#Dog Bite Lawyer Palm Springs | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

nonobadcat · 2 years

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A real world AU Gothic Romance - part 2/3

Artwork by the amazing @obsidianne-art

Pairing: Ghost Shigaraki X Fem!Reader

Rating: Readers 18+ only

Content Warnings: Dead dog mention, PnO, V/oy with stalker vibes, self-care of an adult nature, mentions of a rich family being jerks to working class Reader

Chapter Two Word Count: 3.9k, Ao3 Mirror

Part I ---❤--- Part 3

Saturday, October 22nd, 2022

Slamming the door of your ten year old car, you ducked your head under one arm and raced through the cold, October rain. By the time the front door banged shut, wet tendrils of wild hair were plastered to your skin. Wiping your forehead, you kicked off your muddy shoes and threw your patched, Carhartt coat over the grand newel at the front of the stairs.

Making a fake mouth with your hand, you mimicked a nasally whine. “Do you really need to go in and out so many times? You’re letting the cold in! Jayden-Breydon-Ashton-Trenton will get pneumonia and his lungs will be damaged. If my perfect child can’t win at every sport known to man because of you, I'll sue! My husband’s a lawyer! Our congressman will hear about this!” Your tool bag thumped to the floor as you trudged up the stairs grumbling to yourself. “Yeah, and your Karen nonsense is gonna pay quadruple time before I go out at seven on a Saturday cause your dumb brat flushed his plastic army men down the toilet. Again!”

As you turned the final step, your dominant hand’s pointer finger caught on the rail, forcing the already injured digit back a painful 190 degrees. A stream of violent curses poured from your mouth, dripping onto the antique banister with enough acidic bite to melt the finish. Peeling off the plastic Pokémon bandaid, you glared at the inch long slice down the inside of your knuckle.

“Friggen yuppie bedroom communities and their cookie cutter, spliced together McMansions!” you grumbled, slamming a flat palm into the bedroom door. It banged open, bouncing off the newly installed spring stopper before sliding to a halt. Ripping off your coveralls, you tossed the filthy, muck soaked mess into the plastic basket marked “Work Clothes” in half erased black sharpie. “Small wonder the plumbing is always clogged. The builder did such a junk job that crap rolls up the pipes! Another Bryane Homes special!”

Flinging your undergarments to the creamy, hex tile floor, you flipped on the shower, listening to the old pipes thump twice before water finally emerged. Air in the lines again, huh? Looks like this weekend you'd be leak checking everything that "master plumber" did, again. The previous homeowner sure didn't know how to find a handyman.

Stepping past the glass door into the recently remodeled shower of beige stone, you snagged your favorite body wash and mopped the stink of the day off your skin. The splash of water on the stainless drain grate mingled with deep sighs, ventilation fans, and the clunk of your skull on smooth tile.

"I hate humanity!" you groaned, burying your head in your hands.

After completing your nightly routine, you opened the bedroom door, letting the warm, humid air fill the cold, dry room. Hard rain pelted the windows, rolling in thick droplets down the dark glass. Thunder rumbled in the distance as you padded naked and barefoot across the oak floor. You snapped on the small table lamp near your bed and headed for the wardrobe.

The royal purple, babydoll chemise slipped onto your body like a glove. Lacy, princess seams and triangular cups were lined with smooth raylon for discreet, but suggestive coverage. Trimmed with tiny satin bows, the mesh back hugged your curves before dipping into a graceful, flowing skirt. A ruffled hem hung two inches below your crotch line, showing off soft thighs and tiger-striped stretch marks. Tugging on cute panties, you climbed into smooth, cool sheets and pulled the flimsy microfiber comforter over your shoulders. The bedside light snapped off. Heavy lids drifted shut.

The tritone blast of a train whistle rattled through the windows. With a groan, you pulled your flat pillow over your head and buried your face in the mattress. Steady click-clacks accompanied the dull roar that poured in on the blustering winds. Eye twitching, you looked up just as lightning flashed across the room. Caught in the bright glare, red eyes glowed in the mirror.

Hold up, what?!

You sat bolt upright, clutching the cheap blanket to your chest. The pounding of your heart drowned out the next thunder clap. You squinted at the looking glass, but there was no sign of anything but the bathroom light.

Aw crap. Duh. The bathroom!

The bedside lamp clicked back on. With a frustrated snarl, you trapsed across the room and flipped the wall switch, snuffling out the CFL above the toilet. Tugging the door shut, you cast a wary glance at the old mirror. Still nothing there. Shaking your head, you crawled back into bed and flicked the table light off again.

Fifteen minutes after the train blew past, you lay in bed, staring at the cracked plaster ceiling. Though softening droplets made for relaxing background noise, itchy eyes and a wild imagination refused to let you rest. Counting down from one hundred proved useless.You’d tensed and released your entire body muscle by muscle, twice. Four-Seven-Eight breathing did little to ease your racing mind. You swallowed, realizing the one thing you hadn’t tried yet.

Oh yeah right! Like you could get off when those burning eyes were seared into your brain!

Rolling over for the fiftieth time, you spotted the murky outline of the mahogany secretary through the shadows. Huh… Well, if sexy thoughts were too awkward, maybe picturing something cute and heartwarming would do?

You groaned, pressing your palms to your dry eyes. Throwing off the covers, you walked to the old writing desk and flopped down the front panel. The key clicked in the latch. You extracted the picture of the Shimura children and their dog before heading back to bed. The bedside lamp flipped on. Your hand traced the edge of the old photograph.

“Geeze, you both were really cute kids.” You pursed your lips, checking the date. Tidy, pencil lead scrawl read: 1884. “Ugh… The poor dog only made it a year?! Screw that puppy puncher!”

You laid the photo on the nightstand, before flopping back onto your bed. As you curled onto your side, half-stuffed blankets cupped your cheek. You yawned, picturing the sweet smile on the little boy's face. Warm, dark eyes beamed with joy as he clutched his new friend like a treasure. You hummed, grabbing a roll of the comforter and dragging it to your chest. If you closed your eyes, you could almost feel soft fur and excited panting, as if you were the one with a puppy in your arms. The steady thump of rain on glass reminded you of a fast paced doggie heartbeat. Buried face first in your fantasy, your breathing slowed. Tired limbs grew heavy as your brain floated away.

“I hope you did okay after everything, Tenko,” you murmured into the blankets. “I wish I could have met you.”

Racing through the pounding rain, you braced a hand over your eyes. The light of the grand house ahead pierced the blurry haze, guiding you up the gravel drive. Slick kidskin boots took the stairs two at a time. Wet hands shoved slimy strands of ruined hair behind your ears. Cold precipitation soaked through your waist-hugging wool coat. The fashionable bell sleeves of the short, double breasted jacket did little to protect your blouse from the elements. Water dripped from the poofy edge of cream silk bishop sleeves. You tugged out the long pins that clamped your toque hat to your head. Rain had flooded the dark beaver felt. The tiny brim sagged low like your mood. With as much dignity as you could muster, you straightened the deep purple kick pleats of your wool skirt before rapping on the door.

Kerosene lamplight spilled out onto the porch as a tall, imposing butler in a double breasted suit stared down at you. “May I help you?” he asked.

You squinted to make out his features, but even holding a lantern, his face was obscured by shadow. Swallowing your nerves, you rolled your shoulders back. The wet plip-plop from saturated silk ruined the image. Still, you raised your chin. “I am terribly sorry to bother you, but my bicycle tire went flat just before sunset. I must have gotten turned around in the lane during the storm and now I’m hopelessly lost. May I stay here until morning?”

“Kurogiri,” a gravelly voice growled from the front parlor. “Show her in.”

“Of course,” the butler replied, bowing at the waist. He held one arm out, gesturing to the open door. “Please, come this way.”

Leaving puddles with each step of your button-up ankle boots, you trod soddenly into the next room. Sumptuous scarlet wallpaper patterned with geometric golden rings glowed in the dim yellow light of the brass and glass wall sconce. A high backed, Rococo revival sofa set sat atop a plush, hand knotted wool rug. Across a throne of golden floral brocades, the evening paper lay tossed aside. You followed long, slender ankles up black merino trousers to a smoking jacket the color of pinot noir. Single breasted and well fit, its shawl collar was trimmed in deep ebony velvet. Instead of buttons, two ornate frog closures nipped in at the waist. White collar unbuttoned to his throat latch and leaning against the window, the master of the house peered at you with burning red eyes. Flowing waves of silver-white hair cascaded around his heart shaped face. When you froze, he scratched the side of his dry, peeling neck and grinned at you.

“Retro suits you,” he teased.

Dumbfounded, you stared at the handsome twenty something.

With a hum, he rose to his feet and moved a plush, small stool nearer to the fireplace. “Kurogiri, prepare a hot bath.”

The butler snapped his heels and headed up the stairs, leaving you dripping on the not-so-old wood floor.

Your host patted the rich, tufted upholstery. “Take off your coat and get warm before you catch the flu.”

Horrified, you waved your hands. “I’m soaked! I’ll ruin your furniture!”

Rolling his eyes, he stalked across the room and snatched up your wrist. “You made it this far barging into my life, why worry about it now?”

As howling wind rattled the bay windows, you shivered.

The slender man pushed you down onto the plush seat, plucking the buttons of your tightly fitted coat before you could protest. He shook it out, spattering water across the ivory carpet before hanging it over the back of a chair. “See?” he demanded, pointing to the pristine rug. “It doesn’t matter here.”

“Here?” You wrapped your arms around yourself. “What do you mean?”

He snorted, flopping down on the sofa. Resting his pointy elbows on his knees, he smirked at your over folded hands. “It’s just a dream. You can’t ruin anything.”

"A dream?" You peeked around him at the elegant impressionist paintings on the walls. Through the open door, you spotted a square based, bone china vase on a familiar mahogany table. Startled eyes flicked back to the man before you. "Hey wait a second, this is—"

"My home," he finished with a taunting sneer. "I lived here long before you did."

You narrowed your eyes, scanning up and down his features. "Who are you?"

With a scowl, he pointed to his nose. "Seriously? You're the one who asked to meet me, idiot."

As he threw himself back in the chair, the kerosene lamplight faded from his face. Dark waves and almond eyes dragged the picture of the little boy to the front of your mind. You lept to your feet in excitement.

"Tenko?! Tenko Shimura?!"

The man before you cringed like he'd been smacked with a brick. Grabbing your arm, he dragged you down to his level. "Don't call me that! That's not my name!"

Wobbly, worn out legs threatened to pitch you forward into his lap. When your knees buckled, panicked hands caught the wooden frame of the sofa. With his face only an inch away, brilliant red irises reminded you of living rubies. Though his brow hair had been burned away and the skin under his eyes looked painfully dry, the adorable mole on his right chin made your heart skip. Your breath caught in your throat. The tiny scar on his left lip curled with his sneer. Blazing heat splashed over your skin, surging up into your head like three glasses of sherry.

Oh crap… he was stupid hot!

"O-oh!" you stammered, forcing a pinched laugh. "I'm… er… um…" Your eyes rolled away from his pointed stare. "Sorry."

With an irritated sigh, he loosed your arm and scratched his neck. "Just don't call me Shimura again, got it?"

"Of course! I'm really sorry!" Swallowing down the stone in your throat, you fiddled with your fingers. "I would have changed my name too, given the circumstances."

He tossed you a proud smirk. "I knew you would understand."

A pointed cough echoed from the door. "Master Shigaraki," the butler called. "The bath is ready, as you requested."

Freshly aware of exactly how close your face was to your host, you jolted backwards. The heel of your boots caught on the plush carpet. Just as you started to slip, Shigaraki wrapped one arm around your corseted waist and pulled you into his chest.

"Shall we go upstairs?" he purred in your ear.

Okay… now you were wet for an entirely different reason.

Step by step, the master of the house led you up the walnut treads towards the far bedroom. He smelled like feral cumin-musk and spicy cloves. As you passed the master suite, you raised a curious brow.

"That was my parents’," he explained, pulling you along. "I never wanted to sleep in the same place as that man."

"Oh…" you murmured, following him into the northern bedroom. "That makes a lot of sense.”

In your-er… his sleeping quarters, the gothic revival bed set and elegant writing desk sat in the same spots as their present-day counterparts. However, the warm amber stain looked much less yellow than in your time. Beyond the pocket bathroom door, polished marble tiles led to a gilded porcelain soaking tub. Steam poofed into the cold air, curling up past cream silk papered walls delicately trimmed with gold leaf. Dried lavender potpourri scented the room. A fluffy towel lay neatly folded on the mother-of-pearl pedestal sink.

The fingers on your corset dipped down to your hips as he loomed over your shoulder. Warm breath tickled your ear. "After your bath, you can apologize properly for your mistake.”

A coy smile curled onto your lips. “Define properly?”

Two fingers gripped your chin and turned your face to his. Red eyes drifted shut. “Take a guess.”

Shigaraki's lips tasted of wine and copper. With a moan, you leaned into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands drifted to the buttons on the back of your wool skirt. It slumped to the floor, pooling around your ankles. A soft tongue stroked yours. You met his motions with heated enthusiasm. Deft fingers plucked the fasteners of your wet, ruffled blouse until it slipped from your shoulders. Tangling his hand in your stays, he tugged your s-curve corset and its cover free. Your thumbs hooked under your drawers and petticoat, throwing them to the ground. Kicking them away, all that remained between you and him was a thin, silk chemise and one pair of stubborn, button-up boots.

“How on earth do you people even get to the good part?!” you demanded, squatting to fight with the brass closures.

He cackled. “A little excited are we?”

You reached up and cupped the bulge in his trousers. “You’re one to talk," you fired back with a naughty wink.

The pale man groaned, snatching your wrist into his strong grip. His cheeks flushed pink. “If you want to make it to that bath, stop now," he rasped.

Raising an eyebrow at him, you flashed him a saucy smirk. “Bold of you to assume I give a rat’s about the bath.”

All at once, Shigaraki dragged you to your feet, smashing his lips against yours like he intended to eat you alive. As you giggled, he broke the kiss and marched you back into the bedroom. “Wagtail,” he growled, tossing a pillow on the floor.

Settling yourself on your knees, you pawed at the front of his pants. “I don't know what that means, but I like dogs.”

Fortunately for everyone involved, his pants had far fewer buttons than your stupid shoes. You fumbled with the frog closures for only a moment before shoving the velvet smoking jacket out of the way. Untucking his long shirtwaist, your fun screeched to a halt when you encountered long underwear.

“What the actual—” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “So much for a strip tease!” Faking a pout, you tugged on his shirt. “Help a horny girl out?”

With a snort of laughter, Shigaraki quickly shuffled out of his complex layers. By the time you got your damp chemise and stupid boots off, his stiff cock finally escaped its elborate prison. Thumb and forefinger forming a ring grip, you gave him a few experimental strokes. When he tossed his head back, white waves haloed his face. You bit your lip, savoring the ethereal beauty of his fair complexion against those haunting crimson irises.

A firm hand cupped the back of your head. “Now you slow down?” he demanded between pants.

Tucking stray strands of hair behind your ear, you lowered your lips to his weeping, flushed tip. “Calm down. I'm just savoring the moment.”

When your hot mouth slipped over his salty head, the man above you gasped. Hollowing your cheeks, you bobbed your way down, inch by inch. Your tongue stroked the thick vein on his underside, trailing up to the small piece of tissue just below the spongy crown. Flicking the sensitive skin elicited a throaty whimper.

Shigaraki’s strong fingers curled tighter into your scalp as he loosed a garbled curse. “More,” he demanded.

You smirked at the expletive before diving back down.

Taking his generous girth deep into your mouth, your tongue lolled around the edge of his shaft. Your free hand slid up his soft inner thighs. Rolling his balls between your fingers, you shivered when musky precum coated your tastebuds. Harsh pants from above urged you on.

As you worked him further into ecstasy, each stuttered thrust crept closer and closer to the soft roof of your mouth. You angled him away from your gag, swallowing down thick saliva. It didn’t help. Drool pooled at the corners of your mouth, leaving him coated in slick. Wet clicks accompanied choked whines as you worked him to the back of your throat.

Shigaraki squirmed in your hold, guiding you into a relentless pace. Your jaw ached as his swollen cock forced you to spread your teeth wider. Tears welled at your lash line. His filthy moans stoked the heat between your legs. All at once, he stiffed, his hard grip clamping down on your skull.

With a hoarse gasp, he spilled himself down your throat.

Flying up in your bed, you banged your chest as violent coughs wracked your body. By the time you cleared your sore throat, all you could smell was stale, salty breath. You groped for the clock on your night stand. Red LEDs read 3:39am. Your thighs shifted against each other. Wet need stained your panties.

“Not fair!” you whined, slamming your fist into your limp pillow. “Of course I wake up before the good part!”

Flopping back onto the mattress, you rolled onto your side and squeezed your eyes shut. How long you laid there, staring at the back of your eyelids was impossible to say. However, while the digital numbers rolled upwards, sleep danced further and further away. The cravings from your wet dream still burning in your skin, you whimpered and slipped your hand between your legs.

That was when a rip of pain reminded you of that nasty slice on your finger.

Cussing violently, you flipped on the table light. Sure enough, fresh crimson seeped across the previously clotted wound. Throwing off the covers, you gripped your bleeding finger and shuffled off to the cold bathroom. Thrusting your hand under the tap, you gingerly cleaned and dried the injury. The mirrored medicine cabinet rattled open. You peeled a brand new Pikachu Band-aid from its packaging and slapped it over the damaged digit. Closing your eyes, you leaned on the ceramic sink. It was no good. Sharp stabs from your hand couldn’t compete with the hypersensitive need crawling up your core.

As your fingers curled into the thin, cheap towel, you knew what you had to do to fall asleep.

From his glassy vantage point, Tomura watched your pursed lips and frustrated stomping with a pleased sneer. Dragging the flimsy Walmart towel from its mount, you trudged back into your bedroom and threw it on the sheets. Though the light snapped off, he could still see as clear as day. With a raised brow, he watched you ball the fabric under your hips and flop over onto your stomach.

As you began to grind yourself on the towel, a long deceased cock sprung back to life.

One palm flat against the cool bedding, your free hand tugged the stretch lace cup of your slinky nightgown aside. Soft fingers tickled your bare breast before tweaking the pert nipple. You shuddered, loosing a slutty moan.

Leaning against the surface of his mirror, Tomura shuffled himself out of his clothes and gripped his shaft. Watching you roll your body against the rough cloth sent a spike of pleasure through his belly. Erotic creaks from his old bed left his mouth bone dry. Your blood plumped lips and half lidded eyes made for fertile fantasies. Swiping some of the pre-cum from his slit, he began to match your pace.

As you worked yourself further and further into depravity, the show before him left Tomura feverish and panting. He watched your legs curl and slacken as you tried to find the right pressure. A few irritated grumbles accompanied rustling bed sheets. When you finally hit upon a position that made your body clench, he heard filthy pleas spilling for your lips.

“Please,” you begged, your hips vibrating against the rough fabric. “W-want your cock so bad!”

Liquid heat blazed through his veins as he fisted his swollen length. Stoking the fire with each pump, he chased the feverish sensation with single-minded desire. The sound of your eager cries and sight of your fingers teasing the pert nub propelled him forward. Hazy eyes watched your body tremble as he pictured himself balls-deep in your velvety cunt. It should be his hand teasing your tit. It should be his fingers making those slutty noises spill from your puffy lips. He clenched his teeth, losing himself in thoughts of your soft body clamped around his swollen cock.

It was then that a raspy inhale accompanied the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.

“Shi-Shigaraki…” You whimpered his name, burying your face in the mattress. “Mmmm gonna… gonna—”

All at once, he exploded over the glass. Limp body leaning on the frame, he drank in the sight of your heaving chest and dazed smile. He watched you shove the towel to the floor and snuggle into the pillow. As your breathing slowed, one overpowering, addictive thought filled his brain with intoxicating lust.

He had to hear you call his real name over and over in that same, needy voice.

Taglist:

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@rekoii @down-with-the-shigness @softkao @night-shadowblood-writes2

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palmdesertaccidentblog · 5 years

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solutinlogicthink · 2 years

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Dog attacks are common in our day to day life. If you are attacked by a dog then contact Palm Desert Dog Bite Attorneys today.

#Dog Bite Lawyers in Palm Springs

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themuseic · 2 years

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The Lucky Ones

Clyde Logan x fem!Reader / / WC: 6,007 / / AO3 Mirror

Warnings: Fem!Reader, No Pronouns, PIV Sex, Dirty Talk, Creampie, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Squirting (If You Squint), Brief Slapstick Violence, Alcohol Mention.

Author’s Note: Written for @jynzandtonic for the 2021 ADCU Spring Fic Exchange!! I had so much fun participating and writing this. Please ignore the fact that this has been on AO3 for over half a year. I’m sorting out my posts and reorganizing. Enjoy and thank you for reading!!!

Zoooooom.

The racing fumes are as thick as the early summer air. The Coca-Cola 600 is one of the biggest races every year, regardless of the heat that beats down on the spectators.

You suck in air as you trudge through the tunnels under the track, coughing at the combination of heat, humidity, and chemicals. As if it relieves some of your pain, you curse whoever stocked your snack bar that day as you adjust the sack of hot dog buns slung over your shoulder like a sack of toys - you look like a right ole’ speedway Santa.

A quick glance at your watch kicks you into high gear as you realize you’ve already been gone from your post for twenty minutes, and you really can’t afford another talking to from the boss. The pace of your strides picks up as you break into a brisk walk, on a mission to haul your sack of buns to the snack stand and you round the corner sharply.

Nothing could have prepared you for the scene you stumble upon.

A large, black haired man in a jumpsuit launches his fist forward to land it square on the end of social media energy drink mogul Max Chilblain’s nose, sending him flying back into the concrete wall.

Your eyes grow wide as you stare at them. The dark haired man hisses as he shakes his hand - his only hand you notice - in an attempt to dull the pain of impact as Chilblain howls in the background. High and shrill, he screams, “ Someone come and bloody help me! I’ve been assaulted!” You bite back a laugh as he continues.

“You’ll be hearing from my lawyer, you brute!” he screeches, clutching desperately at his crooked nose with both hands. Chilblain doesn’t waste a single moment as he scurries down the tunnel and away from the source of his embarrassment.

And then three men are left. The man in the jumpsuit, the white haired man, and Dayton White.

White’s face pales in an instant and his arms shoot into the sky in surrender. Eyes dart between each other quickly, swathed in a terse silence.

A sigh. “Aw, git,” the white haired man dismisses with a blasé wave of his hand, and the racecar driver takes off faster than you ever had seen him react to the wave of a green flag.

When the broad backed and snow haired men spot you, they move faster than light itself. The smaller of the two, the one with an incredibly large tattoo of West Virginia on his neck, races to where you stand frozen and pushes your body back into the wall, his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle the scream he guesses is inevitable. You grunt at the impact against the concrete.

“Now listen here,” he whispers into your ear. “You didn’t see none of this happen, right?” He nods, his mouth open in a prompting grin as he urges you to nod along with him using his hand. You protest against him, your exasperation muffled into his palm.

“Joe, leave ‘em alone!” The other man pulls at the aforementioned Joe’s shoulder, but you beat him to the punch. Quite literally.

You jerk your knee up to land squarely between Joe’s legs, sending him stumbling back towards the opposite wall, clutching his nether regions as he groans. “Jesus!” he exclaims as he stumbles over his feet. “Y’aint have t’ do that!”

You smooth your pants down as you collect yourself, unbothered by Joe’s pained moans. “You didn’t have to do that either,” you shoot back, glaring daggers at the doubled over man.

“Y’alright there darlin’?” The deep rumble of his baritone voice draws your attention back to the dark haired man. You turn and get your first real look at him. It steals your breath.

He’s huge, broadbacked and strong. He fills out his grey jumpsuit perfectly, even if the left arm of his jumpsuit dangles loosely in the breeze of the tunnels, and you can't help but desire to run your fingers through his long, black hair. His lip pouts as he looks at you, scanning your face for signs that Joe hurt you. He has a sincerity in your eyes that is something special, and you can’t help but smile back at him. He’s beautiful if you’re being honest, and his concern twists your stomach in a way you can’t quite place. “Alright, as long as you can keep your friend in check,” you tease, shooting a glare over at Joe while he rights himself.

“Listen sweetheart,” Joe croons through his pain, wearing a smile you sure he’d rather wipe off of his face. “Now I’m serious, if you keep quiet about all this, y’ might benefit in the future.”

You swear your eyes should have gotten stuck given how hard you roll them. “That’s no problem,” you scoff. “But you’re still going to get caught.”

“Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure about that?”

“There’s security posted at every exit.” You nod towards their getup. “And you definitely don’t look like you’re supposed to be down here.”

“Shit!” Joe laments. “I’m gonna kill Sam and Fish. How in the hell did they get bad info?”

You cock your eyebrow and make eye contact with Joe’s accomplice. His expression says it all. “Of course Sam and Fish got bad info.” Then, he speaks aloud. “Well, what are we supposed t’’ do then?”

You look between the men, chew on your cheek, and make a split second decision. “I have an idea. Come here.”

///

It only takes a few minutes before you’re pushing a large, green canvas cart down the hallway, your sack of hot dog buns perched on top of two men, folded uncomfortably around each other. You can hear small sounds of discontent emanating from the lump as they try to get situated. “Hey!” you hiss, nudging the side of the cart with your foot. “Shut your traps if you want to get out of here without being caught.”

You swear you hear someone grumble about “first a garbage chute, now this,” and you choose to ignore it.

The tunnels are essentially empty, and you fly through the concrete corridors. It’s not too long before you see daylight streaming through one of the exits, and you stride confidently towards it.

A voice cuts through your thoughts. “Hey! Stop!” A burly security guard holds up his hand as he jogs over to you, one hand on his pants to keep them from falling as he does. You freeze and halt the cart, pulling in a deep breath before you turn to him. His name tag reads “Andy” in block letters, and you smile. “What’s the problem Officer Andy? What can I do for you?”

He stops next to your cart and peers in. “Why do you have so many hot dog buns?” He pokes at a roll with his finger, watching the bread spring back.

You force a laugh. “Coca-Cola 600! We’ve got lots of mouths to feed today, and they keep ordering hot dogs!” The flutter of your heart starts to pick up as the guard’s eyes narrow.

“I dunno, that's one hell of a lot of hot dogs.”

You have to take a breath as you start to get annoyed. “Listen, my boss is going to have my ass already. I bet that we have a whole load of people up there waiting on their hot dogs.” You splay your hands and arms towards the cart of buns. “And those hot dogs need their buns!” At this point, you’re trying to talk him into boredom with the details. “And every hot dog sold is another dollar goin’ towards the great sport of NASCAR. You don’t want to stop that do you?”

The security guard holds up his hands as though you have accused him of a crime. “Absolutely not! Carry on,” he allows and he waves you through.

You leave him with a parting smile.

///

“Alright, we’re here,” you announce as you pull up to the employee entrance to the speedway. When you pull the bag of hot dogs off of the hidden cargo, you can’t help but laugh at their red flushed, sweaty faces, warmed by the insulation of plastic and processed bread.

“You’re quick on your feet, huh?” Joe asks after they get out with only slight bickering.

“Guess so,” you shrug as you push the canvas cart into the corner of the space.

The trio of you stare at each other for a few seconds before Joe slaps the chest of his friend and beckons him, “C’mon, let’s get goin’.” He breaks into a brisk jog while he calls back to you over his shoulder, “Thanks!”

You turn to leave them but a sweaty, calloused hand wraps around your wrist. Wide amber eyes greet you as you turn back to see who stopped you, and your stomach twists again. “Thank you,” he mutters without breaking eye contact even to blink. You cover his huge hand with your palm and grin with a small nod. “Now, go, ” you insist, and you swear you catch a small smile grace his face as he turns to jog after Joe, who was already climbing into a bright, electric blue car.

You watch them peel out of the parking lot, headed toward who knows what, and you are left with a racing heartbeat, a bag of half smashed hot dog buns, and an odd feeling in your stomach.

///

“Authorities have confirmed they have recovered the money stolen from the Charlotte Motor Speedway in what some are calling the "Hillbilly Heist."”

The newscast crackles on your worn TV setup, the sound filling your apartment as you tidy up one evening. You chuckle lightly to yourself and shake your head. Since the Coca-Cola 600, not a single day has passed that you hadn’t thought of your chance encounter in the tunnels.

It hadn’t taken you too much thought to put two and two together and figure out that those men you had seen were likely the ones behind the speedway robbery. But, you stuck to your decision that you would forget anything you saw and you stayed quiet as news sources asked for any and all tips regarding the situation.

You whistle low as you consider their luck. Luck that they got into the speedway in the first place, and luck that they ran into you. Luck that they got away with it. Most folks don't see even a whisper of that luck in their whole lifetime, and you laugh. “Must be a family of lucky ones.”

But you couldn’t help but remind yourself that really, you were the lucky one that day. That was the day you got to lay eyes on just about the most beautiful man you had ever seen, and now you can’t seem to get him out of your head.

Now, you find yourself daydreaming at work about his strong, corded arms and his piercing eyes. On your drive home, you recall just how big he looked underneath the grey jumpsuit he donned, and how his perfect black hair cascaded from under his John Deere hat. And at night, when your hand slips below the elastic band of your underwear and you stroke your clit with tight, quick circles, you think of his deep voice, and how perfect it would sound growling into your ear.

After each thought of him, you sigh, and wish for a little bit of that luck. Luck that one day, you’ll even get to just lock eyes with him again.

///

A week trip to the mountains with your friends is just what you need. Work had been nothing short of a nightmare for months now, even after you were granted a promotion from the snack bar to a popcorn hawker. Sure, your skin no longer smelled constantly of cooking oil, but you already had to hold back more than once when some leering greaseball had decided to call for your attention using less than favorable nicknames. Last week, after a particularly unpleasant interaction, you decided you had endured enough, dropped your apron, and marched out of the speedway in a huff.

Yes. A week in the mountains is exactly what you need.

The modest “Welcome to West Virginia” sign zips past you on the side of the highway, barely visible as you race down the road, the car piled high with friends ready for the vacation.

“I’m so excited!” Sarah squeals from the driver’s seat. “We’re going to have just the best time. My parents passed me a ton of recommendations for the area, I haven’t been up since I was a kid.” You look at her and beam while the rest of the car hoots and hollers their agreement.

///

Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.

The clock strikes five the minute you settle in at the cabin, almost like it was programmed to do so. You’ve just finished unpacking your things in the wooden dresser when Sarah sticks her head into the room, announcing happy hour.

“Everyone!!” she crows as she drops to the floor beside you. “I know about the best bar in town! Supposed to have good music too. Who’s in?”

The house erupts into a chorus of yes’s and Sarah flicks her eyes to you, awaiting your agreement. It only takes a second of thought before you fall back against the foot of your bed. “I could go for a little relaxing.”

Sarah throws her arms in the air in triumph as she springs from her seat and flies out of the room.

“We’re leaving in 10!”

///

The building she brings you all to is humble, but in the same way that a childhood home is. It is no more than it needs to be, but it is not anything less. You could call it the Goldilocks of mountain town bars. Just right, and as luck would have it, just what you need it. Even the name brought a smile to your lips.

The Duck Tape.

You push through the doors, ready to be greeted with small town vibes, a rumbling happy hour, and country music drifting through the jukebox.

Instead, you freeze.

It’s him.

///

He saw you, there’s no doubt about that, and he keeps trying to avoid your gaze as he scans the patrons in the bar, no different from you. You try to stay occupied, and you try your absolute best to avoid eye contact. It quickly appears that even your best is far from good enough.

You can’t help but stare at him. He is exactly as you remember, as you see in your mind, with his muscled arms and thick black hair. But seeing him here, like this, brings a whole new depth of gorgeous air about him. You notice just how his eyes glint, how his teeth catch on the light. He looks at home behind the bar, and when you hear him chuckle for the first time, it shoots straight in between your thighs.

You sigh to yourself as you resolve to do something other than pine over this perfect man from afar, and you make your excuses to the group. “Sorry y’all, I have to get something. I’ll be back with a round, alright?” Your friends agree to the plan with enthusiasm, and you mosey right up to the bar.

///

You slide up to the bartop with your drink, and suck down a quick swig for courage. It doesn’t take him long to notice a new body sitting on the barstools, but when he looks up to see it’s you, his face pales and he drops his voice to a whisper.

“Now listen, I’m not looking for any trouble-,” he starts, but you hold up a hand to stop him.

“Neither am I. Just looking for another drink, if that’s alright with you?” You tilt your head down towards the glass in your hand. His brow furrows, and you have an urge to smooth the wrinkled skin of his forehead with your thumb. “You sure that’s all you’re here for?” he huffs. “Nothin’ else?”

You hold up your hands in earnest. “Scout’s honor.”

He seems to ponder that for a minute, his lower lip jutting out into a small pout, before he turns. You call out before he has the chance, just loud enough to catch his attention.

“I see that those riches were put to good use,” you offer, wagging your eyebrows towards his fancy metal arm. The bartender pales immediately and he leans in, dropping his voice to a rasping whisper. “You figured that out?”

You snicker against the ice cubes clinking at the front of your glass as you pour the remaining liquid down your throat, and you swear you see a bead of sweat roll down the side of his face.

“C’mon. Two men down in the tunnels, in a brawl with Max Chil-Pain-In-the-Ass? Same day the speedway gets robbed?” You shrug. “I’m not stupid you know.”

His jaw sets and his brow pinches together as he huffs at your sass. “Now, I didn’t say that.” He snatches your glass from in front of you, sets it in a bin of dirty dishes, and walks away to refresh your drink.

“So, what’s your name big man?” you lilt, watching as his head rolls over to look at you.

“Y’ain’t going to turn around and turn me in?” He cocks an eyebrow as he slides a beer down the bar to a thirsty patron before walking over to you with a deliberate pace and a fresh drink.

You scoff. “What’d be the fun in that?”

“Clyde.” You smile and offer your own in return. “Well thank you very much for the drink, Cl-” and he cuts you off.

“Why’d you help us?” His deep voice reverberates through your chest and you flick your eyes to meet his.

Your tongue rolls across your teeth as you lean back and consider him. Your shoulders raise in a nonchalant shrug while you run the tip of your finger around the lip of the glass before you. “Call it the kindness of a stranger.”

Clyde scoffs at that. It isn’t malicious, but you can tell he didn’t believe you.

“Couldn’ta been that.” He leans back against the bar while he mulls you over as you stand before him.

You scrunch your nose at his statement. “Oh? And why’s that?”

He chews on his lip for a second, staring you down with his strong, piercing gaze, before he resigns and shrugs. “Call it a gut feeling.”

The air is quiet between you, save for the bustle of the customers in the background.

“Well then,” he ponders, “We didn’t belong down there, why didn’t y’ report us after?” Clyde looks puzzled as he sounds. “You’re a speedway employee ain’t ya?”

You scoff and take a hefty swig of your newly refreshed drink Clyde had set in front of you. “Was. Got real tired of being talked badly at.” You roll your eyes, but the way Clyde bristles at your statement doesn’t go unnoticed by you. He recovers quickly and presses on.

“Well what about when they were callin’ for information? That reward should have sent anyone runnin’ for it.”

He was right of course, but you would be lying to him and yourself if you said you didn’t want him to come out on top.

“Guess I was rooting for y’all to be one of the lucky ones,” you admit. Clyde narrows his eyes, but accepts the answer. His pout deepens as he nods and turns to start wiping the bar down.

You don’t let even a full five seconds pass before you can’t ignore the ache between your thighs any longer. You clear your throat, swallow your nerves, and lean forward to whisper in his ear.

“Couldn’t have you going to jail anyway. It’s hard to try and fuck someone who’s in prison.”

If Clyde had picked up a glass, he surely would have shattered it in his hand when you say that. His entire body tenses. You aren’t even sure he breathes, his broad chest is so still you can only assume he is holding his breath. Your stomach twists. You miscalculated, you went too far. Your skin feels like it’s on fire with embarrassment as he starts to turn to you.

Your nose is only a few inches from his sharp, angular one. You can count every one of his sweet moles from this vantage point, and you start to, if only to get your mind off of your massive faux pas. Clyde is nearly cross eyed as he stares down the bridge of his nose at you.

Finally, he speaks.

“I knew it,” he says, his voice wispy and needy. Clyde’s amber eyes light up more with each word. “Joe said I was crazy, but I knew it.” His mouth parts slightly, and only your nerves stop you from pressing your lips to his plush ones.

“Yeah?” you prompt him, breathlessly. Clyde is staring at your lips now, his eyes hooded and sultry.

“My office. In the back. I’ll be there in five.”

You move faster than lightning strikes as you leap from the barstool and race towards the back, shedding your jacket as you go.

Each step is another wet squelch between your legs, and you pray to every heavenly being that only you can hear it.

It doesn’t take long to find the heavy door that separates Clyde’s office from the bar, and you push through it. You’re breathing heavy already, and Clyde hasn’t even touched you once. You toss your jacket onto a chair and perch yourself on the edge of his desk, your hands splayed behind you as you lean back, ready and waiting for him.

Clyde is faster than he promises, and he bursts through the door before you’ve barely had time to situate yourself. He’s across the room and pressed to your front in three strides, and you find yourself captured in a deep kiss.

It’s like fireworks, when your lips collide. Every nerve in your body feels like it’s alive, and you are rendered thoughtless as his lips move against yours. He tastes just exquisite, and you whine into his mouth.

Clyde breaks your connection to give you both a minute to breathe, and he nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, desperate to drink you in. “Jesus Christ you looked so good in that cute little uniform you were wearin’,” he groans low and deep in your ear.

The praise shoots straight to the crux of your thighs, instantly drenching your underwear as you clench your walls tight. “Fuck,” you moan as he mouths at your pulse, his hand digging into your side as he anchors you close to him. “I couldn’t stop thinking about how beautiful you were.” He laughs. “Sounds like we were on the same page.”

Clyde kisses up your neck to your mouth again, and you keen as his tongue demands entrance, swirling and tensing as he licks into your mouth. Suddenly, he spanks the outside of your thigh with a light, open hand. “Up. C’mon.”

The minute you hop off of the desk lip, Clyde spins you to face out into his office and presses himself to your back, trapping your hips between the desk and his chest.

Clyde rolls his hips against yours and you gasp when you feel the unmistakable pressure of his hard cock filling out against the curve of your ass. He grunts as he pushes into you and mouths at your earlobe.

“This what you wanted? That first time?” His hand snakes up the front of your body under your shirt. Two thick fingers pinch your nipple sharply, and you yelp, only for the sound to turn into a moan as he kneads your flesh in soothing circles. “Y’ wanted me to fuck y’ in that tunnel, didn’t y’?” Clyde’s snarl is laced with a deep arousal, his words betraying him of that.

“Fuck, yes Clyde.”

“Y’ still want me to?”

You moan. “Yes Clyde.”

A swift spank to your ass pulls a yelp from your chest. “Alright,” Cyde growls as he huffs hot, open mouth breaths across your neck. “Get these off.”

Your hands fly to your bottoms and you shimmy them down past your hips. The minute they dip past your knees, Clyde’s hand shoots out to help and shuck them off of your legs, and you lean over his work desk for leverage.

The wooden furniture is sharp against your waist as you fold over it. There is a chill on your lower back that crawls up your spine as Clyde plants his metal hand there, the fingers splayed out as if to keep you still. Condensation clings to the desktop where you heave breaths into the stained wood in anticipation.

A sudden stream of air blows across the dripping folds of your pussy and you clench your walls as you pant.

A low chuckle rumbles form Clyde’s chest. “Fuuucking gorgeous,” he croons.

He gives you no warning and you gasp as his deft tongue splits you in two. Clyde moans against your skin at the taste, drinking you in with a greed you can't believe. He pulls back from your cunt with a wet sound and croons to you, “Fucking delicious too.” His eyes never leave your heat once.

You whine at his praise, your hips wiggling minutely. It is a silent plea to just hurry up and fuck you already, and you hope he gets the message. Clyde clicks his teeth and he hums, his fingertips skimming up the inside of your leg. When they connect with your clit, with that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, you gasp, breathless beneath his touch.

“Now darlin’, I’ll take care of you just fine,” he murmurs against the flesh of your thigh. “Jus’ be patient for me now.” Clyde places a sloppy kiss to your very core and you clench at the feeling of his plump lips against you. With a low hum, he muses, almost to himself, “You’ll cum on my cock, don’t you worry. But first,” he drags his nose through your folds and collects your sweet juice on his flattened tongue.

“First you’ll cum in my mouth.”

Clyde dives into your cunt with a sort of rabid eagerness, one that can only be sated by the arousal dripping from you like honey. He groans as he nuzzles deep into your wet heat, and your toes curl at the vibrations.

Your mouth falls open into a silent gasp, the only noises in the room the sound of Clyde’s mouth moving against you.

He devours you like a starving man. He chases your arousal, licking every inch of your pussy just to feel you quiver against his tongue. His fingertips brush over the tip of your clit, enough to drive you towards that edge and hold you there.

Clyde’s tongue dips into your warm entrance and you groan, pushing your hips back into his face. He hums in content and the vibrations rumble through you like a freight train.

It’s becoming harder and harder to hold yourself up, even braced against Clyde’s pristine wood desk. You feel your legs start to tremble, and Clyde notices. His suckling picks up speed and he circles your clit tightly with his fingers. His metal hand props up your hip, and just in time.

You cry out as your orgasm crests and crashes over you, flooding you with warmth. Like their strength had been stolen, your knees collapse and you feel Clyde’s metal fingers as they bite into your side to hold you up.

He works you through your orgasm carefully, pulling every drop out of you that he can, before he releases you. Clyde kisses up your body, over the curve of your ass, over the planes of your back, and down your shoulder as you pant and come down from your euphoric high.

He cranes his neck around to kiss you quickly, and you taste yourself on his lips. “See how sweet you are darlin’?” he coos to you. Your mouth hangs open as you pant and you nod in agreement. Anything to please him. Clyde kisses you again and presses his forehead against yours. “You got one more in you for me?”

You nod desperately.

The clink of a belt buckle follows immediately, and you hear Clyde grunt as he adjusts himself. He drags his hand down your back and sighs. “God, you’re so fucking stunning, you know that?”

Your breath catches, and you whisper, “You’re not too bad yourself.” He laughs lightly. “Well thank you darlin’.”

Before you have a chance to think, he slides the spongy head of his cock through your slick folds, using your cum and his spit as lubrication. You feel the warmth of his chest drape across your back as he folds over you and sucks your earlobe into his mouth. Clyde is already breathless when he asks, “You ready for me?”

Your head lolls sideways in exasperation. You start to whine “Jesus, just fuck me already-,” and you never finish your sentence.

Your breath is stolen from your body as Clyde sheaths his thick girth deep in you in one thrust. All of your frustration with his teasing melts away into a moan so obscene, you can hardly believe it came from you.

Clyde huffs a laugh in your ear as your walls flutter around him. “What was that darlin’?” You can’t respond.

You didn’t see him but oh god can you feel him. He is thick, long, and his rock hard cock splits you open in the most mind numbing, delicious way. And Clyde knows just how big he is. So he stills, giving you time to adjust to his size.

You stay like that, connected, until Clyde can’t take it anymore. He’s huffing hard breaths into the nape of your neck, and you think you can feel his arms start to tremble. With a constricted voice, he asks, “Darlin’, you ready? I can’t hold on like this.” You nod fast and your head falls forward to your chest.

Slowly, Clyde drags his length back out, and you whine at the loss, only to be swiftly speared again. His cock nudges at that spot inside of you that leaves you speechless, and you can only moan at the feeling. “God you make pretty noises, huh?” Clyde groans as he thrusts into you, drunk on the feeling of your tight walls fluttering around his girth. “That just for me?” You are perfectly wet, and he slips through your folds easily. You reward him with a keen and a stuttered “y-yes,” as he thrusts shallowly in your pussy.

You can't help but clench on him for the thousandth time overwhelmed by the pleasure he wrings form your body. This is only the second time he has ever touched you, and yet he can play you like a well strung instrument.

Clyde moans as he feels you tighten up around him. “You keep doin’ that and I’m not going to be able to hold back any more,” he warns as he punches into your rhythmically. His flushed forehead is pressed to your back, and even through your top, you can feel his hot and heavy breath on your skin. With an incredulous look plastered across your face, you twist to try and look at him.

Clyde tilts his face up to meet your gaze, and you find yourself enamoured with his glassy, blissful expression.

“Don’t hold back then.”

Satisfaction rolls across his face in waves, and you catch a small but devious glint light up his eyes.

“Grab the desk darlin’.”

You do, and Clyde lets go.

He sets a near breakneck pace, thrusting into you fast, deep, desperate. You cry out as the head of his cock knocks against your cervix in the most delicious way, and you can feel your toes curl as he pounds into you.

He snaps his hips into yours, skin on skin meeting with sharp smacks, and you can swear that you are drooling. Clyde fills your every sense. You hear his huffing breath, smell the delectable scent of sex whirling around the pair of you, and most of all you can feel him. You feel his rough hand anchoring your hips in place as he rocks into you with quick thrusts, and you arch your back to give him access to every part of you.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect.”

You aren’t sure who spoke.

it’s not long before you feel the familiar coil of pleasure start to wind up in your stomach as Clyde hurls you towards the desk and another orgasm. It feels hot, sloppy even, as it builds in you, and you push your hips back into his, desperate to find that release.

“Ngh, Clyde,” you pant against the stained wood. “Oh fuck, I’m going to cum.”

“I can feel you darlin’, feel you squeezin’ me so tight,” Clyde grunts. “I’m right there too sweetheart. Cum, cum right now for me.”

So eager to please him, you shove your hand in between your body and the wood panels of the desk to swipe at your clit.

Two passes, and you're unraveling.

You cry out as you cum again, euphoria flooding your body, and your release gushes over the base of his cock. The walls of your pussy thrum with aftershocks as your orgasm starts to fade, and it tips Clyde over the edge right after you.

He cums with a roar and suddenly you feel so full, fuller then even when he first pushed into you. If that’s even possible.

Clyde paints the walls of your cunt white with his spend, and with each thrust, you can feel the warm liquid start to drip down your thighs. It feels perfect. You never want to lose the feeling.

Slowly, his hips slow, having left you both fully and thoroughly fucked. The room is hot and sticky and silent, save for your shared breaths. Clyde stays draped over you as you breathe together, neither one of you wanting to make the first move to break apart.

After what seems like an eternity, Clyde stands, pulling you up with him. He cradles you close to his chest while he turns you in his arms. Even with that closeness, it’s hard to suppress the whine that bubbles from your throat when his length slips from the heat of your pussy, but he hushes you with a sweet and passionate kiss.

When you break, you notice something in his eyes. An emotion that you can’t quite place, but it looks incredibly close to longing.

His paw of a hand reaches up to cup your face tenderly, and you lean into his skin, turning your hand to kiss his palm lightly. He chuckles to himself.

You wrap your hand around his wrist. “What are you thinkin’ about, Clyde?”

He shakes his head with a smile. “I’d reckon I’m pretty glad we almost got caught under the speedway.”

“Oh?”

“Wouldn’ta never met you otherwise.”

Your stomach soars at his admission, and you beam. “Luck, isn’t it?”

Clyde whistles through his teeth as his hand strokes up and down your back absentmindedly. “Depends. Do I get t’ see you again?”

The words have barely left his mouth before you throw your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. You pull back, but keep your forehead pressed to his. “I’d like that very much Clyde.” He beams right back at you.

You stay like that for a few minutes longer, exchanging small kisses and laughs, before Clyde reaches down and pats your ass lightly. “C’mon. Think we’ve been gone long enough. Your friends are gonna be missin’ you.”

You can’t help but wink at him, while you pull him in close. You whisper against his lips, “I’ll try my luck with a few extra minutes.” And that you do.

#clyde logan x reader #clyde logan x fem!reader #clyde logan #logan lucky #my writing

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brainfoster12 · 2 years

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unholyhelbiglinked · 6 years

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The Attic | Oneshot [1/4]

CHECK OUT THE FULL ONESHOT HERE

The flashlight was weighted against her grasp, a heavy mix of metal and plastic with a slowly flickering bulb that would buzz to anything but the naked ear. It cast an odd circular glow, one that was a golden sliver of daylight in the musty old attic.

Chloe hated the attic; a small space that could mostly be avoided, but in today's heat, it seemed blunt and unwavering- it’s scent like mold and sweat. Maybe she had been up there too long, the slowly climbing temperature doing nothing for her standards, or maybe she was just dehydrated. But her focus didn’t deviate from the flashlight in her grasp.

She let out a shaky sigh, condensation slowly pooling against her chest and curved collarbone. Chloe was a lanky girl- the first to sprout a few inches in her eighth-grade class, but the last to realize that height didn’t really change the fact that she had bright red hair that would always deem her the title of an evil demon. She had grown into her feet and her stature, earning looks from the very people that doubted her in high school.

Now the pediatrician was beyond sure of herself and her abilities as a Ph.D. None of that old stuff seemed to matter- not the yearbooks, the teasing, the horrid fluffy dresses she wore to prom… or at least it didn’t matter until she had crawled her way back into the dusty clutches of this place.

There was supposed to be an estate sale later- one that finally cleared out her mother’s old Victorian house for good. This place was supposed to stay in the family- to garner hope for future generations of Beales. The job offer in New York was calling the young doctors name, however, one the made it near impossible to keep this place in her name.

“Are you admiring the view up there?” Her girlfriend's voice echoed from the small hallway that gave the only access to the upper part of the house. There was nothing much to see, nothing other than some bare wooden walls and a bunch of pink siding that was unusually tempting to the young woman.

A simple smile moved across Chloe’s lips as she flipped the flashlight off, pressing a small rubber button that got rid of one of her only lights sources. It plunged her into a warm darkness. She blinked a few times, shoving the flashlight into the edge of her belt loop as she breathed in the musty air.

“I’m coming down now,” She announced, testing out the top rung of the wooden ladder, listing to the aged surface creak and groan as she hung onto a piece of paneling for dear life- nails splintering wood. She heard Beca shifting against the wooden floor below her, biting the inside of her lip as the smaller girl stared at her. She stepped down a few more rungs before meeting stormy blue eyes at level, her hand still grasping one of the edges. “Who’s admiring the view now?”

Beca threw her head back and groaned, scratching slightly at her dirtied cheek as she stared at the inky black opening that was left above them. “It’s your fault for wearing yoga pants, Chloe. Not mine.”

“God, you’re like a dog in heat.”

“If that’s what you want to call it.” She kicked sheepishly at the floor, the taller girl shook her head slightly as she listened to the springs creak and groan once she lifted the ladder into the very secret hiding place on the latch. She cringed as the rope that hung from the ceiling burned against her palms.

“I would like to call it unfair.” Beca continued, snaking her arms around Chloe’s waist as the girl let out a small yelp- both parties ignoring the balky flashlight that hung lazily against a belt loop. “I have been moving furniture all day.”

“So, you must be tired then,” Chloe pointed out to her, adjusting her arm around the woman’s shoulders. They were aching, her own exhaustion creeping in. “Baby, even if I were comfortable having sex in my childhood home, Aubrey is going to be here any minute with the papers.”

“She can watch.”

“Beca.”

“Fine.”

It wasn’t a normal conversation the two would share- but Beca had been on edge lately. Her own career plowing forward in the Big Apple as well, the small DJ traveling home every other weekend for the past six months in order to get some face to face time with Chloe. It had been scarce and getting on a plane just to clean up an old house wasn’t on her to-do-list, especially if Aubrey Posen was involved.

As if on cue the swift three toned knock on the mahogany door. It echoed against the nearly empty corridors, traveling up the staircase as Chloe didn’t waste any time pulling away from her girlfriend. Her very defeated girlfriend who let out a soft groan and willed her legs to follow Chloe down the carpeted steps.

Even Beca had to admit, the house was beautiful; it was large and whimsical, something that was made out of a children’s book or maybe even a vintage dollhouse. Even the front door had a red and orange stained glass window that outlined the blurred silhouette of Aubrey’s straight-laced persona. She stopped halfway down the staircase, leaning against the banister while Chloe pulled open the creaking hinges to get a good look at the lawyer.

The blonde beamed, her deep olive eyes flicking momentarily towards Beca before focusing on her friend instead. She didn’t mind the dirt covered girl as she wrapped her in a tight hug, Chloe never one to turn down an embrace, closing her eyes as she breathed in the lemon scent Aubrey always seemed to carry.

“uh,” Aubrey pulled away, wrinkling her nose “You stink.”

“You’re telling me.” Beca mumbled scratching her neck as she put on a fake smile “Hi, Aubrey.”

“You try getting a whole house ready for an estate sale and then we’ll talk Posen.” She chided jokingly, turning around to face Beca with an accusatory finger point. “You hush,”

“Hi, Beca.” Aubrey chuckled slightly, closing the door behind her with a soft thud. “Someone is grumpy today.”

“I am grumpy every day.” She drew out her syllables with every passing second, letting out a huff as she flopped down onto the step directly under her- it pressed against the middle of her back but she stifled a wince- instead playing with the hem of her shirt.

Chloe rolled her eyes and turned back to her friend, stare flashing close to the documents that the woman held in her hands. “Are those them?”

“Mm,” She hummed, waving the packet around slightly “The biggest part of this is your on-site. You can keep all of the money you get from this, but anything that’s left behind has to be donated to HFH. But we can always wait a few days and change up the contract-“

“No, that’s fine.” Beca said from her curled up ball on the steps, earning an accusatory look from Chloe, causing the restless girl to backtrack “I mean, it’s charity, right? Habitat for Humanity?”

Aubrey nodded pensively as she ran her fingers over the edge of the paperwork. Beca swears this type of legal work was a turn on for the young lawyer. Well, any type of legal work was a turn on for her. She would get off on the different type of highlighters she needed to use and the scent of freshly changed toner.

“She’s right, Chlo, eager, but right.” She shrugged “This would be your easiest route, it’s how most estate sales go in the first place. What doesn’t sell get’s donated, but with the type of stuff your mother kept around I’m sure you’ll have no trouble clearing it up.”

“It’s fine,” Chloe confirmed with a nod of the head. “I just don’t know how all this stuff works. The cleaning I can do… the legal-“

“Is why you have me,” Aubrey finished her sentence, boasting a smile that could blind the gods. “I just need you to sign a few things and you’ll be all ready to open the doors tomorrow.”

Chloe wrapped her fingers around the fabric of her shirt, white knuckling the bunch of threads as her hand rested on her chest- it was rising and falling with upmost rhythm. She was staring at the ceiling in what used to be her parent's room- the only four post bed that was still in this place. Others were around, but they were covered in white sheets, white sheets that had dust coating every inch of the place.

This place had been her home. For the longest time, it was where she would curl up after a rough nightmare, or a horrible date. She would cuddle into her mother’s side while she stroked her hair and whispered things in her ear to calm her heart rate.

Now it was cold and desolate. Nothing was in the room except for the queen-sized mattress and an old television that only got three stations. It was sitting on the floor now- turned off because there was no point in flicking it on. A floor length mirror was propped on the parallel edge of the bed, Chloe wanting to cover that too.

Chloe didn’t bother crawling under the blankets. It was too hot in the room, the flashlight heavy in her other hand as she balanced the cool metal weight in her grasp. She ran her fingers along the beaded edge, pressing her fingers into the indentations.

“What are you thinking about?” The muffled voice from the bathroom doorway caught Chloe’s attention. Beca was leaning heavily against it, a toothbrush shoved into her cheek as she struggled not to let the frothy mint spill over her lips.

“Who said I was thinking at all?” She pondered, lifting her eyebrows as she settled In the plush bedding and flicked her stare back up the ceiling.

“Well, you only get that look when you’re thinking,” Beca said, her voice echoing as she walked back into the bathroom, spitting the contents that filled her mouth into the sink with a small grunt. “Or when you’re climaxing, which I certainly hope you’re not doing without me.”

“Beca,” Chloe groaned as her small girlfriend walked back into the room. She nearly dodged a pillow being chucked at her head, instead, she clenched onto the fabric. She let out a small grunt as she flopped down onto the bed next to the taller girl.

“I’m sorry, I know.” She grumbled, running her fingers over the sheets. Her stare moved back up the Chloe’s as she propped herself up on her elbows. “You uh, you’ve had this kind of sick look on your face since this morning… I thought it was the heat, but I’m not so sure anymore.”

Chloe let out a thick sigh, not pulling her eyes from the ceiling.

“I’m usually the one to shut myself out, you know?” Beca said, adjusting her position to face the ceiling as well. She let her hand fall close to Chloe’s fingers playing absently with her girlfriends. “I’m used to talking about feelings and-“

“I grew up here.” Was all Chloe said, voice cutting through the room, “It’s not like I didn’t do everything to get out of this place once I had enough money to go off to college I did. And I didn’t look back- not on this house, this town, or my mother… but now that I’m here…”

She trailed off, drawing in a sharp breath. Beca didn’t need her to continue to come to the sudden realization that this was painful for Chloe. She was never good at reading social cues, so she pushed herself into her work and followed every order that Chloe barked out until her arms begged for mercy.

Beca warped her arm around Chloe’s waist, pulling her head onto the girl’s chest. The redhead let out a content sigh as she pulled her girl closer to her side, breathing in the scent of mint and ginger that Beca carried.

“Tell me about her,” Beca said, breath hot on Chloe’s skin.

“Hmm?”

“Your mom, tell me about her.” the smaller girl whispered. “If uh… if you want.”

Chloe didn’t say anything for a few long moments. She drew little patterns on the small of Beca’s back, her heartbeat and breath almost lulled the girl into a light sleep. She didn’t want to push Chloe, not now. When she felt a sharp intake of air, she knew she was ready to talk.

“We never really had much money, so she worked two jobs.” She spoke, voice a low murmur. “Most of the time she was a librarian, it didn’t pay much but she loved it. She loved the smell of the books, and the way people would just share a newfound form of peace whenever they walked through the doors. Other than that, she worked at a grocery store. Never really had a day off.

“She took care of me and Annie though, she did… and she kept this house too. For as long as I can remember she always wanted me to keep this place. It was part of the family history, I guess. My grandparents had it under their name before hers, and their parents before them. It’s always been the Beale’s place.”

“Chlo,” Beca started to protest. She didn’t want to push them into this argument again. Even before Beca flew in she had suggested Chloe keep this place. She was so fast to dismiss her, so fast to say that this was holding her back in Georgia. At the soft look she received, she dropped it, though.

“I don’t feel guilty about selling it,” She said, voice a low grumble “I feel uneasy. But I don’t feel guilty.”

#Beca Mitchell #Chloe beale #Bechloe #Aubrey Posen #bechloe fic rec

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