you and your dad. With her bedbound, your dad was completely lost. You took over and everything else had been pushed aside. No sign of any romantic partners or life outside of work and home. But the glint in your eye talking about becoming lawyer, let him know you had more to offer. You had told him how you had aced your LSATS, spent every night up until 4 in the morning studying for them. You were younger then, could handle the late nights. Shit, you are younger now. Just barely hitting your late 20s, if he had to guess.

After those nights spent over cold takeaway dinners and finishing the McDonald v. City of Newton case, he realized that family dinners with little more than polite conversation paled in contrast to those talks and stale fast food. He had tried to get you on his next case, but Neal had snatched you up the moment you were free. He remembered the apologetic look you gave him when he swung by your desk with some briefs to review.

“Sorry Mr. Barber. I’m already working with Mr. Longudice. But you can leave those here and I’ll look at them when I get a chance.” You fidgeted with your pen, twirling it between your fingers. It was your nervous tick, he had noticed it the first night when you had found a passage that completely derailed his current case plan.

He nodded and walked away, noticing Neal looking on from the corner smirking. Fuck him, he wasn’t going to just use you to improve his standing in the department. He watched as the month progressed and Neal worked you into the ground. He found you more and more frequently in the break room, loading up on coffee. You were up to four glasses a day. That couldn’t be good for you. Not if you still had to go home and get your mom ready for bed.

He started to stay later and later, just to make sure someone was still here when you left. Neal took most of his case work home, leaving you with a list of readings to cover and present the next day. He watched as you flipped through pages, making notes in the growing stack of legal pads, and only the small desk lamp providing any light. He told Laurie that he had a big case he was finishing up. It was easier to keep working at his desk, instead of making the trip home, only to end up in his study. It didn’t take much to persuade her. He was pretty sure she preferred having the time to herself, she barely moved when he finally made it home to bed.

One night, he had timed it just right to meet you at the elevators at the end of the night. He walked up behind you, watching as you raised your right foot to scratch at the back of your left calf. Your pencil skirt rippled around your hips as you ran your foot down your leg. The sensible flats, the same ones you had worn that first day skimmed down the back of your left calf and he wondered what it would be like to have you run those sensible flats down his pant leg. He could feel himself twitch in his dress pants. This was a first. Up until this point, he had found you endearing, wanting to help you as much as you helped everyone else. But now, right now, he could imagine grabbing onto your hips, dipping his head into the crook of you neck as he ground against your pert ass. He felt his cock harden that bit more at the image, starting to push against the fly of his dress pants. Using his overcoat from that day’s chilly morning, he covertly covered the front of his slacks.

It wasn’t until the chime announced the elevator’s arrival and you turned around, that he came out of his brief stupor. You smiled and waved him into the waiting lift. That smile did nothing to help him, he shoved his hand into pocket to discreetly adjust himself before walking towards you. Standing next to you, he could smell those last remnants of your perfume. Was it your perfume? It had been a 12 hour work day, maybe that smell was just you. Why hadn’t he noticed that before? You chatted with him, promising that you were going to get to those briefs he left. It would be the first thing you would work on the next day. He listened and tried his best to feign interest, but you then looked up at him as you made your promise to him, and all his brainpower was immediately redirected to willing away his excitement. His hand still in his pocket, it brushed against his tip and he cleared his throat to cover the small groan that wanted to escape.

Reaching the garage, he offered to walk you to your car. You had gestured to the nearly empty lot, but he only uttered, “Better to be safe.”

You only nodded, leading him to your small late 2000s sedan. Reaching the car, you opened the squeaky driver’s door and threw in your workbag and handbag, before easing yourself into the seat. Andy held the door open for you, only to close it once you had settled. Lowering your window, you gave him a smile, thanking him for the escort, “You really didn’t have to do that. You’re a good man, Mr. Barber.”

He leaned down into your window, sighing before bidding you a good night, “You get home safe, sweetheart.”

He hadn’t meant to let the term of endearment slip, but your bashful smile was all it took to let him know he would be using that name again. Watching as you drove off, he made his way to his car. Popping the trunk on the Audi and throwing in the coat and briefcase, he hustled back to front of the car. Giving one more look around the lot, he noticed the security cam pointed at the opposite corner of the garage. Slipping into the driver’s seat, he only took a second to think through his next action. Closing his eyes, he remembered your big eyes looking up at him in the elevator, promising him something and his hand reached down to his pants.

He hadn’t gone down, no matter how he tried to calm himself, his coat had been his only saving grace, hiding away his reaction to you. Wrestling with his belt and button of his pants, he shoved his fly open, grabbing onto himself through his boxer briefs. He had already been steadily growing a nice wet spot on the front side of his briefs. Admittedly, bumping against himself with his hand in his pocket as he walked with you, might have gone a long way to making that spot. A couple of strokes, he reached in and pulled himself out.

Fuck, his hands were still cold from outside. It made his cock jump in his hold and he imagined your little hand taking him. You would apologize to him about your cold hands.

“Sorry Mr. Barber. Let me warm up my hands.” The imaginary you whispered to him.

“Andy. Call me Andy, sweetheart.” He mumbled into the empty car.

He spit into the palm of his hand, before wrapping it around himself. He could feel you next to him, cuddling as much as possible against him, reaching across the console. Your hand stoking up and down, making sure to twist around the head of his cock. He dribbled onto your fingers and you took your thumb rubbing it along the tip urging more to come out.

“Fuck sweetheart. That feels so good. You’re making me feel so good.” He grunted, his head falling back against the headrest.

He could hear you giggle at that, pressing hard against the vein on the underside of his cock, causing it to throb in your hold.

“Ah shit, sweetheart, squeeze me. I know your hand is so little but try my sweet girl. Come on, try for me.” You would hum at that, reaching between his legs and grabbing onto his sack. Rolling his balls in one hand as you steadily stroked him with the other, giving a squeeze to his cock before a squeeze to his sack.

“What do you need Andy? Whatever you need, I promise I’ll give it to you. Please Andy, tell me what you need.” The imaginary you nipped at his neck, murmuring another promise into his neck.

“Fuck me, sweet girl. Look at me, watch me cum for you. Just for you, sweet girl. Just for you…” He reached for the empty coffee tumbler in his console, placing it under the tip of his cock as he let go. Groaning he pulsed a couple times, continuing to stroke himself until he drained himself fully, because that’s what you would do. You would never do a half ass job.

Sitting back, he looked into the tumbler, seeing a layer of his cum coating the bottom of the cup. He hadn’t cum that hard in a long time. But he supposed a sexless marriage would leave him with a lot of pent-up energy. Remembering Laurie, he grabbed a couple of napkins from the glove compartment, wiping himself before shoving them into the tumbler. After buckling his pants, he started the car, backing out lot and turning onto the freeway for home.

That night had been a couple of weeks ago and he found himself hovering around your desk as much as possible, asking for help finding a text. He would time your coffee breaks and bump into you in the breakroom to make small talk with you. Each time he saw you, he tried to get you to smile. Even on your most stressful days, your shoulders hunch, he would make quick jabs at Neal which would inevitably cause a small giggle to pass your lips. He liked those times, the sound of your laugh would get stored away in his mind, coming out only in the shower as he painted the walls for you.

When you came by with the potluck sign up sheet earlier this week, you mentioned that there were still a few sides left that no one had chosen. Looking at the list, he saw the mashed potatoes listed and quickly jotted his name down beside it. He could probably get Laurie to make it for him. She had been in a better mood recently. Had waited up for him when he worked late. She would welcome him to bed and curl into his side, rubbing circles along his chest. He wasn’t sure what had changed, but if it meant not having to deal with a moody Laurie daily, he would take it.

The day of the potluck, he walked in finding most of the office milling about. It didn’t look like much would be getting done today. With Thanksgiving tomorrow, most had spent the last few days easing into their vacation. He looked at the conference room to see the spread already laid out, you were flitting around making sure everything was set up just right.

“Here you go, sweetheart,” you jumped a little as he came up behind you, placing the dish of mashed potatoes in front of you.

“This will be perfect,” you took the dish moving it next to someone’s version of cornbread stuffing.

Turning around, you smiled at him. He thought about stepping back from you, but instead stood still. Reaching up to his arm, you grabbed his elbow and let out small breath, “I should let everyone know it’s ready.”

Slipping from around him, you walked out to the bull pin area, inviting everyone to come and dig in. He watched as everyone hustled to the conference room as he stepped out of the other door. Making his way towards his desk, he settled down, starting up his computer to check some late correspondence. He needed to spend time with you but not with everyone around. He placed his coffee tumbler on the clay coaster that Jacob had made him back in 4th grade. Sighing, he would wait to talk with you later.

The din in the conference room started to slowly die down and looking at the clock he saw that it was nearly half past 2. Most of the office should be heading out for their holiday and he figured, now would be his best bet. Grabbing his stuff together, he headed back out to find the room mostly empty. He couldn’t possibly have missed you, could he? Staring out to the row of desks, he spotted your workbag and handbag still on your desk. So, you were here, just not in the conference room.

Walking into the breakroom, he saw you at the sink scrapping off food into the trash and rinsing off dishes. Standing in the doorway, he watched this small glimpse into the domestic side of you and fuck, if it didn’t do something for him. Imagining coming home to you in the kitchen, prepping dinner for the two of you. You would still have your work clothes on but only now you would be barefoot. You would relax into him as he came up behind you, arms circling your waist.

He let out a quick breath, shaking himself from his daydream, before setting down his bag on the small table in the room. Coffee tumbler in hand, he approached you, quietly interrupting your dishwashing, “I bet you haven’t even made yourself a plate.”

Looking down, followed by a small bashful smile, you nodded, “There was so much to do.”

Grabbing onto his mashed potatoes, he looked for a spoon before starting to serve a portion onto a plate, “Come on. It’s your potluck too. You should get to enjoy it too. Besides, you got to at least try these mashed potatoes. A lot of effort went into making them. Go on now, sit down.”

Watching you sit down, he turns back to the counter, grabbing the gravy boat beside the sink. Taking the coffee tumbler, he had set down, he carefully removed the lid before emptying the contents into the remaining gravy. He stared as the viscous liquid drizzled out. With the spoon, he quickly mixed the gravy with the new ingredient together before pouring out the mixture on the mashed potatoes.

Turning back towards you, you sat at the table patiently waiting for him as he set the plate in front you. Quickly thanking him, you dug in, spooning a generous amount, gravy and all, onto your utensil and bringing to your mouth.

“Mmm, that’s really good Mr. Barber. Kind of earthy tasting. Are there mushrooms in the gravy?” You looked at him, a small amount of gravy stuck to the side of your mouth.

“Something like that,” he whispered, eyeing that speck of gravy and reaching out to clean it from your lip.

“Oh, I’m a mess,” your cheeks heated as you grabbed a napkin to clean the corner of your mouth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he replied, taking his thumb with gravy still on it and licking it clean, “Go ahead, finish it all.”

You followed his direction, cleaning your plate, your spoon making a sound as you laid it down. You had eaten it all. Enjoying it, if he were to go by the little happy noises you made as you ate. He knew you would love it.

“Here, let me put this up for you,” he took the plate and spoon back the sink and as he rinsed the plate, he asked over his shoulder, “Did you like it, sweetheart?”

“Yes, Mr. Barber. I promise.”

He gulped, steadying himself against the counter at your promise.

“You know, what, why don’t you take the rest home? There’s still a little bit of mashed potatoes and gravy left,” he asked already reaching for the lid of the Tupperware Laurie had used when packing it this morning.

“I couldn’t do that. You made it, you should take it home,” you answered next to him, and he realized that you must have gotten up from the table.

Locking the lid on the dish, he turned to you, already handing over the remaining potatoes covered in his gravy, “I insist.”

He had made that gravy just for you. After stroking another one out in the front seat of his car in the courthouse parking garage, he had sprayed another load into his tumbler. Looking at the cup again, he swore each session’s load was getting bigger even though this was a daily occurrence at this point. It had ended with a particularly bountiful finish, as he imagined you between his legs. Head bobbing on this cock, tits hanging from your top, before you had spit onto his cock, trapping it between your breasts and finishing him with a hard snuck to just the mushroom head of his cock.

It hit him then what a waste it was to rinse out his tumbler every night when he got home. You would love the taste of him. He knew would. Over the next few days, he collected each load, storing it in his coffee tumbler on the top shelf of his fridge at home. He had a couple of close calls when Laurie asked why he was keeping his coffee cold. He brushed it off, saying it was just water. He was trying to stop drinking so much coffee. Bad for his health. She had just nodded, leaving the tumbler alone.

“Thank you, Mr. Barber,” you nodded taking the dish with a smile.

“You can call me Andy. Promise you will?” He asked, shoving his hands into his pockets, giving himself room in the suddenly tight pants.

“I promise. Thank you, Andy,” smiling up at him, he swore you could feel what he did. He swore you knew exactly what he had given you. Swore that you were happy and willing to take it. His sweet girl would take anything he gave her.

“You almost done, Ace?”

Andy was interrupted from his trance, hearing a male voice enter the room.

“Jake!” You called to the blonde man walking into the room. His shirt was untucked and his tie not quite knotted straight.

“I’m supposed to take you out for a Friendsgiving dinner today, remember?” Jake moved towards you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

Who in the ever-loving fuck is this guy? Andy watched as you hugged Jake around the waist, shaking your head, ready to apologize, “I’m sorry Jake. My day got away from me. Oh, this my kind of boss, Andy. Andy Barber.”

Jake reached out a hand to him to shake while his other still stayed slung along your waist, “Jake. Nice to meet you.”

Andy looked at the hand in front of him, before nodding and giving this fucker a firm handshake. If he squeezed a little harder than he should, well that wasn’t on him.

“Go get your stuff together and then we’ll head out,” Jake whispered down at you, to which you just nodded and flitted out the room.

Stuck with just Jake in the room, Andy leaning back against the sink giving this other guy a once over. He wouldn’t be an issue. No way did this guy have the prowess or charm to lure you away. You were his sweet girl. This fucker wouldn’t change that.

“I’m only going to say this once, leave her alone.”

Andy looked back at Jake, eyebrow raised, before scoffing, “And who are you exactly?”

“I’m guy who knows how to download the feed from the parking garage’s cameras.” Andy swallowed hard as Jake stared him down. He refused to nod, instead crossing his arms and looking down.

“I’m ready Jake!” You came back in, your handbag slung over your shoulder and the mashed potatoes in your arms as Jake took your workbag from you.

“Let’s shake a leg then, Ace,” you giggled at Jake and Andy frowned. When did that giggle change from just being his?

“Bye Andy. I’ll see you next week. Happy Thanksgiving!”

Waving goodbye to the two of you, Andy waited to hear the ding of the elevator before grabbing the tumbler and throwing it across the room. It clanked against the wall before rolling back towards his feet.

Hands on hips, he looked down at the cup. It was okay. Jake couldn’t do anything to him. He had checked to make sure the cameras were never pointed at him. But you, his sweet girl, he needed a new plan. Grabbing the cup from the floor, he rinsed it before setting it next to the empty coffee maker.

It hit Andy then. You did love your coffee. And you always made sure to have cream with it.

@buckybarnesisdaddy, @theinheriteddutchess, @sarahdonald87

#andy barber #andy barber x reader #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber smut #defending jacob #dark andy barber #jake jensen #the losers (2010)

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strniohoeee · 11 months

Text

Racketeer Pt. 3

Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader

Synopsis: Y/N hates Chris hoodrat lifestyle, but when something goes wrong she’s ready to protect her man👥 Okay this is part 3 of a series I just made for shits and giggles for my best friend, but the fact that so many people like it is shocking and also amazing!!! Love this for us, I’m a hoe for hoodrat Chris even though I’m a Matt girl🧎🏽‍♀️

Warnings⚠️: uhh d*ath threats, Chris with a pewpew, pistol whipping, and uhhh I think that’s all…hope you enjoy 🖤

Song for the imagine: 308-22Gz (this is pure hoodrat NY trap music I LOVE IT)

When we spin through, it’s a D-O-A

We caught a opp at like 3:08

Fuck it and fuck up a B-O-A

Flashback

“Chris I’m not fucking holding your gun, so I’m definitely not fucking shooting it” I told Chris as he had his pistol on the kitchen table

“Baby why not? We literally got targets on our back because of who I am. I want my lady to be able to handle her own if I’m not there” he said in a matter of fact way

“Yeah a target on our back because of the life YOU chose to run with….plus I will always have you, so no” I said drinking my water

“What if I’m in a headlock, the pistols on the ground, and any one of his goons could come and pop me, and then pop you” he said raising his eyebrows

“Well then the lord better be on our side cause I ain’t picking up your gun” I said shrugging my shoulders

He picks up his gun and points it at me

“CHRISTOPHER HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND” I said flinching

“BANG BANG BANG, you’re dead” and then he turns the gun on himself “BANG BANG BANG, I’m dead” he said laughing

“Put the fucking gun down now” I said getting upset with him

“Baby the clips empty, and I took the bullet out” he said showing me the gun

“Give me the fucking gun, and show me how to use it” I said getting annoyed

“YES IM TEACHING MY BABYYY, I’m gonna have my own personal shooter” he said getting excited

Flashback over

Tonight Chris’s friends were having a party after one of the guys got released from prison. They rented out a whole club for this kid

“I don’t want to go” I said to Chris dragging my feet

“Come on, why not it’s a nice area. The club is only open for us, and you know ima protect you” he said getting dressed

I was already ready, but I just didn’t want to go anymore. I felt like this was our whole life…. parties, fast cars and thugs….but I digress

“Fine I’ll fucking go” I said getting my outfit picked out. It was cold in Boston, so I decided on a long sleeve fitted black shirt, medium wash baggy boyfriend jeans, and my black Air Force 1s (shawty on demon time). I flat ironed my hair, and put on my black north face puffer jacket

“The black air forces?? Whose head are you stompin on tonight?” Chris asked laughing

“Anybody who fucks with you” I said putting my perfume on

“Blue jeans or black” he asked me

“Black” I said back

Chris came out in an all black shirt, with black jeans, his timberland boots on, and his black puffer coat

“Alright baby Boston Red Sox black and white hat, or Yankees” he asked

“Boston….HELLOOO” I said laughing at him

“Duhhh how could I be so stupid” he said making a dumb face

We had driven to the location of the club, and it was indeed a nice area, but it was known for gangs so there were some dodgy people out.

“Don’t leave my side at all” Chris said helping me out the passenger side, and shutting the door behind me

“Never baby” I said, and he locked the car

We walked to the club, and immediately I recognized everybody there. I even seen some of my girl friends who were either dating or messing around with one of these guys

The whole night we had such a blast, laughing, talking, drinking and dancing. Although these people had some crazy shit under their belt, they were actually super nice and respectful people.

“Yoo there’s some kids out there, talking about Drew’s gang or whatever” one of Chris friends came up and said to all of us

“That little fucking kid with the tattoos on his face?” Chris asked

“Yeah, he’s getting mad staticy outside, and wallin out. The security guards about to lay his ass out” he said

“Tell that fucking kid that I’m going to be dealing with his soon” Chris said taking a sip of his drink

“Ai, he’s alone so he ain’t gonna try some shit” he said to Chris

“Even if he does…I’m strapped tonight” Chri said lifting his shirt up exposing the pistol in his waistband

His friend nodded at him, and went to head back out to relay the message to the other guy.

“Baby….for once not tonight” I said looking at Chris

“I’m not gonna do anything, but if people start talking crazy” he said raising his hands up

“No Chris! You have to stop this” I told him taking a sip of my drink

“What?? I’ll bust him in his medulla….nobody will fuck wit me after that” Chris said laughing

I just shook my head and laughed at him

At this point it was about 2AM, and we all started to head out. We walked outside, and Chris was saying bye to the security guard and some of his friends

I was waiting for Chris to finish chatting with his security guard, when I saw someone in the corner of my eye. For once can someone not try Chris and I

“Yoo this your man?” The kid said coming up to me and pointing at Chris

I just ignored him, me being from New York…you never ever turn your head when someone’s coming up from behind you to ask you, or tell you something. That’s a death wish.

“You deaf ma?” I heard him say again

“Yo get the fuck outta here” I heard Chris say from behind me

“Yo get the fuck outta here Chris, Drew’s people got something for your ass, and it’s gonna start with your lady here” he said nodding his head at me

“Did you just threaten my woman” I heard Chris say, and he started to walk towards him, so I turned around to watch this glancing at the security guard to keep an eye out

“Don’t shoot the messenger…..you keep fucking wit our guys…they gonna come for you” he said

“I’ll shoot you, and the motherfucka who sent you” Chris said getting closer to the guy

“Babe stop” I said trying to keep Chris calm

“Yeah listen to your lady…wouldn’t want her with a hole between her eyes now would we?” He asked smuggly

All of a sudden I just see Chris swing at the guy, his right fist connecting with his cheek

“DONT YOU EVER FUCKING SAY SOME SHIT ABOUT KILLING MY GIRL. ILL FUCKING KILL YOUR WHOLE LIFELINE BITCH” Chris screamed at him and they started to throw punches

“CHRIS PLEASE STOP, THIS HAS TO FUCKING STOP PLEASE” I said begging, but not wanting to get in between them because I was not about to get cracked in the jaw

I'm not sure what happened but they started to struggle with each other, and were just scuffling. I had a feeling the guy felt Chris’s gun, and was trying to grab it

“FUCK YOU” Chris started to scream and started throwing punches at the guys ribs, as he had Chris in a headlock

All of a sudden his pistol fell out, and at the same time the guy got Chris on his back on the ground, and they were throwing punches.

The pistol slid pretty far, and I was contemplating on if I wanted to pick it up or not…..Fuck it…this is my man, and I will fucking do anything to protect him

I picked up the pistol, and cocked it back

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF MY MAN, OR I WILL BLOW YOUR FUCKING HEAD OFF” I yelled at the guy, both of them turning to look at me

“You’re a little bitch, you ain’t pulling no fucking trigger fuck outta here” he said still struggling with Chris

I don’t know what came over me, but I moved the gun from pointed at his head to pointed just behind it, and then I pulled the trigger

The bullet flew right past his head, and it was so fucking loud, everybody froze including me

“THE FUCK” the guy yelled, and while he was looking at me Chris used this to punch him on the jaw knocking him backwards

Chris got up, and came over to me, and grabbed the pistol out of my hands

He walked over to the guy, standing over him and grabbed him by his shirt

All of a sudden Chris pistol whipped the guy, and I gasped covering my mouth

“If you ever come around me and my people, and my FUCKING woman again talking out your neck I’m going to come for your whole fucking blood line, got it” he said as he held the pistol under the kids chin

“Yeah yeah” the guy said out of it

“NO FUCKING YEAH YEAH, YOU GET IT OR YOU DONT WE WOULDNT WANT TO SEND YOU BACK TO DREW WHTH A BULLET BETWEEN YOUR BROWS NOW WOULD WE” Chris said laying the gun in between the guys brows

“No no….I promise you’re all good. I’ll never fucking look at yall ever again” he said in fear

“Yeah you better not, and if we ever cross paths again…you better cross to the other side of the street. Cause you just earned a target on your back, and when I’m ready to pop you and your people I'm coming for yous ….cause all my opps is targets, see the red dot no target got it bitch” he said throwing the guy down onto the ground

Chris looked at his security and nodded for him to get rid of the kid, and keep everything on hush. He tucked the pistol into his waistband and grabbed my hand

“Lets go ma” he said walking with me

We got into the car, and I was still so shocked by everything

“Look at you….almost boomed the kids face off for me” he said smirking

“I don’t know what took over me, but I knew I wanted to hurt him to protect you” I said to Chris

“That’s exactly how I feel everytime someone fucks with you” he said leaning in and kissing me

“You’re not going to go after him right?” I asked

“No, but it creates enough fear in his heart that he won’t even fuck with us ever again” he said putting the car in drive, and grabbing my hand to interlock it

“Chris we have to stop this lifestyle” I told him

“And we will baby, I promise you” he said kissing my hand as he drove off

The End

Alright this was part 3, and I may or may not write a part 4 depending on the feedback, but this one was my favorite one to write 💋💋

-J💅🏽

#sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets imagines #chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo imagine #christopher sturniolo #Spotify

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jungle-angel · 1 year

Text

Summer Shenanigans (Bob Floyd x Reader)

Summary: In which You, Bob’s parents, Bob and the Daggers have to keep Auggie out of trouble at the Fourth of July BBQ

You were both surprised and exasperated at how much of a little devil Auggie had become. He’d always been so quiet as a baby, though being born a preemie was probably the hugest part of that.

And then he turned two.

Auggie had begun to run wild wherever you and Bob had put him down, zooming around like your dog, Tank, whenever he had an overwhelming urge to run and chase the docked tail he had ever since you adopted him. Auggie on the other hand was constantly running around, getting into things that were constantly making you and Bob nervous and nowhere was that especially apparent than at the barbecue being held in Maverick’s backyard.

Auggie zoomed through the grass with his Red Sox baseball cap on his head, his feet completely bare of any shoes and giggling like mad as he tried to evade his grandfather.

“C’mere you little ghoul!” Joe commanded as he ran right after him.

Auggie lifted the lid of the beer cooler with his little hands before letting go and running again, the lid slamming shut as the two year old ran away. “I’m getting too old for this shit.....” Joe muttered. “BOB!!!”

Bob carefully set down the plate of burgers that were almost ready for the grill when he saw his father charging across the grass after Auggie. Bob set aside the plate and hurried down the deck steps, trying to catch the giggling little miscreant, but to no avail.

“God, where’s (y/n) when you need her?” Bob mumbled under his breath as he skidded into the grass.

Only a moment later did you come out the back door with the potato salad to find your husband and father-in-law chasing after Auggie. “Oh shit,” you sighed. “Irene?!”

“Yeah?” Bob’s mother called from the window.

“The ghoul’s gotten out of his cage again!”

Irene popped her head out the window, laughing as she watched the scene unfold. “Alright, I’ll get the rest of them,” she answered.

You waited until the rest of the squad came out the back door from the kitchen, all of them confused as to how a two year old could be so speedy.

“You think we can catch him?” Mickey asked.

“Mickey if we can catch a plane in mid-air, we can catch a two year old with no problem,” Maverick answered. “Think of it as an outside training exercise.”

As soon as you and the Daggers were ready, you were practically leaping off the deck and into the grass below, each of you running in a different direction to catch Auggie. Maverick hadn’t lied when he said it would be like a training exercise at the base with everyone running in different directions while Auggie did everything in his power to evade being captured by the grown-ups.

“Coming in hot with the sack!” Jake announced.

You and Bob chased Auggie from behind while Hangman scooped Auggie right up into a burlap sack, throwing it over his shoulder while his godson wriggled and squirmed inside.

“Where the hell did you learn that from?” Natasha asked, trying to catch her breath.

“An old rancher’s trick,” Jake answered. “Caught my first chicken this way.”

Bob lifted Auggie right out of the sack and into his arms where he kept wriggling. “You’re way more trouble than you’re worth, August Robert,” he chuckled.

“Wait till he joins the Navy,” Rooster joked.

You and Bob gave each other “the look”. You knew that if Auggie did join the Navy, he and Natasha’s son, Gabe, would be double trouble.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #pete maverick mitchell #bradley rooster bradshaw #natasha phoenix trace #mickey fanboy garcia #jake hangman seresin #javy coyote machado #reuben payback fitch #dagger squad #dagger squad shortfics

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fruitsoxs · 1 year

Note

Soxs, your writing rocks. May I have just some good ol’ fashion fluff with Vash. Just want the boy to know he’s worth it.

is this fluff??

5 Times you Kiss Him, and One Time he Kisses You

pairing; vash x (GN) reader warning; dressing wounds, pure fluff I think, church at the end notes; i needed some fluff aha

1) Kissing his wound

“Stop moving.” You chastise as you wrap a bandage around his arm slowly. He lets out a small whine and tries his best to freeze, but within moments he is wiggling again. You sigh and lean back looking up at him. “I can’t do this if you keep wiggling around like that Vash.” You tell him, pressing a firm hand on his shoulder to still the anxious man.

He had gotten a bit hurt during the latest shoot out, and of course had tried to hide it. You’re not sure you would have ever found out if you hadn’t walked in on him trying to clean his own wound. At first, your eyes were drawn to the scars that lined his bare abdomen. You had never seen him without his shirt on before, so this was a new sight. But, your gaze narrowed on the wound dripping blood down his arm. When he noticed you there he froze, a guilty smile on his face.

You of course had to sit down and help.

He pouts and nods. “It just…it’s not a big deal. I can do this myself, you know!” He tells you for the third time that night. You roll your eyes and shake your head. “Vash I saw you struggling to clean it on your own- I’m not gonna let you do a bad job and get infected.” You shush him, getting back to work. Your hands wrap the bandage around his upper arm, careful not to hurt him.

He watches you with a small frown. “I’m okay.” he says after a moment of silence. “Really.” He tries to assure you. You huff and tilt your head to look up at him. “How many times have you gotten hurt and hid it like this?” You ask, ignoring his reassurance. He looks down at you with that same guilty look, then away as if he can’t handle what he’s about to say. “A few times.”

You push down the anger that bubbles up inside of you and finish wrapping up his arm. He goes to pull away, but you stop him. You gently pull him closer and place a small peck right above the place you wrapped. His eyes widen, and his face flushed red.

“Stop doing that. Okay? I know you’re okay, but I want to help. You matter to me Vash.”.

2) On his hand

Your fingers trail down the cool metal of his arm, circling the robotic limb as you sit there next to the fire. Vash hums happily and flexes his fingers. His arm rests so comfortably on your lap as you use it to soothe yourself.

It had been a weirdly stressful day. You had been run out of one town, then the next as you two searched for a place to stay. Finding no luck, you were forced to set up camp behind a random large boulder. Vash is pretty use to sleeping under the stars, but he wanted to get you somewhere nice to sleep for once. It seems luck wasn’t on his side though.

You were stressed after being chased around all day. Running from one spot to the next, worries that Vash may end up getting captured again. It felt like the bounty hunters were specifically ruthless that day, throwing everything they had at the two of you. Somehow, both of you made it out just fine.

Once the two of you were settled, you had grabbed his arm without a word and started tracing the patterns in it. He allowed you, not even tensing up at the touch. He has gotten use to you needing small things like this to calm your nerves. You often take a hold of his hands, metal and non-metal- to just hold when things get rough. He’s okay with it. He enjoys it. It calms him down too.

You trace your finger down to his own, and lift his hand up. Curiously, you press the metal against your lips and kiss it softly. He looks over at you, and tilts his head. “What are you doing?” he asks, but makes no movement to pull away. You shrug and drop his hand back into your lap. “Just…looking.”

You’re not sure if he felt it or not, but you figure he won’t bring up the kiss unless you do.

3) The top of his head

He’s upset.

You know he’s upset, but he won’t cry. He never cries

After stopping for a second in a random small town, Vash once again was spotted by the wrong sorts of people. They started shooting right away, bullets hitting the wall behind you two. It was a tiresome battle, one that was only won thanks to Vash’s insane skill at diffusing situations non-violently. Sadly… there were a few casualties of innocent by-standers.

He left the village as a woman screamed at him for causing her husband’s death. You have never seen him look so down before, with his usual bright eyes so dim the light looked gone completely. When you tried to talk to him, he just shook you off saying that you must continue going.

Now, at a random inn, you can see him still up. Staring out the window into the night sky. His silhouette against the stars. You sit up and call out his name, but he doesn’t move. He doesn’t even turn to look at you. You get up out of the bed and slink over to him, putting a hand on his back. He pulls away from your touch silently.

“It’s not your fault.” you whisper watching his shoulders shake. He lets out a choked “Yes it was.” You frown and pull him into your chest, hugging him tightly. He tenses up, but soon lets himself relax into the hug. He wraps his arms around your waist from his sitting position, and shoves his face into you. You comb your hand through his messy hair and whisper comforting words down at him.

“It’s not your fault.” you repeat over and over again until he’s forced to believe you. You don’t explain your reasoning, you just comfort him with those four words. He finally lets himself cry a bit, clutching onto you.

When his body stops shaking, you lean down and press your lips to his head.

4) His scars

Your lips trail down his jaw, ghosting down to his bare chest. He sucks in a breath and tries to pull you back up to face him. He doesn’t like when you go too far down, uncomfortable with how close you are to the bits of his body that he has deemed “ugly.” You stay firm though, glancing up at him softly.

“Vash. I think you’re beautiful.” you whisper, causing him to turn red. He doesn’t try to pull you away , but you can see that he’s uncomfortable. You don’t want to push him, but you also know it’s time for you to show him what you mean. “All of you is beautiful. Every inch.” You keep going.

You lean forward and press your lips against the scar on his right shoulder softly.”This part of you.” you mumble before trailing down to the one on his chest that’s p[articularly bad. You wonder how he got it every time you see it. He stifles a breath. “And this part.” you murmur. Your lips ghost over every inch of his body, kissing every scar you can.

Each one you kiss you make sure to say “this part.” after, letting him know that you think every inch of him is perfect. You think his scars are what make him, well, him. Ans you truly do love him, even if you haven’t said it out loud yet.

In the end he pulls you face up so you’re face to face. He smiles as he runs a hand through your hair, leaning forward so your forehead rests against his. He doesn’t say anything, but you know he appreciates you, and you hope he’s more comfortable with you in the future.

5) His lips

With His forehead resting against yours you can’t help but say it. Suddenly. “I love you.” you mumble. His eyes go wide and he leans back to look at you. His hand slides down to your cheek and his mouth hangs open. “You…love me?” He asks. He looks shocked, but you can see in his eyes that he feels the same way. There's just something about him that makes his emotions so easy for you to read.

You giggle and nod. You just kissed almost every inch of his body to show that you think he’s beautiful, and he’s asking you if you’re telling the truth? You lean forward and press your lips against his before pulling away with a nod. “I love you more than anything, Vash. More than the stars even.” You tell him before kissing him again.

This time the kiss lasts much longer, as your lips move against each other’s with a new passion. You’ve kissed many times before, but never like this. Never so…lovingly. He rolls the two of you over, and lays above you as the kiss continues. His hand somehow makes it to the back of your head as he holds you in place. Once the kiss breaks, and you’re both panting, he smiles down at you.

“I love you too.”

Bonus, he kisses you

Your hands rest in his as he mumbles a vow in your ear. It’s just the two of you in some run down church, abandoned in the middle of an empty town. The place has been eroded away by time, but it somehow still stands. The pews line up, leading to the two of you in front of the altar. Nobody else is there to witness the words you exchange, but it’s all right because nobody else matters.

The wind howls against the shattered windows as he speaks. His words travel down to your heart, and make your chest tighten.

“I love you. Forever and always. I promise I will never leave your side.” he whispers to you, pulling you closer and closer. You smile at him through your tears and nod as he looks down at you with all the love he can muster. You repeat the words back, and suddenly he’s leaning down, pressing his lips against yours. Your tears mix with his as the two of you kiss. It’s not traditional in any sense, but you’re happy with it. He’s happy with it.

And in the next town you get to, he makes sure to buy you both gold bands.

#vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #vash drabble #vash fluff

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midnight-pluto · 1 year

Text

COFFEE: PG.07 — Red Robin (yum~)

COFFEE: Tim Drake x gn!reader

SYNOPSIS: Tim meets a barista that gives him what he needed most — a large coffee with way to many shots of espresso. Though what happens when just a single action changes the other's life, forever?

coffee master list || prev. || next || SPECIAL!!

MONDAY, APRIL 3 2023 - 11:42 PM

“Hello, do you want a macaron?” you ask Cardinal Red Robin.

“How’d you know?”

“Because I saw your reply to our announcement on Twitter?”

“Are you stalking my account?” The hero quickly shot back, “That’s a bit weird if you ask me.”

“I don’t stalk your account-“

“It’s giving, obsession if you ask me,” the starting to get annoying hero interjects.

“What’s there to be obsessed about?” you retort, “Besides, I’m the one behind the twitter account.”

“That makes sense regarding the tweet about a customer named Herald Sox.”

“Oh no that wasn’t me, that was my ex-coworker.”

“Ex-coworker?”

“They got fired after publicly announcing for some patrons to never come back after they were being rude to staff,” you explain.

“Oh.”

“Anyways, what do you want?”

“Oh right can I have a dozen macarons, with 6 of the me specials and the others being Spoiler Special, and one black coffee with eight shots of espresso,” he replies.

‘How familiar…’

“To go I assume?”

“No to eat in the next 12 minutes until the cafe closes, of course to-go.”

“I will not hesitate to make a hate thread about you,” you deadpan.

“Didn’t you already do that?” the caped crusader questioned, head turned at a 15° angle.

“No that was me being polite,” you sigh, “$17.78 is your price.”

After he swiped his card you immediately started to get to work on his sad espresso.

“Yo losers where you at?” Cardinal Red Robin asked over comms, “I have your food.”

“Me and Orphan are by Hood’s favorite gargoyle,” Spoiler spoke.

“Her name is Heather, for your information.”

“Aw what the fuck! I’m on the other side of the city,” Nightwing complained.

“Sounds like a skill issue to me,” Spoiler teased.

“Fuck off.”

“Me and Robin will be there in a minute,” a deep voice interjects.

“Loser has to do the splits by the way!”

“Oh hell nah I ain’t doin that shit nuh-uh no way,” Hood said accompanied by the sound of hurried footsteps and wind.

“Yeah, ah-ha see, I ain’t tryin’ to get made fun of on Twitter again so glad your taking the downfall B!”

“What?”

“Father, you can’t do the splits?”

“…”

“Mother really over exaggerated your abilities,” Robin clicked his tongue.

“I used to-“

“The keyword being: ‘used to.’ I can do the splits.”

“No shit dickhead, you’re literally an acrobat,” Hood retorts, “And… I’m back together with Heather.”

“You have an ex named Heather?” Spoiler questioned.

“No the gargoyle dumbass, get with the program.”

“Oh.”

One by one, members of the family arrived with Nightwing ( predictably) being the last to come.

“Alrighty dump truck, do the splits!” Hood exclaimed, pointing at the blue clad hero like in that one objection meme.

“Do it! No balls!” Spoiler challenged.

Doing a few stretches before hand - leading to some delicious cracking noises emitting from his body - he finally dropped down and did the splits.

“Woohoo!”

“Alrighty food time!” Nightwing cheered, getting up from his splitting position.

“Finally, y’all took to long,” Red Robin said with a yawn.

“You should’ve taken a nap,” Hood teased.

“Yeah I was seriously considering it,” he replies, taking a bite out of a Red Robin macaron, humming in delight.

‘I should visit there more often.’

TAGLIST: @grandstrangerphantom @marsbars09 @fabitheraven @lovelypitasworld @dyjcksn [ if you would like to join, feel free to send me an ask or to comment! ]

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peterman-spideyparker · 1 year

Text

Sweet Caroline (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Work has been super busy lately, but I got ahead of schedule this week and I listen to music at work and everything kind of fell together and I wrote this. It's not the best I mean TBH it's probably very crappy, I know that, but it's cute and sweet. I hope you enjoy! :)

Summary: The rivalry between Boston and New York is deep-seated and long-standing, but you're proud of where you come from—just smart enough to not announce it from the rooftops in Hell's Kitchen, or to your friends. Turns out, no matter what—through years of friendship, marriage, and everything that follows—there will always be the rivalry to some degree.

Suggested Listening: Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond

Warnings: Fluff, Boston vs. NYC rivalry, not proof read at all, really

Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, Karen Page

Word Count: 1,046

Moving from Boston to New York City is a cardinal sin. It doesn’t matter that it was for law school: “You couldn’t get in to Harvard? Suffolk?” “Oh, too good for Boston, now, are ya?” The kind of comments go one and on, especially once you made the decision to stay, having met your two best friends and deciding to open up a law firm with them. You can just imagine the similar sort of comments you'd get in Manhattan if people heard that you're from Boston. Therefore, you keep that part of your background on a strictly need-to-know basis, only free to wear your Boston attire and drink your Dunks in the comfort of your own apartment. The first nice spring day in the city means that your Bostonian nature is out in full force in your home—some windows cracked, a pot of Dunkin’ Donuts coffee brewing, and your favorite hand-me-down Red Sox t-shirt you’ve had for years comfortably situated onto your body.

Your freeze when you register a knock on the door.

“Knock, knock!” you hear Foggy call through the old wood. “We’ve got pizza and case files!”

“Just a second!” you call, putting down your mug of coffee and making your way over to let them in.

“Traitor!” Foggy shouts almost immediately.

“What?” Matt asks, his face scrunched in utter confusion.

“Oh, Fog, c’mon,” you say with a roll of your eyes. “You’re being dramatic.”

“I am being no such thing!” Foggy defends. “This is a proportionate reaction for the situation!”

“I think you’re both forgetting that one party in attendance is blind,” Matt chimes. “Can someone please fill in the details?”

“(Y/N)—if that’s even her real name—is wearing a Boston Red Sox shirt.”

“I will not accept Bostonian slander in my apartment, so if you boys—.”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Matt rushes, putting a hand on your closing door. “You’re from Boston?”

“Yes.”

“Why’d you never mention it?”

“Never came up.”

“Lie,” Foggy interjects. “The day we met, we asked where you were from.”

“You said the city,” Matt adds. “We understood that as New York City.”

“That was a misinterpretation on your part. Boston is a city, and I did grow up there,” you clarify. “Hence, I’m from the city. You are at fault for not inquiring further.”

“It feels like I don’t even know you,” Foggy sighs.

“Okay, goodbye, drama kings,” you say, trying to close the door once more, only for both of your friends to slip in.

“Seriously, why’d you never just tell us?” Matt asks.

“You act like I told you I had a secret family or I was Daredevil or something!” Foggy has to help steady Matt—Matt's clumsiness is starting to get more concerning. “I didn’t tell you because I knew how you’d react as through and through New Yorkers. I’ve heard everything in the book about Boston while I’ve been here. I didn’t want to hear it from my friends, too.”

“(Y/N),” Matt says, the tips of his ears bright pink. “We don’t mean it like that.”

“Then how do you mean it? How else and I supposed to take it?”

“You blend so will with New York,” Foggy says.

“Now I’m insulted.”

“No—it’s just that you’re a natural, really. That’s why we’re shocked. That, and you don’t speak like—.”

“—like I want to park the car in Harvard Yard?” you question with an exaggerated accent, making them both laugh, albeit nervously.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” You pick up your mug of coffee from the counter, taking a sip. “What case files did you bring?”

“Sweetheart, she smells so good,” Matt hums in delight as you both rest with your newborn in the hospital room.

“I know, Matty,” you smile. "Or are you forgetting that pregnancy made me have super senses, too?”

“Yeah, but that’s nature at work.”

“Mm,” you hum, taking another sniff of her head. “She smells so new.”

“Is it weird we’re this enamored with sniffing our newborn?”

“No. We made her. We have the right to sniff.”

As you continue to fawn over your daughter, you hear a gentle knock on the door. You notice Foggy and Karen peeking their heads through the crevice, gifts and balloons in hand.

“Is now a good time?” Karen asks.

“Well, you are interrupting our baby-sniffing time, but I guess an exception can be made for you two,” you say.

“I’m gonna ignore the baby-sniffing comment because I’m too excited to meet my niece,” Foggy beams as they enter the room and get closer. “Oh, wow. That’s a cute baby. I mean, of course she is, look at the gene pool she got to swim in.”

“She’s precious,” Karen whispers in awe. “Great job, guys. More so to you, (Y/N).”

“Thanks,” you breathe, resting your head against Matt’s.

“Does she have a name yet? Or is she still Baby Girl Murdock for now?”

“Well, Matt had a suggestion,” you start.

“Caroline,” he finishes, smiling sweetly at your daughter.

“Aww. Caroline Murdock. It’s so pretty,” Karen hums. “She looks like a Caroline.”

“Caroline?” Foggy asks. “Like . . . Sweet Caroline?”

“Foggy, how long has it been since you found out that I’m from Boston and you’re still on this?” you chuckle.

“No, it’s not that! It’s nice. It’s a real show of love for a New Yorker to name their kid after the anthem of the enemy city.”

You look down at your daughter, the picture of relaxation as she rests in your arms.

“Sweet Caroline, bum, bum bum,” you begin to sing. “Good times never seemed so good—.”

“So good! So good! So good!” Matt adds on.

“Traitor,” Foggy smirks.

“You’re gonna be my little cute Boston fan, aren’t you?” you say softly.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Matt tries.

“You don’t even like sports!”

“It’s the principle of the thing! And you don’t like sports, either.”

“It’s the principe of the thing,” you mock.

“Yeah, but I love her.”

“I do, too.”

“So, Caroline? Is it official?” Karen asks.

“How about Caroline Josie Murdock?” you offer. “She does need a middle name, after all.”

“It’s perfect,” Matt hums, kissing your temple.

“A perfect marriage of Boston and New York,” Foggy smiles. “Just like her parents.”

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione @catnip987

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s0xmsstuff · 10 months

Note

miguel meets his stans

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover.

Couple – Miguel O'Hara x Gn!reader.

Warning: English is not my first language, if you see any grammatical errors, don't be afraid to correct them openly.

It was no secret that you were a Spiderman fan. The truth is, it never bothered you that people knew, much less that someone told you how childish it was to leave your apartment one night with a camera, your phone, and a small ham sandwich on your bag.

You walked through the empty streets of Brooklyn, you cling to your jacket that keeps you warm against the cold of the night. With luck you would see some criminal rob a bank which would lead you directly to meeting your hero. At least that was what you preferred the moment you felt your bag being ripped from your arm in a single movement.

Scared, you ran after the thief who had your bag in hand. You frowned as you tried to grab the bag with one outstretched hand but when you managed to grab it, You watched the thief take a gun out of their pocket and the world slowed down.

Your breath hitched, your shoulders tensed, and your arms moved over your face in a futile attempt to avoid the future shot that would land on your skin.

Maybe in the past you would say that being rescued by someone from death was something super cliché and that it would cause you to pause the movie on TV because it wouldn't show something new. But in this moment. This precise moment where the incredible Spiderman held your waist, pressed you against his chest and pushed you away from him, quickly preventing that bullet from hitting you. Made you love those silly love movie scenes.

In less than the blink of an eye you were back on the floor with your bag in your hands and the thief on the wall, wrapped in vibrant red cobwebs that immediately made you recognize who was your savior.

You watched Spider-Man with a great deal of wonder, love, excitement, and exaltation. He was in front of you, you had to take the opportunity to talk to him even a little.

"Spiderman..!" You said breathlessly as you felt your knees wobble. You tightened your grip on your bag, feeling nauseous from the strong emotion in your body that made you sigh. "I... I'm a big fan of yours!" You felt your face blush deeply from the nervousness and embarrassment of the moment.

The masked man looked at you for a few moments before nodding slowly and looking back at your swaying figure. Did you raise your trembling hand towards him to perhaps ask him for a hug? An autograph? A kiss? All your desires for months were drained from your mind when you had the man in front of you.

Miguel, behind his mask, watched her small hand try to get closer to him. The man looked at you out of the corner of his eye before taking your trembling hand, smiling a little as he saw you tremble with that silly smile of yours. Miguel tilted his head slightly.

"Thanks for... For all the truth! I wanted to see you.." You mumbled as you felt Spiderman's hand almost wrap around your hand.

Miguel smiled behind his mask without you being able to identify him. He nodded again and ran his thumb over the back of your hand before slowly releasing your hand. "It doesn't matter."

You almost fainted when you heard his voice. You savored the moment with a smile and kept it in memory with a blink. When the man had to leave, he looked at you again and nodded again with a smile. You smiled after him, feeling satisfied to fulfill one of your greatest wishes.

Maybe in the future you can fulfill another one.

– You can tell I enjoyed doing this. I feel like Miguel would be soft with his fans and even more so noticing how nervous they are to meet him. Thanks to Anon for requesting this! I could only imagine Taylor's Lover to do this..

– Sox

#across the spider verse x reader #spiderman atsv #x reader #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #spider man 2099 #spiderman atsv x reader #spiderverse x reader #fluffy #lover taylor swift

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georgiapeach30513 · 2 years

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Closer to Heaven and Closer to You, Part 6

Summary: it is finally over

Pairings: Frank Adler X Reader

Rating: explicit

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, PIV sex, unprotected sex, somnophilia, dub con, creampie, slight breeding kink, attempted forced pregnancy, 18+ ONLY

Word Count: 4.7K

Series Masterlist

“Clyde!” Your nearly full grown puppy comes running up the hill towards the house, his tail wagging and tongue hanging out as he slows to stop in front of you. Lifting his paws up to your chest, and you give him his favorite ear tickles. “Where’s daddy?”

Clyde let’s out a long howl, turning back towards where he had come from. “Where’s your daddy?” You see Frank’s truck driving up the long driveway, head hanging out the window when he calls Clyde a traitor for leaving him. “You know I’m the favorite!”

Frank yanks his truck into park when he jumps out, stomping towards you, and Clyde gives him a playful growl. Standing in front of your body ready to pounce should Frank attack. “How was the farm?”

“Boring. It’s not exciting at all. The same ole same ole,” you could see the distance in his eyes every time he talked about the farm. You feel almost guilty for asking him to take some time off with the rodeo. He just put everything into the rodeo, and nothing into your life.

“So I was thinking about the upstairs to the house.”

“Bunny, I just got off work. I really don’t want to talk about the house,” too much of the house was left unfinished. His mind was always elsewhere. You had told him it was a bad idea to move in before completing it. Now you were afraid it would never get finished.

“Okay, then can we decide on a trim? We still have no baseboards,” Frank growls, walking up the porch steps, and into the house. Plopping down on the couch with his dirty clothes and boots still on. You would let this slide. This time.

“Frank, this is why I didn’t want to move in.”

“I’m tired, Bunny,” he deadpans, positioning his hat over his eyes.

“So, I don’t get tired working in a doctor’s office? Doing all the work while the doctor gets the credit.”

“At least you see new people. I see fucking cows and cow shit all fucking day long. I see my dad. I do the same damn thing all damn day long. I’m out in the sun. I’m out in the cold,” you didn’t want this fight again. You wanted to discuss the additional add ons to the house because you had someone coming in next week to actually do them.

“And you are walking away,” Frank stands up, and you just know he’s tracking dirt through the house. The floors you had mopped as soon as you came home now filthy from him. “Bunny, do you even hear what I have to say?”

“Yeah, and you sure do want to say them all the time. And can you please take off your boots and dirty clothes,” standing at the door of the kitchen, Frank removes his boots. Slowly taking off every inch of clothing he has, even his underwear drift to the floor before he drops that old sweaty Boston Red Sox hat leaving him with hat hair, and nothing else.

“Okay, you made your point,” he walks closer to you, dick swinging when he wraps his arms around your waist. “You always result in fucking when we fight.”

“Because me pounding into your cunt is the best way to shut you up.”

“Wow,” you push his hands off your body, not wanting another fight, but that was a low blow.

“Buns, I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then please explain to me how you meant it. Because to me, it sounds like I’m only good when you’re fucking me. Like I’m this burden to you. You can’t even come home and have a normal conversation about our home when we have a contractor coming in five days. I don’t want to fight, I want this house completed. But no, you take me wanting to know what your opinions are on our home as I’m fighting with you, and then you try and turn me on by pulling your cock out and telling me the only way I shut up is if you’re fucking me. Sounds like you don’t care about what I think. I want to talk.”

“And I want to fuck. I’m surrounded by men and livestock all day. Fuck. Talk. Stop arguing,” you shake your head no, trying walk away when he pulls you to him. Placing your hand over his cock while he guides you to palm him. “It’s already getting harder.”

“Fuck. And we talk about the house.”

“Fuck. Eat. Sleep.”

“Fuck. And we talk about your opinions on our home.”

“Fuck a baby in you.”

“No!” Your voice was damn near whining. The minute you had moved in it was like his breeding kink switch had been flipped on. He was relentless with telling you how he was going to fuck a baby in you. “No kids, until this house is finished.”

“If there’s no kids, I get to go on the road,” always the damned old rodeo. It was either your cunt or the rodeo he thought of. “Buns, you feel how hard I’m getting?”

“Is it the kid talk or the rodeo talk? I feel like you would rather see Bucky and Steve than me.”

“I would rather see your cunt spread and dripping with my seed, knowing I fucked a baby right in your belly. Have you swollen with me.”

“No,” the two of stare at each other for a moment, but he never stops moving your hand over him. Getting good and hard, before he wraps your fingers around his cock, helping you fist him.

“What’s the real timeline here?”

“House finished. Married. Baby.”

“House finished. Baby. Married. You quit work, bring baby on the road with us. Childcare is expensive.”

“We’d need a bigger camper. I won’t be fucking you while our baby sleeps on the table.”

“You didn’t say no,” his hand drops from yours, and he starts undoing your pants, but you smack at his hand, “What?”

“You were about to shove your disgusting hands on my pussy. Wash them,” you point at the kitchen sink, starting to remove your own clothes. It takes you getting fully naked before he even reaches towards the sink. “Do you have a daddy kink?”

“What?” Franks questions, making sure to clean his hands extra well.

“Do you want a baby so bad because you want to hear me scream, daddy?” A cold chill runs up his back, while your hand winds down your front, stimulating yourself. Why is it that an argument made you so wet?

“Have you fucking me so good that I just gasp, ‘Yeah daddy. Harder daddy. Fuck my tight little pussy daddy. Fuck a baby in me daddy.’”

“Fuck you.”

“That’s right, fuck me,” Frank puts a leg behind you, slightly tripping you, letting you fall into his arms before he was taking the both of you to the floor. His knees push apart your thighs and in one thrust he was entering into your wet heat. “Why do you want a baby so bad?”

“So you will join me on the road. Show off your bump and everyone will know exactly who you belong to. Show them how Frank Adler owns this cunt. And then I’ll have me the best buddy. Teaching him to ride sheep so he’ll be a bull rider just like his old man,” you moan out a no, gripping tight to his ass, and he thrusts harder.

“Oh yeah, Bunny. You’re giving me cowboys. We’re going to be the sweetest traveling family. I’ll get my national champion belt. And all those buckle chasing bunnies will see who I belong to. Buns, we’re in this together.”

“What if…what if,” your back arches up off the floor, and he sucks hard on your neck. Making it damn near impossible for you to think. He seriously knew how to make you weak. But you also knew how he used sex to get what he wanted. It was a terrible cycle. “What if I don’t want you to go back.”

“You promised,” he whispers, slamming his hips into you even harder. “You promised one year off. You promised. A baby. You would quit. I could go back. Fuck, Bunny. You can’t make me stop.”

Even though you knew it was unfair to fully make him quit, and that you had promised, it terrified you to not have any income. You didn’t want to rely on Frank’s winnings for the two of you to survive, but also didn’t like that you would have to rely on Frank for everything.

“Frank. I know,” every little bit of extra money that didn’t go into the house, you had been saving. Stopped going to the coffee shop, stopped eating out, you had to give you and Frank, but mostly you, a cushion. Just in case. The rodeo was unpredictable.

“I’m sorry,” he sucks hard on your neck again as he jackhammers into your dripping cunt. Grunting about how he was going to cum in you. “Don’t,” you barely whisper. Clinging to his back as your walls constrict around him, milking his shaft of every drop of his thick cream.

“I don’t wanna wait,” he thought he was going to get the final say. Pulling himself out of you and leaning back. Spreading your used cunt, “Push it out. I’m gonna finger it back in before I get a shower,” doing what he asks for, he gets the biggest smile on his face as he plays with his cum inside of you before slapping your pussy. “I think that’s the one.”

He was a different person now. Skipping into the bathroom while he washes himself clean, and you tiptoe in the bedroom. Pulling out your panty drawer you pull out a Plan B before swallowing it. Discarding the garbage into your drawer. He wouldn’t know. You weren’t ready, and you weren’t going to be made to have a child when you weren’t ready. He wasn’t ready either.

“Buns! Take a shower with me. I need to get you cleaned up, too.”

“Just a minute,” you stare at your reflection in the mirror. You almost felt trapped in this cycle. Argue. Fuck. Broken promises and lies. And everything was just dandy afterwards. Everything was just perfect, and everything was a lie. The facade that you and Frank had created was getting cracks with every day that passed. Soon those cracks wouldn’t be able to be filled with sex. Sex was never enough.

It didn’t hit you right away what Frank was planning. You had seen small remnants of him wanting to go to a rodeo for more than viewing. Saw him pulling away from you more. He would think that he had fucked you asleep before he was sneaking out of the bed, and going to his phone. Whispered conversations with who you could only assume was Steve. There wasn’t anything romantic, it was always about the rodeo.

Pretending to be back asleep when he would crawl back in the bed, lifting up your leg before he was pushing his cock back inside you. A hand over your stomach as he slowly pumps into you, “I figured you would be pregnant by now,” he kisses on your back. This had to have been his plan all along. Speed up the promise so he could go back to rodeoing.

“Frank,” his motions and what you thought to be true man you loved clouded how you are now perceiving him. He didn’t even want a baby, he wanted to ride bulls. “Frank.”

“Shh, this time it's going to work,” a single tear drifts over your nose, and onto your pillow, it wouldn’t work, you had made sure of that by the implant in your arm. You wanted kids with Frank, but not like this. A text from Bucky had informed you the season was about to start. “It’s going to work,” you weren’t even married, and here he was trying to fuck a baby in you, even though you both agreed on the order of things.

With one final thrust into you, hot ribbons of his cum paint your walls. You didn’t even come. You were numb to what Frank was doing. It had become too much. All of it was coming to a screeching halt because Frank wanted to force things to be his way. It was always his way. You were an afterthought.

“I’m just going to rest in there. Make sure it takes. Can’t lose a single drop,” another tear drifts down to your pillow as you croak out okay. Your relationship was a complete lie. You were not in this relationship together, it was Frank manipulating the situation always.

A few weeks later, walking into the bedroom to see Clyde on the bed looking anxiously at a suitcase while Frank packs up his rodeo clothes didn’t surprise you. “I don’t want an argument,” he says before you even mention anything. “I also got a test in the bathroom, I want you to take it.”

“I don’t need to,” he slams a shirt in the suitcase, looking up at you.

“For a whole month. I made sure for an entire month that you were…why wouldn’t you need to?”

“Why are you packing?”

“Joining the circuit this season. Thought you might like to come along. Thought I was going to show off my fiancé’s baby bump. Why don’t you need to test?”

Unbelievable. He was already in the mode of going on the road without even talking with you. It was like you were going to find out after the fact that he was leaving. Hopefully you joined him. Not even thinking you would have to turn in a two week notice for work. You don’t burn bridges with jobs. “Why do you not need to take a pregnancy test?”

“I’m not pregnant.”

“How…how do you know?”

“Well, I would assume it’s something that most women would know. There’s signs, you know, a lack of a period. But also a few months ago I got a birth control implant.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? Are you fucking serious right now? You know how bad I wanted a baby, and you’re walking around with a fucking implant in your arm? Don’t you think that things like that should be discussed between each other? Don’t you think that I have a right to decide when we have a baby?”

“Oh, really? You know when you were fucking me nonstop, even if I was tired, just fucking me while I was trying to sleep. Sex isn’t even fun anymore. You’re just wanting to fuck a baby in me so you can go ride bulls, huh? That’s what your big plan was. You don’t even want a child, you want to hold this over my head because that was what we agreed on. You were the one making the decision, Frank. And I decided for myself that I wasn’t ready. You never take into consideration I’m the one that’s carrying the baby and whose body is changing. I said I wasn’t ready, and it’s my right to choose when I am. So I did what I had to do because you wouldn’t listen.”

“Fine,” Frank closes his suitcase, zipping it up slowly. Tapping on his leg and Clyde jumps down following him. “I’m still going out on the road whether you join me or not.”

“I can’t just turn my life upside down anymore, Frank. We have a house payment. I am the one with a steady paycheck. We can’t just run around and do what we want. I haven’t made any arrangements to leave my job, so I can’t just leave. I like my job, they are good to me.”

“You didn’t even apply to be the nurse at the shows. I asked you to. I’m still going,” he starts heading out the door, and you follow him. He slings his suitcase in the truck, opening the door wide for Clyde to jump in. The dog never turned down a ride in the truck.

“If you leave Frank, we’re finished.”

“I’ll see you in a week. I’ll text you what city I’m in if my fiancé wants to join me, or if she wants to get that thing taken out of her arm, so we can talk about this like a normal couple.”

“I’m right here if you want to talk. I am listening, but you’re not. You leave we’re…” Frank puts his truck in gear as he heads down the road. You were done. Frank never wanted to talk. He never cared what you thought, and you were done with trying. It wasn’t worth it.

You were looking for a sign to respond to a job offer you had been given, and it was the perfect time to get a change of scenery, and leave all this behind. Clyde you would miss. The Frank you thought you knew, you would miss, but this constant back and forth and going around in circles, accomplishing nothing, you would not.

Packing the biggest piece of luggage you had with your clothes, you leave your engagement ring on his side of the bed. You had given him so many signs of what you wanted. You tried to tell him that you weren’t ready. Even warned him that you would be finished. It was scary but it was necessary. Standing at the front door looking at the house that you thought would make you and Frank closer, you close the door, locking it, and leave your key with the spare one.

Your lip quivers as you walk away from what you thought would be your future. Mindy’s words ringing in your ears about how to not fall in love with a cowboy, you failed. But you wouldn’t fail again. You were heading to the exact opposite of Montana and finally towards the east coast. Going to Boston where you hoped the offer didn’t fall through. Hoped that this was what you were looking for. Because it wasn’t Frank anymore.

“Come in,” a woman huffs as she opens up the door. “Sorry, you picked a busy day to meet Harlan,” she starts to walk off, but turns back to look at you, “Well come on, I’m going to take you to his office, you can wait for him there. The rest of the family is coming, so…gird your loins. Little prick will be here, too,” the last sentence she says underneath her breath, assuming you didn’t hear it.

Leading you into a huge office, and gesturing towards a chair. “He’ll be with you in a moment. Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” after the years with Frank, nothing would surprise you or irritate you quite as much as he did. She leaves the office, and you lean back taking it all in. Books upon books, and papers everywhere. A writer you were told, and that made sense.

The prick. You wonder who that could possibly be. Most likely one of the family members that she had mentioned. It was taking too long and you were growing antsy, and you ignore the vibrating of your phone, turning it off completely while you walk around the office. Pulling out a book with a familiar looking title when you realize who this Harlan Thrombey was. Your mother’s favorite author.

“What are you doing in here?” You drop the book on the floor, and spin to see a tall man. “That was a first edition,” he rolls his eyes, walking over to pick up the book, and putting it back in its place. “Is there something wrong with you? Can you hear? I asked what you were doing in here?”

“I, um, I’m meeting with Harlan. I was offered a nursing job. Well, I applied, and this is the interview.”

“Uh huh. You can sit down now.”

“Who exactly are you?” The man looks you up and down, a smirk creeping up on his face. “I guess you’re the one that can’t hear now.”

“Ransom,” a new voice says, entering in the office, “His name is Ransom.”

“Should she be hired she can call me Hugh like the rest of the help.”

“Should I be hired I would be taking orders from my boss, Harlan. Not you,” his eyes darken a moment, while Harlan laughs on his way to his desk, and you follow him over there. This Ransom or Hugh walking to sit in the chair beside you. “Do you need to be present?”

“I’m being trained to take over the business, so yes.”

“Ransom that is enough, son,” that took a turn. He just so happened to be Harlan’s son.

“I’m not your son,” never mind. “Old man, what is this?”

“A nurse. I figured it would be much easier for my medicines, and a daily check on my health status to have one staffed,” Ransom rolls his eyes, leaning forward to grab a pack of cookies. “Is there a problem?”

“It’s just another person on the payroll. You can't possibly be getting that old that you need someone with you daily,” Harlan cocks up an eyebrow looking at you. “No offense,” Ransom looks towards you. “I’m sure you’re quite lovely, but completely unnecessary.”

“You do realize that Harlan is now needing to have his vitals taken regularly? His medicine needs to be administered, and didn’t he have a fall only last week? I see he’s wearing a brace on his arm, so some damage was done. Harlan, how long were you on the floor before anyone realized?”

“A little over an hour.”

“And just where were you, your family, or the rest of the staff? With a licensed nurse here he could get quick care, and know if going to the ER is even something that should happen. In the future if he is needing any injectables, are you going to be able to administer that, Ransom?” Ransom pops his tongue at the sound of one of the help calling him by that name. You didn’t care. Men who thought that everything should go their way did not bother you anymore. Entitled pricks seemed to be your speciality.

“Fact of the matter is, you’re apprenticing to take over this business, but also neglecting Harlan in the process. With a nurse, that no longer becomes your concern, it becomes mine. Should I be hired of course.”

“Where are you from?” Ransom was staring at you for too long. He was only trying to intimidate you, and it wouldn’t work.

“Montana. And I’ve dealt with worse men than you before.”

“Okay, children, that is enough. I think you would fit in quite perfectly here. Ransom, I expect you to treat her with respect. And I expect you to be on your best behavior. Would you prefer me to call you by your name or something else?”

“I’ve grown quite fond of my nickname, Bunny,” Ransom smirks, and your head shoots over to look in his direction. “Is there something funny, Ransom?”

“Of course not, Bunny. Maybe we should get this dinner party started. Is your Bunny joining us?”

“Yes, I believe she should. It’ll be a good way to introduce you to the rest of the family.”

“Better hop to it, Bunny,” Ransom’s smirk turns more into a grin as he watches you stand up.

“As long as you don’t hold me hostage, Ransom.”

“Oh, this is going to be fun,” Harlan laughs, starting to follow you out of the office.

“Indeed it will,” Ransom agrees. You were much more spunky than any of the other help. He was going to have fun with you.

“Bunny!” Frank leaves his suitcase at the door, and Clyde runs past him and sniffs around the house for you. “Bunny, I’m back!” Clyde returns whimpering, and heads up the stairs, while Frank walks into the bedroom, the closet still open, and your clothes missing.

“Bunny? Bunny!” He walks throughout the house, and out to the garage to find your car missing. Back into the bedroom, and spots your ring. “Bunny,” he whispers, picking it up.

‘I tried to tell you, Frank. I told you if you left this was the end. I can’t do this anymore.’

“Nonononono,” he grabs his phone out, calling your number before dialing your parents, “Is she there?”

“No. She’s not.”

“Where is she?”

“Frank, I don’t want to get involved. You guys had an argument. She left.”

“But, it wasn’t even that serious of an argument. I just…she can’t ask me to quit riding.”

“And I told her that,” your mom says softly. “The two of you just weren’t in life together. Each of you pulling in different directions. You both deserve more than what you were giving each other. She left you some money. She doesn’t want to feel like she made you build the house, and left you with the payments.”

“We…we were planning a wedding.”

“No, you weren’t. You were avoiding getting married. How long were you guys engaged? And no formal plans were made. You were piddlefarting around the wedding. You could have gone and eloped, and you didn’t want to do that, said she deserved a wedding, but you wouldn’t help her. Same as the house. Frank, I’m sorry. She’s gone.”

“Can you at least tell me where she’s at?”

“No. She’s safe. She called me earlier today. She’s not in the state. Move on with your life. I’m sorry. It’s better this way,” your mom doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she hangs up.

Frank slings his hat into a corner, that stupid B a reminder of you being with him. This house reminded you of him. The bed still smelled like you. Your shampoo was left in the shower, you were all around him. Even Clyde walks into the bedroom, whining at Frank as he sniffs around his side of the bed.

“She left us,” Frank falls back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling when the puppy jumps up, resting his head on his stomach. “She fucking left me. She hid that she was refusing to have a baby, and she left me. Didn’t give me any warning, she just left us. Fucking bitch.”

Picking up his phone he calls up Steve, “So I can be on the road indefinitely.”

“Why?” Steve asks.

“Bunny’s gone.”

“She’s gone,” Steve glances over at Bucky who looks out the window of the truck looking very guilty. “What do you mean she’s gone?”

“Packed her bags, and left. Looks like me and Clyde are going to Cheyenne. Where are you guys?”

“Pulling over, and heading to your house. Get your shit together. Load up the camper, and let’s go,” Steve hangs up the phone and pokes Bucky, “How long did you know?”

“She left the same day he did. Steve, he left after she told him if he did she was leaving. He knew.”

“Taking her side, huh?”

“I’m not taking sides,” Bucky turns, looking at Steve, kicking his foot up on the dashboard as Steve slows to a stop, turning around to drive towards Frank’s. “They just were too different people. She deserves someone that will worship her, and he deserves someone that isn’t threatened by his first love.”

“Bunny was his first love.”

“Nope. The rodeo was. The rodeo was the other woman. Bunny just got tired of being cheated on,” Steve rolls his eyes, knowing that deep down that Bucky was right. You were two different people that did not understand the other’s needs. He wouldn’t tell Bucky or Frank, but you were both better off without each other. And now Steve could have his fun Frank back.

“Bucky you joining us for women at the bar?”

“Seriously? Frank just now realizes he’s no longer engaged, and you think he needs to fuck someone?”

“I think he needs to fuck lots of people. Have a threesome, or swap! Shit! This season is going to be amazing. You and your puppy dog self can just watch the camper sway back and forth. I’m making sure Frank gets his dick wet the whole season. New girl in every city. If you join, we can fill someone special up. All three holes.”

“You’re disgusting.”

“No, I’m horny. I want to have all the sex! Give me some sex!”

“I’m good. You two have fun,” Bucky was already missing you. You calmed Frank down. And even Steve. Now he was stuck with them all alone. And no one to make sure they behaved. He was ready to settle down and become a farmhand for someone. Maybe someday.

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season @marveloustaylortot @pono-pura-vida @sstan-hoe @softsatnin @missusbarnes-rogers @peaches1958 @seitmai @smile1318 @andydrysdalerogers @cjand10 @patzammit @lavender-annd-lilac @sunshine-midnight-rain

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