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fortheloveoffanfic · 1 month

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Closing the Distance

Sheriff Hassan x Reader

Author's Note: I'm sorry its bad. I'm sorry this is the first I've written in this fandom. Just sorry all 'round.

Summary: Devastating news brings Sheriff Hassan and his neighbor closer together.

Warnings: Mentions of terminal illness, grief and death, brief mentions of SMUT

Crockett is small. Small enough for someone to walk from one end to the next in less than a day, small everyone to know each other by name, small enough for gossip to spread faster wildfire. It's part of why Hassan keeps his head down and his nose out of everyone’s business; small towns are close knit, they stick together, and he's already an outcast. So unless someone is explicitly breaking the law or being a public nuisance, Hassan keeps his distance.

Even if it's hard sometimes. Even if his cute neighbor brings over dinner for him and Ali when she cooks extra or waves at him when he's getting into his car in the morning while she's having coffee on the porch. Even if he does find himself wanting to prolong their conversation when he bumps into her while picking up groceries. Hassan keeps his distance, because even if Y/n has only lived on the island for a year longer than he has, she is not an outcast.

From the bits and pieces he's been able to pick up, Y/n’s mother grew up there and then their family spent most of her summers as a child on the island. In the same quaint house across the street from his, with weather beaten porch steps, a white French door guarded by thin yellow curtains and a kitchen window that faces the street. She moved there just after her grandmother passed and her grandfather fell ill. Everyone knows her, everyone likes her, not that he can blame them – even Bev likes her, though he doubts the feeling is mutual. And that's why Hassan keeps his distance; even Y/n isn't one of them, she's one of theirs.

So he keeps his distance.

Until he gets home from work one Friday evening just in time to see Y/n walking Sarah to her car. Before she gets in, they spend another couple minutes talking and while he doesn't want to sit in his car and stare, there's something about the dimness in her expression and the invisible weight pressing her shoulders into a solemn, downward curve that holds him there. Hassan can't recall ever seeing her like that – tired, sure, it would be impossible to be a caregiver and not feel the strain of it. But this evening is different, it's more than tired. He recognizes that look; that was how he looked when his wife reached her end.

Hassan waits until Sarah drives off before getting out of his own car. Y/n is still standing on the sidewalk, arms hugging herself and eyes cast in the direction of the receding car. She isn't dressed to be outside, denim shorts and a thin band tee are hardly enough to combat the October chill, especially when it's been raining on and off all day, and that's how he knows she's probably avoiding heading back in. And he simply can't stand to retreat to his own house when she's looking like she's about to fall apart.

So Hassan calls out to her.

“Hey neighbor,” it's just enough to beckon her attention, and his tone, he hopes, gives nothing away.

“Sheriff,” as Y/n turns to him, she tries to smile but her lips quiver and the effort doesn't reach her eyes. “Hey,” her voice cracks ever so slightly and he suddenly feels guilty about intruding on what might have been a private moment. “How are you?”

Of course she asks how he's doing when she's the one on the verge of tears.

“Doin’ alright,” he shrugs, stuffing his hands into his pockets, “you?”

Before anything leaves her lips, which she's pressed into a thin line, Y/n nods stiffly. “I'm….” She sniffles and Hassan steps closer until he's standing where Sarah's car had been parked. “I'm okay,” she manages softly, adverting her gaze to their feet.

He doesn't know what prompts him – his urge to comfort her or the fact that he'd wished someone had done that for him – but Hassan reaches out to lay a hand on her shoulder, and gives it an affectionate squeeze. “You sure?”

And he swears that's like slipping the pin out of the grenade. Or more accurately, throwing a pebble at a cracked window; the tiny thing that shatters something already so fragile.

A sob tumbles past her lips and without thinking, he pulls her against him. She's small enough for her head to settle against the center of his chest while he smooths his hand over her hair. Hassan knows all too well that now isn't the time for him to marvel at how well she fits in his arms, like they're two puzzle pieces just snapping into place. Despite his efforts though, the thought lingers in the back of his mind.

“He's dying,” she cries, words muffled as she keeps her face pressed to his chest, “He's dying and there's nothing else I can do for him.”

Her words make him hold her tighter, as if he's trying to keep her pieces from scattering. “I'm so sorry,” is the only thing he offers. All other words of sympathy and comfort feel wrong in the moment, so they stay like that and Hassan holds her until loud cries turn to slow tears. In fact, it isn't even him that pulls away – if it were up to him, he'd hold her until the next morning, longer if she needs it.

“God,” wiping her cheeks hastily, Y/n sniffles, continuing bashfully, “Sorry about that. I bet you're never gonna ask anyone how they're doing ever again.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself,” he counters dismissively, “is there anything I can do?”

Her smile, though genuine, is small and sad. “You've already done a lot,” Y/n assures him, “but maybe you could come in for coffee? If you have time,” she adds hastily.

He really had meant to come home and make dinner, hopefully get Ali to tell him about his day, but there's half a pizza in the fridge and he's pretty sure his son is gonna make up an excuse to not have dinner with him, the way he does every evening. Besides, he doesn't want to leave Y/n alone and another half hour can't hurt. “Coffee sounds good.”

Despite being embarrassed about her little meltdown, Y/n is enormously grateful that Hassan agrees to come in for coffee – and it's not even because of that silly little school girl crush she's been nursing since the day they met. It's because when it's just her and her grandfather in the house, she can hear his laboured breathing even in the rooms furthest from his bedroom and she's hoping that talking to the sheriff will distract her a little.

For just a few minutes, Y/n wants to pretend that the man who's wrapped up in some of her fondest memories isn't slipping away and Sarah hasn't just told her to start making arrangements.

His steps are soft as he follows her into the kitchen, and it takes getting there for her to remember that she's left a tray with food and medication on the table. “Shit,” she hisses softly, going to collect it off the small table.

“It's alright if you have to take that up,” Hassan says, halting in the doorway, “I can wait or….”

“No,” Y/n shakes her head as she empties a small bowl of rice cereal into the trash before grabbing a smaller bowl of applesauce to do the same with that, “This is from breakfast. He wouldn't eat it. Didn't eat dinner last night and….” When her voice starts shaking, Y/n stops herself and sets the dishes in the sink. Washing off her hands, she fixes her attention on the coffee maker. It's a nice one, the kind that comes with a milk frother. It's one of the few things that she'd brought from her apartment in the city to make life in Crockett a little more comfortable. “How do you take it?” She asks, slipping a mug into the designated place.

“Black, two sugars,” he returns, now standing near the table with his hands stuffed into his pockets. He makes the space look small, Y/n thinks, and on a regular day it's one of the things she fancies about him. He's so big, capable of being incredibly imposing and yet the only thing she ever feels in his presence is safe. And it's not because of his uniform or the fact that he's a man of the law, it's because there's a softness about Hassan that makes her yearn to be close to him.

It doesn't matter what everyone says about him, Y/n just doesn't see it. He doesn't say a lot, probably even less to her than everyone else on the island, but there's a kindness in his very rare smile and a sadness in his eyes that she wishes she could help with.

“We can talk about it, if you want,” Hassan offers as Y/n stirs two teaspoons of sugar into his coffee.

When Y/n turns to hand him the ceramic mug, she encourages him to sit before returning to the machine and it takes a couple minutes more to sort her thoughts out enough to address his suggestion. “I don't know if there is anything to talk about,” she admits, thumb nail flicking the edge of the tile countertop, “I knew he was terminal when I got here. It was never a matter of if, it was when. But now that its….when, I feel like it's too soon, you know?”

Hassan nods, and she knows that his agreement isn't just surface level empathy – she's heard about his wife from the gossipy folks in town. “I keep reading about all these people who grieve their parents, spouses…. grandparents before they die, because they know it's happening,” Y/n goes on, and at this point, she's rambling in hopes of making sense of her experience, “but it was never like that for me. Until now. I mean I knew he was gonna….” She can't even bring herself to say the words.

“But you didn't think it would be like this,” it's like he's taken the words right out of her mind when he says them. “You thought he'd just go to sleep one night, it would happen and then it would be over.”

“Yeah, exactly,” collecting her mug, Y/n assumes the chair closest to Hassan, “but this is so different. He's in pain, he won't eat, barely drinks water. I know that it's best for him, so he can be…..at peace again,” her eyes start welling up again, and much to her surprise, he reaches over and rests his free hand over. Y/n can count one hand the amount of times he's touched her. Four times.

He shook her hand when they first met and the three other times had happened that very evening.

Admittedly, it's a little confusing; she's spent so long convinced that he doesn't like her that it's hard to believe that him sitting in her kitchen isn't anything more than pity. But that hug didn't feel like pity and the sincerity in his eyes doesn't feel like that either. His thumb is caressing the side of her wrist, the roughness of his finger contrasting with the softness of his skin.

“I understand,” he determines quietly, “I know it doesn't help-”

“It does, you have no idea how much you've helped. Just by being here.” Y/n leans in a little, and Hassan cups her cheek.

“You shouldn't have to go through this alone,” he ghosts the apple of her cheek, “you're there for everyone, someone should be here for you.”

Her hand slides down the back of his forearm, stopping near his elbow. “I'm….” She goes to say glad, but its the wrong word, “grateful it's you. So thank you.”

“‘Course,” Hassan hums, before searching her eyes when she inches closer, “What?”

Y/n knows she's taking a pretty big risk, he's never shown any interest in her like that and she isn't quite sure that her next request has anything to do with her feelings for him. But she asks anyway. “What if I wanted to forget….just for a little while.” She leans in closer, and that time, he does too.

They're so close that Y/n can smell bits of Crockett's salty air mingling with a very subtle cologne. So close that it just takes a couple inches forward on her part for their lips to meet. He tastes like coffee, and his gray flecked beard scratches her face in the most enthralling way. Surprisingly, he reciprocates; his other hand reaches for the back of her neck as he deeps the kiss.

Clumsily, Y/n fumbles out of her chair and into his lap, his worn jeans rubbing against her exposed thighs. The chair scrapes along the hardwood floor when he tries to get it a couple inches away from the table, but neither of them pay any mind to the noise. His large palm inches down her back to eventually slips under the hem of her t-shirt while Y/n starts fiddling with the top button of his uniform.

“Y/n,” he mumbles her name as she pops the second button. Her reply is a hum and an attempt to press her lips to his a bit harder. The bulge in his jeans is firm against her thigh, encouraging her to suggestively grind against his crotch. “Y/n,” that time, Hassan tears his lips from hers and swiftly grabs both her wrists in on his hands, while the other stays firmly on her back – on the outside of her t-shirt.

“You don't want to?” Because of course, on top of overwhelming grief, she has to deal with the shame rejection after she tries to jump her neighbor's bones.

“Trust me,” he heaves, glancing down between them. She can still feel his hard on through his jeans and the thought of what it might feel like without restraint causes her to shift in anticipation. “I want to. But I don't think you want to,” and before she can get an argument in, he cuts her off, “At least, not like this.”

Hassan lets her wrists go in favor of cupping her face with both hands. Leaning in until their foreheads meet, he sighs heavily. “Whatever this could be shouldn't start because you're running away from feeling something difficult.”

“I'm not-” she tries to argue, but her voice breaks, “you’re right.”

“Just….give yourself some time. And when this is over, and you're really ready – and if you still want this – I'll be waiting.” That time, when their mouths meet, the kiss is more gentle. It isn't fueled by passion or haste, it's a promise.

When the break, Y/n slides out of his lap and goes to lean on the lip of the sink. Hiding her face in her hands, she groans loudly, “God,” she bemoans, “I feel so stupid.”

A weaker spot in the old floor creaks ever so slightly as Hassan stands and closes the short distance in a couple long strides. “Don't be,” he weans her hands off her face, holding them so he can caress her knuckles, “honestly, if you weren't crying thirty minutes ago no one would be able to pry me off you.”

His words rouse a quiet chuckle and Y/n spends another handful of seconds staring at their joined hands. “I'm gonna hold you to that,” she affirms quietly.

Hassan gives her hands a squeeze, “I'd hope so,” he glaces backwards at the window. It's starting to get dark out and there are a couple lights on over at his place, signaling that Ali is home. “I should…”

“Of course,” Y/n nods, “Yeah.”

His hands gently cup her neck and she curves her fingers over his wrists, thumbs absently stroking his skin. “If you need anything,” he lowers his head, so close the tips of their noses are almost touch, “you know where to find me.”

After a bit of hesitance, Hassan kisses her one last time before finally letting her hands go and turning to leave. In the doorway, he turns to offer her a short wave and sad, lopsided smile before continuing towards the front door. Meanwhile, Y/n lingers at the sink, toying with her nails even as the front door clicks shut. Through the window, she watches Hassan cross the street and stroll up the front before disappearing into his house.

And just like that, she can hear the wheezing again, and the sound of it causes her to elicit a shuddered breath. Despite her talk with the sheriff, Y/n is still unnerved by what may come within the next few days, but for the first time she isn't entirely unsure of what comes next. For a while, she'd been wondering what would come after; her grandfather is the only thing tying her to the island, but the thought of going back to the city is unnerving. Maybe now she won't have to though, at least, not for a little while longer.

#sheriff hassan #rahul kohli #sheriff hassan x reader #midnight mass #sheriff hassan imagine #rahul kohli imagine #fanfiction

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purplelupins · 3 days

Note

For a midnight mass fic, what about a Hassan X plus size reader, I haven't read any Hassan fics and the relationship between him and reader in lamb was lovely so I thought of this one shot or maybe a series, maybe reader is the owner of the store where he's office is and she's the only one not bothered that he doesn't go to mass and always encourages Ali to keep prayer with his dad, they both like each other but reader is afraid he doesn't feel the same, and Hassan is scared that she wouldn't want to date him cause he's a widow and single father. So Ali and Warren set up a plan to get them closer and eventually lead them to date

This is SO cute!! Unfortunately I dont write for him (never say never tho) but it’s true there’s not a lot out there for him. I think there’s a few gems for him though, on here and Ao3!

Thank you so much for the input!!

-Nora

#nora speaks #asks #nice people are nice #midnight mass #hassan deserves to get laid

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velvet-paradox · 2 years

Text

Crushed

Fandom: Midnight Mass (2021)

Pairing: Sheriff Hassan x Female reader

Summary: Getting close to the new sheriff was easy, finding out you made him nervous was the icing on the cake.

Length: Long

Warnings: WOAH NSFW 18+, strong language, talks of past abuse, emotions, tiny mention of tobacco use, explicit content, the lawman is a sweetheart, SMUT, protected P in V, Oral (F receiving).

Tagging: @synnersaint @abandonedmemorys @topiaries @londondlady7 @rangotangomango @delightfully-anonymous @mrs-nandortherelentless @obeydontstray

Monday's were shipment days on Crockett Island, meaning more work for you at the general store but it also meant that your day went by in a flash. Sometimes that Flynn boy or his friend Ooker would stop by after school and lend you a hand, you'd give them each a King size candy bar of their choice for their youthful efforts manhandling jugs of water and pallets of rice.

"Are you coming out tomorrow night?" Warren asks, pulling out crumpled bills from his pocket as they fall to the counter and a few coins shatter to the ground in his haste. It was going to be dark soon and he wanted to make it home before then, something about some tournament online he wanted to watch.

"What's tomorrow night?" You toss his sweet tooth confectionaries in a small bag while you eye the boy over the counter.

"The high school is having an ice cream social, they're even gonna' let us pick out a movie."

"I thought those things were just for students and staff."

Warren shrugged and took the bag when the bell over the door chimed, another arrival and by the time you looked at the clock just in front of you by the beer coolers you had an inkling Joe Collie might be the culprit. "You were a substitute teacher, that counts right?"

"Hardly," you laughed fondly remembering how those rowdy kids did everything but their school work, they liked you so they didn't rib you too hard and you let them get away with it. Kids deserve some fun. Plus you didn't know what you were doing or supposed to be doing as Erin Greene had called you last minute the night before in a panic that one of the teachers was staying home the next day. Art was always your strong suit so covering for that particular class didn't sound that challenging. "That was one time Warren and you bunch scared me off the job for good!"

"Oh come on we weren't that bad." Warren mused and swung his bag of goodies, telling you you should come anyway before heading out, picking up his bike from the outside by the front windows and fall display.

Joe Collie was in fact perusing his options at the cooler, like he'd switch it up and not go with his old stand-by.

The door chimed again and when you looked up, and up for that matter you were sure that the sheriff would have to duck to get his tall frame inside. He was just a few inches shy of banging his head on the door jam itself. His thick black hair always looked in impressive shape, smooth and shining in the afternoon sun like he'd just dipped his whole head in oil.

You were the first to greet the new sheriff and his boy Ali when they came to join the community on Crockett Island. Fresh faces with new stories to tell were always welcome, you could only stand to hear a few of the parents' drabble on with the same tales you'd heard for the past three years when you yourself came out here to the sleepy town that the world forgot.

You were sure he could be rather imposing at his height and build but to you he was kind and had a good heart, the officer didn't even carry a weapon. He strolled in, eyeing Joe who had made his final decision and was coming up to the counter. Then he spotted you. He raised his eyebrows with a small smile hidden beneath his trim yet coarse beard. You wondered to yourself if he wore a ten gallon hat, if he would tip it your way or cover his heart with it.

Even worse you'd grown rather fond of him but that wasn't a bad thing, not at all but it did mean, since the sheriff's office was at the back of the general store that you two interacted on a daily. Again, not a crisis but it made you sort of fall for the lawman. It was just a crush because of circumstances, you told yourself that for the first few months when you noticed how fidgety your hands were or how swollen your tongue felt in your mouth when you talked to him. Eye contact was a fucking Olympic sport to you now.

You kept that to yourself like most things, only Erin Greene and Dr. Gutting knew the real you at this point.

"Afternoon Y/N." The sheriff said, picking up a protein bar and made a face at it before setting it back down grabbed a Milkyway instead. Apparently the people here had a craving for sweets lately.

"Afternoon sheriff." You responded in kind, smiling at him and hoping he didn't see the big fat red stamp of SUCKER on your forehead. You eyed the wedding band on his finger and you didn't ask questions. You didn't see a wife or mother when you met them, maybe they were only separated or the ring held a lot of value. Maybe an heirloom of sorts.

"Ah Joe Collie, and what sort of night am I going to have hmm?" He adverted his eyes to the bundled up town drunk, though you had spoken to him and knew his distress and exactly why he drank so much you felt bad for him. A few times in the colder months you'd drop off an extra casserole or two to tide him over and hopefully fill his portly belly with something more substantial than booze.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Joe grunted and set down the beer on the counter, digging out his wallet.

"You know what I mean. Are you going to be sleeping over again?" The sheriff asked.

"Ha ha Sharif, I'll be just fine on my own tonight thank you." Joe sneered and gave you a quick unhumorous smile as he passed you a ten dollar bill.

The lawman pursed his lips at the awful name, knowing full well he knew the taller and broader man standing before him in his uniform with his hands on his hips knew his true name. Joe just had a poor outlook on life and he gave the amount of shit given to him to others and had made shit salad out of life rather then trying to turn his lemons into something sweeter.

"We'll see about that."

"Oh we sure will," Joe took his change and moved around the sheriff, making a disgruntled voice as none other than Miss Beverly Keane stepped aside, holding the door for him as if she were some saint and not the bane of most of Crock Pot's existence, including your own.

With a bare freckled face and single braid with the ankle length floral skirt of hers did she give Joe half a smile before coming into the store, making a beeline for you behind the corner. Totally ignoring the big man in the room.

"Good afternoon Ms. Y/L/N," you knew damn well that her smile was about as fake as that mock Coach purse she held under arm. She'd boasted about her clearance find on the mainland too many times to care at this point. "I have a question for you; we're having an ice cream social tomorrow night at the school and I was wondering if you might have any of those little snack cakes. You know the ones that have the little colorful dots on them or zebra cakes, anything like that? some of the faculty would rather not have ice cream at an ice cream event, can you imagine?" Beverly scoffed and rolled her eyes, surely rolling them so far that she finally took notice of the sheriff standing just behind her. "Oh! good day sheriff, I didn't even see you there."

He gave her a tight lipped smile, as phony as the one she'd just given you before nodding his head at her. You swore you saw him wink at you before he strolled past you to his back office. "Have a good evening Bev."

"Anyway, do you have any of those here, in stock?"

"Last aisle on the left." You kept your conversation as relaxed as humanly possible.

She turned and ambled through the little store.

When she left Hassan came back out, ducking his head out just a little like he was hiding from the big bad wolf making sure the coast was clear. He looked at you and genuinely smiled. You didn't see him do it a lot but it sure was nice and even nicer to be on the receiving end of it.

"Is it safe?" He joked and slunk out, leaving the door open behind him as there was no real threat coming the stores way.

"Clear."

"She gives me the shakes."

"Beverly has that effect on people." You snorted and chuckled at the image of this big man getting the willies from little old Beverly as you flipped through a random gardening magazine on the counter, you'd dog eared a few landscape designs towards the front.

"You know I've been wondering... I've only really heard you and Joe Collie call her Beverly, everyone else calls her Bev. Is there a certain reason or...?" He strode up to the free side of the partition, leaning his top half on his arm while he tore open the candy bar, little snacks like those were on the house per the owner's request of course, not because you were sweet on the man in uniform. No, certainly not that. "I know she's not your favorite person but... just curious I guess."

"Because she asked me not to."

Hassan snorted.

"Well not exactly, when I first got here to the island she was incredibly nice to me, overly so and told me she preferred friends to call her Bev. She's no friend of mine so I call her Beverly; she knows exactly why." You explained.

"You're not from here?" Hassan's eyebrows met in the middle.

"Oh no. I've only been around here for almost three years now, weathered four storms so far. It can get pretty bad, not as bad as 2002; I'll let Wade tell you that one."

"She seems to irk you more than she does me."

"That's because Beverly Keane is a fucking monster."

Hassan's eyebrows, thick and neat with the right one having a missing slash that you were dying to know how he got raised damn near to his hairline. "A monster?"

"Oh yes. She's more like a fucking werewolf in a duck costume. She's so full of her own garbage she wouldn't recognize evil if it looked her in the eye and she does not look in a mirror, let me tell you." You griped, letting curses fly free in front the sheriff. You should bite your tongue but God help you that woman...

"So she is capable of being tolerable?" Hassan asked after a quiet beat, tearing off a chuck of the chocolate before popping it into his mouth, chewy slowly.

"I suppose anyone is. When I got here..." you stopped yourself and tucked the magazine under the shelf at your waist before bending down on your elbows. "We're friends right, sheriff?"

He finished chewing and nodded, almost leaning more into your space. "Of course Y/N. Of course we are." He blinked.

"Not too many people on the island know that I was married before. Erin and Sarah know, now you and unfortunately Beverly. I got as far away from that whole situation, anything familiar or held some sort of memory. I wanted it all gone so I found the farthest place I could from all of it and I ended up here in the Crock Pot. It wasn't all bad, the first two years of my marriage were great actually. We had a fun wedding, decent house but then year three came and," you sighed heavily and gave him a look that had him slowly rising to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest. "He lost his job which meant he lost his pension which also meant that it was somehow my fault. A lot of my blood, sweat and tears went into that house. Literally."

Hassan's eyebrows creased and even though his beard covered the lower half of his face, you could see his jaw clench. It made a little vein in his temple pop.

"He'd knocked me around one week then apologize the next, it was a routine at that point and I was stuck on the hamster wheel. I didn't have anymore friends or family to reach out to, he made sure to check my phone constantly for that. He was so paranoid... it was a nightmare."

"Sounds more like torture."

"Oh that came soon after," again Hassan made an incredulous face his fingers now digging into the bulge of his arms scratching at the denim. "TMI but... we were having a rut like most marriages do, him smacking me around was part of it but we tried, we tried different avenues, read some things watched some things. We'd play this sort of cat and mouse game and at it first it was fun, we were both on the same page running about the house laughing about how he was gonna' get me this time," you shook your head and sighed. "But one night... he wasn't laughing. It wasn't a game anymore, at least not to me."

The sheriff shut his eyes, sucking his teeth before thinking about just what you meant by that. "He... hurt you?"

You knew what he meant by that. "All the time. He told me he'd kill me if I ever told anyone what he was capable of. He said it so calmly I believed him instantly. I was surprised when I gave him the divorce papers that he didn't put up too much of a fight, maybe he was tired of beating me, who knows? He did give me a going away slap in the face when we left the lawyer's office though."

"Christ!"

"A monster," you pointed towards the front door. "I know a monster when I meet one. Like I said, Beverly was too nice and too eager and when I felt comfortable enough, like I do now with you, I told her the same story. And do you know what the first words out of her mouth were?"

Hassan silently shook his head.

You chuckled darkly. "She had the nerve to tell me he was probably trying to beat the Devil out of me, that I had let myself be preyed upon. That it was my fault my ex-husband beat me, that I had given him a reason to and that he was trying to right my wrongs. Make me an obedient little wife. You believe that?"

He shook his head in disbelief and honestly it sounded absurd to your own ears, it was too eccentric for Beverly yet she had made you to the be the villain in your own story. From that moment on you refused to bend your tongue around the shortened version of her name. You wanted so badly to twist the knife she'd stuck into your side those years ago into her back and what better way then to make her feel a little dig whenever you two saw each other. You knew it bothered her, you could see that tiny hint of displeasure when you said her name. It made you smile.

"As awful as that is and I am incredibly sorry you had to live through that; I can't seem to put it past her."

"She's a monster just like my ex-husband, only she thinks she's the Devil is in Crockett and not within."

....

"What do you think?" Erin Greene twirled in her new skirt, shorter than Beverly's puke floral from the day before. She looked good in serene colors, sage greens and powder blues. Those always made her eyes pop. It was still conservative. She spun again in her living room that you were occupying, a couple of glasses of wine in. She didn't mind.

"It's cute."

"Cute? come Y/N, it's just cute. Look at the movement." She twisted in her spot by the couch, a playful smile of her face. "It's beautiful!"

"Where are you going in that anyway?"

"The social." She shrugged and picked through a laundry basket on the couch, pulling out a cozy looking sweater, perfect for the chill of this time of year when the sun dipped behind the horizon and winter's fingertips kissed the island. "Aren't you going?"

"You're the second person to ask me that." You took a sip and shook your head no.

"Who was the first?"

"Warren Flynn."

Erin laughed. "Why am I not surprised? that boy has had a crush on you since you moved to the island."

"It'll break his little heart when he finds out I have a crush of my own then."

Uh oh. The wine was talking, your lips loose with facts when you covered your mouth. Wide eyed Erin rushed to your side, a glint of pure ecstatic nature over her face.

"You what?! who? tell me! You can trust me."

"I know I can I just-"

"If you say its the new sheriff I'm gonna' lose it."

So you didn't. You just shrugged and took a deep sip of wine.

"It is! oh I can't believe this," Erin squealed with delight. "You have to come to the school tonight, he's going to be there. You two would look so good together."

"Woah slow down Erin," you slowed her down. "It's just a crush. We see each other everyday it might just be an infatuation. Besides the man is married."

Erin's sweet face fell a little. "He's actually a widower," talking about the death of a partner is never easy as is but to hear it from someone else, someone you didn't work with everyday but a close trusted friend you wondered how friendly you and Hassan really were if he hadn't told you himself. Maybe it was too painful, still too fresh in his mind to talk about. Those wounds don't ever truly heal. You knew that. "She died a few years ago, Ali... he didn't understand and Hassan carried that weight for himself and his boy. He's a good man Y/N, you two would be lucky to have each other."

You didn't need Erin to tell you that, you knew Hassan was one of the good ones.

"I don't know Erin, I have no business at a school social."

"Sure you do, you were a sub once." Erin smiled sweetly.

"Again you're the second person to tell me that!"

The school gym looked different at night, the buzzing hallways now eerily quiet and vacant as Erin finally convinced you to join her and the kids for the festivities. On the agreement that you could finish off one more glass, knowing Beverly would be present you would like some sort of a buffer if you had to deal with her at any point that evening.

There were plenty of seats taken towards the front by projector screen, a few sat together in the back laughing and throwing popcorn at each other. It smelled sickly sweet in the gym. Erin waved at few teachers before heading over to the ice cream bar.

"Didn't think you were comin'."

You turned and saw the sheriff posted up on the other side of the doors you just came in through, leaned up against the brick wall with one foot against it as well, surveying the crowd with his hands on his hips, his usual stance.

"I wasn't. Erin talked me into it."

"She can talk you into oncoming traffic it seems."

You laughed a little too loudly at that, a smile on Hassan's face when you moved to stand next to him. "If that traffic is named Beverly Keane then yes she can."

"Ya' gonna' go get some ice cream?" He looked imposing in the darkened room, dark eyes made even darker.

"Maybe later, I'm not really big on sweets."

"No? 'm pretty sure I've seen you eat a candy bar or two."

"Here and there, not like you Mr. Milkyway." You elbows his side but he didn't even budge and then the wine crept in and made you think you might have just assaulted an officer. "I didn't mean to do that! I hope you're not gonna' arrest me."

"For what?" He laughed and looked down at you. You felt miles away. "Relax Y/N I'm off duty though I'm still dressed. We're just two friends talking. A little jab isn't high on my lock up list."

You fell into a comfortable conversation, watching the others mill about before deciding on one of three movies up for election and clinking of spoons in reusable plastic cups. You looked over to find Erin who was waving over at you, giving a thumbs up and you shook your head, wild eyed as she did so blatantly.

Not in front of the sheriff!

"I'm uh gonna' go find a seat, want me to save you one?"

"Nah you go on ahead, I'll be fine back here. Just in case Joe fails on his promise of staying in tonight."

You nodded, a little sad but pushed yourself off the wall and made your way around the chairs, picking a spot in the back row waiting for Erin if she ever did sit down. She must've gotten lost in a conversation with someone because the movie was a good thirty minutes in and you hadn't seen her since you were on the wall.

A chair moved next to you and you were just about to ask Erin where she was when you noticed familiar denim and long lean legs plop down next to you, knees out wide so he could he could fit comfortably. You smiled at Hassan and he returned the gesture, knocking his shoulder into yours ever so slightly before he clasped his hands in his lap.

....

"Just ask her Dad, how hard can it be?"

You were helping an older couple from a few miles out load up their car with groceries, it was Half Price Wednesday and they were sure to show up every time. Heavy cans in one paper bag that you saved pieces of the broken down cardboard boxed from stocking so the older husband wouldn't hurt himself when they arrived back home.

You heard Ali's voice but didn't see him, bending over in the trunk to make sure their eggs and bread were secured on top.

"Not so loud, jeez."

"You're the adult here aren't you?"

"Watch it son."

You didn't want to take the tip the old man gave you, a few crumbled fives. He did this every week and every week when he turned to hobble into the driver's seat you would tuck the bills back into one of the grocery bags before shutting the trunk and waving them off.

"Come on."

"Ali wait!"

"Hey Miss Y/N!" You turned to see Ali walking up to you at the front of the store, jogging ahead of his father on the wooden planks that creaked under his weight.

"Oh hey Ali. How's it goin'?"

"Good good. Listen uh what are you doing next Friday?"

You frowned. "Why? is this some kinda' teen prank or something?"

"No no. I was wondering, well Dad and I were wondering if you'd like to come to the mainland with us next Friday." Ali smiled, one similar to his father's without all that scruffy stuff.

"Oh really? don't you two go to mosque on Friday's?"

"We do but," Ali looked behind him as Hassan was approaching the pair of you, his mouth set in a fine line. "Afterwards we go to this really nice restaurant, I think it would be nice if you came with us time."

Ali jumped a little when his Dad was behind him then, large hands clamping down on his sons' shoulders, grounding him in place.

"What are you two talking about hmm?"

"I'll see what I can do." You smiled.

"Do? do about what?" Hassan's eyes narrowed, not wary but curious.

"I'll see you around!" Ali exclaimed when you slipped passed them, patting the sheriff's shoulder and back into the store and just as you walked through the chimes you heard Hassan's tone slightly change.

"Ali what did you say?!"

You were able to move your schedule around, swapped hours so you could make it time to the ferry docks where the ship was taking on passengers. You recognized Ali right away, looking around as if he'd stolen something valuable. His light yellow jacket standing out amongst the plain blacks and browns of other people's coats. He caught your eye, excited that you had showed up in time to catch the boat with him and his father but you didn't see the sheriff anywhere in sight.

You made your way to the ramp.

"You came!"

"I'm here," you smiled and looked around as people moved passed you to get on the ferry. "Where's your dad?"

"He just went to the bathroom, he hates the one on the ferry," Ali chuckled. "I think he's just extra nervous."

"Nervous? why would he be nervous?"

Ali rolled his eyes with a smile. "Because of you. You make him nervous Miss Y/N."

Shocked you took a step back. "Well that's not good."

"No no, not in a bad way! nervous in a good way. He likes you; a lot. He talks about you all the time at home, not in front of mom of course but... I know my dad and he's giving off serious heart eyes around the house." Ali beamed and you felt dizzy.

You opened your mouth to speak, the sun shining high in your face when heard boots approaching. You turned to see Hassan out of his uniform, a thick sweater poked out from underneath a mossy green jacket, his hands shoved into the pockets.

"Hey Y/N, what are you doing here?" He asked, looking hard at his son.

"I'm going to the mainland with you guys."

Hassan let out a nervous laugh, wiping at his brow before you all walked together over the ramp and onto the ship.

"You are?"

"Well I was waiting for an invite from you but Ali asked me first, I'll take one invite from one el-Shabbaz over none."

It was cute. Downright adorable how right Ali was about his father, Hassan had bumped your hand when you got onto the ferry, he'd apologized and fumbled over his words like he was tongue tied. Ali laughed but was face deep in his phone, no doubt texting Warren all about it. You lost track of how many times he'd smoothed a large hands over his hair, how many times you had caught him promptly looking away.

They left you in the city, heading off in the direction of the mosque. You knew this area well and went into numerous shops and stores, getting yourself a coffee as well. Might as well have something hot in your cold hands, kicking through some scattered leaves at your feet. Fall had certainly set in on the coast, nights were getting colder and blustery mornings left your face with a light sting. Fragments of frost on your windows and door when you locked up and headed into work.

A while later you met up with the pair, their eyes bright and they looked refreshed. Both of them smiling as they came down the street to greet you, letting Ali take the lead in walking your group towards the restaurant that he swore had the best breadsticks.

Ali was right. Everything in that little hole in the wall restaurant was delicious, you made it a point to take a picture of the menu and add it to your list to come back to. Hassan's sweet tooth was as real as it gets when the pleasant waitress came by with a fancy little dessert menu on beautiful cardstock. He shook his head but Ali urged his father, mentioning out loud that he always got dessert. Hassan seemed to panic and cleared his throat, making wide eyes at his son across from him. He ordered some cavity rotting cheesecake that had a caramel drizzle.

Hassan was a few forkfuls into the cake, close his eyes and lips around the fork as if it were heaven on a plate. Ali got up to use the bathroom, leaving you to have a possible conversation or to watch your town's Sherriff devour his dessert.

"Ali says I make you nervous."

Hassan choked and dropped his fork with a clatter off the plate, you were surprised it didn't ping off itself and fly down to the floor. He looked at you next to him, a slight reddening beginning to sheer through under his soft brown skin. "And why would he say that?"

You moved your mouth. "No clue, he seems to be under the impression that you might have a little crush on me."

Hassan took a healthy chug of his water that he had ordered with extra lemons before locking eyes with you, you felt warm and you could only imagine he felt it even more. The chemistry between you two was clear from day one when they got to the island, had shook hands and instantly hit it off.

"Um... well he's not wrong," Hassan kindly smiled, tapping his fingers on the cloth covered table. "I just- I don't know it feels weird, ya' know? Not weird to like you but weird that I thought I'd never feel that feeling again. I didn't need to worry about having those anymore I had my person, I had no other reason or will to look at anyone other my wife. She was perfect," Hassan licked his lips and folded his hands next to the remains of his dessert. "It feels weird to like you so much, to think I could be happy again. I feel guilty."

"You don't think your wife would want you to be happy?" You asked and touched his hands, he twitched a little but let you touch him.

"I don't know. I was happy with her, I'd feel like I was disrespecting her memory if I consumed a life with you. I don't want to forget her."

"How could you? she was your wife Hassan," at the mention of his name, one that you hadn't said since the day you met him he perked up and really seemed to look at you. "She was your person, like you said there's no way you could ever forget her or what she was like or the son she gave you. You have those memories and nostalgia for that life, that's completely normal. I like you too but if it's too much, too soon or you're just not ready at all that's fine," you squeezed his fingers. "Really, you take your time to heal. All the time you need. It's not at all like my marriage," you snorted a laugh to lighten the mood and he smiled at that. He even tightened it his hold on your hand.

A week had gone by, your usual banter and jokes flowed just as usual with both of your confessions. You were both adults but hadn't taken anything further then just the accountability of it. Though you did register the way he'd take his time looking at you, gave you full attention and saved up his smiles from the day just for you.

He came out of his office, light on his feet and almost ran into you as you came around the corner with a box of oranges to set out by the window. Hassan held your arms down and actually moved you over, like moved you. Your feet barely off the ground for all of 3.2 seconds but you were in the air by his mere strength. It made you hot for the rest of the day.

You weren't expecting him to be waiting around outside chatting with Joe as he scratched behind Pike's ears. You were just locking up for the night, the sun going down earlier and earlier since the shift to change your clocks back. It was getting close to freezing at night now on Crockett, little clouds of breath hung around everyone's mouths.

"Mind if I walk you home?" The sheriff asked once you'd locked the doors. He had his own set of keys looped to the front of his jeans in case he needed to hold someone for the night.

"Sure."

There was a benevolent look about the sheriff, giving Joe Collie a pointed look as the older man put up his hands in defeat before starting off towards your house. It really wasn't necessary to own a vehicle on the island, not like that anyway all of the things and places you needed to be were right on this side of the island.

Sometimes you'd wonder what it must've been like to grow up here in Crockett, to grow up knowing everyone and everything about the folks who lived here, who fished here, who had prospered. It wasn't a long walk but it wasn't short either, just enough to have a decent chitchat or enjoy a whole cigarette.

"I'm sorry about the other day," he stated, keeping his hands inside the pockets of his jacket. Getting the memo, this jacket had a nice thick fleece inner lining. "I didn't mean to spill out all of that."

"It's fine. I understand our situation is a little off but-"

"No I mean it," he stopped in the middle of the road, the houses that were lined on either side of the street had their windows and shutters closed, curtains letting out what little light there was left. "I really do you like you Y/N, I just don't- I don't want to cause more harm then good. I come with a lot of baggage."

You closed the gap between you which wasn't much but you could see the way his body stiffened up that he was alert to the conversation. "So do I. I'm not perfect and I don't claim to be, there might be some things you don't like about me or understand how I work. I may annoy the fuck out of you and you can't stand me, you could get bored or tired of me being around but..."

"But what?"

You looked up in his face, a shy smile on his lips while he stood there in front of you with his hands balled up into bashful fists. "But I like you too much not to try."

Hassan stared at you, trying to figure you out. That smile grew and he bent his head down to your level, dark brown eyes glittering in the overhead street lights. "I'd like to try it too."

Hassan smirked and looked away for a moment. "Is that your way of asking more than one thing?"

He took your hand in his, walking the rest of the way home. Beaten and warm.

You hovered on your front steps, going up two to be eye level with him, the other houses were black leaving you two in the dim light of the streetlamp near by. Not even crickets could be heard, just the faint swish of the water not too far away.

"Do you want to come inside?"

"Maybe."

"Ali will be home soon and I-"

"It's Saturday night, he's over at Warren's anyway, he's old enough to make himself something to eat right? he'll be fine. Nothing happens here anyway. And if it does," you pointed to his walkie-talkie clipped to his belt next to his keys. You took a step down and touched his arm with a question. "Too fast?"

"No. I'd like to come inside I just," he looked down at his hand, at war with himself it seemed as he spun the little silver band around his finger took a deep breath and pulled it off. He put in his front jacket pocket, buttoning the jewelry for safe keeping and gave it a pat. "Didn't feel right to wear it when I come in."

He told you to lead the way, following you up the steps and into your house.

After you turned on a few lights and gave him a quick tour, it wasn't a mansion by any means just a two bedroom bungalow but it was yours and nice and -

Before you knew it, Hassan had turned to you, ducking down and kissed your cheek. Just a little one, as if testing the waters as if he thought he might've lost his ability to kiss after so long. His lips were lonely. And soft.

"How about a real one?" You asked, he looked golden in the lighting of your bedroom. You put your hands in his jacket pockets, pulling yourself up him as he kissed you lightly on the mouth. He kept his lips closed, that first kiss feeling sending all kinds of tingles through your body was no doubt fluttering around inside him as well.

He hummed once he felt more comfortable, holding you close so you could smell his conditioner, beard oil and deodorant and something so distinctly Hassan you had to smile against his lips. His office always smelled like that. He pulled away, looking down at you.

You said his name.

"Fuck Y/N," he shook his head as his fingers flitted over your arms. "I know its' my name but... hearing you say it is something else. Only heard you say it once. Sounds sweet."

"It must, since now it's directed to you."

He frowned. "What does that mean?"

You smiled cheekily, cupping his head and talking lowly in his ear. "I say your name all the time, you're just never here to hear it."

Hassan practically growled, his eyes on fucking fire you barely had a chance to catch your breath before his mouth was on you again, kissing you harder, smacking his lips against yours like he'd never tasted anything better than your mouth right now. You moaned into his mouth, spurring him on when he started walking, tripping over his feet to get as close to you as possible.

"You think about me?" He mumbled against your lips, his beard warm against your cheek.

"All the time baby." He groaned and shut his eyes tight. "In the shower, in the morning especially at night," you hummed as he pushed his hips into yours at the foot of your bed. "But you know when I really sing your name; after I shave, nothing better than thinking about you inside me with nothing in the way."

"Ugh, you're bare?" He groaned again, chomping at the air.

"You wanna' find out?"

His eyes sprung open and you had never taken off your coat or clothes faster, the sounds of both you shedding your layers to end up in a haphazard pile at your feet.

"Fuck," Hassan had all but growled out against your thighs which he had been mouthing and nibbling over, "I almost forgot how much I love eating pussy."

You whined at the loss of his slick lips over your own, molding them back to your bundle of nerves. For a brief lapse you envied his lost wife having married this fucking mouth, with the exquisite way Hassan used his mouth against you, flicking and tonguing and knowing the way correct way to split your bare lower lips (save for the little landing stripe of trimmed of hair on your mound), how to suckle here and lap there had you lifting your hips against his working jaw. His persistence to get you off first, hands full of thick locks as if you'd float up and away.

Sheriff Hassan knew what he doing, that was for damn for sure.

Two thick fingers moved in and out of your cunt, curling them inside you. Exploring. You keened and tightened your grip, met with a satisfied groan that you fucking reeling. His beard tickled your naked thighs, the smooth and sensitive skin vibrating with his want and need to taste, to devour you whole.

"Don't stop don't you dare fucking st-" without warning you came, a squeal of obscenities as he lapped at your clit, savoring and twisting those thick fingers through your slick just how you liked.

As if he'd done this a thousand times.

You closed your legs around his head, shuddering through your orgasm, smiling in the dark. He didn't stop, though his mouth was away from your heat his lips now secured around his own fingers, cleaning you off of them.

Quite the sight. "You're really good at that." You panted with a satisfied grin.

"Good to know I haven't lost my charm." Hassan laughed and crawled up over you on the bed, how wrinkled your shirt was on your belly, pant-less and opening your legs to accommodate his larger size. He held your face, bringing you in for a sloppy kiss. He smiled against your lips, he stopped kissing your neck for just a moment when you fumbled at your bedside, blindly grabbing into the little drawer for a condom. You brought it up between you, the foil crinkled and made Hassan look.

"Are you sure?" His lips looked almost swollen, being put to work like that.

"I am if you are."

Hassan took the condom out of your hand, turning it over in his hands before pecking your nose and sitting back on his knees. His undershirt was the first to go, he looked good in the heather grey Henley he wore earlier now forgotten on the floor, he unclipped his keys and tossed them aside before tearing at his belt and zipper.

"You're sure about this?" God forbid you rush the man, you knew you wanted him but how much he wanted you remained be seen. He stopped just as his wiggled out of his jeans, large hands on his hips that drew just enough of your attention to the impressive bulge in his boxers. "I'm not pressuring you am I?" you asked and sat up on your elbows.

"No," he smiled and hovered over you, grinding himself into the soft meat of your inner thigh. You felt him pull himself out, at an odd angle but you did catch just enough of it when he tore open the foil and rolled the safety net down his shaft. Thick and brown and pointed directly at your center. You moved your legs further apart. "I want this. I want you."

"I want you too Hassan."

You saw him physically shiver, knowing what you were doing and then gasping when you felt him press himself into you. Hassan groaned, made incredible sounds and pants when he pushed.

It was slow and intimate, the way Hassan had caged you in starting off with shallow thrusts, taking your facial expressions and hastening breaths as clues. You reached up and cupped his jaw, fingers scratching lightly into his beard until he purred and closed his eyes, long lashes nearing the apples of his cheeks. You smiled and brought your legs up to his moving waist, leaning up to capture his parted lips in a sweet kiss.

"You feel amazing." Hassan grunted, (clearly not nervous at all now) shifting his weight so he was pressed up on his arm while the other felt around your ribs, ghosting over you covered breast, giving one a loving squeeze. "I want this to last, not sure how long I can though. Never felt a grip like this before."

He seemed to be talking to out loud, looking down between your bodies, his free hand coming around you leg to grip your thigh.

"You know this isn't a one time thing right?" You mewled and pressed your chest up into his, your hands holding onto the hem of his shirt, guiding him back in when he reared back.

He paused. "I was really hoping you would say that." He laughed and it vibrated through you.

He picked up the pace after that, not entirely spearing his cock into you but more of a molding together, your walls clenching around him to keep him right where you needed. Everything between you felt incredible and sweet, the way he looked at you while he broke you apart had your mouth opening with a silent plea, a beg to get you off again. Hassan bit down on your shoulder, a fulfilled sigh passing through his teeth.

A few hours had passed by, at least. A few more foil packets littered the floor under your bed. If you could, you'd have him soak in you, keep his thick cock lodged deep inside you while you slept. Or at anytime honestly now that you had broken down the barrier. Even though Hassan had just made love to you again, not fucking though with the power he had in those hips and strong legs of his you knew he could really lay it down if you asked. His hands moved on their own, feeling every inch of your skin, shedding you of your shirt and bra. Both of you naked and basking in the early morning hours of a frosty day.

He was fast asleep next to you, wore out and sated for the first time in years. He looked so blissful and sweet you didn't want to wake him but with the rays from your blinds expanded along your wall, you knew you had to get up.

So did Crockett's lawman.

You turned in his arms, giggling quietly when he stretched still asleep, to pull you to him. You stroked the bridge of his nose which he promptly wrinkled. "Hassan... we should get up."

"Mmm not yet."

You laughed and did it again. "The town is on fire."

" 's fine, we're surrounded by water."

You shook your head and snuggled into him, breathing him in which now held tiny hints of your own scent. You liked the feeling of his fingers, strong and capable of so much tickle the blade of your shoulder, holding you close. You shrugged off getting up, everyone who wanted a seat at Saint Patrick's would be putting on their Sunday best and ready for service. And besides; nothing ever happened on the Crock Pot anyway.

As you fell back to sleep there was no way in knowing just how naïve and sadly wrong you were.

#this was so fun #midnight mass imagine #midnight mass fic #midnight mass fanfiction #sheriff hassan #sheriff hassan imagine #midnight mass smut #sheriff hassan fic #sheriff hassan x reader #sheriff hassan x female reader #sheriff hassan x you #sheriff hassan x y/n #sheriffs hassan smut #nswf writing #my work #sheriff hassan el shabbaz x reader #sherriff hassan el-shabbaz x reader #sheriff el-shabbaz x female reader

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nocturnal-milk-dud · 3 years

Text

Room For Two

Pairing: Sheriff Hassan el-Shabbaz x Reader

Summary: Ali gets into trouble and goes to you instead of his dad

Warning/notes: mini angst; some fluff; stressed out dad Hassan; drowning reference; inebriation; two very smart dumb people; yearning; I'm only on episode 4 so maybe this sucks and is OOC, and also no spoilers please

@artemiseamoon @heresathreebee @acrossthesestars

Rating: PG-13

Word count: 989

The boy stands on your porch, shivering and drenched to the skin, looking like a cat that fell in a bathtub. His whole right side is covered in mud, and he’s missing a shoe.

“I can’t go home,” he pleads with you. Ali had been coming back from the Uppards with Ooker and Warren when the sky broke open with rain, and the wind and waves tossed the boat around. And now he’s at your door, too scared to go home and face his dad. You let the boy in and find him a towel, a faded band tee, and a pair of gray sweatpants that used to belong to your husband. For some reason you can’t get rid of them. You get a glass of water and place it on the bedside table.

“I have to call your dad,” you say once Ali is settled in your spare bedroom. He starts to protest but you give him a look that shuts him up immediately. “I need to call him. He needs to know where you are, and that you’re safe.” Your tone tells him there’s no room for arguing, so he doesn’t. Instead he punches the pillow a couple times and hunkers down under the covers. You shut off the light and close the door.

You’re sitting on the porch when Hassan arrives. You’d called him after putting Ali’s clothes in the washer and checking in on the boy one more time.

“Sheriff,” you say, putting on a heavy Southern accent and tipping an imaginary hat. The action usually gets a smile out of him, but not tonight. Hassan is ruffled, mentally and physically. His hair is falling in front of his forehead, and he’s wearing a gray t-shirt, jeans and a jacket thrown on in a hurry. He bounds up your porch steps.

“Where is he?” Hassan asks.

“He’s inside,” you say. Hassan reaches for the door and you reach for Hassan, putting a hand on his arm. “Sleeping,” you add. “Sit down.” You gesture to the small cushioned sofa. He meets you halfway, deciding to lean unhappily against the railing, arms crossed over his chest. The two of you remain there in a heavy silence.

“Are you okay?” you try, not quite sure how else to break the silence.

“My son almost drowned and he thought he couldn’t tell me about it, so no, not really,” he says before smoothing a hand over the lower half of his face and searching the porch for answers. “Why didn’t he just come home?” You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t already been thinking about this question, or some version of it.

“At my parent’s house there was a tree outside my bedroom window. I would use it to sneak out. One night when I was sixteen, I came home completely wasted. But I climbed that tree so much that I didn’t even think about it. I fell and broke my arm. I was more scared of my dad than the pain, but I was also too drunk to really feel it, and I know it’s not the same. Anyway, if I had someone like me then, I would’ve gone to them too. All I could think was my dad was gonna be pissed--it didn’t cross my mind that he might be scared. Talk to him tomorrow, hug him. It’ll work out.” You see the tension slowly leaving Hassan’s shoulders and he rubs the back of his neck. You curl your fingers in your blanket, unable to stop yourself from imagining his face cradled in your hands, relaxing as you stretch up on tiptoe to kiss his forehead.

“What did your dad do?” Hassan asks eventually.

“He asked me if I was okay, took me to the hospital. When it was all over he laughed at me and grounded me for a month.” You smile at the memory, and the two of you are silent again. It’s late, and you’re tired. You know he is too, the adrenaline having seeped out, taking its effects with it.

“You can stay here if you want,” you offer. “There’s room.” Hassan shakes his head, pushing away from the railing.

“I need to walk,” he says and you watch as he lopes down the steps and stalks off into the night.

Hassan does come back. The cold hits hard halfway through his walk, and he’s huddled deep into his jacket, fists in his pockets pulling it tight around his chest. And he’s exhausted, so much more than he realized. Your porch is empty when he returns, but you have a bad habit of leaving the dutch door to your kitchen unlocked. He lets himself in, kicking off his boots, making sure to lock the door behind him. The house is quiet and he treads softly back to your bedroom. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do when he gets there, and his heart is beating insistently, a beat he hasn’t felt in what seems like a very long time. Your door is closed and it’s dark at the gap between the door and the carpet. Hassan lifts his hand. He wants to knock, but he doesn’t, just rests his hand on the door.

You’re not sleeping. A tree branch is knocking at your window and you’re staring at the ceiling, thinking things that you reserve for the dark privacy of your bedroom. Hands pulling warmth back into your body, a beard brushing against your skin, deep growls buried in the curve of your neck. You can’t turn your brain off and eventually you give up and leave the room. When you turn the lights on in the kitchen you see him. Hassan is stretched out on your couch, fast asleep, arm tucked under his head. You smile softly and pull a blanket off the back of a chair, covering him with it. You want to do more: place a kiss on his forehead or stroke his cheek, but you don’t. You shut the lights off and go back to your room.

#sheriff hassan x reader #hassan el shabbaz x reader #midnight mass #midnight mass fic #hassan el shabbaz #rahul kohli

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tropes-and-tales · 3 years

Text

At Your Window

Day 22: Exhibitionism/voyeurism (Sheriff Hassan x F!Reader)

(For the 2021 Kinktober event offered by @beeschaos and @withlove-sid. The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW: Smut, though nothing very explicit (voyeurism; exhibitionism; masturbation (F implied; M slightly heavier implied)); 18+ only to be safe.

Word Count: 2376

AN: This is very late - apologies! Kinktober is going to go into Kinkvember, alas.

Crockett Island is quiet. After years of living in New York City, any small town without all-night bodegas would seem quiet. But Crockett Island – population barely 120 – is quiet. Quiet as the grave.

Sheriff Hassan doesn’t mind it. Actually, he sort of loves the quiet. Loves the lack of traffic noise, the lack of so much humanity stacked up on top of each other in a city that never sleeps. He loves sipping his coffee in the morning when the grey dawn breaks over the island. He loves the wash of color at sunset, the quiet in his home. Playing music as he makes dinner for himself and Ali. Evening prayers with his son.

Taking a final pass around the house – locking doors, turning off lights – before going to bed. On Crockett Island, in the deep quiet, Hassan can actually fall asleep with a book. No car alarms, no early morning delivery trucks. He falls asleep and stays asleep until his alarm in the morning wakes him.

It’s a balmy summer night. In New York, it is probably unbearably muggy, but on this island, there’s a lovely breeze coming in off the ocean. Hassan skips his usually post-dinner, post-prayer book (he’s working through “Lonesome Dove” currently). Instead, he sits out on his porch. The back porch.

Crockett Island is quiet at night, but people do tend to sit on their front porches in the evening. Hassan, not entirely embraced by the population yet, prefers to sit on his back porch some nights. There’s little chance of getting those looks from certain citizens. The askance look, the suspicious way some people eye the bearded Muslim on an island of mostly white Christians.

Okay, may as well say it: some people means Beverly Keane.

So Hassan, who’s feeling good on such a beautiful summer night, sits on the back porch, just in the off-chance that Beverly Keane comes strolling by with her sharp little sparrow eyes and judgmental, pursed mouth.

He settles back in the porch swing, sets it gently swaying. There’s no moon tonight, and the stars glitter like a spill of diamonds across black velvet. Hassan was born and raised in New York City. He never knew the night sky held so many stars.

But his eye is drawn away from the sky. It’s a sound that pulls his gaze away first – a woman’s voice, singing – and Hassan peers across his narrow backyard of sandy scrub to look at his neighbor’s house.

The residents of Crockett Island seem to fall along the lines of his experience in life: there’s some overtly prejudiced people (Beverly Keane), with the majority falling in some agnostic middle ground – not hostile, but not openly friendly.

But on the furthest end of the spectrum, opposite of the Bev Keane’s of the island, are people like you. His neighbor that lives in the little saltbox behind him. Two days after he and Ali moved in, there you were: at their front door with an actual apple pie, a wide smile on your face as you introduced yourself.

“It’s halal,” you had told him when you handed him the pie. “I checked a website before I baked it.”

“Apples aren’t haram,” Hassan had told you with a smile, but he was secretly touched at the effort.

“No, but lard is. I used vegetable shortening.” A beat. “The crust is also gluten free.”

Hassan had smiled wider at that. “Gluten is halal.”

“Ah, but celiac disease affects all colors and creeds,” you had replied. “And I didn’t want to take a chance at making the new sheriff or his kid sick in the off-chance they had an intolerance.”

“Didn’t want to end up on the radar of the law?”

You had laughed at that, then turned to leave. “You’re already onto me, sheriff,” you had joked. “I was going to bribe you with baked goods, then expect you to turn a blind eye to my criminal enterprises.”

-----

It is the joke that the two of you build your neighborly relationship off of: you as the criminal kingpin of Crockett Island, him the staid law.

“Staying out of trouble?” he’d call out when he saw you at the general store.

“Of course,” you’d call back to him in his office. “I certainly know nothing about that cocaine refinery in the Uppards.”

Or he’d see you walking the path between your houses and stop you. Give you a stern look, hands on hips. Tell you that he had his eye on you in his most official-police voice.

“I’m definitely not on my way back from cutting tags off of mattresses,” you’d reply.

“The most heinous of crimes,” he’d agree.

In reality, you work as the dispatcher for the ferries to the mainland and island contact for the fishing boats when they are out at sea. In reality, you and Hassan only exchange a handful of words any given week. In reality, as much as Ali teases him about the cute woman that lives behind them, Hassan doesn’t pursue anything. You were born and raised on the island, and Hassan is still an interloper. You may be sweet and funny, but…

Okay, there’s no good reason why he doesn’t ask you out. When Ali teases him, Hassan never has a good reason why his son is wrong. He has a bunch of bad reasons. Flimsy reasons.

But each day that passes, each joke the two of you exchange…even those bad, flimsy reasons crumble under the pressure.

-----

Now, sitting on his back porch in the summer darkness, his eye is drawn to the sound of you singing. His house is a little higher than yours, on a slight rise, so he essentially can look down into your house. There’s light in one window – your bedroom, from the looks of it – and Hassan can hear you singing along. You’re a little off-key, but you’re listening to Nina Simone.

In his music collection, Hassan has an entire portion of his shelf that belongs to Miss Simone.

If he leans forward and focuses, he can see into your bedroom too.

There’s so little crime on the island. Really, as a sheriff, he’s more of an all-purpose problem-solver. But this…this is a crime. And Hassan knows it.

He’s become a Peeping Tom.

Because when he leans forward and focuses and really looks, he sees that you aren’t just singing along to Nina Simone. You’re getting ready for bed, and it’s a warm summer night – you’re in a soft-looking slip. It’s not sexy lingerie – it’s just you in the bedroom alone – but the straps are thin, and the bodice looks like it’s straining across your breasts. It’s also short, showing off a generous portion of your thighs.

Hassan keeps thinking, “I’ll go inside now. I’ll stop looking now.” But he can’t tear his eyes away.

It’s mundane, everyday. Ordinary. You walk across your bedroom and turn off the music. You sit on the edge of your bed. You put lotion on your hands, then rub it into your knees and elbows. The gesture makes tears rise in Hassan’s eyes, unbidden – his wife had done just the same when she was alive.

That’s what makes him turn away and go inside. The intimacy of the scene.

-----

Hassan sees you the next day. Flags you down as you walk between your house and his. He’s embarrassed, a little, but he feels that it’s the right thing to do.

“Hey, Kingpin,” he calls out. “Can you stop for a moment?”

The sun is setting, and the sky is a soft pastel wash that casts the island in a dreamy light. You walk over to him, swinging your lunch cooler like a kid. Your smile is wide, and you tilt your head at him.

“What’s up, Johnny Law?” you ask.

He clears his throat, hesitates to answer. Confessing seemed better when he was alone in his office, but now that you’re in front of him, his courage flags a little.

“Look,” he finally says. He points across the scrubby, sandy yard to your house. “I didn’t know if you knew but…people can see into your bedroom window at night when you don’t draw your curtains.”

You turn and follow his pointing, and your brows knit together. “People? Who complained?”

“Well, no one,” he admits. “I was sitting out here last night and saw you.”

You turn back and face him. “What did you see? Anything good?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“Saw you…rolling joints. Counting cash. Filing serial numbers off of stolen guns.” He leans into your usual joking routine, unwilling to admit that he was ogling you in your sleepwear.

“The usual Tuesday night then.” You laugh, and it makes him smile.

“Just wanted to let you know.”

You look around, take in the landscape before you turn to face him. “Well, I think you’re the only one with a view, Sheriff.”

“Just wanted to let you know,” he repeats.

You gaze at him a long moment, and Hassan is so rusty in relationships, widowed for so many long years and nary a date since then. But he swears he can see something in your expression. Can’t quite place it, but it’s something.

“If you want me to draw the curtains, I will,” you finally say softly.

Hassan shakes his head. “Just wanted to let you know,” he says a third time. He swallows, puts his hands on his hips. “Just…wanted you to be aware that whatever you may do at night, someone may be watching.”

You give him another long look, but then you nod. You tell him good-night and turn to return to your own home, and there’s a strange feeling deep in Hassan’s stomach that takes a long time to die off.

-----

It starts small, that summer. Hassan guesses that you’ve guessed at his apprehension at returning to the dating pool, and it takes him until the winter – when both of you are in a full-fledged relationship – to realize what you did all summer.

You lead him, a half-step at a time, out of his comfort zone. Out of his solitary life as a widower and a single father. Out of his apprehension, and towards you.

The first time after his confession to you: you in a t-shirt and sleep shorts, at your window with the curtains open wide. You standing in the window, backlit by the soft light of your lamp, the light throwing your silhouette in relief. Hassan can’t make out the details, but he can see the lines of your body – and you stand there a long, long moment before turning away.

The next few times, you undress by the window. Again, he can’t make out the details, backlit as you are, and you face away from the window, so he can only see your back. Still, there’s something about the gestures: pulling your shirt over your head, the way you arch your back a little to untangle the shirt from your stretched arms. The little shimmy you do to push your pants down.

All the while, during the mornings and days, he talks to you more. You walk up to the general store for your lunch break sometimes, stop in for a mid-afternoon coffee with him. Some mornings you stop in to greet Joe Collie sleeping off his bender – you’re one of the few residents to treat Joe kindly, which makes Hassan love you even more. You stop by the front of the store to pet Pike and scratch the great big mutt behind his ears.

And Hassan walks down to the docks to see you too. He uses the guise of his role as sheriff (“looking for contraband,” he jokes once), but he gets to see you more. Talk to you more.

And he sees you more at night, across the narrow backyard the two of you share.

He never sees anything explicit. Only ever your body backlit by your lamp, or you in your sedately sexy sleepwear. Never any scandalous lingerie. Never your naked body. Somehow that’s more erotic, more intimate, watching you get ready for bed in your soft cotton slips or sleep shorts, watching you work lotion into your wind-chapped hands.

One night, he watches you climb into bed and pull out a book. He asks you about it the next morning, wants to know what you’re reading. It’s the first time he acknowledges that he watches, and you don’t seem surprised – which is an acknowledgement from you that you’ve known he was watching the whole time.

But another night, you appear in your window. You’re in another slip, and your head is backlit by the light so that you look like an angel, the soft yellow light shimmering around you like an aura, like a halo. You fix his back porch with a long look – he knows that you can’t see him, shrouded as he is in darkness.

Then you draw the curtains.

Hassan’s first thought is that you have someone in the house with you. That you’ve brought home a lover – maybe one of the gruff, older bachelor fishermen, or maybe someone your own age from the mainland. The flare of jealousy burns hot in him, and he can feel the heat rise up his neck at the thought of you in bed with another man.

But the logical cop part of his mind tells him the truth: no one is in there with you. You’re alone. And you’ve drawn the curtains….which means, maybe, that you’re doing something you’d be embarrassed for him to see.

Not applying lotion. Not reading. Not singing off-key to Nina Simone.

The realization hits him harder than the initial sting of jealousy. It makes his face burn hotter, makes the blood course southward.

Makes Hassan give your dark window one last, lingering look before he hurries inside his own house to make his way to bed. To relieve himself of the tension that suddenly has him gripped like a fist.

The thought makes him come in no time whatsoever, like a teenaged boy: the thought that as he is touching himself, you are a mere handful of yards away, likely doing the exact same thing.

Maybe thinking of him, just as he’s thinking about you.

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#sheriff hassan #sheriff hassan el shabbaz #sheriff hassan x reader #sheriff hassan imagine #sheriff hassan el shabbaz x reader #sheriff hassan el shabbaz imagine #midnight mass #kinktober2021

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spellboundspectre · 2 years

Text

empty nest

sheriff hassan el-shabazz x fem!reader; 18+ only, minors dni.

content: implied werewolf!hassan, breeding kink, unsafe sex, established relationship, claiming marks, cumflation, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, mentions of a knot, slight A/B/O, this is just gross baby making sex ok

word count: 4.6k

a/n: i fucked around and procrastinated working on my own collab for so long that i actually started working on it again! this is my much belated addition to the claws and creampies collab, and you can find all other associated works here

Something has been off with your dear sheriff as of late.

Not off in a way that has you scrambling, wondering what you did wrong and if the relationship was over. Hassan let you know how much he loved you at every opportunity. Off in a way that made you curious. He often had spells like these from time to time, but ever since the two of you moved in together, they seemed to occur every month like clockwork.

Hassan was an odd man, moving to your little mountain town out of the blue one day with his son in tow. The few hundred farmers that made up this town were eager to welcome them, grateful for the first new blood to join the community in years.

The sheriff was hesitant to embrace the kindness of his new neighbors at first. Given his experience in the last town he was sheriff in, you didn’t blame him. But with enough time, and properly prepared home-cooked meals, he came around.

Well, mostly.

Before Ali left for college, the two of them would often go on hunting trips, a tradition Hassan still upheld. For as much as that man claimed to hunt, he only came back with a kill every other trip.

“Had to have something to eat up there, babe.” He reassures you.

There were still some secrets Hassan kept. Despite how much you wanted to pry, you didn’t. He never gave you reason to believe he was cheating on you, hell, in the last few months, he’d been more affectionate than ever. So if once a month he wanted a little privacy, you had no issues giving him just that.

Your relationship was all about space in the beginning. Hassan was hesitant to enter a relationship at first, you could tell just by looking at the wedding ring he still wore on his left hand every day. But still, you had your eye set on him, and he was a man worth waiting for. You chalked it up to his being a widow, but lately you were beginning to think it was something else entirely.

From the moment you made things official, Hassan became extremely affectionate. Each day began and ended with him wrapping his arms around you, and letting out a deep sigh like a weight had been lifted off his broad shoulders.

Turns out he wasn’t afraid of dating again, but that he was afraid of coming on too strong. And that’s what was throwing you off. One minute he was gruff, standoffish almost, running out the door, barely saying goodbye before he left for the day. The next he was all over you, pulling you close for a kiss and rubbing his hands all over your stomach like he wanted to put something inside it.

You took it as inspiration.

Hassan had mentioned wanting another child before, but only as an vague idea. Him and his late wife didn’t have the time to plan another pregnancy with their combined work schedules, and by the time they considered it again, Ali was too old, and then she was too sick.

But the job he had now was more of a formality, people ‘round here didn’t bother each other too often, and if a problem did arise, they made sure to take care of it before the police were called. The last incident that required actual police work in this town was when old Bill Sharp’s cows were “stolen”, and even that turned out to be a false alarm.

They were less stolen and more the gate was left unlocked by a forgetful old man.

He’d have plenty of free time to chase around a new addition, you reasoned.

You’d noticed the way his eyes softened when he saw a baby being pushed around in a stroller as the two of you were out in town, and the way he was especially handsy when the two of you would retire for the evening.

It’d been a long time since you stopped using condoms, but you still took your daily dose of hormones to keep any major surprises from popping up. You tried to tell yourself it was still too early in your relationship, that you weren’t ready to be a mom.

And yet, you had started pointing out babies to Hassan and acted none the wiser when starting catching on to you. Your plan was too far along in motion to stop, anyways. According to your calendar, Hassan would be leaving in a few days for one of his hunting trips. If you didn’t act now, you’d lose your nerve.

Dinner had been cooked, your lingerie had arrived in the mail earlier in the week and you’d already laundered it and wore it under the short dress you picked out for dinner. Hassan was due home any minute now, and you were waiting for him eagerly on the couch.

Propping yourself up on your side, you maneuvered your body so your every curve was on perfectly display. Before you was an open magazine that you were pretending to read as you bide your time.

The familiar sound of Hassan’s engine rumbles into the driveway before going quiet and anxiety starts to twist in your gut. You’re confident that this will work, but you’re also a realist and know there’s still a chance you could get rejected.

But all of that doubt is quickly forgotten when Hassan walks through the door and looks completely awestruck at the sight of you.

“That’s upside down, you know,” Hassan says, gesturing to your magazine.

Blood rushes to your cheeks in embarrassment, but it doesn’t matter. Those deep brown eyes rake over all of your exposed skin. You’d spent an hour rubbing lotion and oil on every inch of your body, judging from the way the light was sparkling off your skin it was paying off nicely.

“Dinner’s on the stove,” you say innocently, “If you’re hungry.”

Hassan can barely pry his eyes away from you, let alone listen to anything you have to say, but he nods all the same and shrugs out of his denim jacket.

“Might be hungry for a little something else, honey,” you smile at his use of your pet name.

“Oh?” You toss the magazine onto the coffee table and sit up a little straighter, “Anything I could help with?”

“I think you might be able to,” his voice has dropped a full octave now.

His eyes are focused on you as he walks across the room in a few steps, long legs making quick work of the distance between the front door and your couch. As soon as he’s within arm’s reach, you grab him and pull him on to the couch with you. Hassan chuckles as you quickly straddle him and start peppering his face with kisses.

“Not even going to ask me about my day?” He laughs as you press your lips to a particularly ticklish spot on his neck.

“Forgive me,” you say between kisses, “How was your day?”

Again, your sheriff laughs, torn between being stubborn and taking advantage of the mood you’re in. Pride wins out and Hassan manages to tell you all the boring details about his day, even if he does stumble on his words when you suck his earlobe into your mouth and give it a soft squeeze with your teeth.

“So,” he huffs, “How was your day?”

You hum as you press a kiss to the tip of his nose, running your fingers through his beard. In the back of your head you note how quickly his hair seems to have grown since you last gave him a haircut.

“It was okay,” you say in a bored voice, “Nothing too exciting.”

Hassan nods, eyes focused on how the hem of your dress is barely covering the edge of your panties. His mouth seeks out the side of your neck, lazily pressing soft kisses into the tender flesh.

“You know, babe,” you purr, “Our anniversary is around the corner.”

Hassan hums as he sucks a mark into your neck, only half focused as he kneads your ass.

“Do you want me to give you your present early?”

“What is it?” He asks between kisses.

“I stopped taking my birth control.”

Hassan stops immediately, hands flying to your shoulder and pulling you away from him. You can’t read the emotion on his face, a mix between rage and excitement flashes across his face.

“You should not have told me that.”

All the color drains from your face.

“I thought… You kept acting like you wanted to..,” you stutter. “Fuck, I’m so stupid.”

Dropping your head, you hide your hands in your face.

“Oh god,” you groan, “Ali is grown up and you probably don’t want to become a dad all over again in your forties, I’m so dumb. I’m sorry, Hassan.”

You can feel tears coming on, and the last thing you want to do is cry in front of Hassan. But when you try to remove yourself from this situation, Hassan’s strong hands keep you in place. He’s hard when he grinds his cock against your center, and there’s a rumbling noise in his chest.

“You want to have a kid with me?” asks Hassan.

He’s practically panting when you look up from your hands, pupils blown black and face flushed.

Oh.

You drop your hands and let them rest on his chest hesitantly.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Hassan pulls you closer, until there’s only a small gap between the two of you.

“You want me to fuck a baby into you?”

He’s never spoken to you like this before. Never looked at you like you were a meal ready to be devoured before. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was drooling. His cock is grinding into you a little more now and you can feel your panties growing wetter with each passing second.

“I wouldn’t be opposed to the idea,” you say sheepishly.

Again, Hassan groans, his lids flutter shut and his nostrils flare as he exhales. He shifts you closer to him again, his mouth seeking out the same patch of skin as before.

“There’s… something we need to talk about first,” he groans against the column of your throat.

A nervous feeling, settles in your belly and twists in your gut.

There’s no interpretation of his words that could be anything less than ominous.

“T-talk?” You gulp, “About what, baby?”

You chew your bottom lip. Hassan’s brows knit as he leans back in his chair to get a better look at you.

“Not that kind of talk, I promise honey,” Hassan assures you as he rubs his thumb against the exposed flesh of your thigh.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed my uh,” Hassan clears his throat, “Hunting trips.”

You cock your head to the side, as if to act innocent. “Not in the slightest, babe.”

Your sheriff rolls his eyes and gives you a playful smack on the ass. His fingers sink into the fat there, making the sting linger.

“I’m trying to be serious, honey,” he says despite the way his cock hasn’t calmed down, “I go on those trips so I don’t lose control of myself.”

There’s no ounce of humor in his voice, no laughter behind his eyes. Hassan is serious, albeit still aroused, and you chastise yourself for making light of the situation.

“I do that to keep you safe,” Hassan says, “From me.”

You arch your brow, fighting the urge to laugh again. Your sheriff wasn’t the kind of man to put his hands on you unless you asked him to.

“You’re the last man I’d be afraid of, Hassan.”

He sighs, squeezing your thigh as he tries to put together his next sentence.

“I’m not like most of the men you’ve dated before, honey.” He wasn’t.

Hassan was far kinder, more passionate, more patient than any man you’d ever met before. He loved you through your good moods and your bad, he loved when you barely even liked yourself.

Your sheriff took all your bullshit, all your flaws and shortcomings, and he loved you even more as each day went on.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

That uneasy feeling returned to your gut.

“There’s something in my family that only affects males, makes us stronger, faster than most, but also a lot more intense than most. Especially when it comes to having kids.”

You shrug, “So you really want kids, big deal.”

Hassan forces a laugh and tries to smile, but his lips don’t obey him. It comes out as a panicked look instead.

“A little more than that. When I find someone as uh,” He pauses and flares his nostrils, “As compatible as we are it gets to be more than just wanting kids. It’s like a physical need,” He stresses the last syllable to illustrate the importance of his words, “So I leave because I don’t know if I could control myself… with you.”

Unease turns to excitement.

“So what? You think you’ll fuck me to death?” You tease, grinding your cunt against him, “I may not be as strong as you, but I don’t break that easily.”

“I’m not worried I’d break you, but I am worried I’ll scare you off,” Hassan’s eyes are glassing over as he speaks, his mouth hanging open as he tries not to lose himself in the way your hips are sending a renewed flow of blood to his cock.

“Like I said baby, I’m not scared of you, and I don’t plan on going anywhere any time soon,” you whisper against the shell of his ear.

Sex with Hassan was always wonderful. He made sure to spend more than enough attention on you to make sure you came just as many times as he did, if not more. But still, you could tell he was holding himself back, not fully with you in the moment.

And the idea that it was because he didn’t want to hurt you? The thought aroused you more than you’d like to admit. Your sheriff–the man known for being calm and cool under pressure-was doing his best not to ravage you.

Hassan’s fingers are kneading the globes of your ass, guiding your hips as they rock against him.

“Good, because I don’t have any plans of letting you go any time soon, honey.”

With that Hassan kisses you, and those brief worries are long forgotten.

He’ll reminisce on how much he loves you later, right now he needs to see you cum. Needs to watch you fall apart on his finger tongue and cock. Hassan gathers you in his arms and pivots your bodies so that you’re pinned to the couch underneath him, never letting his lips leave yours.

You keen for him, falling limp in his hold so he can manipulate you however he likes. The two of you exchange heated kisses for a while before your sheriff is finally ready to part from you, his mouth traveling lower and lower until he’s face to face with your cunt. A sight he marvels at.

The fabric of your panties is soaked with your arousal, and the thin material clings to folds of your pussy and clit, clearly outlining the sensitive flesh. Hassan lets his tongue glide along the cloth teasingly, smirking when the gentle stimulation is enough to have you moaning for him.

Hassan’s need possesses his body, his fingers rub your clit with added fervor. Your legs tense at first as the pleasure shocks your clit like a strike of lightning, but as the electricity spreads in pulsating waves throughout your body, your legs spread for him like the blooming petals of a flower.

His tongue fans over your clit, hotter than usual but not unpleasantly so. With a groan, your sheriff finally unpeels the damp material from your puffy lips with his thumb. He doesn’t remove them entirely, just pulls them to the side and uses his other hand to keep them pulled out his way so he can devour you.

Hassan sighs into your flesh as the flavor of your cunt spreads over his tongue, your juices just the right side of tart that has his mouth watering for more. Your sheriff laps at you like a man starved, his tongue worshiping every inch of your cunt as you cry out wantonly. Your fingers dig into the fabric of the couch pillows, your hips canting up to meet his mouth in wild fashion.

Has he always been this ravenous when he’s gone down on you? Has he always been this talented? Hassan seems completely enraptured in your cunt, eyes shut completely as his tongue laves over your folds.

You’re brought just to the edge of orgasm, so close you can feel your thighs start to shake, and Hassan stops. Just as you’re about to scream, you can hear the jingle of Hassan’s belt as he rushes in trying to remove all the clothing that separates the two of you.

“Can’t wait, honey,” he says hurriedly, “I’m sorry.”

Without any further preamble, Hassan slides his cock into and howls in relief.

He doesn’t work his way up like he usually does. As soon as he’s done savoring the way your cunt quivers around him he begins thrusting his hips in earnest. Each time he bottoms out, the air is pushed from your lungs and all you can take in are tiny gulps of air.

It feels like a race, another orgasm is quickly approaching for you as Hassan blindly chases his own. His face is buried in your neck, hiding what you’re sure in an expression that could only be described as obscene. His teeth tease as the tender skin on your neck, worrying the flesh until a dark bruise forms. He repeats the process on any part of your skin his mouth can reach.

He’s marking you, you realize.

The hickeys traveled all the way up to your jawline, and it wouldn’t take a genius to look at them and figure out what you’d been up to. But it was the who part that concerned Hassan. He wanted everyone to know you were his, and if they didn’t know already, Hassan wanted to make sure they’d have a hard time forgetting.

You don't linger on the thought much longer.

Your sheriff is nuzzling his cheek against you, silently begging you to kiss him. Everything feels more intense than it usually does, your skin more sensitive as Hassan is pressed close to you. With every rut of his hips, the hair that coats the plane of his chest grazes against your nipples.

Sluggishly, you turn your face to meet Hassan and your eyes flutter shut as you kiss him.

It could almost be described as a chaste kiss at first, his plump lips pressed against yours. You sigh, and part your lips just slightly, and the tip of your sheriff’s tongue is wetting your bottom lip before he slides into your waiting mouth. The faint flavor of your pussy lingers on his tongue, though now it has mixed with the taste of his own saliva.

In the back of your mind, you marvel at how the combined tastes of the two of you are the most delicious thing in this world.

Your hips move in time with his, arching to meet every thrust, rising as he drags his cock out of you to draw out the ecstasy of the moment. Hassan is bigger than usual, engorged shaft stretching the walls of your cunt. Combined with the way he left you on edge mere minutes ago, you’re already climbing the peak towards orgasm.

“Cum for me,” he commands against your lips.

Hassan can feel it too, your walls flutter around his cock, milking him. It brings him to the edge as well, and he shifts the angels of his hips so he can better drill into your center.

You’ve been letting out a steady string of moans–music to Hassan’s ears–but none of it compares to the way you scream as your orgasm rips through your body.

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even closer as the waves of your orgasm ripple over your body. Rivulets of cum stain your cunt white, but Hassan’s cock doesn’t soften in the slightest.

You’re drunk from your orgasm, the edges of everything still hazy, but your vision sharpens when Hassan hooks his hands under the curve of your knee and shifts your body so you’re laying on your stomach, legs tucked under your body and cunt on perfect display for him.

“B-baby?” you ask dreamily.

Hassan shushes you and smooths his hand down your back, gently guiding you into arching your back so he can get a better grip on your hips. The change in angle has his cockhead grinding against your g-spot cruelly.

A broken moan is pushed from your lips and it’s all the incentive Hassan needs to start pumping his hips into you again.

The sweat-slicked sounds of your fucking echo against the walls. It’s debaucherous and sinful, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t love every minute of it. The remains of your sheriff’s last orgasm now act as lubricant to ease the glide of his cock into you. Hassan rubs at your puckered hole occasionally, only pushing against the muscle, but never penetrating.

He’ll save that for another day.

He can feel the way you tighten around him when he pushes a little too aggressively and you don’t hate it as much as you thought you’d might.

You cum another two times–or is it three?–before Hassan finally fills you with another load of his spend, but still his cock doesn’t calm. If anything, it seems to have swelled in girth, especially around the base. Every swing has this swollen gland pushing against your g-spot. You’re long past the point of overstimulation. All you can do is lie in a heap and take whatever he gives you.

“M’so close honey,” he pants against the back of your neck.

Hassan has draped himself over you now, his chest pressed to your back as he curls himself around you. Still, his cock is buried within you and it pulses with his heartbeat. There’s a layer of sweat that’s broken out over your skin, the only thing that separates the two of you.

“One more ought to do it,” Hassan sighs as he interlocks his fingers with yours.

One more round might be the death of you, you think. Still you don’t deny him, instead, you pull his hands so they’re closer to your face and press a kiss to his knuckles. Hassan returns it by kissing the back of your neck where your spine raises up. His hips resume their rhythm and you close your eyes in bliss.

What was he so afraid of? You think.

As primal as your coupling is, there’s no denying that it feels almost natural. The two of you rutting against each other like wild animals in the hopes of conceiving. Hassan is more vocal this time, groaning in your ear how good you feel, how well you’re taking, how he can’t wait to see you swollen with his child. Endless praise spills forth from his mouth and it’s more than you can take.

Tears are welling at the corner of your eyes, the side effect of multiple orgasms in such a short span. But Hassan’s hips are starting to slow, though his thrusts grow in intensity. That spot at the base of his cock seems to have swollen even more, agonizingly pushing against your walls with such force you feel it in the pit of your stomach.

Each breath is stuttered now, lungs desperately gulping down air only to spit it right back out. You don’t have enough strength left in you to moan, all you can do is cry silently and grip Hassan’s hands for dear life.

You’re so drunk on his cock that wonder if heaven would measure up to this paradise.

He hits the deepest spot inside you and you shatter around him. There’s a moment where your vision whites out, where all the details of the world around are gone and you’re just floating.

There’s a faint buzzing between your ears when you come to; the press of Hassan’s lips against your shoulder. You’re completely blissed out, but still, you feel safe and at home in his arms.

“You still with me, honey?” His voice is thick with lust.

He doesn’t want to stop, but more than anything, he doesn’t want to keep going if you aren’t a willing participant.

“Just,” you gasp, “just give me a minute.”

Hassan exhales a breathy laugh against your skin. There’s a good chance he’s already done the dead, already filled you within cum to get you pregnant. But there’s a slim chance your egg remains intact, and still a swollen knot he’d love to pop inside you. From the corner of his eye, he studies the base of your neck and his tongue juts out to wet his suddenly dry lips.

Your sheriff is a man with a vast vocabulary, one gained over a lifetime of study and experience. Despite this, the only word he can think of to describe that patch of flesh is appetizing.

Something in his biology is screaming inside him, and without thinking he latches his mouth to the base of your throat, where your collarbones and neck meet, and sinks his teeth in until he can taste blood.

Hassan’s eyes shut as the coppery taste of your blood fills his senses and the added stimuli has his cock twitching like never before. The pressure at the base of his cock bursts and you’re filled with an inhuman amount of cum. Your poor cunt, already filled to the brim with his two previous loads, seizes at the additional deposit. While you thought you were impossibly full before, you manage to go past that point, your belly swelling with his cum.

You’re both completely drained now, not a drop of energy left in either of your bodies. For a while, the two of you just lie there, limbs still entwined and coated in a layer of your joined fluids. At some point, you drift off to sleep, lulled into a brief slumber by the steady sound of Hassan’s breathing.

When you wake, you’re tucked into the softest of your blankets, limbs aching as you try to stretch. Your sheriff is humming from the other room, and you tell how cheery he is even across the house. Experimentally, you stretch out your legs, limbs stiff from being folded underneath you for an extended period of time. There isn’t the stickiness you expect to feel at the junction of your thighs, Hassan must have cleaned you up while you were still sleeping.

You hear a creaking from the floorboards, and when you look up, Hassan is standing in the doorway, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants and a sleepy smile as he holds two steaming mugs of coffee.

“You’re looking a little shell-shocked, honey,” Hassan says as he places the warm beverage in your hands..

You make an exasperated noise of thanks as you slowly sip your drink, hoping the caffeine will ease away the exhaustion that threatens to take over your entire body.

“Drink up, we've got a long week ahead of us.”

You nearly choke on your drink.

“A week?” You rasp.

“I want to make sure it takes,” Hassan says with a shrug.

You laugh in exasperation as your sheriff crawls into bed with you and pulls you into his arms. His mind drifts to the little box he’s had hidden in his nightstand. An expensive trinket he bought months ago, just shortly after the first time he told you he loved you. Today has been a big relief for him, knowing this secret of his is finally out and you’re still by his side.

For a long time, there’s been a question he’s been wanting to ask you, and as confident in himself as he is, there was still a little whisper of doubt in the back of his mind. It’s long forgotten as you rest your head against his chest, and a comfortable silence falls over the two of you.

You don’t need to speak, don’t feel the need to fill the silence with anything but the steady sound of your breathing.

And while it isn’t said aloud, you both look forward to spending the rest of your lives at each other’s side.

#🧄.musings #sheriff hassan x reader #sheriff hassan smut #reader x sheriff hassan #hassan el-shabbaz x reader #reader x hassan el-shabbaz #midnight mass smut #🧄.txt

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mandobatemans · 2 years

Note

Hiiii! I loved your headcanon about Hassan finding out he’s going to be a dad again, so I was hoping if you could give us something more along those lines? Maybe a fic at the time of the birth and he’s just trying not to lose it but absolutely loses it? 🥺🥺🥺 idk i think my weakness is tall men holding smol babies and crying over how pretty their wife is 😭😭😭

Sheriff Hassan x f!Reader

warnings: vague descriptions of childbirth

word count: 778

“And you’ve done this before?” Hassan asked Sarah for the fifth time in the hour.

She had just finished taking your vitals, laughing off the father-to-be 's comment. “Yes, Sheriff. Plenty of times.”

“Leave her be, Hassan.” You smiled at your husband, reaching out your hand to him to reel him in from his relentless pacing. It was a small room and he was a large man, so he had covered the same few feet of floor so often you thought it may ruin the tile.

On top of his usual stress, Hassan hadn’t planned for his second child to be born on Crockett Island. He trusted Sarah as a doctor, as you had been going to her weekly to check in, but he was naturally a worrier, so you took the ferry to a mainland doctor once a month. He had expected to go to the mainland a week before your due date and get you settled in a hospital there, but his child had other plans.

Usually Hassan was the cool and collected one when faced with change, while you ran around frantically. Today, however, you had switched places: your husband pacing the room while you composedly adjusted yourself on the pillows Sarah had arranged on the small cot.

He approached the little bed and took your outreached hand in his, smiling down at you as you squeezed it in reassurance. “Hey, we’ll be okay.” You guided his large hand to your stomach, adding, “This little one is yours, remember? That means she has to be a little stubborn.”

Hassan rolled his eyes. “She's yours, too. That’s why she isn’t on time.” He grinned at his own joke, to which you replied with a playful smack on the arm.

“Sarah, I don’t want him in here anymore,” you teased. “I’m about to give birth to his child and he’s teasing me.” Hassan scoffed and reached down to give you a kiss. You groaned into his lips as a particularly painful contraction came.

Hassan peered over at Sarah, her nod confirming that the baby was coming now.

An hour of painful pushing, strangled curses, and your nails pressing into your husband’s palm later, your daughter was born. “Here she is!” Sarah exclaimed, handing you the messy newborn. She was precious, eyes shut and skin red from screaming. You had seen baby pictures of Ali, born with a full head of hair, and his little sister was born the very same way. Sarah had secured two clamps on the umbilical cord as you were admiring your daughter. “Sheriff?” She asked, handing Hassan the medical scissors. He looked at you for confirmation, which you, of course, gave with a nod. You studied your husband as he cut the cord, tears swelling in his eyes. A few rogue tears had made their way down his cheeks, pooling in his beard. He knelt beside the bed when he finished his task, pressing a kiss to your forehead as he held his finger out for the baby to curl her little fist around. That did him in, the tears falling full force down his cheeks now. Yes, he had been present at Ali’s birth, but that seemed to him a lifetime ago. He was just as emotional then as he was now, with the baby curled into the warmth of your body. The raw emotion of the moment betrayed him and his tears kept flowing as he grinned at two of the three most important people in his life.

“Hold her, Hassan,” you urged, gently. You were transfixed by the pure joy in your husband’s face. You hadn’t seen him cry since your wedding, a small courthouse ceremony, or when you had blurted out that you were pregnant when he got home from the general store. Reaching up, you swept the tears from his face with your thumb before doing the same to your own face. You wanted to see this moment clearly.

He scooped the baby into his arms with ease, the muscle memory from caring for Ali as an infant returning to him. “Hi, honey,” he whispered, swaying back and forth. “Your mama and I are so excited to meet you.” The tears you had wiped away were replaced with fresh ones, but he couldn’t care less. He mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Sarah, who nodded.

“I’ll call Ali.” She smiled and left for the phone in the living room, closing the door behind her.

Hassan climbed into bed with you, an impressive feat considering the size of it, and smiled as you rested your head on his shoulder, the two of you staring adoringly at your bundle of joy.

#sheriff hassan x reader #hassan shabazz x reader #hassan shabazz #sheriff hassan #midnight mass #my fic #ask

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space-helen · 3 years

Text

Saved

Words: 1683

Pairing: Sheriff Hassan x reader

A/N: Spoilers ahead (ofc) I really liked writing this one

Request: I finished midnight mass the day it came out and this has been going through my head since. Sheriff Hassan x reader where she hasn't been going to mass either and she's with the group at the end and helps save him? Maybe they get away? - Anon

______________________

You splashed the gas over the back of the building knowing Erin was inside and the Sheriff was out the front.

Dropping the can to the floor you took a couple of steps back and waited as instructed.

What you didn’t expect to hear was a large bang, a gunshot. Eyes wide you stood and listened, you could hear the murmur of voices.

You knew if you moved in the direction of the voices you’d be dead. Frozen in time you felt your chest heaving, the nights events finally catching up with you.

Eventually snapping out of it, not knowing how much time had passed you reached for your pocket and tried to pull out the lighter, the building should have caught fire by now.

Hoping no one was inside you opened the lighter and hesitated. Moving your thumb ready to strike the flame a sudden heat and roar of fire had you taking a step back. Was it done?

The original plan was to light it from the back and subtly get away together but the others weren’t around. Something must have gone wrong.

Not caring about what would happen to you your legs were soon carrying you around the side of the building. The air was thick and tasted like fumes, your eyes went wide as you looked up to see Ali coming towards you supporting his father’s weight.

You continued towards them but stopped a short distance away, not sure of Ali’s motives. “Are you guys?” That’s when you noticed how Hassan was clutching his side.

“Y/N.” Hassan breathed out, his eyes softened and he let out a sigh of relief as he saw you.

“He was shot.” his sons words fell out of this mouth. “I don’t want him to become one of us. He doesn’t deserve it.” Ali shook his head and you could see the regret and fear in his eyes.

You nodded and closed the gap, You looped your arm around Hassan to take Ali’s place. You knew the boy wasn’t going to hurt either of you.

“I only have until sunrise.” the words were spoken fast, you looked towards the boy and could see the worry in his eyes.

“We know” you whispered. Hassan turned his head and locked his eyes with yours, you could see how full of sadness they were.

There was a silent discussion between the three of you to make the next decision. Propping Hassan up against a tree you took a look at the gunshot wound as Ali watched.

The wound was red with blood but relatively clean and looked to be a through and through on a rather fleshy part, a lucky position to be shot. You weren’t an expert at first aid but you knew enough to know that he’d live as long as it was kept clean and pressure on it was maintained.

You pulled the backpack off your back and began to rummage through it. As a team you’d gathered any supplies you could find before the town went up in flames. It didn’t take you long to pull out the first aid supplies you’d need.

“This is going to hurt.” you warned the man.

“I can handle it.” his eyes sparkled as he gave you a weak smile.

Taking a damp piece of gauze you began to dab the wound gently and the man let out a yelp. Ali was at his side in seconds and offered his hand to his father. The love between the two of them overwhelming and you felt tears well in your eyes at what was soon to happen.

You made quick work of cleaning and wrapping up the wound tightly before helping the man stand back up and supporting his weight again so you could make a move on.

Looking up at the sky you could see it changing colour, a warning of the sunrise about to come.

The three of you had soon made it to the beach. Hassan practically flopped into the sand. The three of you sat side by side for a second just in the presence of each other you breathed in the sea air and watched the familiar waves before you.

Seeing the sky change colour even more you began to stand “I’ll give the two of you some space.”

A pressure on your wrist had you stopping. “You can stay.”

Hassan’s eyes were filled with sadness and pleading, you could almost sense that he wanted someone there with him after what was to come. You looked towards his son to make sure he was ok with it as well, the boy’s nod had you taking your seat in coarse the sand again.

There was another silent exchange of words beside you between the two men. You stared at the sunset and could see movement beside you out of the corner of your eye.

Turning your head the sight beside you had the tears welling up in your eyes, they were praying. Looking forward to the sun again you let the tears fall and you wiped them away with the back of your hand.

You’d become close to the sheriff over the past couple of months since you’d been here and you knew just how much he loved his son. Ali was his everything. You hadn’t got to know his son as well but you felt the sadness of losing him.

Once the tears started they wouldn’t stop. The little island you’d originally hated had grown on you and had become something you loved. Everything was in ruins. You thought about what everything could have been if Mass hadn’t happened tonight. You thought about all of your friends who were dead or soon to be.

More movement slightly further down the beach had you turning towards it. Focussing your eyes you could see Beverly watching Ali and Hassan praying for a second. You watched her actions and she was soon digging into the sand with her hands.

You could feel the sunrise coming. Taking one last look at Ali and Hassan you watched as the boy put his hand on his father.

Hassan placed one of his hands on top of his sons and reached for your hand with the other one to create a chain between the three of you. Looking towards his son he let out a sob and you could see his body shaking with tears.

As the sun came up the boy burst into flames and was soon ash. The man let out a strangled cry before leaning forward into the ash of his son. Placing his hand in it he silently cried as he clung onto your hand.

You don’t know how long the two of you were there. You’d ended up with your arms wrapped around the man as he cried into your shoulder and you consoled him.

He eventually pulled away when his sobs had subsided. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be.”

“What now?” the two of you looked out onto the water.

“We get onto the second boat Warren said he’d leave us. It’s only small but with the two of us I think we’ll be ok.”

The man nodded “Do you think we’ll make it?”

“We have to try. We didn’t come this far to not make it. We can’t leave Warren and Leeza alone out there.”

“You’re right.” the man wiped at his face again.

You gave the mans hand a reassuring squeeze and he gave you the weakest smile. He looked down at his son’s ashes for a second and began to make a hole in the ground. Moving to your knees you helped the man dig the hole. He gently pushed the remaining ashes into the hole and spoke some parting words and prayer as you both covered it over with sand.

Although, still obviously in pain Hassan had gathered more strength and was able to walk without your support, albeit slow, the two of you soon came across the last remaining boat.

“Have you ever been in a boat?” you asked as the two of you moved it to the shoreline

“Once or twice.” he admitted

You took off your backpack and placed it into the boat. Helping the injured man into it he went to sit down near the oars.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Y/N please let me.”

“You’re injured and I’m relatively uninjured so I’m not letting you.”

The man had no strength to argue and moved away, you allowed him to take a seat and get comfy before gently pushing the boat until it hit slightly deeper water and clambering inside.

You began to row and gradually moved the boat pretty far away from the land.

“Look”

You stopped rowing and turned, the island was all lit up with orange flames as it burnt. Your eyes didn’t linger for long, and you soon turned back to Hassan.

“Do you think anyone will believe us?”

The man thought it over in his head “Probably not.”

You nodded “I have to admit I barely believed it when Erin told me. Even before she told me I searched for every explanation possible for all of the miracles. At least Leeza’s and Warren’s blood should help support us”

“It’s one twisted story.” the two of you were silent again.

The island was long gone from view and that’s when Hassan broke the silence again.

“Thank you Y/N.”

“There’s no need.”

“Without you I would still be on that island, maybe even dead.”

Letting go of the oars you leant forward and placed a hand on Hassan’s arm, his eyes came up to yours and you gave him a sad smile. Allowing the water to carry the boat you reached towards the backpack and opened it up. Pulling out a bottle of water you handed it to the man. You were unsure if you should say what you wanted to but after what’d happened, you really had nothing to lose.

“Without you, I would have given up hope entirely so it looks like we saved each other.”

Tag List: (open)

Midnight Mass:

Sheriff Hassan:

#sheriff hassan x reader #hassan el-shabbaz x reader #hassan el shabbaz x reader #midnight mass x reader #midnight mass spoiler

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chadillacboseman · 3 years

Text

Dignity PT 1

Pairing: Sheriff Hassan x F!Reader

Summary: A conflicted sheriff on a tragically close-minded island finds comfort in a ferry worker from the mainland.

Warning: Angst, hints at racism and xenophobia (par the course for the series), mentions of death, just kissin' like a couple of teenagers.

Word Count: 2.5k

A/N: Uh oh, we're in deep in the Midnight Mass love here, folks. By the way, Rahul Kohli has stated that Hassan is the Sheriff's first name, his last name is El-Shabazz, in homage to Malcom X. This is SLOOOOW moving and boring but idc.

The Belle was never this late.

Hassan let out a frustrated sigh and watched as his breath billowed in white clouds through the chilled air. He checked his watch again-

6:47

The sheriff glanced at the horizon, his dark eyes scanning the frothing water for any sign of the ferry. He squinted as his gaze fell on a white speck in the distance and the faint drone of the Belle's horn echoed through the salt-laden air.

"Mornin', sheriff!" Sturge's voice called up from the docks at the waterside, "New ferry crew I imagine- the Belle never runs this late."

"They better get it together-" Hassan jammed his frigid hands into his jacket pockets as he spoke, "If Sarah has to wait for her lab supplies again, she'll be a one-woman riot."

Sturge chuckled and tossed a length of thick rope around one of the wooden pier supports to anchor the Belle as the sheriff jogged down the steps to greet the crew.

"Mornin'!" a large man with a graying beard emerged from the cabin with a woman in tow, "Forgive the delay, sheriff- we got a late start from the mainland."

Hassan didn't hear a word the man said- his eyes were transfixed on you. You grinned sheepishly and adjusted your knitted hat to cover your quickly reddening ears.

"Sheriff?" the captain cleared his throat and Hassan shook out of his trance with a start.

"Sorry- maintenance issues or port issues?" the sheriff shifted his weight uncomfortably as he tried to keep his gaze away from you.

"Neither-" the captain shook his head and glanced down at you, "I've got a new tag-along as you may have noticed. A trainee."

You grinned up at Hassan and he felt his chest tighten; your eyes shone like gemstones as the rising sun cast its bloody rays across your face, and they crinkled at the corners with your smile.

"Care to give her the tour?" the captain clapped a large hand on your shoulder and Hassan swallowed, hard, "She's never been to Crockett before. I figure you might be better than some of the other, more opinionated, folks."

The sheriff knew what he meant, of course- some of Crockett's residents were a little zealous. Bev Keane, in particular, took a very intense approach to religion. A stranger on the island would be the ideal recruit for her and the local church- Hassan had to spare you that fate.

o.--

"Your office is in the general store?" you bit back a laugh and Hassan grinned as he held the door open.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Small town problems."

You glanced around at the modest space- the shiplap walls were covered in maps of the island, fliers, and photographs. Your eyes landed on a photo in a wooden frame on the sheriff's desk. In it, a young boy with dark hair stood on the porch of the general store, eyes bright and teeth bared in an excited grin.

"My son, Ali," Hassan's eyes were on you as you examined the photo, "before this island bored him to tears."

"He looks like you."

The sheriff smiled, "He's got his mom's eyes, though."

The mention of a wife made your heart sink ever-so-slightly. You opened your mouth to speak, but Hassan beat you to it.

"It's the only part of her I have left-" he paused to fiddle with the silver ring on his hand, "besides this, of course."

"What happened?" the question tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop yourself, and Hassan's eyes found the floor, "I'm sorry- if it's too personal-"

"Cancer," he said simply, "Stage four by the time they found it. She's been gone for six years."

"I'm sorry," the words seemed shallow, like a band-aid on a gunshot wound.

"Don't be-" he shrugged and his eyes met yours, "Come on, let's get this tour started."

"So, what exactly are you tagging along on the ferry for?" Hassan fell into stride next to you as the two of you ventured down Main Street.

"Training to take the wheel," your breath rose in the chilly air around you as you spoke, "Cap is getting old, needs a protege."

"Really?" The sheriff cocked an eyebrow, "Hope you're not gonna be late every morning."

You laughed and he felt his heart race at the sound of it- like music against the droning, deafening silence of Crockett.

"Are you going to arrest me if I am?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you? Getting to spend the night in my luxurious jail cell at the back of the General Store?" Hassan teased and you laughed again.

What a sound.

"Morning, Sheriff!" Leeza Scarborough called from her front porch with a wave that Hassan returned.

"That's Leeza," he leaned his head down so only you could hear him speak, "Joe Collie, the town soak, accidentally shot her a few years back. Paralyzed her from the waist down."

"Good lord-" you glanced up at the bright-faced teenager and smiled, "Doesn't seem to get her down at all."

"Nah, the Scarboroughs are a different breed- intensely Catholic, like the rest of this island," Hassan paused for a beat, "Except for me and Ali, of course."

"That must be hard," you glanced up at his face- his expression was pensive, as if he was lost in thought.

"Sometimes."

You left it at that.

The two of you were almost to the rec center when Hassan grabbed your arm with surprising urgency and pulled you behind a rundown house.

"Sheriff what-"

He pressed a finger to his lips and peered around the corner; Bev Keane was on the prowl outside the church, examining the sign that Sturge had set for Sunday mass.

Hassan gestured for you to look and you glanced around the wall.

"Who is that?" you whispered as you ducked your head back into hiding.

"Bev. She helps Monsignor Pruitt around the church- real piece of work. If she sees you, she'll be on you like a shark."

Hassan glanced down at you and felt his heart leap into his throat- you were so close to him that he could see your chest move with every quiet breath. He could smell you- the light hint of the fragrance you wore and the lingering scent of your shampoo.

The sheriff waited until Bev retreated back into St Patrick's before ushering you out from behind the house and continuing the tour toward the rec center.

"Hey, sheriff-" Sturge's voice crackled to life over Hassan's radio, "We got a Nor'easter coming in- NWS just sent out an alert. Cap wants to get the Belle back to the mainland before it hits."

"Copy," Hassan released the button on his radio and turned to you with a sigh, "Better get back before Cap leaves you behind."

"Thanks for the tour, Sheriff," You smiled and extended a hand, which he took and shook firmly, "See you tomorrow?"

"Count on it."

The storm hammered Crockett for hours that night, taking out the power grid and half the town's shingles in its wrath. Twice, Hassan awoke to winds that shook the house so hard he feared it would be ripped from its foundation.

But when he did sleep, he dreamed of you.

Hassan dreamed of your smile, of your infectious laugh that made his heart hammer in his chest. The smell of you, the warmth that radiated from you, all of it haunted his dreams.

"You okay, dad?" Ali looked up from his breakfast as the sheriff stumbled into the kitchen and made his way to the fridge.

"Fine," Hassan grabbed a glass of water and gestured vaguely, "Storm kept me up last night, though."

Hassan grabbed his jacket and glanced at the clock- 6:29am. He wondered if Sturge and the others at the dock would find it odd that the sheriff showed up to greet the ferry two days in a row.

He decided he didn't care.

The storm had ravaged Crockett during the night, leaving trees uprooted and shingles strewn across front lawns all over the island. Hassan meandered through the streets toward the docks, watching as the other residents cleaned up the chaos.

The Belle's horn blared across the salty air and the sheriff felt his heart leap into his throat.

"Morning, sheriff!" your voice was like a song as you waved from the cabin of the ferry. You were grinning, hair billowing in the wind as you made your way toward the dock.

"Did you make it back to the mainland before the storm hit?" Hassan held out a hand to help you across the small gap.

"Sure did-" you hopped across the gap and held onto his hand for a moment, "Looks like you guys got hit hard."

Hassan swallowed and glanced down at your hand, still wrapped in his; you smiled and gave it a gentle squeeze before releasing it.

"So, what sort of wonderful attractions can one expect on Crockett while waiting for the ferry departure?" you jogged up the steps next to the sheriff and he laughed.

"Well, I have to head out to the upperds to investigate some dead cats-" He stopped midsentence as he realized what he had just said, "But, uh, obviously that's not very-"

"I'll go with you!" you interrupted him and he blinked in surprise.

"You sure?"

"Kind of a bummer of a date, I'll admit," you smiled as you fell into stride beside him.

Hassan nearly missed a step and desperately hoped you didn't notice.

The upperds were barren, having taken the brunt of the oil spill that rocked the island a few years prior. Local kids used it as a party spot and beer cans and discarded cigarettes could be found strewn about the area after particularly rambunctious weekends.

Hassan knelt in the sand and tossed a pile of seaweed to the side to reveal a mangled cat carcass. It looked as if it had been torn to shreds by an animal of some sort, left barely recognizable as a cat.

"What do you think did it?" you knelt beside him in the sand and he shrugged as he shifted the disfigured corpse with a branch.

"Dunno- sometimes owls will grab a cat but-" he shuddered at the sight of the skull, crushed like paper, "but this...this is much worse than that."

The sheriff jotted a few notes down on a pad of paper and snapped a photo on his phone before slipping it back into his jacket pocket.

"Are all of your days so glamorous, sheriff?" you cast him a wry smile and he grinned.

"Sometimes I even get to give a pretty ferry worker a tour of the island if I'm lucky."

Your face grew warm as Hassan rose to his feet and you followed suit, pausing to dust off the front of your jeans.

"Still got a few hours before the Belle hits the water again- there's a decent diner on Main Street if you wanna grab a bite."

"Are you buying?"

"So how did you end up with this gig?" you gestured with a ketchup-dipped french fry as you sat across from the sheriff in the small diner.

"Thought it would be a quiet assignment for Ali and I- get away from the mainland," Hassan stabbed his fork rather forcefully into the pile of greens on his plate as he spoke, "Didn't realize the place was so religious until I was already here."

You sipped your water and stared at Hassan- he was handsome, god was he fucking handsome. All dark hair with flecks of gray and sharp features. His eyes met yours and he cocked an eyebrow.

All you could do was smile back.

"Want me to walk you back to the docks?" Hassan slipped a $20 bill onto the ticket, "It's already getting dark out."

You yawned and stretched your arms above your head, savoring the gentle pull on your muscles. The sheriff bit his lip as he watched your shirt lift slightly to reveal a sliver of flesh above the waistband of your jeans.

The two of you made your way onto the streets in the darkness as the first of the street lights flickered to life.

"Do you always make a point to greet the ferry every morning, sheriff?" your question was pointed and out of the blue- it caught him off guard and he stopped in his tracks.

"No..." he paused to chew his words for a moment, "Not usually."

"Oh," you moved closer to him and his heart hammered in his chest so furiously he was sure you could hear it, "So why today?"

The orange glow of the street lights made your eyes shine as you looked up at him and he felt like his brain was on fire. Before Hassan could stop himself he had your face cupped in his hand and his mouth was on yours.

You leaned into his kiss and he palmed the small of your back, pulling you in close as his lips traveled over yours, committing every inch of them to memory.

When he pulled away he was breathless, panting in the darkness on the sidewalk as the street lights shone above you.

The sound of the Belle's horn snapped you out of your trance and you let out a panicked gasp, "Oh shit- Cap is gonna leave me!"

You turned to head for the ferry, but Hassan grabbed your arm and pulled you into another hurried kiss before releasing you.

You jogged down the hill toward the docks and the sheriff stood beneath the light in the middle of the street, his brain still sparking like a live wire.

"Same time tomorrow?" he called, and the faint sound of your laugh echoed back through the night.

"Count on it, Johnny Law!"

#sheriff hassan x reader #midnight mass #sfw #sheriff hassan #rahul kohli #this is a rambling fucking fic boys #midnight mass fic

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spellboundspectre · 3 years

Text

ships passing in the night, p2

hassan el-shabazz x female!reader; 18+ only. minors do not interact.

content: sexual tension, dubious consent, cunnilingus.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: theme song for this chapter is tell it to my heart ft. hozier by meduza

masterlist

Hassan considered himself a patient man. He knew when it was time to speak up, and when it was time to bite his tongue and wait. The ability to tell the difference was something he took pride in. A gem he polished over and over again in his youth that now shined brightly as an adult. It was the instinct that made him a good cop, and an even better father.

But when it came to you?

That was brand new territory.

Hassan couldn’t tell if you were being flirtatious or polite half the time, he just knew each encounter with you had him wanting more. Another laugh, another smile, anything. It wasn’t as though he was worried about Ali’s approval or not. Already a young man able to tell the signs of a woman interested, he found it harder and harder to contain his laughter when he saw his father freeze up in front of you.

A flirtationship, Ali often called it.

His late wife was far from a jealous woman, in fact; she made him promise he would move on after her passing. The Sheriff had every reason to act on his budding feelings for you, and yet he held himself back. At some point, he resigned himself to never take more than you gave freely; content with your daily morning greetings and friendly waves.

And for a long while, that was enough for Hassan. He had found contentment in every smile you threw his way, every quiet hello you’d mumble at the start of town council meetings. Whenever the two of you were in a room together, those doe eyes of yours were always trained on him. And oh, the effect you had on the poor sheriff.

You were one of the few people in this town that showed him kindness, that’s what he always blamed it on. He was desperate for any kind of warmth and latched on to you.

It’s nothing more than that, he tries to convince himself.

But this morning, he didn’t get his daily greeting from you. He stood outside of the general store nursing his morning cup of coffee for a long thirty minutes, but you were no where to be found. Hassan blamed his worry on his occupation; he was the sheriff after all. It was his job to be concerned about the citizens of Crockett. Even if it he was more worried about you and your sister than he was most. And it didn’t take long at all for the Sheriff to realize how empty his day felt without it. Without you.

Seeing your face at the town council meeting today was enough to return him to himself, but his mood was quickly soured thanks to the efforts of one Beverly Keane. As irritating as she was, Hassan had to admit, she was talented. It was plain to see she wanted nothing more than to get under his skin, and she succeed nearly every time.

The lie you and Erin spun was quickly seen through by the former NYPD detective, but he played along like he was none the wiser. Hassan could use a few extra moments alone with you, anyways. If this was the game you wanted to play, he’d play along happily.

Hassan let you guide him to the secluded storage room like a dog on a leash.

You lead the way, a few steps in front of him as the two of you walk through the hallways of the small school. He struggles to pry his eyes from the hemline of your dress, the way your tights are just a little more sheer around the curve of your thighs. The way your ass bounces with every step of your foot.

A groan purrs deep in his chest as he tries to reign in his thoughts. Hassan was on edge. Irritated, frustrated and eager to prove something.

Not to Bev Keane, she could fuck herself. And not to the people of Crockett, they were just as much of a lost cause.

He has something to prove to himself. That he was still in control when a stressful situation arose. That he could make things happen if he wanted to.

And he did.

And he would.

Hassan clears his throat before speaking, “You almost got the both of us in trouble, you know.”

Your shoulders rise up and down in a shrug. “And how did I do that?”

“You might keep quiet, but you show all your expressions on your face. And you can’t hide how much Bev Keane irks you every time she opens her mouth,”

You cast an apologetic look over your shoulder as you unlock the doors to the library.

“Is it really that obvious? I’m sorry it’s just-” you pause, turning the brass handle to the double doors. “It’s like she was put on this earth to make everyone within a five mile radius of her miserable.”

Hassan chuckles, even when you despise someone, you still manage to do it in the cutest way possible.

“Maybe next time don’t roll your eyes in the front row,” Hassan quips as he holds the door open as you push it open, his arm stretching over your head, “It makes it easier for me to not burst into laughter when she goes off on one of her rants.”

“Oh,” you say sheepishly. “I can do that, Sheriff.”

“I think we’re on a first name basis by now,” Hassan laughs. “Or were you avoiding me this morning?”

He’s following behind you as you weave your way through the bookshelves to the back storage room that doubles as your office.

“What?” you say in shock, “I wouldn’t- no.”

You flick the switch on the wall to turn on the lights of your office.

“Really,” you say as walk towards the corner where your desk is, “Whitney, my sister, was running late today so I was running late to make sure she got out of the house at a decent time.”

You slide your keys into the pocket of your cardigan with one hand, and with the other, you nervously toy with a loose thread at the edge of the fabric.

“I’d never avoid you, Sheriff.” Your tone is so apologetic, Hassan feels his heart clench in his chest.

“Hassan,” he corrects, as he pretends to look around the room for rats.

The building is old, most likely in need of minor repair, but it was clean and there were no places for rats to get in.

“Hassan,” you repeat.

Your eyes dart around the room, you’re far too embarrassed to meet his inquisitive gaze. He’s bound to have seen through your lie by now. A lie you didn’t even want to make, but joined in on nonetheless.

“So rats, huh?” Hassan says as he steps closer to you.

On instinct, you take a step back for each one he takes forward until you stumble backwards against your desk.

“I could have sworn I saw rat droppings, I must have been mistaken,” You gulp, “I’m sorry for wasting your time Sher-Hassan.”

He clenches his jaw. You really were trying his patience.

“You don’t have to call me by name if you don’t want to,” Hassan reassures you, he’s looming over you now, “I hate to make you uncomfortable, especially if you don’t like me.”

“I like you, Hassan,” he takes that as an invitation to step closer, forcing you to rest your body weight against your desk to keep a sliver of distance between your bodies.

“How much do you like me?” His voice has dropped an octave now.

You can barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat in your ears.

“What do you-”

“How long are you going to keep playing this game with me?” He growls, pressing himself closer to you still. The tips of his fingers graze along your thighs as they make their way to your waist.

Hassan doesn’t give you a chance to answer before latching his hands around you and lifting you so that you’re perched on the edge of your desk. You make the mistake of gasping at the sudden contact and the way your lips part so suddenly breaks his self control and he slots his mouth over yours.

A flame is lit inside you. It’s stroked as Hassan’s tongue slides against yours until it’s roaring with the full intensity of a bonfire. You can faintly taste coffee and cigarettes on his tongue, but it’s not unpleasant. It’s just him. Clumsily, you kiss him back, pressing your chest against his as your fingers curl around the collar of his jacket to pull him closer.

He groans against you, his hips grinding against yours as you continue to exchange heated kisses. The sheriff is ravenous as his lips slide against yours, his teeth squeezing your bottom lip between them every so often. Each little gasp, every quiet moan is drunken up by him greedily.

Broad hands run up and down your back, too high on adrenaline to keep still. His fingers comb through your hair, squeeze at the column of your neck before finally cradling your face. It pains him, but he pulls his mouth from yours and rests his forehead against yours.

“You drive me fucking insane,” he pants.

Foolishly, you think this is a moment of respite, a chance to catch your breath before you can kiss him once again; but Hassan has other plans for you. His hands shift to your shoulders and push you back towards the cold surface of the desk. He then begins wriggling his fingers under the hemline of your dress, hiking up the fabric until he can see the waist-band of your tights.

In a matter of seconds he has both them and your panties pulled down to your knees and you’re pressed flat on your back as he pushes you legs into your chest.

“Fuck,” he groans to himself as he stares at your most intimate of parts.

His eyes are transfixed at the sight of the puffy lips of your cunt and the trail of slick that still clings to the seat of your panties. At this moment, he can’t fathom why he ever tried to hold himself back.

Hassan laps at you like a man starved. His eyes flutter shut the instant his tongue meets the velvet folds of your pussy. His hands spread wide on the backs of your thighs, pushing your legs open enough for him to slot himself in comfortably.

“Hassan!” you cry as your spine arches.

He responds by purring against your cunt, the vibration causing his beard to grind against your sensitive skin.

Not even in your wildest of dreams could imagine something as sinful as this happening to you, and in your place of work! You’d been with men before Hassan, but it was never like this.

Hassan was a force of nature. As you squeezed your eyes shut as pleasure spread across your body, you saw fireworks behind your eyelids. Each flick of his tongue against your clit felt like a strike of lightning, and from your cunt your juices ran from you like a flood.

“Come for me, sugar.” he groans against your overheated flesh.

The two middle fingers of his left hand slide in your soaked pussy with ease and curl inside of you. The pads of his fingers press against the spongey walls of your cunt and milk your orgasm from you in a matter of seconds. Not even the sharp, cold sting of his wedding band did anything to stop the oncoming surge of your orgasm.

He sighs against your skin as he feels you come undone on his tongue and fingers, taste your juices so he can savor it and commit it to memory. Hassan continues to suck on your clit slowly, making sure you feel each peak of the waves of ecstasy that have clouded your mind.

All you can do is lie there stupidly, staring at the ceiling as you try to catch your breath. Your legs twitch idly on either side of Hassan as he straightens his back to stare down at your ruined form. His thumbs strokes the side of your cheeks, silently making sure you’re still ok. Your gaze shifts to him, and all you can offer is a slow blink to let him know you’re still with him.

The bulge in his pants hasn’t gone down whatsoever, if anything it seems more lively now than ever. Even in the low light of the storage room, you can see how the fabric of his jeans strains to contain his cock.

He pries his hands from you to smooth them over the front of his pants to soothe his aching cock before changing his mind and fishing it from the confines of his jeans. There are tears clouding your eyes, but you can still make out the outline of his cock.

You prayed he didn’t plan on shoving that inside of you tonight. Like the rest of him, his cock was intimidating, curving towards his navel and so thick, his fingers barely met around it.

Hassan wraps his fist around the base of it, squeezing his cock a few times before beginning to pump furiously as he stares at your swollen cunt. He’s been on the edge since he first kissed you, and it doesn’t take him long before he’s shooting ropes of cum across your thighs and staining the fabric of your panties.

With a trembling hand, he angles the tip of his cock so the last few drops of cum land on the seat of your panties. The room goes quiet, the both of you trying to calm your breathing. You’re completely exhausted, every drop of energy has been drained from your body entirely. Wordlessly, he slides your tights and panties back into place and seals his cum against your skin.

He pats his hand against your cunt and laughs when you jump from the stimulation.

“You’d better get a move on, if you want to visit all of the elderly by sundown,” He says in a gritty voice. “I’ll check in on you and your sister after the storm passes, ok?”

“Ok,” you say dreamily, still in shock of the events that just transpired. You can feel his cum sliding against your skin.

“Stay safe, sugar.”

“You too, Hassan.”

#🧄.musings #sheriff hassan #sheriff hassan x reader #hassan el-shabazz #hassan el-shabazz x reader #midnight mass #midnight mass smut #ships passing in the night

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space-helen · 3 years

Text

Embrace

Words: 830

Pairing: Sheriff Hassan x Reader

A/N: I still love this man so much.

Request: Helen, my dear friend, if requests are still open could I maybe request something??? Maybe a Sheriff Hassan x reader were he just bear hugs the reader when she's sad. I would love to hug him tbh. - @morganofthecoves1

______________________

You’d woken up with the general feeling of sadness. Work and the day that followed had it growing. Walking out of your house you could see that the day was coming to a close, night drawing in slowly as the sky changed colour.

Your head hurt and you pulled your jacket around you tighter as you made your way towards the one person that you knew could make you feel better. You hadn’t gone to him earlier in the day not wanting to bother him and distract him from work knowing that he would have abandoned it for you.

You stepped inside the store and quickly found yourself walking into his office fairly quickly but he was nowhere to be seen.

Sitting down in his chair you pulled it close to his desk and sat back in it, you smiled as you looked at the items strewn across his desk, an organised mess.

It was no secret to the island that the two of you had been seeing each other in some capacity and it never had been. The relationship had blossomed naturally and with strength like no other.

The door creaking open had you looking up. The man jumped slightly when he saw you behind his desk not expecting you in there.

“Y/N!” he beamed as he closed the door behind you.

You gave the man a weak smile “How was your day.”

He placed his hands on his hips and smiled, just happy to see you “It’s been ok.” he paused when he realised something was off. Removing his hands from his hips he moved towards the chair opposite you and used his hands to lean on it. “What’s wrong Honey?”

“Nothing it’s ok” you waved off.

“Something is I can tell.” his eyes were soft when he looked at you.

You went quiet for a second you couldn’t not give him an explanation when he looked at you like that. “I just woke up feeling a little sad and then work had me down and I felt like I kept messing up and that I’m not good at my job.” you could feel the tears welling up but didn’t let them fall “I just feel sad y’know?” you made a gesture with your hands and Hassan could hear your voice faltering.

“I know I know,” his voice was soft as he made his way around the desk. Coming up behind you he bent over and wrapped his hands around you and rested his chin on your shoulder, hugging you tightly to him.

You reached up and put your hands on his arms in an attempt to try and hug him back somewhat. You felt a tear run down your cheek and the man pulled his head from your shoulder. Gently he brought his thumb to your cheek and wiped it away.

You moved in his arms and he took it as a sign to let go briefly, allowing you to be able to stand up and wrap your arms around his middle. Your arms weaved under his denim jacket and you felt the soft touch of his shirt.

The man gave you a sweet tender kiss on your forehead before you rested your head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around you again.

The embrace was warm and safe. You happily breathed in his scent that you’d become so familiar with and you felt the weight of his head on top of yours as he rested it there.

You stood in his arms for what felt like an eternity before the door to the room opened and he released his hold. He didn’t want to let go but he knew it’d be unprofessional to speak to someone with his arms still around you.

Letting go you turned to see Ali in the doorway as Hassan's arm stayed around your waist somewhat

“Dad I’m going to go on a bike ride I might be back late.” the boy spoke from where he stood.

“Do I not even get a hello?” the man placed his other free hand on his hip

“Hi Dad.” he shrugged before looking at you and giving you a smile “Hi Y/N.”

Hassan let out a gruff laugh at the boy’s actions “Alright, you can go but don’t be too late alright? Be safe.”

“I will.” he grabbed the door handle in his hand “I’ll see you both later” and with that he was gone, closing the door behind him as he went.

The man tightened his grip around you and placed a quick kiss to the top of your head before releasing you. He quickly sifted through the paperwork on his desk and switched off the light in the room.

“Let’s go home.” he offered you his hand.

You smiled and closed the gap taking his warm hand in your own. He gently brushed his thumb over the back of your hand and gave you a sweet smile in return.

Tag List: (open)

Sheriff Hassan:

Midnight Mass:

#sheriff hassan x reader #midnight mass x reader #hassan el shabbaz x reader

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spellboundspectre · 3 years

Text

ships passing in the night, p4

hassan el-shabazz x female!reader; 18+ only. minors do not interact.

content: more religious trauma, talking about feelings, bev keane gets a verbal ass kicking.

word count: 5k

a/n: theme song for this chapter is francis forever by mitski

masterlist

As each day goes by, Hassan finds it easier and easier to get out of bed. The sun isn’t any brighter, the air isn’t any cleaner, but there’s a spring in the sheriff’s step lately. He hasn’t had to spend a night dragging Joe Collie out of whatever bar he decided to make an ass of himself in. Ali seems to have settled into their new life here, and while he’s not too thrilled with the idea of him wanting to go to church, it means Ali wants to be in some part of Crockett, at least.

Hassan takes that as a victory.

His life here hasn’t been anything like he expected it to be, in both good and bad ways. But he’s figured out a way to roll with the punches.

There was a minute he thought he fucked things up with you entirely; thought he burned the one bridge he had on this miserable island. For the first time in his life, Hassan was glad he was wrong. Though you often looked at him like a deer in headlights, he didn’t scare you away.

He had been patient before, he could be patient again. The little moments he’s able to hide away with you feel like little glimpses into paradise. Hassan wasn’t going to fuck that up.

So the sheriff let you set the pace. If you didn’t go for more than a kiss when he walked you home at night, he wouldn’t press you. But on the rare nights Whitney was either out with friends or babysitting, you dragged Hassan in by the collar and straddled him on your couch, he didn’t mind that either. One or two nights he had to walk home hiding an erection.

And he rolled with it.

After making sure Ali was asleep in bed and his door was locked, Hassan would revisit his time with you. He would remember you down to the smallest detail as he hand wrapped around his cock. Fucking his fist as he thought about the smell of your shampoo and the way you felt pressed against him.

Tonight you’d been feeling extra affectionate, and Hassan was barely able to restrain himself. He expected nothing outside of his usual goodnight kiss, but tonight not only did you pull him inside; not only did you writhe under him as he kissed you in the most tantalizing of ways; but you grabbed his hand and dragged it down the front of your body to the edge of your panties.

You came three times before Hassan finally pulled his fingers out of you to suck them clean. The way you moaned in his ear had his cock leaking with precum. Though you tried to be quiet, you really did, but more often than not the sheriff had to stifle your moans with his mouth. It was obvious that you weren’t used to being with someone who actually cared about getting you off, but Hassan quickly figured out he didn’t mind teaching you.

Said inexperience didn’t stop you from pushing all of his buttons.

“You sure you want to leave like that?” You say, your eyes fixed on the tent in his pants.

You’re draped across the couch, face still flushed from orgasm and skirt around your waist from when he pushed it out of the way. He’s on the verge of being completely wrapped around your finger, and you both know it.

“If I stay in this house a minute longer, we’re going to be waking up all of your neighbors.”

He almost changes his mind when he sees you pout. Without even kissing you goodnight, again, he’s out the door and down the stairs. Hassan wonders what all you might have done to him if he decided to stay for that last kiss. Would it be your hand squeezing his cock? Would your hands be clumsy as they pumped up and down?

Would you let him cum on your tongue?

The thought alone has his orgasm sneaking up on him, and he’s cumming in hand for the third time that day.

He begins to think that Crockett might actually be livable after all.

It’s late Wednesday afternoon, the library has been empty for over an hour and you’re revisiting a dog-eared copy of Needful Things when Erin storms in. Instantly, a chill runs up your spine. She’s bound to have noticed how busy you’ve been lately, how you always seem distracted.

And it wasn’t like you were trying to hide your relationship with the Sheriff out of fear of Erin judging you, but you weren’t exactly sure what the proper term for you and Hassan was.

The two of you had gone beyond “friends” long ago, and yet you hadn’t crossed the line of being his girlfriend just yet. You knew it would be an awkward conversation, so you just wanted to put it off until it was hopefully a lot less awkward.

But she doesn’t have the mischievous look you expect from her. Instead, she’s visibility exasperated, brows knit and fingers picking at the opposite hand as she walks into your office.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Erin gulps, “I have to tell you something, but I know it’s going to piss you off. So I just want you to remember that whole thing about not killing the messenger.”

“Oh it can’t be that bad,” you laugh.

Erin makes a queasy face, shaking her head.

“Trust me, it’s that bad.”

You’re out the door before she can finish telling you the whole story, the few details you do hear are enough to make you sick to your stomach. The aisles of the library flash in your peripheral vision as you dart out of the building, not even bothering to lock up behind yourself. Erin has a spare set of keys, she can handle it. You have bigger fish to fry.

In record time, you’re home and through the door and you make a bee-line for Whitney’s backpack. Like she’s done every day of her life, she’s tossed it on the kitchen table. It doesn’t take long for you to find what you’re looking for. As soon as Erin told you Bev had been reading bible passages to the kids in homeroom, you knew it was only a matter of time before this happened.

“I’m going to ask you this once, and I expect me to tell you the truth,” you say as you round the corner to Whitney’s room, “Where did you get this?”

You hold up the bible you found in her backpack mere minutes ago.

Whitney’s brows knit in confusion as she removes one of her earbuds.

“It’s a bo-”

“No shit, it’s a book,” the color drains from her face at your choice of words, “Not one you would buy on your own, and you’re not dumb enough to steal. So who gave it to you?”

She doesn’t answer you.

“Whitney, please. I’m not angry with you, I just want some answers.”

“I don’t get why you hate religion so much. We all saw what it did for Leeza, so what’s the big deal? I’m curious? Since when is that a crime?” She spits back.

“I don’t hate religion, I hate people who think sitting in a building for an hour every week magically washes away every horrible thing they’ve ever done,” you’re ranting now, lost in your temper, “I hate hypocrites who go on and on about how God loves everyone and then go and be hateful to anyone who looks or thinks differently than they do. They love to say how it’s such a personal choice and then push the rules of their religion on everyone else.”

“But that’s not even what religion is about, so what’s your point?”

“That’s my point!” You spit, “You don’t need to go to church to be a good person. You don’t need to be promised some eternal reward so you can justify being kind to people. You should be doing those things already!”

You pause to catch your breath, your pulse is racing under your skin and you almost feel dizzy from shouting.

“If your only motivation for being a decent human being you’re worried about upsetting God, then I..” then you failed at raising her, you failed your mother, “I don’t know what to say.”

The silence feels suffocating.

“I’m tired of being an outcast here,” she finally says.

“Going to that church won’t change that,” you reply. “People like Bev Keane will always treat us like we’re outsiders because we weren’t born here.”

“Oh so this is about Miss Keane now?” Whitney sneers.

Of course, you think, of course it was her.

“Did Bev Keane give you this fucking book?” Your tone doesn’t leave any room for her to avoid the question, “I’m going to ask you one last time.”

“She said whoever wanted one could have one, she didn’t force me to take it.”

“Thank you,” you exclaim, “I will be back later, do not leave this house. Understand?”

You don’t wait for a response before storming out of the room to grab your coat. The door slams behind you, much louder than you intended, but you’re too angry to care. By the time you’re banging on Hassan’s front door, you feel like you’re seeing red.

Through the door, you can hear him shuffling towards you. He looks alarmed when he answers the door, but it dissipates the second he sees it’s you.

“Scared me half to death,” He says, “Everything ok?”

You hold up Bev’s present, you’re still too angry to form words.

Hassan rubs his hand over his face, running his fingers through his beard before holding the door open and stepping to the side.

“You’d better come in, I’ll pour us some coffee.”

So you do just that. Hassan helps you out of your jacket after closing the door behind you. He leads you to the kitchen and pries that damn book out of your hand to throw it in the general direction of the garbage can.

You let out a laugh before Hassan pulls you into his arms and squeezes you tight. His nose brushes against the side of your head and you can feel him sniff your hair as he holds you.

The two of you stay intertwined for a minute, blocking out everything in Crockett except one another. You’re still angry when he pulls away, but the anger is a lot more palatable now and easier to manage.

“Ali got one too,” the sheriff says as he all but forces you to sit down at the table so you don’t start pacing, “I’ll give you two guess where he got it from.”

“That bitch, Bev Keane,” you hiss.

Hassan nearly trips on his way to the cupboard.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before,” he isn’t sure if he should laugh or comfort you.

“You’ve never seen me lose my temper before,” you shrug. “I don’t think I’ve ever really truly hated anyone in my entire life, but I swear, I hate that woman.”

“Trust me,” Hassan says as he pours a cup of coffee for the both of you, “She deserves it.”

You laugh again, a little louder this time.

“That’s not the only thing she deserves. You know she’s preaching to the kids in school? Every single morning she goes on about how great the church is and how they should all be there.”

“So I’ve heard,” he groans.

Hassan’s figured out how you like your coffee by now, not bothering to ask how much cream or sugar you want before pouring it in and bringing it over to you. He takes the seat next to you and takes your hands in his like he always does when the two of you talk.

He claims it helps him listen, but you think he just likes touching you.

“And that doesn’t bother you?” You ask.

“It does, but it seems to bother you a lot more.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” You try to snatch your hand from his, but he holds it tight.

“Bev and I are equally firm in our faith, but you don’t seem to have a problem with me, sugar.”

You scoff, “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Am I?” Hassan tugs on your arm, forcing you to look at him, “We’ve spent a lot of time together over the past few months, and we’ve talked about everything and nothing. But there are two things you absolutely refuse to talk about. Religion--Christianty specifically, and where you’re from.”

“I didn’t come here to be interrogated, Sheriff.”

He holds your gaze, there’s a solemn look in his eyes.

“I’m sure you didn’t. But I can’t keep ignoring this.”

You chew on your lower lip as he speaks. Cornered like an animal in his kitchen, held tight in his grip, and you don’t know if your instincts will tell you to fight or flee.

“I figured, you’d tell me when you were ready, so I didn’t push it. But we’ve been trying to figure out if this would work, you and me. I can’t keep doing this if you’re not completely honest with me.”

Sweat has started to break out on your skin, the lights all feel like they’ve been dialed up to eleven. Your pulse is racing again, but it’s not anger this time. It’s fear. It’s a feeling like you’re sinking into the floor and you’re going to die there. You try to ignore it, to push it back down, but it pushes back harder until it’s burning at the back of your eyes and forces tears out of your eyes.

“You look over your shoulder a lot for someone who says they want to be here,” Hassan states. “You make yourself small, so small no one will notice you, no one will look at you.”

You don’t have a witty retort for that.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” It’s a lie, but it’ll do for now.

“Bullshit, I know someone who’s running from their past when I see them. So why don’t you drop the act and let me help you?”

You stare at Hassan for a long while before he speaks again.

“Are you afraid I’ll judge you or something?” His voice sounds hurt.

And hurting Hassan is the last thing you’d ever want to do. Your lower lip quivers when you release it to take a breath.

“No,” your voice breaks, “But the thought of you pitying me makes me feel sick.”

You can feel the tears dripping onto your cheeks now.

“The way you look at me,” you sniffle, “Like I’m this magical thing that can do anything. Like the sun shines out of me. I don’t… I don’t want to lose that.”

Hassan pulls into his arms, cupping the back of your head with his hand. You don’t know how long he lets you cry. All you can do is sob into his broad shoulders and hope they can carry your burdens along with his.

You let a few slow, shaky breaths to keep your composure.

It’s slow at first, each word feels like it has to be forced out. Hassan hangs on your every word. You tell him about your father, about the commune you grew up in. You tell him your mother and other sibling’s names. You tell him the bad things; the horrible acts your father forgave so long as they were done by men of faith; the way he would sell your sisters as brides to his most devout. Still, there are good things, the silver lining of that deep dark cloud.

Your mother, who had her own shortcomings, but still tried to do right by her children. Who failed to do so too many times until she finally had enough. In secret, she taught you to drive and started tucking away a nest egg for you. The day you turned sixteen, she made sure you got your license and snuck you and your infant sister out. You were crying the whole time, begging her to come with you, but she made you promise to never look back.

As you speak, Hassan’s face remains stoic, and when you’re finally done speaking he stays that way for a while. The silence is so unbearable, it feels like time has stopped. But those brown eyes are fixated on you the whole time.

“Hassan?”

He leans back in his chair and takes another sip of his coffee.

“It’s kind of fucked when you think about it,” he says, “We’re the only ones who want to be on this shitty little fishing island, and we’re the ones Crockett wants the least.”

A short laugh slips out before you can stop it. And then another, and another, until your shoulders are shaking from it.

“Yeah,” you sigh, wiping tears from the corners of your eyes, “Yeah, just a little.”

“I’d ask you to stay the night, but I think you need to go home and talk to your sister.”

Groaning, you push your face back into his shoulder. He’s right, but you wish he wasn’t.

“I know, I know,” you whine in frustration again. “I can’t believe I yelled at her like that.”

Hassan hums as he rubs your back, you can feel the heat of his palms through your clothes and sigh at how relaxing it is.

“All things considered though,” he kisses the top of your head, “You did a good job raising her on her own.”

Your stomach flutters at the praise.

“I could have done better, done some things differently. But I just… She already feels like a freak because we’ve moved so many times. I don’t want her to feel any more different from everyone else than she already does.”

“Different isn’t bad,” Hassan shrugs. “I like different.”

Like you.

“I like different, too.”

Like him.

After that night, you and Hassan start to feel a lot more like an us. You don’t need a title to feel like you have a special place in his heart. For so long, you thought of yourself as too damaged, having too much baggage to ever feel comfortable in a relationship.

But Hassan has just as much damage and baggage as you do. The load feels a little lighter with someone helping you carry.

You’re overjoyed when you hear a parent teacher conference has been called. Who called it, you don’t know, but if they’re just as sick of Bev’s schemes as you are, they might be your new best friend.

By the time Hassan comes by your house to pick you up, you’ve been pacing in your living room for forty-five agonizing minutes. Now more than ever, you’re thankful to have him by your side. Sure, the whole town might not agree with your point of view, but that didn’t matter.

The sheriff was on your side, and that’s all you needed.

“I understand that a few of you are upset, but let me be the first one to help calm you down,” Bev begins, you cast a glance at Erin and she cocks her brow in warning, “No one is taking a single thing away. All of the required lessons are still being taught.

“We haven’t touched the curriculum, so we get that off the table right now.”

“Respectfully, that’s not the issue–” Hassan interrupts.

“I understand given your religious affiliation, you might find the fact that your son is interested in the Bible offensive…,”

“Not at all,” Hassan says calmly.

“…I suppose,” Bev says with a roll of her eyes, “But I would say that if he’s interested in Jesus, why not allow him to learn a little about it?”

“That’s so not the issue, and thank you for this opportunity to clarify,” Hassan speaks up again, this time his voice is more authoritative. “Uh, he knows all about Jesus.”

“Well, I imagine not quite all,” she mutters.

“Muslims believe that Jesus is a prophet of God, and that the Injeel, the Bible, was revealed to him as the Torah was revealed to Moses before that,” he continues, “See, we love Jesus. And we love the message that was revealed to him.”

“Well!” Exclaims Bev. “I suppose we learn something new every day, don’t we?”

“But we also believe, after the time of Jesus, thanks to the interference of men, there were deviations in Christianity. People altered the message. Priests, popes, kings. That’s why there’s so, so many versions of the Bible. People got in there, made their changes.”

“I don’t think this is relevant,” seethes Bev.

“Okay,” he sighs, “We do, though, believe that the Bible contains some of the original word of God.”

“That’s very generous of you,” she says dismissively.

“But we also believe that God revealed the Quran as the final message. Never to be altered. To reassert the original revelations of the previous prophets.”

“I don’t think that this is the place to discuss where our beliefs about scripture might diverge,” sensing that she’s about to lose this fight, Bev is desperate to change the conversation.

“Exactly,” states Hassan, “There it is. That’s the issue. That’s why I think some of the people in this room, including myself, are a little concerned.”

You fold your arms and glare daggers at Bev. Her eyes flit to you for a second, but they quickly return to Hassan.

“See, Muslims encourage everyone to seek knowledge, so I am more than comfortable with my son studying a Bible. Thrilled, actually. I’ve done it myself. But where I think there’s an issue is that this is a public school,” Hassan shifts his weight to sit up a little straighter. “That’s the thing. And I think what’s concerning some of us is not the Bible itself, but that it was handed out. Distributed to the kids here.”

He pauses for a bit to make sure his words sink in for everyone in the room.

“I just ask you to consider how you’d feel, if you sent your child to a public school…”

“Sheriff.” Beth warns, her nostrils flaring with anger.

“…and they came home with a copy of the Quran, asking about the Prophet Muhammad. You’d feel it was an issue.”

“If I went around handing out copies of the Quran to the children on this island,” you can see the brows of everyone in the room rise at that, “Purely in the interest of the pursuit of knowledge, I’d expect you to chase me out of town, Miss Keane.”

“If I may, um. This is a public school,” Erin clears her throat, “And he’s absolutely right. And I belong to the same congregation as most of you, so you know where I fall, but reading scripture in homeroom–”

“Why, Sheriff, of course, I wouldn’t run you out of town… And it makes me sad that you would think that of me,” just like that Bev has made herself into the victim in this situation, and you can feel the room turn on Hassan.

“People of faith, any faith, well, we’re all of the same cloth. Cousins, really. And it was never my intention to disrespect anybody,” she says, “Never, in the least. It’s just…” Bev sighs, “Having a Bible present in the room, why, it’s just a book in the room like a science book or a history book–”

“It’s actually very different,” you chime in.

“Kids can take them or leave them,” Bev states smugly, “Sure, I may read an inspiring passage during homeroom from time to time, but I am not evangelizing. I am simply sharing my faith with the children in the hopes that they might be inspired.”

You can’t tell if Bev knows what she’s saying is complete bullshit, or if she really believes her own lie.

“If we had a Muslim faculty member, and they quoted the Quran to the kids, I would be fine with that so long as the text wasn’t offensive, which, forgive me for saying so, a good deal of that text can be, at times.”

Hassan scoffs, unable to hold back his ire for her any longer.

“That is not an attack, Sheriff. I certainly admit that the Holy Bible, the Old Testament in particular, has passages that are not suitable for children.

“Invaluable to adults, of course, but I would never read the tale of Lot and his wife to a group of kids. Anything that I quote, I vet beforehand.” Her croning feels like nails in your ears.

“That’s not the point he’s making–” Erin tries to interject.

“And what is education,” Bev casts her scornful gaze to Erin now, chastising her coworker like a child instead of a peer, “If not providing a student with the option to learn? Why be afraid to let them read a particular text?”

Bev’s voice continues to grow louder in volume.

“What, are we gonna burn books we find even a smidge controversial? And in this case, current events, local events, well, they beg for further study, don’t they?” She’s staring at you Hassan now, her eyes filled with venom for the two people in the room who haven’t joined her for Sunday service.

“I’m just gonna say it, there is no point in pretending there isn’t an elephant in the room. We are living in a miraculous time. Right here, right now, on Crockett Island. There are actual bona fide miracles happening before our eyes at St. Patrick’s.”

“And this community…,” Bev pauses for dramatic effect, “Sheriff, you should know this, you are responsible for observing this community. This community is in the midst of a full-blown religious revival at the moment. “And if the children of this community cannot discuss that in their local school, well, I just don’t know what that is.”

Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head as the room erupts into applause. Bev Keane had them eating out the palm of her hand, and judging by the shit-eating grin on her face, she’ll be riding this high for a long time.

~~~

“What is the point of calling a whole PTA meeting if Bev is just going to talk over everyone the whole time?” you bemoan as you and Hassan walk back home. “What is the point of a PTA in the first place if that woman is just going to do what she wants anyways?”

Hassan clicks his tongue. “This is Bev Keane’s world, sugar, we’re just living in it.”

“You’re not funny.” Hassan laughs anyway and throws his arm over your shoulders.

“Interesting how you chose to be a parent tonight,” Bev calls to you from down the road.

Hassan flashes you a look of warning--don’t give her what she wants. But she keeps going.

“Or are you back to being an older sister now that the PTA meeting is over?” That damn grin is back on her face. “You know, I think it’s so admirable that the two of you have grown so close. It’s cute, really. Some might frown at the idea of an unwed couple spending so much time together, but it’s cute.”

The snide remark makes you both stop in your tracks. It’s your turn to give Hassan a look. Holding back your temper has become second nature to you. So much of your life has been spent not letting people get a rise out of you.

How quickly it’s all undone in the seconds it takes for you to turn your head to look her in the eye as you speak.

“Is it cute, Bev?” you cock your head to the side, “What I think is cute is this little act you do in front of everyone. Pious, giving Bev Keane who is so devoted to the church and the children.”

“An act?” she scoffs.

“An act, a performance, fake, phony, fraudulent. Do you need the dictionary definition?” You shrug Hassan’s arm off your shoulder, “You’re a snake, you’re a poison to this town and these people but your head is so far up your own ass, you can’t see it.”

Her cheeks flush red as she pushes her hand to her chest in shock. You don’t give her the opportunity to respond.

“I see it, though. And so does Hassan, and quite a few others,” you seethe, “But I don’t care about that, I don’t care if this whole island-if the whole country-thinks you’re a good person. You stay away from me and my family and we won’t have any problems.”

Bev looks flabbergasted, shocked and disgusted that anyone would ever question her or her motives.

“All I’m trying to do is guide these child-”

“You know what, Bev?” You cut her off, stalking towards her like an animal on the hunt, “If you ever manage to trick someone into having a baby with you, you can guide them all you want, in any way you want and I won’t say a word. Assuming you still have time left.”

The hatred she has for you finally shows on her face, the thin layer of skin she has for a top lip curls up in a snarl and she just stands there, glaring at you.

“I’m not going to tell you goodnight, because I don’t want you to have a good night. So I’ll just tell you bye until the next time I have to suffer through your presence again,” the smile on your face is filled with malice.

Bev starts walking again, knocking you with her shoulder as she passes by you. Before she gets too much farther, she looks over her shoulder at you and Hassan one last time.

“Bye, Bev!” calls Hassan with a wave.

You watch her walk up the winding path until she’s finally disappeared behind the various homes that line the street.

“Wow,” the sheriff sighs, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that’s the first time someone rendered that woman speechless.”

Coming up from behind you, Hassan wraps his arms around your waist and kisses the back of your head. “Now let’s get you home before you give the rest of the island a piece of your mind.”

It’s not said aloud, but you know Hassan is proud of you for standing your ground. A warm feeling settles in your chest as you walk home entwined with him. The closer you get, the more that warmth starts to feel like hunger.

“You know,” you say as you fiddle with your keys on the porch, “Whitney’s babysitting tonight.”

Hassan nods, noting the glint in your eye.

“That so?” he muses.

You hum, pulling him inside by his jacket. He expects you to lead him to the couch, instead you drag him past the couch and down the hall towards your bedroom.

#🧄.musings #sheriff hassan #hassan el-shabbaz x reader #sheriff hassan x reader #hassan el-shabazz x reader #midnight mass #midnight mass smut #ships passing in the night

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space-helen · 2 years

Text

Apples

Words: 1540

Pairing: Sheriff Hassan x Reader

A/N: so this is a little late… sorry so uhm yeah I made this autumn/winter esque

Request: Maybe a Sheriff Hassan x Reader going do some fun autumn activities like apple picking or making s'mores? :) - Anon

______________________

There wasn’t much to do on Crockett island but you always found a way to entertain yourself and it made you cherish the simpler things in life more.

You’d never expected to be staying on the island this long. Yet everything lately had taken you by surprise. The biggest thing? Ending up in a relationship with the Sheriff of the island.

Walking hand in hand with the man and his hand warming yours you soon found the small section of apple trees in the woods.

“Are you even sure they’re ok to eat?”

“Erin said she always used to as a kid. I’m sure they’re fine.”

“If you say so.” the man held open a bag as you picked some apples from the lower hanging branches.

“What about this one?” you presented the man an apple.

“Yeah that looks good.”

“This?” you knew what his answer was going to be, the apple looked dirty and had holes in.

“Y/N absolutely not are you trying to get us sick?”

You shrugged and tossed the apple to the side. Analysing the tree again you circled it a couple of times to try and find more to pick.

“It looks like there’s some up top” the man pointed high up in the tree.

Smiling you walked up to him, taking the bag of apples from his hands you placed it next to the tree trunk. “Give me a boost.”

The man let out a laugh “Really?”

You nodded “If you want some good apples, give me a boost.”

The man teased you by rolling his eyes and sighed “If you insist. Want to sit on my shoulders or for me to give you a leg up?”

“Shoulders sound more secure.”

The man crouched down for you to climb on. Laughing the entire time you held on tightly as he rose to his full height echoing your laughs.

“The more you laugh the more you make me laugh and the less stable I am.”

“Alright alright.” you tried to calm yourself down. “Take a couple steps towards the tree.” the man happily did as you asked as his hands found your legs to keep you supported. Plucking some apples off the tree you passed them down to him.

Moving one of his hands from your leg he collected the apples and gently tossed them in the direction of the bag.

“I’m ready to come down now.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes.” you leant forward and pecked the man on the cheek “Please”

Smiling he turned his head to where yours now was and gently placed a kiss on your lips before crouching down and allowing you to climb off.

“What’s the plan with the apples anyway?”

“I guess I’ll make you and Ali an apple pie.” you shrugged and picked up the bag. Turning back to the man you could see a small smile pulling at his lips. “What?”

“You just have a little something in your hair.” the man stepped towards you and quickly pulled out a couple of leaves.

Taking his hand the two of you walked back to his place. The journey was cold but you knew it’d just make the warmth of indoors feel even better.

Opening his front door he let you walk in first, the man called for his son but had no reply “I guess he’s out.”

He shrugged off his denim jacket and hung it up before taking yours and hanging it up next to his.

The chill of the house hit you both. Going to the nearest radiator the man gently placed his hand on it “The damn thing hasn’t kicked in again.” he grumbled before moving through the house out of view.

Moving through to the kitchen you pulled out a bowl and some towels. Washing the apples in the sink you dried them and placed them in the bowl, assessing each as you went. Once completed you filled two glasses of water and moved into the living area.

Placing the glasses down you could hear the man walking around the house. Taking a seat on the sofa you shivered as you felt the chill again.

“Here.” you jumped slightly not realising the man was in the room with you.

You turned and accepted what the man was offering you before he disappeared again. Unfolding the thick large blanket you wrapped it around yourself. Yes the material was slightly itchy but you wanted the warmth right now.

You could hear the man’s footsteps behind you but didn’t turn towards him.

Before you knew it you felt the couch dip beside you. Turning in the little cocoon you’d created you watched the man place two mugs in front of you before sitting back.

“I made us both some hot chocolate.”

“I didn’t think I could love you any more.” your hands broke out of the shelter you’d made and reached for the mug. Clasping your hands around it, you brought it to you.

The man smiled as he watched you “Cold Y/N?”

“I think it’s caught up with me.”

“Mhm” the mans eyes sparkled as you met them. “Since you’ve done such as great job at warming up the blanket can I have some?”

You felt yourself shiver at the prospect of the cold chill hitting you again.

“You can but you have to find a way to unwarp this mess without me getting cold.”

“Challenge accepted.” the man began to work on the mess you’d created with the blanket and eventually the two of you were both covered by it. He opened his arms and beckoned you into his side, happily accepting you allowed the man to share his body heat with you and he hugged you close under the blanket.

The man poked his hand from under the blanket to reach for the remote, he turned on the TV and let whatever came on play as he quickly let his hand retreat to the warmth under the blanket.

Feeling you shiver he rubbed your arm to try and encourage some heat.

“Thank you.”

The man reached out of the warmth and grabbed your hot drink he handed it to you before picking up his own. The cold room had made it cool to a drinkable temperature quickly and the two of you had soon finished the drinks.

Cuddling back up together under the blanket you mindlessly watched the trash TV on in front of you for a while you may have even fallen asleep during that time but you couldn’t be sure.

The opening of the front door had the two of you snapping back to reality.

“Hey Dad. Y/N. It’s cold in here isn’t it?” you recognised the boy's voice instantly.

Hassan and yourself greeted the boy at the same time, both turning towards him as you did so. You expected the man beside you to unwrap his arms from you but he hugged you closer.

The boy moved through the house as he spoke “I’m just here to grab some things and change. I’m going out again with Warren.”

Hassan looked towards his son and you peeped over the back of the couch towards him as well.

“Can you be back for tonight?”

“Like every night?” the boy said sarcastically and it made a smile pull on your lips.

“I mean for dinner.” Hassan matched his sons tone

“Oh so also like always.”

Hassan grumbled “Yeah”

“Any reason why?”

“I thought we could all make some smores together. I picked up the things yesterday.” the man looked at you to check it was ok and you nodded.

“You know I love a good smore.” You could tell he was interested but preoccupied.

“Alright be back at a decent time. Stay safe.”

The boy waved at you both as he exited the house “I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.” you waved back at the boy.

The two of you stared at the door for a second. “He may be growing up but it’s nice to know he’ll still make time for smores.”

You laughed at the man's comment as he pulled you close again. “I think everyone can make time for them.”

The man chuckled and picked up the TV remote “We should probably find something less mind numbing to watch.”

“Wishful thinking there. All the other channels have bad reception, you know that.”

“I could go and get some DVDs out but that means moving from under the blanket.”

You thought about losing the man's warmth “Yeah lets not do that.”

You clung to the man tighter as he flicked through the channels. Finding another channel with decent quality reception he let the bad movie play. Placing the remote down he pulled you towards him and placed another kiss to the top of your head.

He knew some people on the island would complain that he took the day off but he didn’t regret it one bit. He’d spent a lot of time with you over the past couple months but it was mainly before or after work.

A smile pulled on his lips as he felt you fully relax into him. He couldn’t wait to spend more days like this with you, time off was about to become more frequent.

Tag List: (open) All Midnight Mass:

Sheriff Hassan:

#sheriff hassan x reader #midnight mass x reader

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