#adam driver fanfic
Text
Mine
Masterlist
Pairing: Flip Zimmerman x fem!reader
Summary: Flip Zimmerman was a man that liked to eat his cake and have it, too.
Word count: 4.4k
Warnings: PinV sex, unprotected sex, fingering, masturbation, swearing, dirty talk, oral (fem receiving).
A/N: It's been ages since I wrote something so I'm so proud of myself for finally finishing something.
It was common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was utterly and completely infatuated with you. You were it for him. The one he would marry, build a house for, have kids with. You would be his end, but you were not his beginning.
It was also common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was on an apparent path to sleep with everyone he could that wasn’t you. Fuck, finger, and fondle like he wasn’t an officer of the law and he wasn’t in a very public bar at that very moment. You could see his hand run along her leg, caressing it with the pads of his fingers before it disappeared beneath the fabric of her skirt.
She threw her head back, laughing like nobody was watching, but, of course, you were. Your eyes were always lingering on his figure, just as his were yours. He watched you as he traced the lace of her panties, as he dipped them under the fabric; he watched you as he guided her lips to his; he watched you as he shattered your heart, always knowing that the comfort of your arms would always be there to sooth him in the end.
You often found yourself wondering: why? Why weren’t you enough for him at this point? Flip had this ability where he could string you along enough so that you, yourself, would feel guilty thinking of another man. Your possible unwillingness weren’t the reason for Flip’s hesitancy to commit, it was his. The unwilling fool in love with the same person he had always loved. Or perhaps you were the fool? Two fools in love that could never let the other one go.
Your friends often wondered why you subjected yourself to the torture of witnessing his lips upon another’s. You didn’t know how to explain to them that you only existed because of him. However demeaning and desperate it sounded, it was true. Whilst others existed for bettering the world or something other, you were made just to be his.
You thought for a while that you could live without him. That you could break free from his hold and flee from the place where everything reminded you of him but it was impossible. It didn’t make sense, how a man could possess you so entirely with just a whisper of attention. You thought it to be your own fault; a bleeding consequence of hope that wrecked your heart beyond anyone else’s repair. All you could do was wait for him. For you would forever be missing him otherwise, regretting not taking the possibility of even the tiniest something.
So, you found yourself there, putting on a front of indifference as you tried not to watch every stupid move Flip made in the arms of another. She was smug. It was so obvious from the way her eyes would flicker over to you every now and then as his lips caressed her shoulder or her neck.
She knew of Flip’s fondness for you, having seen the way he had given you a sliver of attention by the bar, letting his hand ghost over your hip before she had successfully lured him away from you and into her arms.
You were zoned out, barely hearing your friends’ voices as you stared hard at them. Your lip was near bloody from your nervous chewing as you, almost ritualistically, dragged your teeth over it again and again.
“How long are you going to keep doing this to yourself?” The words were spoken in your ear, your best friends arm coming to wrap around you, pulling you into her embrace.
“I…” She didn’t allow you to continue on the miserable spiel that she had heard so many times before.
“I don’t want to hear it. Not again. You need to realise that you’re worth more than whatever the hell this whole thing is,” She pleaded, pressing a kiss against your temple. “You have to stop doing this to yourself.”
“I don’t know if I can,” you sounded so fragile at that moment. Your voice wavered at the end, fading out as everything you felt became almost too much.
“Yes, you can. You just need to realise that you don’t owe him anything. Sitting here completely miserable isn’t going to make him change or do anything different.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I’ve been here with you! Every night we go out to have fun, he comes along and ruins it.”
“No, he doesn’t.” You turned to look at her as you forced the words out harshly. But the look in her eyes made the feigned anger falter.
“I love you. You deserve more. Try to enjoy your life before you realise it’s too late,” She said, squeezing your shoulder.
Did you really deserve more? You had been caught up in the web of Flip for so long that you truly did believe that staying completely devoted to him was the only way forward. You knew he would eventually tire and stop indulging himself in others. It was an unconventional relationship, unfavourable to you in every sense.
But who was to say that you weren’t allowed to enjoy others? Just the way he were? An innocent tryst with another that would scratch that itch not even your fingers could ease late at night.
You let your eyes trail over the inhabitants of the local watering hole. There were the usuals there, sitting at the bar, nursing their beers. A group of frat boys were in the corner, cheering over shots. It wasn’t until a pair of dark brown eyes met your own that your interested was piqued.
You probably wouldn’t have dared made a move if he hadn’t come sauntering over. He didn’t walk like Flip. Flip’s walk was self-assured, dominating in a subtle way. This guy walked in a cocky way, shoulders swaying with every step as he though himself holier than thou. It was off-putting, but you thought you owed it to yourself to at least try.
“Saw you watching me over there.” His attempt at flirting was just as cocky as his walk.
“Oh, hahah..” Your laugh was awkward as you fumble for a reply. “Do you come here often?”
“First time actually, I’m here visiting my brother.” He motioned toward some guy in the back that you couldn’t see.
“That’s nice,” You said awkwardly.
He introduced himself as he took perch on the barstool next to you, shaking your hand weakly.
“So, what do you do for fun around here?” He asked, motioning for the bartender to refill both of your glasses at the same time.
“Ehm… Come here, I guess.” You waved your hand in the air, uncommittedly. Anxiety was flooding your nerves, practically inhibiting your ability to speak. You let your eyes trail over the room again quickly. Flip was still hands-deep in that woman’s skirt, your friends had slipped off somewhere else, getting lost in others.
The man, Chris, held a one-sided conversation without seeming to notice your less than keen interest. The thought of letting go and trying to flirt with somebody else was always easier in theory rather than practice.
It wasn’t his fault, if you were somebody else you might’ve enjoyed it. But all you could think about was the way his eyes were too dark, his hair too light, and his voice to high to remind you of Flip.
“Listen,” He placed his hand on your thigh. High up, bold, wanting. “I really like you, what do you say about getting out of here?”
You didn’t have a chance to respond before a chest pressed against your back.
“She’s not going anywhere with you.”
You felt faint hearing Flip’s voice rumble through his chest as he pulled himself closer to you. His hand wrapped around Chris’s wrist, forcing it away from your leg.
“Hey, man, we were having a conversation here.” Chris was foolish. It wasn’t his fault, he wasn’t from here, after all. He didn’t know the perfectly concealed rage that could simmer under Flip’s skin when he felt like he was being disrespected.
“I’m going to offer you a piece of advice.”
“Flip, don’t-” Interjecting was pointless. Flip did whatever Flip wanted.
“You should take your drink, go back to whatever lowly corner you came from, and stay there. Get it through your thick skull that you’re not wanted here.” Flip roughly pushed the glas of beer Chris had been nursing on the bar, it’s content sloshing over the sides as it almost toppled over.
The silence that followed hung in the air, permeating it, polluting it. It didn’t take long for Chris to visibly crumble under Flip’s stare but it was almost as if he didn’t want to admit it to himself. He didn’t want to give in to the menacing man that had appeared out of nowhere. Reasonable, perhaps, but entirely futile. Flip would always get what he wanted in the end, no matter what.
Chris left without a word, sparing you a pitiful glance before he was gone and all that was Flip took over your senses as he rounded you, coming to a stop so you were chest to chest.
You refused to look at him, staring straight ahead, focusing on the way his chest would calmly breath in and out as he waited.
“Look at me,” His voice was low, steady. You wanted to, of course, but you were stubborn. Just when you were putting yourself first, there he was again. A forever keg in your wheels, keeping you in the same place.
His fingers were soft against your chin as he urged it upwards, making you look at him.
He was smiling. Not a full on grin, but that sweet, cheeky little smile that held so much mirth that you wanted to hit him. It’s like he’d been waiting for this, waiting for you to act out and finally do something for yourself.
“Wipe that smile of your face,” you hissed out. “What could you possible have to smile about?”
“You.”
“Oh, yeah, because it is so funny ruining my fucking life.”
“Ruining it?”
“Yeah, ruining it.”
“You should’ve just said something if you felt that way.” You almost laughed at that. It wasn’t like you hadn’t said something. It felt like all you did was talk, and all he did was not care.
“Cut me a fucking break, Flip. Don’t act like you don’t know what you’ve been doing to me. This- this game you’ve been playing, toying with my heart. One minute it feels like you might actually want me but then the next you go and fucksomebody else and I’m just suppose to pretend that it’s all fine?”
“It’s not?” He said, playfully.
“Fuck you.”
“Stop swearing, and keep your voice down.”
“What? So that your whore won’t hear us?”
“She means nothing,” He said
“So why do you keep doing this? Why keep stringing me along?” You were defeated. Your relationship with Flip was strange. Peculiar. Unexplainable in certain aspects as you yourself did not entirely know exactly what you two were.
You looked up at him, tears brimming in your eyes as all the hurt you had felt over the past however-long caught up to you. He was looking down at you, as if in wonder. Was it possible that Flip Zimmerman was naive to the way he had treated you? To the way he had made you suffer? Had you been imagining it all in your head?
He didn’t look sorry, he didn’t sound sorry, but when the apology tumbled out of his mouth, you accepted it. Perhaps it was you who were naive but you wanted a moment of happiness with him. Even if it was a moment entirely clouded by delusion.
You nodded your head, a small movement of acceptance that made Flip light up.
Flip would always shine brighter than any star you had ever seen. He took your breath away and filled you with a rush of serotonin every time you gazed into his eyes for even a brief second. His eyes were like molten gold, blinding you as they tinkled. Devotion to him and only him was inevitable.
“Will you come home with me?” The answer was obvious. The question had been what you had waited for. Taking his hand and slipping out through the door before any of your friends still caught in reason could stop you.
His hand dipped between your legs, fingers mapping out a path to your most sacred place the second he pushed you through the door of his home.
"Look at you, already so wet for me." Flip chuckled darkly. He knew you couldn't resist him. Your need for him was as deep as his need was for you.
His lips met yours in a searing kiss that took your breath away. His tongue caressed yours as teeth clashed.
His fingers toyed with your panties, teasing you. He knew how desperate you were for anything he would give you.
He took his time, teasing your more and more before he finally was gracious enough to slide a finger inside of you. Just a single finger to test you. You walls clamped down around him tightly, gripping him, coaxing him to give you more. He pumped it in and out of you slowly, so slowly that you thought you might lose your mind if he didn't give you something more, and you voiced so much.
"Please, Flip." What you needed was clear. But that didn’t mean Flip would be so easy to give in.
"You’ll get more, sweetheart. Don’t you worry.” He said sweetly before withdrawing from you completely.
"Flip-"
"You're so impatient." He chided you, tutting teasingly with a lazy smile on his lips. “Go to the bedroom.” He commanded whilst motioning his head in its direction. You were quick to obey, of course, feet moving swiftly as you stumbled your way on shaky legs through the halls and onto his bed.
You flipped onto it in excitement, eager for his touch once again.
“Is this what you wanted? To be one of my whores?” He asked as he undressed slowly, unbuttoning his flannel and letting his jeans fall to the floor before he took a stand by the foot of the bed. He trailed his hands up your legs equally as slow before grabbing a hold of your panties and pulling them off you. You couldn’t get any words out to respond, whining with need.
The evidence of your excitement was clear to him, almost dripping and shining in the low light. A sane man wouldn’t be able to hold back having a women presented so willingly to him with her legs spread wide and skirt bunched up around her hip, chest heaving with excitement. And of course, Flip was a sane man, in some sense at least, for he was quick to crawl in between your legs and mouth attached to your clit.
Digging his fingers into your thighs, he hauled one of them onto his shoulder and connected his mouth to your sweet cunt.
The sounds of your breathless moans were intoxicating as he suckled your clit into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the stiff nubb.
Your knees fought against his shoulders as your hand came to cover your mouth, willing any sounds to stay inside of you as you bit down softly as you were overwhelmed by the pleasure rushing through you.
“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart.” Flip praised in a panted breath before diving back in.
You fought to keep your eyes open as your hips moved up and down in a desperate attempt to grind your aching clit against his mouth and nose in search for that perfect sensation that would drive you over the edge.
Your hand slid into Flip’s hair, gliding through it before grasping a firm hold of it as a wave after wave of moans finally made their way out of you.
Flip had already made you come once when he slid his fingers into you, continuing his ministrations on your clit with his mouth. His movement were much rougher than what they had been before, thrusting them into you expertely, hitting that sweet spot of yours over and over again.
Your back arched into the air and mouth fell open at the overstimulation. It was exquisite.
“Oh, oh, Flip. I’m gonna cum.” You whined desperately. “Oh, God.”
You clung to his arm in an attempt to hold on to any sort of sanity but it was all for nought. Your legs spasmed as you came with a cry.
Flip tried to hold you down as he never let up despite your half hearted please, flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit again and again and again. He worked you through your orgasm, never relenting as your silent whimpers spured him on. You had such a tight hold on his hair that it made him groan, sending a wave of vibrations through you that caused you to gasp. He only stopped once your whimpers had grown in volume to a steady whine of pleas.
“You’re such a good girl.” Flip praised as he came up, hovering over you. “You gonna let me fuck you, sweetheart?”
“Yes! Please, Flip.”
He tugged at his hard and weeping cock a few times as he admired you. You were breath taking like this, legs parted, eyes hazy from your orgasm, cunt dripping, ready for him.
"You’re gonna look so gorgeous, covered with my cum." Flip's voice was husky as he leaned down and pulled you closer to him by your face before planting a sloppy, wet kiss on your lips as he came to rest between your hips, a single arm keeping him up.
He dragged his thick and cum weeping cock through your folds a few times, thoroughly coating it in your slickness. The anticipation was killing you. His fingers and tongue weren't enough, you wanted more, needed it.
You grabbed a hold of his shoulders, pulling him closer even to you in desperation.
"Please, Flip." You whispered, ready for him.
The sigh the both of you let out when he finally slipped all the way into your cunt was one of relief. You had missed this, had missed him.
Flip didn't give you time to adjust to him before he started pounding into you at a pace that was brutal in nature, just the way he knew you liked it.
“You’re such a dirty fucking whore.” He spat at you and you clenched around him in response. "Look at you, so desperate for my dick you could almost cry." Being his whore and whatever he wanted was everything you had ever wanted since the moment you had laid eyes on him.
He was so deep inside of you that you barely knew what to do with yourself. Flip's loud groans were bouncing around the walls of his room, blended in with your own gasps from every thrust into you.
Your walls were clenched so tightly around him, drawing him deeper and deeper inside.
"Fuck" You groaned. "Feels so- fucking good." You shakily breath out.
"This is what you wanted right? My cock so deep within you you’ll feel me for days" He cooed, slowing down just slightly, but each thrust was still as sharp, still as precise, and hard, and calculated.
A wailing yes! left your lips. You were sure you would be able to feel Flip's hands on your hips as you would nurse your hangover tomorrow, and most likely the day after that as well. You would feel him in every step you took. Forever.
"Harder." You pleaded.
He pulled out so just his tip was left in you, waiting there for just a second before slamming back into you again, buried to the hilt. The groan Flip let out sent tingles down your spine and caused you to clench even tighter around him, triggering another moan from him.
"I love it when you do that." He praised, followed by another rut into you.
He continued pumping into yours sweet cunt, drawing moans from you that were filthy. The sound of skin slapping and noises of pleasure mixed together as they bounced on the walls and around the room.
His thrusts had picked up in pace one again, ruthless and reckless as he fucked deeper and deeper into you. You were trembling against him, breath hitching, getting caught in your chest as you almost forgot how to breathe. You could feel your release mounting quickly once again, shockwaves gripping your body and rolling through you with every buck into you.
"Fuck, I'm gonna come,"
"No, you're not." Flip withdrew from you completely, flipping down on the bed beside you. You were drunk on the feeling of him, needy and desperate, ready to take everything he would give to you.
His legs were spread, cock standing on full attention, bobbing against his stomach, it's tip coloured an angry red, ready to be inside of you again.
"Come on then." He pulled you out of the short-lived trance you had been in over the sight of him. You though again of how there was something so ethereal about him, something other than just his looks, something that would always draw you back in and keep you on his hook.
You were quick in your movements, throwing a leg around his hips and hoisting yourself upright, causing him to chuckle over your desperation.
"Eager, are we?" He welcomed you with open arms, hands coming up to rest on your hips once again, as he gazed up at you with a smile on his face.
He helped you pull your wrinkled dress over your head, placing open mouthed kisses on every inch of your skin he could reach. His lips attached themselves to your perked nipple, sucking it into his mouth and releasing it with a pop.
"You're so fucking gorgeous." He sounded as if he was in awe simply over the sight of you.
You sank down swiftly, engulfing him with your tight walls, stopping only when you were at the base, stuffed full of him.
"Oh, fuck, Flip!" The change in angle had you convinced that he was deeper in you than ever before, the tip of him nestling against your cervix.
"You feel so good like this." Flip moaned. He tapped two fingers against the side of your thigh, signalling you to move and you were more than happy to oblige. Your feet were securely rooted on the floor and you placed your hands on the walls to give yourself the leverage and support you needed to begin riding him.
He let you control every movement; let you set the pace as you slid up and down on his throbbing cock. Flip's hands were exploring every inch of you that they could reach, massaging your breasts, caressing your thighs, sliding across your back, and then, finally, they found their way to the apex of your thighs and started firmly circling your clit.
Flip let out a loud grunt every time you slammed yourself down onto him. It was a sound you wanted to hear every day, every waking moment and in every vivid dream.
The steady pace that you had managed to keep was slowly becoming nothing as you felt yourself loosing control over your limbs the closer you climbed to that high you were chasing. The muscles in your stomach were tightening rapidly over the coiling tension and your walls gripped him even tighter.
"Say my name."
"What?" You weren't lucid enough to possibly begin to understand what he meant at that moment.
"Say. My. Name." He repeated, making sure to punctuate every single word with a small thrust upward to meet you as you came down on him.
His name spilled out of your mouth just a few seconds later in the form of a moan.
"Who’s making you feel this good?" You weren't as quick to heed his words this time, the building pressure between your legs taking up all of your attention.
His hands were back on your hips, forcing you up, slipping out of you, and then guiding you dominantly into the position he wanted with your face pressed into the sheets and your ass high up in the ar. He was swift to enter you again, you had barely even had time to complain over the loss of him before he was drilling into you.
"Flip!" You shouted his name as you finally came, tumbling over the edge as stars were painted behind your eyelids. Your legs were shaking, spasming, through the waves, words of gibberish leaving your mouth as he made you babble like a brook. He hadn't even faltered in his movements, continuing to pump into you as he chased his own climax. He was panting loudly in between groans and the sound of skin slapping against each other.
"Who owns this pussy?"
"You." Another sharp thrust into you.
"Who owns this pussy?"
"You, Flip. Oh, god, you, Flip!" Small droplets of tears were leaking from the corner of your eyes as Flip was steadily driving you to cum again as he fucked into you.
You hadn't felt this way before, you didn't even know you could feel this way; the overwhelming stimulation that was rushing through your blood, lighting your nerves on fire, making you want to stay right here, right now, forever.
"That's fucking right." Flip came with a deep jerk into you, pulling out to come all over your back before entering you again to give you a few last thrilling pumps.
You laid there on his bed in a heap, totally out of it as he calmly came to rest beside you. He coaxed you onto your back so that he could plant a sweet kiss on your lips. Uttering words that made your erratic heart pump even faster.
“All mine.”
Thank you for reading! Please check out my Masterlist if you want to read more.
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#flip zimmerman#flip zimmerman x you#flip zimmerman smut#adam driver smut#adam driver x reader#adam driver fanfic#flip zimmerman x reader#adcu fanfiction#adam driver character#adcu
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⋆ 𝐏𝐎𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃
Dark!Commander Mills x f!Reader
word count: 3.7K
warnings: 18+ MDNI, Dead Dove Do Not Eat; this fic may be unsettling for some readers. Dark!Mills, Chasing Predator/Prey, fear, tense scenes. DubCon [Non-Con Themes?]. Mentions of body hair, Size Difference/Size Kink. Pussy slapping, unprotected p in v sex, tummy bulge, claiming, cream pie
➛ mills masterlist I| main masterlist |I send an ask I| taglist
Jagged bark digs into the skin of your back through the thin, soft cotton fabric of your shirt. You feel the amber tree sap seep into the canvas, sticking uncomfortably to your back and clinging to you as you try to ease your hyperventilation. The cells of your lungs vibrate with alarm, stinging as you suck in mouthfuls of oxygen.
Get away.
The sunshine thrashes you, your skin slick with the sweat that rolls down your temples. Heat ebbs at the edges of your mind, teasing you with the promise of unconsciousness. Rest. It urges you to let your knees slump, to ease your aching body down to the forest floor and close your eyes for a moment– you can’t. You can’t be certain how far ahead you were or how much of a head-start he had conceded.
It had been freezing when you awoke, the cold biting your skin raw even as it thawed. A low hum deafened your ears, subconscious tears frosting your coarse eyelash hairs together and forcing your lids shut. Panicked, you had pushed the heels of your palms to your eyes in an attempt to melt the frosty glue, feeling something slippy and thick smear across the skin of your cheekbone.
The metal tang to the scent that pierced your nostrils indicated you were bleeding, pain leaping forward in your skull and forcing your eyes open in your discomfort. Like a mallet smashed over your head, the sounds of your surroundings cracked through your ear drums. A deafening siren screamed, blurring your vision with the intensity of its volume. Glass tinkled against the metal shell of the cryogenic chamber as you’d wearily pushed yourself from the leather seat you had called home for an estimated double solar-cycle. Your limbs were stiff, unused and preserved in ice for twenty-four months.
Green flooded your vision as you rose to your feet, a flashing light on the data pad of your chamber indicating your apparent survival following defrost. You’d been thankful to see your vitals displayed across the screen– you had felt so awful upon waking that you were almost certain you had died.
Relief that had flooded your veins curdled into distress when the data pad beeped, a cursor swiping across the pixels to dismiss the notification of your stirring.
You hadn’t given the scene much notice from then, jittery fear shuddering over your skin and forcing your feet forward. The ship that had meant to deliver you to Somaris was nowhere in sight, but debris pieces of the vessel had lay strewn across the forest floor. Orange embers still glowed within the metal of some large slabs of metal.
The realisation had been slow to arrive, the throbbing remnants of a concussion sweeping nausea throughout your body as you stumbled over the fallen trees. The piercing ring of the alarm continues to circle your agitated mind, tormenting you with the sinking reality of your plight. Stranded on a planet far beyond the solar system you had come from, surrounded by alien creatures you hadn’t seen stored in information holo-pads and without a ship to re-enter orbit– all while attempting to avoid the person who you had no doubt was hot on your heels.
Initially, you had assumed that the scaly, lizard-like animals were causing the snapping of the twigs in the thick treeline of the forest. While some were humongous, you noticed some were of a smaller size. Even the creatures that reached your hips posed a significant enough threat for you to avoid them by ducking behind tree trunks and bushes, their sharp teeth dripping with saliva when they caught your scent.
Whipping around at the sound of another ‘crunch’, you’d caught sight of him. Long, ebony hair fell in strands in front of his face; his brows pinched together in a stalker's concentration. His lips set in a grim, thin line, recharge-blaster aimed directly at your calves. The amber sap that had coated your skin from the trees appeared to have drenched his eyes, irises burning a bright honey colour in the brutal sunshine.
You hadn’t stopped running since, chest heaving as the cells of your lungs screamed at the intensity of your pace. The thick fabric of your flight suit, coated in leather around the collar, was heavy to carry, your legs aching as you’d lept over each of the fallen trunks in your way.
Shuddering at the memory of the hours you have spent evading capture, you inhale shakily in an attempt to ease your thumping heart. It threatens to crack your sternum, bludgeoning the bone with its rapid pace. Even though you’d stopped for some time, dread kept your heartbeat thrumming like the wings of the birds on your home planet, your blood rushing in your ears and drowning out the squawks of the flying lizards, their beaks long and sharp, wings leathery with clawed hands at the joint.
A stream trickles nearby, the running water rippling around the surrounding rocks. The breeze is cool against your face, tickling your cheekbones in a soft kiss. Despite the rustling of the leaves, the babble of the small brook, and the distant hiss of the hot spring geysers, it’s utterly quiet.
Foreboding chills you to the bone, wringing you dry.
It feels off, this delicate balance of stillness. Trepidation crawls up the vertebrae of your spine and prickles your skin with goosebumps. There’s an ambience; thick with something sinister. It coats your surroundings and lingers in the air like unsparked lighting, threatening to pounce.
Your hair stands on end, blood freezing along with the beat of your heart when you hear it; the zooming charge of a blaster.
“You can’t run from me forever.” It’s delivered with an alarming deadpan, his even voice ricocheting off the tree line. You can’t tell where he is like this, your neck reeling on its shoulders as you frantically search the area.
Darting your eyes amongst the bushes, you spot him- his footsteps cautious as he picks each footfall carefully. He’s learnt from his previous mistake, ensuring not to reveal his position with a snapping twig.
You swallow back a whimper, skirting around the trunk of the tree. Palm pressed to your nose and mouth; you hear your trembling breaths as you attempt to smother them. It’s terrifying, the level of noise you make. You’re certain your pulse gives away your hiding spot- that the vibration of the very cells of your being is connected to an amplifier and blasting through the woodlands.
In contrast, your pursuer is almost silent, barely making a sound as he picks through the undergrowth. You wonder how it’s possible for such a large man to make so little noise. He’s so careful, so silent that you pause your breath to listen for him better. Where-?
“Sweet Thing…” you hear him coo, a slight taunt to his voice that makes your nails dig into the tree's bark. Your lungs threaten to scream, ankles promising to buckle beneath the suffocating pressure.
Crouching as low as you can onto the balls of your feet, you attempt to shuffle around the trunk's circumference. You’re careful to test each footstep, feeling for fragile foliage beneath the sole of your shoe before setting it on the floor. You swallow thickly, wincing as the dried leaves rustle quietly.
It’s as though time momentarily stops. The rubber of your heel catches on the roots of the tree, slipping down the curved surface and sending your foot crashing through the sun-baked foliage with a sickening ‘crunch.’
Oh.
Tensing up all at once, your muscles pinch with fear. You fail to suppress the heaving breaths that rattle through you now, sucking in mouthfuls of oxygen and wheezing in terror when you exhale.
“Hmm,” a hum sounds to your left, loud to your ears. You bristle, the seams of your person screaming that you need to move, to run. Instead, you stay rooted to the spot, fight or flight bested by the primal instinct to be still. To hide. The atmosphere shifts, the chill of the breeze twisting to an icy disquiet.
Don’t. Don’t move, be still. If you’re still, he won-
They crawl across the curve of your jaw at first, fingertips creeping along the line of the bone before gently grasping your chin. White hot fear holds you perfectly still as his thumb pushes into the soft flesh of your cheek, the scrape of his knuckles biting into your skin as they purse your lips together. With your feeble attempt to shake him, his grip turns solid.
“Got you.”
His gruff voice rasps against the shell of your ear, lips brushing the thin skin and raising goose pimples across your neck and down your spine. Breath caught in your throat, you barely manage a whimper of response– the sound cracks in your vocal cords and sounds more like a startled exhale.
Your resolve fractures into tiny shards as he uses the grip on your chin to tilt your head backwards. Tension cracks between your shoulder blades at the awkward angle, your muscles straining as he pulls them taut. There’s a tensity at your throat, too, the thew connecting your jaw and neck almost pained by the extreme flex.
Amber. The thin strips of gold lay stark against the pitch black of his dilated pupils, irises merely a slither as the abyss swallows them whole. An eagerness paints his expression, even as his thick, dark brows pinch together in concentration. The hulking frame of your hunter stands above you, neck practically folded over to stare down at your kneeling form. He’s scanning your face, assessing each aspect of your visage and taking in the details. The paw grasping at your face tilts it left and right as he searches for… something.
Again, you wail as you feel his thumbprint dig into the soft flesh of your cheek. It braces against the edge of your molars, prints embedding– branding itself into the skin beneath it.
“Shh-Shh,” He hushes you softly, voice somewhat soothing now as he sweeps his knuckles across your temple and over your cheekbone. “Quite the hunt. Chased you all over, 70652. ”
The five digits of your passenger number ring through your eardrums like the alarms that had alerted you to your crash landing. It flits across his expression, a smug, mocking look as the realisation strikes you between your ribs like a wet blade—the pilot. Commander Mills, you had been told before cryostasis, was a skilled enough aeronaut to deliver you safely to the destination of Somaris. It appeared he had failed his mission.
“I- I don’t-”
“Everyone in the cryo-bay is dead,” he speaks over you, matter-of-fact in his unwavering tone. Your eyelashes flutter closed, confident Mills can feel your pulse pump blood through your veins as he trails his fingertips down your jugular. It tingles, the feather-light touch, adrenaline rushing over your body in surging waves. “It’s just us.”
“Hngg-” you mewl as he crouches behind you, dragging his lips gently across your pulse point as he breathes you in- the scent of your evasion. Soil coats you in an earthy smell, the metallic tang of blood from the scrapes of the thorny undergrowth. Mills groans against your jugular, scraping his sharp incisors over the thrum of your heart while savouring you.
“Aren’t you lucky?” He whispers, gravelly voice barely registering at this volume. Mill’s hand slips down your throat, calloused fingertips tracing down your central points. Your throat, your sternum between your breasts. The deliberate trail has your breath quickening, an underlying threat of danger making the hairs on your arms stand on end. “Lucky that I found you before those creatures did? Hmm?”
The delicate intonation of his question is deceptive. He’s not being kind- he’s mocking you. Still, the enamel of his teeth sinking into the concave connecting your neck and shoulder has you crying out, wetness pooling between your thighs.
“Mhm,” he lathes his tongue over the indents his teeth leave behind, splaying his fingers wide as he trails his palm over your stomach. Need unfurls beneath the weight of his hand, twisting and coating your abdomen when his fingers dip just beneath the waistband of the joggers you had been provided before entering cryostasis. “This... Is thanks enough.”
Heat creeps across the apples of your cheeks as you feel his hand slip further into your pants and wedge beneath your panties. You can do nothing but turn your hot face away from him, squeezing your eyes shut when his fingers brush through the thatch of curls across the curve of your pussy. Mills hums softly, your only warning before he’s sliding the pad of his finger through your slick cunt.
“Shit,” he grunts softly, the tip of his nose trailing up the length of your jugular. “So wet for me already.”
Sinews in your jaw ache at the force with which you clench your jaw, trying desperately to swallow down the moans that threaten to bubble up from your throat. Mills is circling his fingertip just barely over your clit now, the delicate touch coiling a throbbing heat between your thighs.
It’s a subconscious response, one that bypasses your brain and jolts your hips forward onto his hand. You don’t mean to, your fingers sinking into the soil beneath you as your body tenses. It sends a bright, hot arc of pleasure through your body and you wail raggedly, the short-lived friction enough to blur your vision.
Mills leaps.
Ripping his hand from your pants, he grabs ahold of your waist in a bruising grip, flipping you over onto your back harshly. It’s so fast, the world careening sideways. When you land it almost winds you, your spine hitting the ground with a thud. Twigs and rocks dig into your flesh, but Mills gives you no real opportunity to complain when he pins your body down with the hulking weight of his own.
Urgency spurs Mills on, pushing his fingers under the waistband of both your joggers and your panties before yanking them down your thighs. He doesn’t bother to remove them, abandoning them over your shins. They bunch around your ankles, movements restricted by the fabric. Your body is trembling, buzzing with something far from the fear he had originally inspired in you.
Mills is huge. Broad and muscular, when he leans his body over yours he almost blocks your whole line of sight. His muscles shadow through the thin fabric of his shirt, sweat causing the material to cling to his damp flesh. The chase across the forest seemed to have had little effect on his athletic frame, the exhaustion that had afflicted you unapparent when he pushes your knees back against your chest.
“Just look at you. Trembling. Panting. It’s gorgeous.” Subtle cruelty drips from his tongue when he praises you, watching your nipples harden as your folds are exposed to the cool air. Honey irises drag over your sopping cunt, greedily lapping up the view. You shouldn’t be enjoying this, so exposed to a stranger you had been running for in fear of your life just moments before.
“Please,” you beg, pathetic sobs cracking in your throat at the desperation to be touched.
“You’re in no place to be directing me, Sweet Thing.”
Despite his apparent refusal, Mills is pushing the trousers of his flight suit past his hips to expose his cock. Again, he refuses to waste time in removing them entirely, removing just enough to ease himself out of the confines of the material. You only catch a glimpse of his cock before he hoists your thighs over his pelvis, but your heart seizes at the sight– an angry, red tip leaks precum that smears across the inside of your thighs, veins protruding across the large shaft. You can’t fit tha-
God, he pushes the pad of his thumb into your clit and you yelp, seeing stars. A steady, wicked throb of bliss pulses through you as he applies pressure to the bundle of nerves, swiping his print back and forth. It’s overwhelming, and you can’t help the way your hips jolt as you feel him attempt to breach your entrance with the head of his cock.
“Stop moving,” Mills orders, hand wrapped around his dick as he sweeps through your folds. You’re sobbing now, tears welling in your eyes as he continues to abuse your swollen clit. He slips again, dark eyes flicking up to your face when your hips jolt upwards to chase his touch, the build of your impending orgasm catching you off guard with how quickly it seems to blossom. The third time, when the tip of his dick notches the inside of your thigh rather than taking root, his patience snaps.
Mills suddenly draws back from you, removing his hand from your clit before bringing his open palm down on your throbbing cunt with a brutal slap. Pain bows through you, blending seamlessly with your bliss and causes a sharp, high pitched cry of his name to tumble from your lungs. In your shock, your hips momentarily still. Taking advantage of your dazed state, Mills quickly lines his pulsing cock against your cunt and drives home, swiftly ramming into you with an abrupt snap of his hips.
A haggard gasp rips through your throat at the sudden intrusion, the painful stretch of his cock cracking through you and making your eyes roll back. Dirt cakes under your fingernails as you grasp feebly at the damp soil, trying and failing to find any kind of purchase to ground yourself.
“Take it,” Mills orders, his gruff voice impossibly reaching lower octaves as he pushes his length further into you. He sits back slightly, his eyes almost pitch black with how his pupils swallow them up as they settle on your cunt. Fascinated, he watches your lips stretch around his girth and paint his protruding veins with your slick. “Make it fit— Shit!”
His crude growl scrapes your eardrums as he bottoms out inside of you, hips flush with your own. You can’t breathe, feeling as though he’s big enough to settle amongst your lungs. You heave shallow breaths, your head pulsing with mind-numbing dizziness.
Then he’s moving. He drives forward at first, reaching depths inside you that make your abdomen ache before pulling out of you. The stark emptiness he leaves you with is short-lived, thrusting forward and stealing what little oxygen you had swallowed down.
Heat simmers through you with each shred of the head of his cock against something blinding inside of you. It gives you no room to think, to move, the cruel pace Mills sets. It’s merciless, pummelling into you and driving you up across the forest floor. “Fuuuuck, that’s good,” Mills groans loudly, holding on tight to your hips to prevent you from sliding away from him. You sob brokenly, hitting his chest with the heel of your palm as you struggle against the orgasm that’s practically hurtling towards you. Christ, his dick is so hard, ramming through you and pushing up against your cervix and causing a delightful ache.
The wet sounds of him thrusting into you are obscene, slick and desperate as he begins to pull you down onto the snaps of his hips. Fat tears stream down your cheeks, collecting in your hairline as you sob his name over and over.
“Look at you,” Mills practically snarls, eyes set on the bulge in your lower abdomen and in awe of what he finds there. Fuck fuck fuck. You can see him, see the outline of his cock driving in and out of you through your abdomen. “Mine.”
Through your haze, you feel Mills press his giant palm against your abdomen, feeling himself twitch and thrust inside of you. His forehead drops against your shoulder, hips beginning to stutter as your walls flutter around him.
It’s overwhelming; the intense pace, the brutality of his thrusts, the way your clit brushes against the pubic hairs on his lower pelvis. You sound fucking wrecked, wails spluttering with each devastating rock of his hips.
“Aha-ah- ohfuck,” you babble, eyes rolling back as your body curls inwards. You’re burning, tightening, your orgasm creeping across the pit of your stomach. “I-I’m gonna-“
Mills groans loudly, and your back arches suddenly when he bites into your collarbone. His teeth sink into your flesh, hard enough to draw blood, and the pain shoves you right over the ledge you’d been dancing over. You cum with a scream of his name, clamping down around his cock as ecstasy surges through you from head to toe. Your vision blurs, hearing cuts out.
“Shit,” you hear him spit distantly, despite the close proximity to your ears. Mills’ hips push up deep inside of you, his body lurching and trembling as he cums inside of you. It feels, even in your altered state of consciousness, like it takes forever. Milking him endlessly, his breath shuddering against the wound on your clavicle as he gently grinds into you to ease himself down from the high.
There’s no movement, no sudden release of your body and flopping to the side. Mills stays stuffed within you, your mixed cum dribbling down the inside of your thighs as he squeezes the flesh of your hips with his palms.
Your sobs of his name had been loud, noisy enough to draw in all kinds of lizard creatures, but Mills seems insistent on remaining like this, scraping his teeth across the curve of your shoulder and beginning to rock into your swollen cunt again.
“There’s a few hours before nightfall,” he talks over your garbled string of noises, overstimulated and exhausted from the hours of running and the brutal way he had fucked into you. “You can take me again before then, can’t you, Sweet Thing? Before we head back to the ship?”
Your body resigns to his question, already far too wearied and submissive to argue what feels more like an order than a question— besides, bliss is already pooling in between your thighs when he pinches your clit with the pads of his forefinger and thumb.
“Good Girl.”
END
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Crazy In Love
Movie Director!Charlie Barber x Reader
Warnings: NSFW, PIV sex, brief name-calling (slut, whore), gendered pet names (pretty girl), and general sexy stuff
Word Count: 1,150
Summary: You and Charlie have sex after a movie premiere.
Author’s Note: Thank you to the people who sent requests/ideas in! I’ll get to them soon, I just had to write this lmao. Feel free to send as many as you want. <3
Your love’s got the best of me, baby you’re making a fool of me . . . “ - Crazy In Love, Beyonce
The lights come up, and Charlie stands, which tells you that you should stand as well. You do, smoothing out your dress as you smile softly. Charlie’s grinning and waving and lighting up a cigarette, and God, he looks delicious.
You’re so proud of him, of his accomplishments, tonight and always. He’s so creative, your Charlie. He made a masterpiece, he really did. You’re not good at sharing, but tonight? You’re alright with the world seeing just how talented Charlie Barber is. The credits of his movie are rolling on the big screen, and people are standing up to clap. You could cry, so beyond thrilled that everyone who ever doubted your boyfriend has been proved wrong. He did it. He did this, and he did it well.
He looks back for you, trying to find you in the sea of people, and when he spots you, his smile widens. You blow him a kiss.
He catches it, then reaches into his pocket to pull out a cigarette. He lights it up and begins to smoke it. You swallow harshly, still clapping for him as heat forms between your thighs.
People make their way out of the theater, and you hurry to catch up to Charlie. When he sees you, he holds his hand out to you.
“There she is,” he says. “My pretty girl.”
You smile, leaning against his arm as you hold his hand.
“You did such a wonderful job, baby! It was incredible!”
“Yeah? You really think so?” Charlie asks. He kisses the top of your head, and the cameras go crazy, snapping and shooting pictures of the two of you.
“Of course I think so!” you say happily as the two of you walk out to the car. It begins to drive you both back to the hotel. Charlie’s hand rests on your thigh the entire way there, and you know exactly what this means.
He’s trying to contain himself, behave himself, but really? He loves the way you look in this dress, and he’s eager to take it off of you.
The two of you walk up to the hotel room wordlessly, and Charlie swipes the card to unlock the door. You step inside before him, and he puts the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the outside handle before closing and re-locking the door.
You smile at him as he loosens his tie.
“You look so handsome, Charlie,” you say as he walks towards you. He hums, putting his hands on your hips and pulling your body flush against his.
“And you look absolutely – mm – beautiful,” he says, kissing you in the middle of his sentence.
You need him so badly. He looks so good, and your pussy is so wet . . .
“Please fuck me,” you breathe against his mouth. Charlie hums.
“You need it that badly, pretty girl?”
“Yes,” you say, nodding eagerly. “Need you. Need your dick.”
Charlie chuckles lowly, then says: “And they say romance is dead.”
You give his ass a playful squeeze.
“The offer’s gonna expire, Mr. Director . . .”
“Oh?” Charlie says, tugging you towards the bed. He shoves you down on it. “We wouldn’t want that.”
You smirk, pulling your dress up as he works at his pants. By the time he manages to get his cock free, you’ve pulled your panties off and tossed them to the floor. Charlie gets on top of you, settling between your legs, and kisses you deeply as he presses his cock up against your entrance. He smells like cologne and cigarettes, a smell that is so classically Charlie.
You love it.
He’s kissing you like his life depends on it, like he’s a starved man in need of something, anything.
“Mm. You gonna take my cock?” Charlie breathes against your mouth. You nod, and Charlie presses his tip into your pussy.
“Fuck, Charlie . . .”
“Ask nicely,” he teases. “Ask me nicely, and I’ll fuck you how you like it.”
Your pussy clenches.
“Need you,” you say, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. “Need you so badly, Charlie, need your cock in my pussy, please . . .“
He thrusts the rest of the way into you, and once you’ve adjusted to the feeling, he begins to roll his hips. He wastes little time, picking up speed almost immediately and fucking you into the mattress so hard that you can barely formulate a sentence.
“F-Fuck! Fuck, Charlie! Mmm!”
“Take it . . . Take it, pretty girl. Take it like I know you can . . .”
Your body is bouncing as he rolls his hips furiously. Your hands move up to tug at his hair, and he grunts softly as you give it a good yank.
“Couldn’t stop thinking about you all through the movie,” Charlie admits. “Couldn’t stop thinking about having you like this . . . My perfect little slut . . . Such a good whore . . .”
“Mmm, fuck!” you groan at his words as he pounds you. “Fuck, shit, Charlie . . .!”
“Touch yourself,” Charlie says. “Touch that little clit for me. Wanna feel you cum on my cock.”
You reach down, and you desperately rub your clit, chasing your orgasm.
“Don’t stop talking, Charlie,” you breathe, rubbing your clit quickly. “Tell me what a good whore I am . . .”
Charlie grunts, fucking you faster.
“The best,” he breathes. “The best l-little whore . . . Mmm . . . Always taking cock like a good girl . . .”
He’s losing himself in the pleasure that your body is providing, and his cock begins to throb and twitch. He’s close already.
“Fuck, fuck, Charlie . . . “
“My own personal slut, hm? You love taking cock, but I know you l-like mine the best . . . Shit!”
You nod quickly.
“I do,” you breathe. “I do. You’re the best I’ve ever had, Charlie . . . Fuck, I’m gonna cum!”
He nods, then presses his face against your shoulder as your orgasm crashes over you. Waves or pleasure cascade over you, all radiating from between your legs. Chills rise on your arms, but you can’t feel them. You’re too focused on prolonging your orgasm.
When Charlie feels you flooding his cock, he cums with a long grunt.
“S-Shit! Fuck!” he exclaims, dumping his cum into your pussy. You groan at the feeling. You’re so full of him, so full of his seed, and God you feel fulfilled.
“Fuck,” you sigh before Charlie kisses you. His lips work against yours, and you laugh breathily when he pulls away. Your lipstick is all over his mouth. You touch his cheek.
“Pretty boy,” you mutter.
You kiss him again.
#rynwritesstuff#charlie barber#charlie barber fic#charlie barber x reader#charlie barber x you#charlie barber x yn#charlie barber au#director!charlie barber#director charlie barber#marriage story#marriage story fic#marriage story fanfiction#charlie barber marriage story#adam driver#adam driver smut#charlie barber smut#adam driver fanfic#adam driver marriage story#adcu#adcu fic#adcu author
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Ruined
|Jacques Le Gris x Fem!Reader|
Short Story
Summary: Once you come of age, you're sent to your brother-in-law's estate to find a husband. After months of deflecting and denying suitors, old and young, you encounter the dangerous squire Jacques le Gris.
Author's Note: Jacques le Gris is a rapist. No matter which point of view you look at, he is a rapist. I would also like to say that I personally hate him. He embodies everything I hate about men and victim blaming in the modern world. Still, at the same time, I am so incredibly enamored by him, primarily due to Adam Driver's acting. Initially, I didn't want to write this story, but it would not leave me alone. Without further ado, here is Ruined. I hope you enjoy it!
WARNINGS: Mentions of rape, period-accurate sexism, noncon elements, extremely toxic masculinity, orgy (non-participating), the reader is a virgin, slight blood play, violence, degradation (Jacques receiving), rough sex, Jacques is not nice until the end, sexual blackmail, unprotected sex, PIV.
(I wrote this story almost a year ago but realized I didn't publish it here for some reason. You'll definitely see how much my writing has changed for the better.)
The obnoxious noises of people chanting draw you out of your trance, sipping wine from a silver goblet periodically to drown everything out. These parties were never your favorite, but you came, observing the party-goers dancing drunkenly as if it was your duty to attend.
You roll your eyes as the crowd cheers, Count Pierre yelling above the rest, a woman on his lap, and bringing your gaze to where the sound is directed.
A young man with raven hair draped around his neck stalks towards a maiden, a smirk on his lips, untying his white tunic. His chest is broad, a sheen of sweat glittering on his skin in the candlelight. He would be so much more attractive if this were a different situation. You could even imagine yourself being the one to pleasure his cock. You roll your eyes, understanding the intentions of this whole charade.
"Jacques, my boy, get on with it," Pierre says, growing impatient with the lack of excitement.
He nods, making wide steps to the woman, circling a wooden table as she runs in the opposite direction he follows. You can't help the groan of distaste that releases, tilting the cup to your lips and turning away, not wanting to see the show.
How could anyone like this? It was blasphemous in the eyes of the Lord. Mary would be weeping for what her son's followers do for fun. You must mention this in your confession, receiving penance for witnessing hedonistic actions, drawing the sign of the cross, wiping the stray dribbles from your lips, and making room for your bed chamber.
Pierre sticks his leather boot out, nearly tripping you as you huff, putting your hands on your hips.
"Where are you going, sister," he questions. "The party has just begun."
Your lips curl into a snarl, your white teeth reflecting the flickers of light.
"It is quite late, my dear brother-in-law. I need to rest my weary body."
Pierre tucks his leg back, a wave of shock washing over you. He fakes a pout, his eyebrows scrunching with a wet lip out. You shake your head, disbelieving his ridiculous antics. Indeed, he wouldn't let you go that easily.
"Awe, my dear sister," he pats his free thigh, "won't you find your rest here on my lap?"
The room erupts with laughter, everyone watching the exchange unfold, wondering how this will end. Your stomach turns inside, revolted by your legal brother's detailed proposal in God's eyes. Hot words of hatred sear your tongue's end, begging you to be free, but you bite it. He was, after all, above you, gifting you a home while searching for a husband. You were indebted to him. Saying no was not an option. Your eyes meet Jacques, a look of surprise as if he never knew you were here in the first place— a typical man, keeping his head trained on one hole at a time.
Pushing all the bile and anger, you plaster a smile, accepting the offer and sitting across from the finely dressed lady. Pierre runs his calloused fingers along your spine, turning you into stone as you set your gaze on the floor.
Everyone's eyes had left except for one, the only pair you didn't want on you as you sat in defeat, cheeks fuming. Jacques was intense, his facial hair dusting around the hard line of his mouth, shining with the wetness of the wine. It almost seemed you were his prey now, not the maiden with the ornate burgundy dress. You had no intention of being hunted by him.
With the clap of Pierre's hands, the merriment commences again, Jacques halting for a split second before his pupils are set back to where they were before. The woman is shouting no, over and over again, excitement barely laced in it. Your heart went out to her, a feeling of protection for the circumstance. She had no choice in who fucked her; a status of nothingness gave men the right to do what they wanted. Your gender had just as much value as theirs. Breasts and warm heat should not matter.
The position in a society fueled the eternal flame of fury in your soul, always wanting to rebel and speak your truth, but the consequences of disrespecting a man were deadly. You were just as helpless as the woman being thrown over Jacques's shoulder and flipped onto the bed, held down by other waiting women.
A hand grips your jaw, forcing your eyes to watch the poor woman be soiled.
"Watch," Pierre commands, saying your name. "Watch him fuck her, and maybe you will learn how to be a good wife for your husband."
You clench your teeth, growling in protest as you watch Jacques enter her from behind. The iniquity of the sounds is enough to stir your core, but the cries of her protest ring louder, maybe laced with a hint of pleasure as the meat from the large feast threatens to exit your throat.
"Here." Jacques's voice was smooth, rolling out his chest like a baritone into your ears, caressing them. "Take some evil inside you," he says, aligning his hips with hers.
Your body jolts, either from the erotic sounds of his words or the disgusting act he was committing on her, as you put a hand over your mouth, jumping from your spot before Pierre can stop you. Incoherent noises were mumbling out of you as you ran to the doors, bursting them open with weight. The onlookers are quiet once more, waiting for a cue from the Lord. Jacques is the only one not paying attention, his vision trained on your retreating form as the girls giggle.
You order your handmaids to draw a bath, telling them to put as many herbs and oils to soothe your racing heart. They listened, bowing their heads in respect as they went off to do their respective duties, and you were in the scented waters in no time.
Take some evil inside you.
The words echoed in your brain, fuzzing all concise thoughts and morals. These parties were always like this, orgies were the most common, but they all seemed consensual. You never heard a woman shout no until tonight. Pierre ordered him to almost rape, teetering on dubiousness and assault.
Why would someone participate in that so willingly?
Jacques could say no and leave, not chase her around like an animal until he jumped on her. He was so attractive and sensual in his movements that even Christ would be shy.
You reached over the top of the tub, picking up the leather-bound book on the stand next to you, attempting to distract your mind from the man that was viciously pounding into as many women as he could in the other wing. A book of poems written in Latin was always your choice.
You had been lost in the pages for hours; the water had turned lukewarm and your skin pruney, but you were too focused as you felt the door slam. You jumped, nearly dropping it into the tub. You were surprised to find visitors, especially this late in the night. You lift your gaze with a quizzical raised brow. The person standing in your bathing room was Jacques Le Gris. You squeal, dipping into the water and covering your chest.
"What the Hell are you doing in here?" You nearly scream, forgetting your place.
He takes a few steps closer as you turn away more, his boots thudding, sending vibrations through the floor as he bends over, picking up your book. He reads the name aloud, almost like a question, and turns the pages, looking for a certain one. Jacques reads it aloud.
"Bibe mihi nisi oculis tuis et ego confirmo in oculis tuis." (Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine.) He says, eyes flickering to your submerged body. "Vel osculum sed in poculo relinque, et vinum non quaeram." (Or leave a kiss but in thine cup, and I'll not look for wine)
Your muscles relax as you listen to his voice. It sounds the same, but the feeling of it is so much better than before.
"Sitis, quae ex anima oritur, divinum potionem petit." (The thirst from the soul doth rise, doth ask a drink divine.) You turn your body towards him, still covering your chest as you study his lips, how they pucker slightly, and his pink tongue touches his teeth.
Jacques begins to read the following line, but you interrupt him, having read this poem many times, as you peek over the side of the brass tub.
"Sed, ut potui, lovis nectare supponerem, Nolo tuum mutare." (But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine.) He lowers his head a few inches above yours. His intense honey-brown eyes bore into yours.
"Sera tibi roseo misi, non tam honorante, quam ut spem dare non posset arescere." (I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, not so much honoring thee, as giving it a hope that there it could not withered be.) He reads the line, inching closer and closer.
You lick your lips, lifting yourself as you recite. "Tu autem ibi solus respirasti et mihi remisisti." (But thou thereon did'st only breathe, and sent'st it back to me.)
"Cum crescit et olet, non per se, sed te." (Since when it grows and smells, I swear, not of itself, but thee.)
Jacques closes the book with a slight slap, the tip of his prominent nose gliding across yours as your mouth parts for him. He closes his eyes, leaning in.
"Take some evil inside you."
You pull back, standing in the tub quickly as the water splashes out. Jacques's face turns pale at your rejection, embarrassment clouding his mind. You turn your back to him, grabbing a large towel.
"You know, Sir Le Gris, that poetry would sound heavenly if it wasn't for your filthy mouth." You flip your hair over your shoulder, bending slightly to wring the water out as you hear Jacques approach.
Fear stuns you for a moment, freezing, unsure of what to do or where to go because you know he will not take no for an answer if he reaches you. Suddenly, you spot a mounted dagger over the fireplace. You stroll as if you planned to walk over all along. He catches up in no time, pinning you to the stone, his form pressed into your back as he buries his nose in your neck, sniffing. You try not to cringe, even though everything in your body tells you to do so. You can't show him you're afraid.
"Would you like to rub my oils on Sir Le Gris?" You try to hide the tremble in your voice, staying frozen in place.
"Mmm," he moans, "I would love to." He moves away from you, finally giving you the chance to breathe.
"They are over there." You point to the shelf with glass bottles and vials as he nods. Turning his back on you, you reach for the dagger, silently prying it off the display. "You can pick whatever oil you want, Sir."
Jacques studies each one, popping off the corks and glass lids, smelling them until he finds something he enjoys, and walks back over. He opens the bottle, the smell of roses wafting in the air as he pours some out into his hands, massaging your neck.
If this was any other circumstance, you might adore basking in it, but it isn't. You're with a man who has no concept of consent, a man who would bend you onto the hearth and fuck your weeping body. He reaches down to your shoulders, halting when he feels your resistance on the cloth; not letting him remove it, he overpowers you, pushing it down. You clutch the dagger closer to your bare chest as his fingers glide down your biceps and back, slick with the oil.
"You are so stiff, my sweet."
You shudder at the endearment, trying to relax your tense muscles. Jacques's hand travels down your chest, encompassing the small flat area as his fingertips touch the top of your breast.
"Stop," you command with a flat voice. Jacques ignores you, continuing to massage your intimate parts.
You turn around, flying at lightning speed, and put the dagger's tip to his throat, only enough to draw a trickle of blood.
"When a woman says stop, you stop, Jacques. When a woman says no, you listen." The words fly out of your mouth, anger for seeing the filthy action he committed on that woman from the party.
His lack of terror frustrates you. Even with a knife to his throat, he radiates arrogance. You push him backward across the room, still at his throat, pinning him to the large wooden door. He stands there in surprise, his arms up in surrender, more startled than afraid.
"I could end your life in a second, you scoundrel, yet you show no fear."
Jacques laughs. He laughed dark and deep, his perfectly crooked teeth sparkling as his Adam's apple bobs. You slide the blade with your neck craned; the edge is now piercing. Your face scrunches with fury bringing your knee up to his stomach, causing him to laugh more, slightly doubled over.
"Do you have such a low view of women that you take it in jest when they threaten your life?" You spit. His joy subsides a bit, chest still slightly bouncing.
If you slid the blade across his neck at this moment, his throat would slit, spilling his tarnished blood on your naked body, yet he still doesn't seem to care. His eyes travel down you, still damp from the bath. You slam his shoulder into the door with your fist, trying to assert dominance over him, not allowing him to look. You suppose this is a precarious pose, leg hiked up, hand on his shoulder, giving him perfect access to your womanhood.
Your stance falters at the thought, Jacques taking it as the perfect opportunity to grab you. The blade slides across his arm, flinching for just enough time to run, but he grabs you at the waist, the soles of your feet sliding across the stone floor. You yelp as he flings you over his shoulder, your legs and arms kicking as you scream for him to stop. He doesn't listen, opening the door to your bed chamber and throwing you down on your mattress.
Your body displays perfectly for him, with a slight sheen on your flush body. He devours the sight of you, ripping off his sweat-stained tunic as you push yourself off the sheets and away from him, running towards the exit. Jacques cuts you off, hunched over in a stance that resembles the one at the party, his arms out. You step to the side, and he mirrors it. You step to the other, and the same thing happens again.
"If you run, I will only chase you," he says with a predator's grin.
You look around desperately for anything to help you escape him. You spot a candle stick, sprinting to it, knocking the lit wax onto the floor as it rolls to Jacques's feet; his boot steps on it, snuffing the flame.
"Oh, my darling, you must be careful. You wouldn't want to cause a fire. Our fun might end." His voice is condescending as he stalks you.
"I will set this whole castle on fire before I ever have fun with the likes of you, swine."
A glob of spit flies out of your mouth, landing on his cheek. The pads of his fingers touch it, wiping it on them and bringing them to his mouth, sucking. He hums, popping them from his lips with a smile.
"You taste so sweet." He closes the space between you. "I would shun Jove's cup away every chance if it meant I could taste your nectar instead."
You grip the brass candle stick tightly, offended that he would reference a poem so dear, ready to swing at any moment. Jacques notices, smiling to himself. Your legs rub together at his words, a mind of their own.
His lips crash on yours, destroying any thought that you might not want this, and you drop your weapon, wrapping your fingers in his raven locks. You can feel him grin, happy to have won, his hand lacing itself on your neck.
You part for air as Jacques spins you around, sliding his other hand down your body to your aching mound, parting the wet folds with his digits. You gasp at the contact, your knees buckling as his grip holds you up.
"For a lady who put up so much of a fight, you are impossibly weak under my touch," he mocks, relishing his victory.
You glare at the wall with the brutal honesty of his words. You didn't put up much of a fight when his mouth finally met yours, even dropping your only form of protection.
"Silence." You demand, not wanting to hear any more of his taunts.
An exploratory finger glides over a sensitive spot on your heat, causing you to gasp and grip Jacques's trousers. He swipes over it, and you cry out at the foreign sensation, panting. You can feel the pride radiate from his demeanor at seeing your weakness, slowly rubbing circles on the bud.
You have never felt like this before, being taught never to explore that private area of your body, leaving it only for your husband to use. This pleasure wasn't something that society taught you. Yes, you watched many people fornicate at Count Pierre d'Alençon's gatherings but never allowed yourself to participate. He would have loved it if you did, but you had one duty to attend: finding a husband.
It was already so tricky finding anyone you could stomach, all the suitors decrepit and at death's door. You wanted to marry for love when you were younger. The idea of a fairytale romance clouded your eyes as a child, but once you bled for the first time, you were sat down and told of your duties. Accept whatever man had the most money, influence, or power and fill your stomach with his kin. But you wanted something else. The suitors also knew it, as you destroyed any notion of a small and obedient wife.
At times you were sure Pierre would throw you out as you brushed off and disrespected every man that came, but some of you knew he liked the entertainment. If only he could see you now.
Naked and moaning like a whore as Jacques assaulted your heat with his fingers, you loved the sinfulness of it all, Jacques breathing heavily into your ear as he worked you like a loom, rubbing in circles as pressure began to build in your stomach. Your hips were moving, seeking more friction. You can't control your body, the lust of the devil taking over your mind, a he kept touching that exact spot.
It was so intense, the new feeling, almost too much, you wanted to scream obscenities and thrash around, but he held you firm. Your toes curled as you stomped on the ground, a wave of ecstasy crashing into you as you screamed. Your body caved in on itself as you struggled in Jacques's grip, still rubbing the used nub. You twitched and spasmed as the aftershocks of your high jolted through your body, mumbling to yourself.
"It's-it's too much. Please. Stop." You beg as tears form from the overstimulation.
Jacques shushes you with kisses along your face, calming his fingers slightly, and you breathe a sigh of relief, head dropping as his hand still chokes.
"Have you ever experienced this before, a man's touch?" He whispers seductively, nose burying in your hair.
You're too dazed to think of a witty retort, Jacques pulling your consciousness away.
"No. I have to save myself."
"For who?" Jacques asks, removing his paws from your naked skin.
"My husband." You answer plainly.
Some of you have always wanted to explore your features this way, but you are always too scared, never taking the risk. You felt they would know what you had done by the look on your face, throwing you to live with pigs for the rest of your life. He chuckles at your lack of restraint, happy to have brought your defenses to a standstill as he slowly sways you to the bed, closing your eyes. You think he might leave you there, tucking you in for the night. You wouldn't protest with your achy limbs.
"You're still intact?"
You shoot up, eyes wide, as you realize what will happen. What?" That is all you manage to say, scared to admit the truth. Maybe if you didn't, he would lose interest and leave.
He rests his knees on the bed, your legs between his as he repeats.
"You are still intact?"
"Sir le Gris, I beg you to leave my chambers." Your voice weavers, sobering up, trying to keep a modicum of strength.
You slide off the bed, Jacques grabbing and flipping you as you swipe the candle stick from the floor. He crawls over the top, dragging his hair along your back as you feel his hands dip the bed, stick biting into your chest.
"I will ruin you for every man," Jacques whispers, face centimeters away from your ear, his facial hair tickling your skin as he peppers kisses along your neck.
The logical part of your brain wanted to stop this, realizing that you would fail if your future husband wanted to see if you were still a virgin. They'll declare you a whore, a harlot, sabotaging every suiter who enters the door. With your personality, you knew that your virtue would appeal more than money to them, and Jacques Le Gris would take it away. But the way his lips delicately kissed your skin, his hair lightly stroking it, taking the words out of your mouth as he reached your hips.
He removed his body from yours, shucking his black trousers onto the floor. You grip the candle stick tighter. This was your chance to fight back, stopping him from taking your only decent quality in man's eyes, but you didn't. You just lay there, waiting patiently for him.
A part of you wanted this, to know what it felt like and to discard any chance of finding a betrothed. You couldn't be tied to domestics, organizing feasts, caring for little ones, and then laying down to a man you could never love. It would be pure Hell, and you could not accept that. You would rather die alone without your honor than live a day under a man's boot.
Jacques grips your hips again, pulling you towards the edge of the mattress, legs hanging off the end as he spits on his shaft, stroking it. You turn your head to take a peak. The length is impossible; you had never seen one this long or wide, glistening with his seed at the tip. He catches you staring, smirking at your shocked expression, glad to have finally put you in your place.
He positions himself at your entrance, rubbing his hands on your ass almost gently as he pushes into the hilt. You scream, silencing it into the blankets as he pulls out, only to slam back in again. Tears burst from your eyes at the blinding pain of being stretched, his blatant disregard for your comfort.
"Jacques, it-it hurts." You beg, body shaking, the salty streams of water cascading down your face and into your mouth. "Please, slow down."
Your trembling voice breaks him from his trance, realizing he can't treat you the way he does with other women, not if both of you were to enjoy it. He pulls out, turning your body, seeing your tear-stained face and the candle stick you had been hiding, throwing it off to the side. Jacques smirks, proud to have won your mercy. He didn't know how long he would worry about you trying to kill him. He was proud of the magic his cock could work, but he didn't think it was that powerful, willing someone as strong and aggressive as you into submission. He bent over your body, kissing you, sucking on your lips gently, as your fingers combed threw his hair.
"I'm sorry, my darling, I should have remembered you are not like the rest. So fragile and delicate." He smiles, getting a waft from the oil he put on you earlier. "Like a rose. Ma rose. Beautiful and elegant, but if you aren't wise, she will prick you with her thorns."
You're sure his terms of affection come from pure physical attraction, trying to calm you so he could get back to fucking you like a rabbit. But the feeling that crept into your bones and heart at his words wanted to tell you something different.
He slowly drags them across your velvet walls, relishing in the tiny moans and whines he pulled from your chest. This time, his hand went down to your womanhood, using your juices to coat his fingers before he slid in, stretching you but not as comprehensively as his cock. You gripped onto the arms that caged you, your fingernails digging into the toned muscles as he dipped his head into the crook of your neck, softly biting the flesh.
You felt your peak rising quickly as he stroked you with curled fingers, your heat clenching and twitching around him. Jacques didn't need you to say anything to know you were close. Your body told him everything he needed as he quickly exited before your climax, ignoring your protests. He brought the digits to his mouth, coated in blood and nectar as he sucked, eyes rolling back at the tangy taste.
You watched in awe as his tongue licked it, dipping into all the crevices. He leaned down, hesitating momentarily as he reached your lips before you parted them and then dove in, mixing the taste of you and him. You moaned through your nostrils, eyelids fluttering as your tongues danced together, wrapping your legs around his waist. You were tired of waiting now that he showed you what sex could feel like, frustrated by its denial. You pulled his hair, tugging his face away as you looked into his hazel-brown irises.
You had never been this close to Jacques to appreciate his beauty truly; the freckles and moles dotted his cheeks and around his nose. He almost looked like the Roman statues you had seen in books, with his face and body chiseled from stone.
"Please," you whispered on his damp skin, "I need you inside me."
Jacques had waited for those words his entire life, eyes rolling back at the wave of arousal he got from them. He positioned his cock at your abused mound again, sliding in slowly as he watched your expression.
It was painful again, tensing and scrunching as he held back the best he could, bottoming out. The feeling of him so impossibly deep made you gasp. You were sure he was in your guts. You slowly ground your hips against him, trying to seek the pleasure you now knew he could give you. He smiled at your eagerness, happy to have turned the stiff woman into a puddle in his hands.
He finally gave you what you wanted, pulling back and sliding back in. Your walls finally adjusted to his overall size, welcoming him in. Like earlier, he worked that sweet spot inside you, stoking the fire smoldered inside into a small flame. You wanted more now that you realized what was possible, snatching his body close to yours as you angle your hips up, inviting him to go the pace he wanted. And Jacques did, slamming into your body as he fucked you deeply, breasts bouncing from the force.
You moaned loudly, head rolling to the side as the pleasure took over, Jacques wrapping a large palm around your throat again to hold you in place.
"Oh Lord," you shouted, "please forgive me. Now that I know of this sinful ecstasy, I may never stop."
Jacques smiled, happy that he ruined and corrupted you like he said he would, a new wave of primal desire controlling him. He yanks you to the end of the bed again, slamming your body into him as he stands upright, grabbing your waist and fucking into you as hard as he can, gritting his teeth.
You pant, excited by the new position he thrusts into rapidly, the now familiar pressure quickly building in your stomach.
"I am going to ruin you for every man." Jacques reiterates from before. "So, when your husband is fucking you like an untrained dog, all you will think of is me."
His black mop of hair sticks to his sweaty forehead as he continues pumping into you, holding himself back until you climax for him. He hikes your leg over his shoulder, pistoning in you impossibly deeper, hitting the same spot repeatedly until you snap. Your vision goes white as you arch your back, screaming at the bursting pleasure in your stomach. Jacques grins, proud to have you writhing under him as he spills inside you, seed filling up your hole as you both continue panting.
Jacques pumps into you carefully, slowly riding your highs together as your pulse slows, breathing calmly. His hand slowly snakes its way to yours, hooking a cautious pinky. He pulls out, gently dropping your leg as he collapses beside you, spent from the activities together, staring up at the ceiling.
His digit is vast compared to yours, the size of your index, as he takes the invitation to wrap all of them under your plan, bringing the back of your hand to his lips. You stare at him, an eyebrow raised at the unexpected display of affection.
"Thank you for giving yourself to me, ma rose. For letting me have your virtue." You look down at the intertwined hands and then at his face, skeptical, seeing his sincere expression.
"You are welcome," you giggle. "Though I always imagined it would be my husband, now I don't think I need one for that anymore."
Jacques laughs, a naturally bellowing whole-body one, and shakes his head.
"With all due respect, my lady, I don't think you needed me to show you that." You mirror his emotions, silently agreeing with him as he gets up, searching for the lost garments during your adventures.
You attempt to stand, legs faltering as pain shoots through your core, using the bed for balance. Luckily, Jacques is in the bathing room collecting his tunic as you walk over to the candle and holder, putting them back.
Cold, wet fabric on your back causes you to jump, turning around to see Jacques fully clothed with a wash rag in hand. You wince at the freezing temperature of it, grabbing his wrist. You look at him perplexed as he leads you back to the bed, parting your legs as he drags them across your core, cleaning up the dried blood and fluids.
"I can do that, Sir." You protest, uncomfortable with the amount of concern he is showing you.
"I know you can." He chuckles to himself, shaking his head, and continues. You don't stop him, letting the man care for you this time.
Once he's done, you reach for the cloth to discard, but he yanks it out of the way, folding it and stuffing it in a pocket. You put your hands on your hips, shaking your head.
"And what are you going to do with that le Gris?" You ask in an admonishing tone.
"Oh, this?" He questions, feigning innocence. "This is just for me... and any other suiter who decides to court you."
Your face pales, your playful expression dropping as you go to grab for him, his body surprisingly fast for the bulk of it. You try again, and he expertly dodges towards the door.
"Give it back, Jacques," you demand, done with his games.
He smiles and shakes his head, patting where the tainted fabric is stored. You reach for it once more as he opens your bed chamber door and slips out, shutting it on your naked body. He knows you can't leave, or everyone will see you; although some might be pleased, you still stay inside, pounding on the door as you yell his name.
***
You sit silently at the table with Count Pierre d'Alençon and his wife, your sister, eating the day's first meal. You needed that after last night, still fuming after what Jacques did.
That damn scoundrel.
Pierre puts his knife down with a "clang," causing your sister and you to perk up, expecting an explanation for the sound as he wipes his lips.
"Jacques le Gris came to my chamber last night," he begins. A lump forms in your throat as you freeze, terrified about what his following words would be."I found it very odd, him being here that late after the party, but nevertheless, he said it was necessary."
Indeed Jacques didn't blast Pierre about what you did last night; he already had proof enough that he didn't need to say anything.
"You came up in the conversation, my dear sister," he says as he points a jeweled finger.
You swallow, plotting all the terrible things you will do to Jacques the next time you see him.
"He proposed a marriage to you."
You drop all your silverware on the floor, face in shock at the reveal. Jacques has already ruined all chances of future courtiers, even going a step further and ruining your prospects of freedom. Why the Hell would he do that?
"I, of course, said that he would have to follow the process like any other man. He would get no special treatment just because he is my friend."
He steals your virtue and now your only chance of freedom.
"What do you say, my dear sister?" He asks, ripping your mind for your thoughts.
You stare blankly, unsure how to respond to something as ridiculous as that and clear your throat.
"Jacques le Gris is like all of the men from before and will be like all of the men after," you reply.
Pierre smiles at your answer, happy to know the two most headstrong, fiery people he knows will go toe to toe. This will be a duel for the ages.
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diamonds and stones, part one
pairing: clyde logan x f!reader (no use of y/n)
WC: 9k(!!)
summary: reader returns home & encounters some ghosts from her past.
warnings: 18+! language, mentions of war, amputation.
a/n: it's here!! i hope y'all enjoy this long ass chapter (this is so long its embarrassing LOL). there's some time skipping/flashbacks here so i hope it's not too hard to follow! as always, any feedback is appreciated :)
series masterlist
ONE
The phone had barely rung two times before you answered, thumb punching the accept call button as soon as you glanced at the caller ID. Pulling the phone up to your ear, you looked ahead at the cornfields and the open road in front of you. Your mom’s crackly voice filled your ears.
“Darlin’,” she sighed on the other end. So, she’d gotten your message.You thought to yourself.
Mentally, you kicked yourself for giving her any notice in the first place. You knew she’d try to talk you out of it, like she had successfully done the previous two times you’d tried moving back home.
“You got out, honey.” she’d say. “You got to do what I never did. You went to college, you got your degree, you moved to the city. Don’t throw that away. There ain’t nothin’ for you here.”
You hated that she referred to your hometown like that, the place that raised you: a place to get out of. Sometimes you missed it like you missed a limb.
And after your Gramma’s first stroke it had worked, no matter how guilty you felt for being states away while she recovered.
It had been a minor stroke, the summer before your junior year of college. Not fatal, or with too many lasting health complications, but it had been enough to scare you. It had been enough to scare you into almost dropping out of college and moving home, but your mother and grandmother had insisted that you go back after she’d begun the road to recovery.
Of course, that wasn’t the only reason you decided to go back, a small voice in the back of your head whispered.
Two dark brown eyes danced in your mind's eye; freckles scattered sparsely across tan cheeks, a rumble of a laugh, the crackle of a tape on an old car radio. You dispelled it before you allowed your mind to wander further.
That’s in the past, you insisted, chastising that quiet voice trying to bring up old ghosts.
You wouldn’t let your mind go there again. He left, you reminded yourself, instead resolving to focus on the road in front of you, and the nagging voice of your mother in your ear.
She sighed your name.
“I told you not to come, honey. This is the whole reason we waited so long to tell you–”
“I’m already on the road, mom.” You interrupted her. “I moved out earlier this week, and I’m already on my way home. No use in trying to change my mind on this when it’s already done.”
For the first time in what seemed like forever, you were met with radio silence; Your mother was speechless. There’s a beat of silence before she speaks again. Secretly, inside you’re smug. You’ve managed to outsmart her.
“You’re on the road right now?” She asked in that familiar disapproving short tone.
“As we speak,” you shifted, holding the wheel with one hand and slouching in your seat. Your mother sighed again.
“Stop that,” she said, displeasure evident in her voice.
“Stop what, mama? Driving?”
“Stop sounding so smug,” She scolded in that tone that all mothers have perfected, before addressing you by your full name. “This is gonna upset your Gramma. The last thing she wanted was you putin’ your whole life on hold for this.”
“‘For this?’” You asked in disbelief. “Mama, I can’t believe you waited more than a whole month to tell me the cancer was back in the first place! As if it was none of my business!”
You could practically hear her eye-roll through the phone.
“Now don’t be ridiculous.” She simpered. “We didn’t wanna upset you is all. And we certainly didn’t want you doin’ something so rash, like this.”
You rolled your eyes. This woman was impossible.
“Mom, I’d been considering leaving for a long time. My lease was up, Carla got married. This was just the final nail in the coffin. It was a long time comin’.”
“But you seemed so happy, baby.” she cooed.
“I don’t care! I deserve to know if my grandma is dying or not, and you have no right to keep it from me!”
You were met with silence. It was your turn to sigh.
“I’m sorry,” she conceded softly. “I shouldn’t have kept it from you. I was just scared of something like this happening. You can’t expect me to believe that this whole thing didn’t cause you to up and move home out of the blue.”
“I know, mama, but it’s the truth.” You paused, before continuing, “I put in my notice weeks ago. I’ve missed home. A lot. The city is…so loud. And there are no mountains near Chicago. The land is so flat, and–”
“I know baby, I know.” You could hear her shuffling around on the other end of the line.
She was no doubt calling from the landline in the kitchen at the old house. Thinking of it, your heart yearned. You missed it so much.
“It’s just that this was your dream, baby. And I just know your Gramma’s gonna blame herself for you giving that up.”
“Mom, I’m not giving anything up,” you emphasized the last part, trying to get it through her head. “I still have my dreams, Chicago just wasn’t it. It took me a while to realize that, but I have. And I have no idea where I wanna go or what I wanna do next, but I do know that I miss home. I was planning on coming back even before I found out.”
“Alright,” she began, but you wouldn’t let her continue. You needed to get this out.
“And, that combined with the fact that Gramma’s cancer is back means there’s nothin’ you can do to stop me.”
“Alright,” she sighed on the other line. “I suppose there’s nothin’ I can do about it now. How did you find out in the first place? You never mentioned in that hysterical voicemail you left–”
“I had reason to be hysterical, don’t you think? Findin’ out from Jimmy Logan and all.”
“Jimmy Logan?” she asked in surprise. “Now what were you doin’ talkin’ to him? Did he finally buck up and get a cell phone?”
“Yes, he did,” you chuckled, “Mellie finally convinced him. Anyway, after she helped him get his contacts in order, the first thing he did was give me a ring, saying how sorry he was to hear about Gramma bein’ sick again.”
“But how? I didn’t even tell Jimmy Logan. The only people we told were the ladies in prayer group.”
You laughed.
“Oh, you know how word gets around. Jimmy heard it from Earl at the hardware store, who heard it from Irene, who heard it from her momma, who, if I’m not mistaken, is in your prayer group.”
“Well,” your mother huffed. “I suppose that is how it goes. I’ll tell you one thing, your Gramma will be happy to see you, no matter the circumstance.”
“I know,” you sighed, glad that the air was at least a little cleared between you. You were still hurt that she’d kept something as important as your Gramma’s illness from you, but you understood where she was coming from. She just wanted what was best for you, wanted you to have everything she didn’t.
“Speaking of them Logans,” your mom said. “Have you told her you’re coming home?”
You laughed into the phone.
“Yes, Mellie knows I’m coming home.” You were surprised that she’d even assumed you hadn’t told the youngest Logan about your returning. She’d kill you if you didn’t.
“Good. I know she’s missed you. Last week while she was doin’ my hair, she told me a girl’s weekend every few months and a phone call just wasn’t cutting it.”
Mellie’s face flashed in your mind, and the feeling of dread at returning home started to dissipate. She had that effect on you; Ever since you met nearly 20 years earlier. You smiled, as your mind drifted back to then.
1995
You’d never imagined coming to a new school would ever be this hard. You’d expected it to be like how you’d seen it happen in TV shows or books or those kids movies you liked so much; Where after a rocky start with school bullies, the new kid fell in with the perfect group of friends and everything was fine. That was what you’d anticipated: The melodrama, the excitement. What you hadn’t expected was the monotony and loneliness.
Entering the third grade in october–two and a half months into the term–was never easy. At least that’s what your grandma had told you, and her being your grandma, you were inclined to believe her.
“It’s not gonna be easy,” she’d told you. “And kids can be real mean, darlin’. Especially when you’re new and they don’t know you. But, you just show them how kind, and special, and smart, and funny you are, and you won't have no problem fittin’ in.”
And you’d expected it to be that easy. Boy were you wrong.
On your first day at Daniel Boone Elementary, you’d expected to be met with a little wariness (what with being the new kid and all), but had hoped, in the end, to make at least one new friend to tell your mom and grandma about when you got off the bus and went home. Instead, you got the usual strange introduction to the class by your new teacher, and that was that. No kids even came up to talk to you. You ate your PB&J sandwich alone at lunch, and spent recess alone on the swings.
The following months went by in a similar manner: no new friends in sight. All the girls in your class were either too preoccupied with your hand-me-down clothes to play with you, or too shy to. And the boys wanted nothing to do with the weird new girl with too-knobby knees and too-big teeth because even if you liked the exact same things as them, you were still a girl, which meant you had cooties.
So, at home you’d drift away and pass your time the only time you knew how: through stories. Whether it be babysitters’ club books or PBS kids documentaries on your grandma’s old box TV, your head was always in the clouds. You’d be cryptic when your grandma or mom would ask about school, and they’d begun to notice. Before the snow came and the world froze over for winter, you’d also begun to explore the property behind your grandma’s house, getting lost in nature as you used to.
By spring, your grandma was at a standstill.
The snow was thawing, and after a winter indoors, she was at her wits end. She could recognize a depressive episode when she saw one, and the fact that she was seeing it in you, her eight-year-old granddaughter, made her heart break all the more.
She had been just about ready to call an intervention with the school’s principal and psychologist when it happened. You met the person who would change your life.
You’d met Mellie Logan once before, roughly a month after your arrival in Boone County, when you were still new enough to be considered the least bit interesting at Daniel Boone Elementary. She was a year older than you and about a head shorter, with the same shade of rich brown hair as the older boy you’d recognized her sit with on the bus; Her brother, Jimmy Logan who was a middle schooler, but not the least bit embarrassed to sit by his little sister on the ride home, tugging playfully on her braids. She was in Ms. Granfell’s class down the hall, with whom your class shared a recess and lunch time, along with some of the 6th graders.
It had been on the bus that you’d had your brief first encounter with Mellie Logan. She and about five other kids got off a few stops before yours, down Elm street, and rather than the fact that she had one older brother, that was about all you knew about the girl, and that was all the thought you’d given to her.
The encounter was a small one: your backpack had been in the aisle as the kids filed in from the school at the end of a school-day in early November and she’d muttered a quiet “pardon me,” as she passed you to her usual seat at the back of the bus where her brother was already seated, and that was that. You barely knew her.
Now, though, as you sat in the school principal’s office, bright fluorescent lights shining over the deep mahogany desk, you felt that all of that was going to change. Mellie sat beside you, eyebrows knit together obstinately as she stared directly ahead of her at the clock on the opposite wall, frowning.
It read: 1:23. You sighed.
That meant that you were missing library time with the rest of your class while being holed up in here, waiting while the principal made calls to each of your parents that they had to come pick you up and discuss the incident.
Your stomach sunk in annoyance as you crossed your arms and slumped down further into the armchair next to Mellie.
Great, now they have even more of a reason to think I’m weird, you thought. That was the last thing you needed. You were already having a hard time fitting in in the first place, with girls like Heather Campbell making faces at you and snickering when it was your turn to answer a question or read aloud to the class. You didn’t need to be known as the weird new girl who’d also gotten into a fight with a sixth grader.
You groaned in realization that that was exactly what you’d be known as from now on. You ran a hand over your face. And just wait until your mom found out, until your Gramma found out. Your life was over.
At that, Mellie looked over at you, her formerly sour expression turned questioning at your sudden outburst.
“What’s the matter with you?” she asked, moving to sit on her hands. Her legs were swinging back and forth off of the edge of the seat of the chair. She looked more bored than anything else, which was wild to you, considering the insane amount of trouble you both were about to be in the moment your parents walked through that door.
You looked at her like she was insane, her freckled face a picture of nonchalance, and sighed. Your heart was at the pit of your stomach as you watched the small round clock tick by, each second drawing closer to what was bound to be the end of your eight years on this planet.
You hadn’t intended to get involved. You really hadn’t. But when you’d seen the trampled, embarrassed look in his deep brown eyes, you didn’t know what else you could do.
It was, surprisingly, not in your nature to be confrontational at this point in your life. Though you’d later grow to be quite the headstrong person, the years spent walking around on eggshells with Keith had taken a toll on your personality. You liked to avoid conflict with even your family, nevertheless with the mean fourth graders you’d always hear snickering at people during lunchtime. But when you’d heard them picking on the lanky boy with messy dark hair something within you had snapped.
It was breakfast for lunch day, aka: the best day of the week, and when the bell rang signaling the beginning of lunchtime you moved as fast as your legs could carry you to the cafeteria.
You stepped into the line behind a tall, lanky boy who had to be at least a few years older than you. You recognized him from your bus; He lived on the same street as Mellie and her brother, and like you, always sat by himself on the bus. You thought that he was probably the only kid who was as quiet as you. In fact, you weren’t sure you’d ever even heard the stoic boy utter a word in the month and a half you’d spent riding home with him. His face always seemed to stay the same too, you’d noticed.
Not that you’d been watching him, you corrected yourself.
Right now, though, the boy smiled at you as you came up behind him. A tight-lipped, shy one at that, but his dark eyes shone with genuine kindness that you were almost too flustered to know what to do. Such kindness, even small ones like this, had been few and far between in your time in Boone County. It’d been lonely, and this little boy’s smile made it feel a little less so. A part of you wondered if this town had been similarly lonely for him too. You smiled back.
The sound of giggling broke you from your blatant staring at the boy in front of you. Two girls had entered the line behind you. You didn’t know their names, but you recognized them from the time you had spent people-watching during your month or so of eating alone. The taller one was blonde, with long straight hair and thick braces covering her teeth as she smiled right past you and to the boy standing in front of you. Her counterpart was shorter and a bit stouter, with short pin-curls that practically stuck to her hair. Your stomach dropped as you took in the looks on both of their faces. Their smiles were anything but kind as they looked right through and onto the boy who was oblivious to what was coming.
You weren’t though. Just last week, you’d seen the pair of girls push a little girl in your class off of the monkey bars for “taking their spot,” when you knew for a fact that that girl had been there for all of recess already. Before that, you’d seen them ridicule another girl for her new haircut that had come out much shorter than expected until she cried. These were two girls you knew not to cross, and here they were, sights set on the boy in front of you whose name you didn't even know. And you were caught in the middle of it.
“Uhm, excuse me?” The blonde girl asked, reaching across you and tapping the boy on the shoulder. Her face was twisted in barely held-in laughter, while beside her, her friend’s face held an identical.
The boy turned, eyes wide and curious. Kind. Unaware of exactly how nasty these two could be.
“Y-yeah?” He asked, voice cracking when he stuttered. The blonde looked over to her friend and then back at him.
“Your name’s Clyde, right?” She asked, head tilting.
“Uhm, yeah, tha’s right.” He smiled, bashful. Ears twinged red.
Clyde. That was the boy’s name. It fit him, you thought.
Her friend popped in. “Say, ain’t you a Logan?” She asked, face spread in what seemed like a kind smile.
Something you didn’t buy. You thought as you grabbed an orange from the selection of fruit.
“Yes ma’am,” he said, moving down the line. He picked up a strawberry milk carton before moving further down where the french toast sticks were. You continued to eavesdrop, feeling the most awkward you had in a while as the conversation continued with you, quite literally, in the middle of it.
“Well, Clyde Logan,” the blonde continued, reaching for an identical carton of strawberry milk. Her face was smug. “There’s something Quinn and I have been meaning to ask you for a while now.”
“What’s that?” he asked, curious. He looked at her, eyes open and welcoming and you dreaded the next words that were going to come out of her mouth. It wasn’t gonna be good.
“We were just wondering,” she snorted halfway through, hand coming to her mouth. “Sorry, we were just wondering if you’d done something to upset your momma?”
He chuckled awkwardly, obviously confused, and flicked some dark hair behind his ear. “Pardon me?” he asked, brows furrowed.
“Oh, nothin’. It’s just you had to have done something to have earned a haircut like that.”
Beside her, her friend had given up on controlling her laughter. Wheezing, her friend–Quinn–interjected.
“Or maybe your hairdresser hates you? What did you do to make someone let you walk out of the house like that?” She giggled.
“Don’t be silly, Quinn. The Logans can’t afford a hairdresser. It had to have been his momma. I mean, really Clyde, you had to have done somethin’ bad.” The blonde chimed in again.
“Although, maybe it’s not the haircut, Heather.” Quinn piped in casually, serving herself french toast. “That’s not fair to his momma. It’s those ears. They stick out like a sore thumb.”
“Mhm,” the blonde, heather, nodded. “I think you’re right. And his nose. It's so big. That’s what makes you so unfortunate looking. Not the hair at all.”
Clyde looked like a deer caught in the headlights. Surprise coloring his features, the smallest frown upon his lips.
“Or , you know what,” Heather considered, piling bacon onto her lunch tray. “It’s probably that curse your sister wouldn’t shut up about last year. What’d she call it?”
“The Logan Family Curse.” Quinn chimed in. Heather laughed.
“That must be it!” She giggled in that snotty, preteen way. “Who knew that the Logan family curse was being cursed with bein’ uglier than a mud fence!”
“Or having ears the size of Dumbo’s.”
Looking over at Clyde, you saw his eyes glassy with unshed tears as he looked down at his lunch tray. Crestfallen. It sent white hot anger surging through your chest, and before you could register it, you were turning to face the two girls beside you in line.
“Just because he has straight teeth and you don’t doesn’t mean you have to be mean.” You glared at her. Her smug face morphed into one of anger as her eyes hardened into a glare.
“Excuse me?” she asked. Beside her, Quinn’s eyebrows rose to her hairline.
“You heard me, brace-face.” You stood your ground, glaring right back at her. She gasped at the insult, not ready for a taste of her own medicine. An identical look of horror crossed her companion’s face. From behind you, you heard a familiar high voice call out.
“Clyde? Where are you–” Mellie looked confused, her eyes following the lanky, dark-haired figure racing out of the cafeteria, leaving his lunch tray deserted in line next to you. Her gaze hardened as she looked over at you and the two girls in line. She stomped over, arms crossed.
“What did you say to him?” She demanded, looking between you three. When no one spoke up, she asked again, louder.
“What did you say to my brother?” She seethed. Heather looked at Quinn, an amused smirk on her face.
“Oh, you mean Dumbo?” She asked.
“Nothing–we just gave him some beauty advice,” Quinn descended into the same annoying laughter as her friend.
What happened next was a blur to you. There was a hand in someone’s hair, another pushing someone's shoulder, and the sound of a hand smacking against someone’s face. You were pushed backwards–by who, you didn’t know–and your half-full lunch tray came down on top of you, covering you in scrambled eggs and syrup. Heather screeched like a banshee, and Quinn started crying. A lunch monitor ran over to break it up, and before you knew it, Heather was being sent to the nurse and you and Mellie to the principal’s office.
Which brings you to now.
You sat, smelling of eggs and syrup, and waiting for your life to end. After a few minutes of silence, you looked to the scrappy, brooding girl next to you.
“Did you have to hit her?” You asked, breaking the silence. Scoffing, she turned to look at you.
“Uhm, yeah I had to hit her.” She spat out incredulously. “She was makin’ fun of my big brother. You don’t let people mess around with your kin.”
“But–” you began before she interrupted you, seemingly not hearing you at all. That was something you’d grow to find out was a habit of hers whenever she talked about something she was passionate about.
“And I’d do it again, too,” she said, stubbornly. “I don’t care what Mrs. Findlay says. If you ask me, Heather Campbell had it comin’ and needed to be knocked down a few pegs. I’m only sad I got caught.”
Her matter-of-fact made you giggle a little bit. After all, you couldn’t disagree with her; You’d seen Heather and Quinn unleash their wrath before. Many times in the short time you’d been in town. They needed to be put in their place. And you were glad you’d had at least a small part in doing it, even if it did put a target on your back and was bound to make your life hell indefinitely.
“I am sorry you got involved, though,” Mellie said. “It ain’t fair you got roped into all a’ my trouble-makin’.”
You chuckled a bit.
“Nah,” you sighed. “Before you walked up, I did say some pretty nasty things to them. I guess I deserved it.”
Mellie, looking surprised at that, snorted.
“You?” she asked, eyes wide in apparent disbelief. “You said somethin’ to Heather Campbell?”
“What's that supposed to mean?” you asked, brows furrowed. “And yes, I’ll have you know, I did say something to her.”
“Nothin’.” Mellie said, “it’s just that in all the time you’ve been here, I ain't heard you speak but about two times.”
“I couldn’t let her talk to him like that when he didn’t do nothin’ to deserve it.” You said. “Besides, I was tired of hearin’ her run her mouth all the time and no one sayin’ anything.”
“Well alrighty then.” She said.
A beat of silence passed, the only sound being the ticking of the clock. Then, “what did you say to her?”
You snorted.
“I called her brace-face.” You admitted sheepishly. Beside you, Mellie howled in laughter and after a moment, you joined her.
“You know,” she said pensively, smiling at you, all trace of a sour mood gone, “I think we’re gonna be good friends.”
You smiled back at her, the first real one in a while.
“Me too.” And you meant it.
Present Day
Your mother’s voice snapped you back to reality.
“And what about him?” she asked carefully, words thick with meaning. “Does he know you’re comin’ back?”
You sighed. “Mama, why would he know I’m coming back? Why would he care that I’m coming back?”
“Darlin’, I didn’t mean it like that–”
“He didn’t bother telling me when he came back. I had to find out from Mellie, a month after the fact.” You continued, that familiar white-hot feeling in your chest resurfacing. “Besides, I’m sure Mellie mentioned it to him. She’d have to if he’s gonna continue this disappearing act of his.”
“That’s not fair, baby, and you know it.” She scolded, ever the mother. It didn’t matter that you were twenty-five, she’d always put you in your place when it came down to it. “He’s been through a lot.”
“I’m sure he has,” you agreed half-heartedly.
“And–”
“--Not that I’d know about it! He hasn’t spoken so much as a word to me in years. Not for lack of trying on my part either, you know that mom.”
“I know, baby, I know,” she said. This was a conversation you’d had before. And no matter how many times you did, she’d always brought up the same points.
And now, Clyde Logan had been home for more than two years, but felt like a ghost. Your family hadn’t heard a thing from him. According to your cousin Zach, Jimmy had wanted to throw a coming-home party for him, but had canceled it last minute. You didn’t know what he was doing now.
You knew better than to ask Mellie about it. She was your best friend, yes, but you wouldn’t put her in that position. You wouldn’t make her choose sides or play middle-man between you and her brother. And she knew better than to bring it up with you, too. She saw her brother’s idiocy, and, more importantly, she saw how hurt you were after all that had happened.
So, Clyde generally wasn’t brought up between the two of you. Not in great detail, anyway. No matter how much you knew she had to reign herself in over it. Your best friend was a fixer at heart, and that instinct didn’t go away when it came to her best friend and her brother.
“Let’s just drop it, mom.” You said. “I am not coming home for Clyde Logan, of all people. I’m just happy to be coming home at all.”
“Well, that makes two of us.” she laughed lightly on the other end. “How far out are you?” she asked.
“I’m about halfway through Indiana right now.”
“Whew,” she whistled. “What a drive.”
You laughed at her sarcasm. “Oh yeah, nothin’ but cornfields for miles. That is somethin’ I won’t be missing, that’s for sure.”
“Good.” she said, “You’d better get a move-on if you wanna be home before dinner, then. I’ll call your cousins and see who can make it.”
Your heart leapt at the thought of it, seeing the family again. You’d missed living in the same county as them all; Not having to drive hours to hug your grandma, to hear your aunt Nikki’s laugh, or to engage in yet another political conversation with your uncle Mike.
“That sounds perfect.”
“Alright then. Your Gramma’s gonna be surprised, that’s for sure. And i’m warnin’ you now: She will not be as easily swayed as I am at your comin’ back.”
“Yeah, I know.” You shook your head. “I’ll start preparing my speech now.”
“You better!” She laughed, “I’m gonna let you go, babe. Call your aunts. Love you.”
“Love you too, momma.” You sighed, as the call ended.
The late May sun shone through the clouds, as you steered off of the freeway to continue south. Toward home.
- -
It was well past seven in the evening before everyone left your grandmother’s house—and, I guess, your house too, for now—for dinner.
It had worked: you’d made it home, finally, and even though your grandmother wasn’t happy with you for returning, she understood why. It’d been too long since you’d been home for more than a week or two. Even longer, if you didn’t count the summers you’d come home during college.
After Clyde had left for his third tour, things weren’t the same. You always hosted holidays after that, or visited your extended family in Charleston. You’d missed your hometown, yes. But the pain you felt at how you and Clyde left things hurt you more. Only now, after six months of therapy and the terrifying possibility that your grandmother was dying, did you feel even remotely comfortable enough to come back.
Now, after a long, loud meal with your extended family, you wondered why you’d left at all. The anxiety you’d felt driving into the county limits earlier that evening had dissipated. Home has a funny way of doing that: letting you ease right back in like you’d never left.
Your cousins were getting bigger—now nearly teenagers—and your aunts inquired about your personal life over dinner. Now, after the coffee had gone cold and your last relative had gone home, you helped your grandmother with the dishes—much to her chagrin.
Your grandmother was a kind woman, a gentle woman, but she was also a proud woman, and more stubborn than even you.
“Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I’m inept, you know,” she slapped your hand away from where it had tried to venture into the soapy water of the sink.
You sighed. So she’s still mad.
“I know, Gramma,” you offered. “Just trying to help.”
She grumbled back, still focusing on scrubbing the plate in front of her.
You gave up, moving instead to dry and put away the dishes she’d washed. As you began, she didn’t so much as spare you a glance, just hummed under her breath.
The kitchen looked untouched from it had been growing up—the linoleum counters, tiled walls, and deep wood of the cabinets perpetually stuck in the 1970s. Some of the glassware your grandmother owned was from the seventies, or even before then, going back to when your mom and uncles were kids. You could tell from old family pictures that the house had changed little since they bought it in 1969. Even after so many years, your Gramma had refused to invest in a dishwasher, insisting on washing dishes by hand instead.
You took a ceramic plate from the drying rack, toweling it off before opening the cabinet to put it away. The cabinet door had the same creak it always did.
“You know,” you tossed over your shoulder at your grandmother. “I was planning on coming back for a while before I heard about the cancer.”
“That’s what you keep sayin’,” she mumbled. “I can see right through ya, though, darlin’. You think I haven’t noticed you haven’t been home in years?”
You bit your lip, trying to ignore the pang of guilt her words sent through you.
“I’m sorry about that, Gramma, I am—“
“Oh, hush,” she waved a suds-covered hand at you, still not turning around. “Long as I get to see you, I don’t care where it is. What I’m trying to say is: you certainly would not have come home had it not been for my diagnosis.”
You deflated a little; in a sense, she was right. You’d been considering returning before, that was true, but part of you deep down knew you wouldn’t have been successful if you hadn’t heard about her sickness.
“What I can’t live with is you giving up your dreams for an old woman like me.”
You scoffed at that, coming up behind her and wrapping your arms around her shoulders.
“Please,” you mumbled into the hug. “You couldn’t have kept me away. I would’ve found out at some point.”
She sighed, hugging you back and leaning into you.
“‘Suppose you’re right,” she acquiesced. “Doesn’t mean I’ve gotta be happy about it though.”
“That’s fair,” you chuckled, letting go and taking another plate from the drying rack. “But you can’t get mad at me. It should be me angry at you for keeping it from me for as long as you did.”
She turned to you then, wiping her wet hands off with a towel. There was a strange look in her eyes as she took you in, eyeing you head to toe. She snapped out of it after a moment and offered you a smile.
“Hm,” she hummed, bringing a weathered hand to cup your cheek. “I couldn’t stay angry at you even if I tried.”
You smiled cheekily at her.
“I know.”
“Hm,” she chuckled, pinching your cheek lightly and patting it. “Now let me finish these up. Mellie’ll be here soon and you haven’t even taken your suitcase up yet.”
You nodded and put the last plate away.
“I’ll turn the radio on for you,” you smiled. “It’s too quiet around here.”
“Alright sugar,” she tossed over her shoulder. “You won’t be sayin’ that come Monday. I’ve got your cousins after school most weekdays. And I thought you were a handful.”
You chuckled.
One thing about your family was true: none of you were boring—especially the little ones. They kept your grandmother on her toes.
“I’m looking forward to that,” you chuckled. That was another thing you regretted about moving so far away: not being there to watch your little cousins grow up.
“I wouldn’t be so sure,” she said. “You might be reconsidering moving back after a few days.”
“Unlikely,” you snorted. “I’m hard to scare off. Well, now anyway.”
Your grandmother sent you a sympathetic smile then, and you knew she’d forgiven you. You twitched a little under her gaze. She almost looked like she pitied you. You understood if she did; she was the one to bear the brunt of your heartache when everything between you and Clyde had blown up. Still, it wasn’t a time you liked to dwell on.
“So, you think you’re finally over that Logan boy?” She asked, crossing her arms and facing you.
You sighed; it was just like your grandmother to not mince words or beat around the bush.
“Jesus, Gramma,” you raked a hand over your face.
“What?” she asked defensively. “Would you rather me tip-toe around you like everyone else? Your mama won’t ask, and you’ve banned Mellie from mentioning that boy.”
“So you thought you’d…” your words trailed off, not understanding exactly why she was bringing this up now.
“I thought I’d mention the elephant in the room. Call it curiosity, sugar,” she smirked at you. “I just figured that since he was the one that kept you away for so long—”
“Gramma, you know he’s not the only reason l left—”
“I know, I know,” she held up a hand to stop you. “But I remember how you were when you left. In the months before. Barely leaving the house, not talking to anyone. Whatever he did, it did a number on you. I don’t want you getting like that again—”
You softened. She was worried about you, of course she was. Your grandmother was nothing if not a mama bear.
“Trust me, Gramma. You do not have to worry Clyde Logan of all people. I’ve been over it for a while, I think. I’ll be okay.”
“Hm,” she scrutinized you through narrowed eyes, before nodding. “Alright. I won’t bring it up again.”
“Thanks, Gramma.”
“You ever gonna tell me all that happened with him?”
“Maybe one day,” you smiled at her sadly.
She nodded at you in understanding.
“Alright, babydoll. You go get ready.”
As you walked up the familiar steps to your childhood bedroom, listening to Patsy Cline drift through the old kitchen radio, you smiled to yourself at the familiarity of it all.
- -
“Trust me,” Camila grabbed your shoulder from the back of Mellie’s ‘85 silverado—her pride and joy and newest fixer upper. “This place is great, and it helps that we don’t have to drive all the way to Madison like we did back in the day.”
You snorted at how your friends were trying to sell you on this new dive bar. Where you’d wanted to go out in Madison like the old days, they’d insisted you stay local tonight.
You shifted in the denim cut-offs that Mellie had insisted you wear. You hadn’t worn them out since your senior year of college. Hell, you hadn’t been out since your senior year of college.
She’d showed up at your door at exactly eight o’clock on the dot, intent on getting you dolled up for a night out. Camila and Gwen, two of your best friends from high school, had shown up soon after. It was like old times—playing your old CDs, the smell of cheap perfume and hair-straighteners flooding your childhood bedroom. You couldn’t even bring yourself to be nervous about going out. Now, two hours later with a new outfit and your hair and makeup done to perfection, you were off to check out the newest haunt in town.
It’d been big news when the place had opened about nine months ago. It wasn’t every day that a new business opened in Logan, so obviously it was the talk of the town. Even you’d heard about it all the way in Chicago. Duck Tape was its name and it had been renovated into a bar from an old bait and tackle shop. And apparently, since its opening, it’d become a staple of your small community. You’d been promised that you’d run into at least five people from high school here, maybe more. It was also in the middle of nowhere.
“We’re basically driving the same distance, Cami.” You laughed. From beside you in the driver’s seat, Mellie smirked.
“Don’t rain on her parade.” She teased. “Cami’s just trying to explain away the real reason why she came here: she’s got it bad for the bouncer.”
Camila gasped and smacked Mellie’s shoulder.
“That isn’t it at all, Mellie Logan and you know it!”
“Mmhm,” Gwen nodded from the other side of her, very obviously not buying any of it. “It has nothing to do with the six-feet, tall, dark, and handsome bouncer. I believe you, Cami.”
You laughed at her sarcasm.
“I don’t know why you don’t put yourself out of your misery and just get his number,” Mellie asks from the front seat, looking at Cami through the rearview mirror.
“And risk rejection? Not a chance.”
You snorted at that, understanding completely. You’d had a few non-serious relationships here and there, but nothing that had stuck during your time in Chicago. And even then, they were alway the ones who had to make the first move.
“Wait, wait, wait,” you interrupted. “Since when do any of these places need bouncers?”
When you were in high school, it was a given that no one underage would even try to get into a bar in Logan. It would have been pointless: everybody knew everybody here, so even if you had the good sense to get a fake ID, you’d be at the sheriff’s station before you had time to order your first drink.
“Since these kids are gettin’ more and more ballsy,” Gwen answered you. “‘Bout a year ago coach Garrison’s kid got busted for drinking underage at Tulman’s. Ever since, they’ve been IDing at the door.”
Tulman’s was the other bar in town, nestled in the heart of downtown.
“I bet coach was pissed.”
“You have no idea,” Cami nodded, picking at her manicured nail. “Gave hell to the guy who owns the place. That’s just another reason why I like Duck Tape better.”
Gwen groaned from beside her. Mellie just laughed.
Mellie sighed beside you, reaching for the gear-shift. “Just ask him out. You miss a hundred percent of the shots you don’t take.”
“Oh please,” Cami laughed, speaking up over the sound of Garth Brooks’ voice coming from the speakers. “Stick to hairdressing, Mel. You’d make a shit motivational speaker.”
A chorus of laughs sounded as Mellie took a sharp turn off of the highway and onto the mountain road where the bar was.
This was so familiar: you and your girlfriends, all dressed up and piling into one car to go out as if you were somewhere glamorous like New York City and not in Boone County, West Virginia. The chatter of the girls around you was comforting, and you relished in it.
This, you thought. This is home.
- -
You dropped your glass when he walked in, brushing past the bouncer with a large hand on his shoulder. Your stomach dropped.
The glass shattered at your feet, sending cranberry juice and vodka splattering over your boots and calves. A few people surrounding you jumped as well, moving away from the shattered glass on the floor. Beside you, Camila started.
“Jesus,” she cried, grabbing your bare shoulder and looking at you. She was trying to get your attention, you knew, but you couldn’t bring your eyes away from the imposing figure of Clyde Logan, who just walked into the bar. “You okay? What—shit.”
She saw him too.
“Mellie,” you heard her whisper, trying to get the attention of your friend who was too-busy flirting with a man in a stetson beside you. Gwen was in the bathroom. “Mellie.”
He was tall—just as tall as he’d always been, but even more imposing. His shoulders stretched broadly across the dark blue button-up he had on. He wore worn blue jeans and work boots and still had that stiff, ramrod-straight posture that he’d come back from basic training with. You blinked.
He was here. He was here.
Even after years, he had an effect on you. You felt stuck to the floor, frozen in place as he made his way to the bar, his left side facing away from you. His dark hair was longer than you’d ever seen it, curling around his ears and down his neck thickly. You couldn’t tell much from the dim-lighting, but you could detect a bit of a stubble along his jaw and above his lip.
Lord have mercy, he was beautiful.
He was gorgeous–even more so than you remembered him. It made your chest ache.
“What?” Mellie turned to Cami, a flirty laugh in her voice.
“Look.”
There was a beat of silence before she spoke.
“Fuck.” Mellie spat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. He said he wasn’t working tonight.”
You breathed in a ragged breath, everything feeling all of a sudden too much. The neon lights, the chatter of people from all sides of you invaded your senses. The early summer heat was cloying at your skin in the crowded bar. You felt boxed in on all sides.
“I’m just going to,” you mumbled, finally tearing your eyes away from Clyde, who was talking to the man behind the bar. You didn’t finish the sentence, instead electing to train your gaze on your boots and try to make your way to the bar door.
Behind you, you heard Mellie call your name. You ignored her, breathing deeply as you tried to navigate your way to the door.
Air, you told yourself. I need some air. Then I’ll be fine.
You tried to push yourself past a particularly large group, squeezing between two peoples’ backs. One of them moved backwards, their foot moving to step in front of yours.
Your boot caught on the foot, and you tumbled forward, losing your balance.
You tripped, scrambling, reaching out with your arms to break your fall as you tumbled.
Only, instead of continuing to fall to the ground, you stumbled into something. Or rather, someone.
Your hands landed on a broad chest, and you felt an arm snake its way around your middle, attempting to steady you. You let out a breath, finding your footing.
You brought your gaze up, an apology on your lips.
“Shit,” you mumbled, pulling your hands back from the stranger’s chest frantically. “I’m sorry—”
Brown eyes stared back at you, brows drawn together and full of confusion. Freckles scattered familiarly across his cheekbones and his lips parted as he looked at you.
Clyde.
You took a large step back, away from him, nearly stumbling again. He looked nearly as shocked as you felt, wide eyes taking you in from head to toe. After all, it had been over two years since you’d seen each other.
You did the same—eyes moving down his thick neck, his broad shoulders, down his chest. He was still so much taller than you.
This was all too much.
You could feel the panic setting back in your bones, and you blinked rapidly, moving to shove past him to the door, your legs carrying you before your mind could catch up.
When you did, he snapped out of it, moving to the side to block you and shoulder-checking you in the process. When he did, something firm and stiff—foreign—jabbed into your stomach, causing you to jerk away, even more past him.
Your brows furrowed in confusion, and you turned to see—
What you saw made the breath leave your chest.
There, strapped to what remained of Clyde’s arm was a prosthetic.
- -
Tears fell thick and hot down your cheeks as you rested your face between your knees on the side of the dingy bar. The rough wood of the paneling on the outside of the bar dug into your back through the thin shirt Mellie had convinced you to wear, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Your mind was elsewhere.
Gone. Clyde’s left arm was gone–or at least part of it was.
Hurt flooded your chest at the thought of it; your once-best friend returning home from war, part of him missing, alone, and you weren’t there. He’d had to do it alone.
Another wave of tears came.
How could you not have known?
Everyone knew everything about everyone in Logan. It was the way of things and it always had been. It was how you’d found out about your Gramma’s illness, it was how word had spread like wildfire when Mellie’s boyfriend in tenth grade cheated on her, and it was how the whole town knew Bobbie Jo was pregnant with Sadie before Jimmy did. But this.
It struck you all at once; everyone knew. Of course everyone knew. Camila, Gwen, Mellie. Your mother. They all had known and still didn’t tell you.
You felt like someone had torn your heart from your chest.
The sound of gravel crunching under boots tore your gaze up. You knew who it was before he called your name. You’d know the sound of his step anywhere.
Clyde Logan walked toward you, arms clasped behind his back, dark eyes wary. He always looked like this when he was nervous. Even now, you couldn’t believe he was standing before you after so long. Even now, you couldn’t contain the slow simmer of anger that flared in your gut at the sight of him.
He stood there a minute, eyes on yours, before he cleared his throat.
“How…uh, how long you been back?” He offered softly, eyes never once leaving yours.
The slow simmer in your gut reached a boil. You stood to your feet, lip curling at him. You didn’t care enough to wipe your face of tears.
“Really?” You asked harshly, voice slightly raised. Clyde flinched at your tone. “That’s what you have to say to me Clyde Logan—after three years?”
Clyde bit his lip and looked down. He sighed.
“Junebug—-”
“Do not,” you hissed at him, glaring up at his pained expression. “You do not get to call me that anymore.”
He just stared at you, a pained expression on his face.
It didn't surprise you—Clyde had never had a way with words. Even as kids, even as best friends, it had been hard for him to express himself. He was quiet. Now was no exception.
“Did you get my letters?” You hated that your voice warbled.
Clyde’s eyes fell to his boots and you knew the answer from the guilty expression that crossed his face.
You scoffed, even more anger bubbling inside you at the confirmation.
After the fight—the one that sent you packing, right before his third deployment, you’d written him. Countless times, apologizing, explaining yourself, begging him for a response, anything. And you’d never heard anything back.
“I wrote you for months, Clyde.” You said, voice softer now. “When you were over there, I had to get updates from Mellie. Or from my mom, because you wouldn’t write me back. You wouldn’t answer my calls. I didn’t know if you were hurt, or if you—”
You stopped yourself, sniffing.
You stared at his prosthetic arm, finally able to get a better look at it.
It began just under his elbow, strapped on there to give the illusion of a full-limb. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from it.
“Ugly, ain’t it?” He asked, noting how your stare held there. Your eyes snapped to his.
You scoffed, ignoring him and looking away.
“I didn’t say that,” you muttered, drying your face with your palm.
“I told Mellie not to tell you,” he blurted. “After. Made her swear not to. Don’t be mad at her.”
You sighed.
You weren’t angry at her; you couldn’t be. Shortly after you’d realized he wanted nothing to do with you, you’d made any talk of Clyde strictly off-limits in your friendship. Even if she’d wanted to tell you, it was off limits. That was not the case, however, with your own family.
You’d be having words with your mother and grandmother when you returned home.
“My relationship with Mellie is none of your business,” you glared up at him. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”
Clyde scoffed now, the soft, reserved look gone from his eyes and replaced by annoyance.
“What?” you asked. “You got something to say? Say it.”
“Fine,” he barked. “Three years and you haven’t changed a bit.”
Oh, so he was pulling that card, you thought, thinking back to your last argument. You laughed humorlessly.
“Oh, I haven’t changed?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. “At least I had the balls to come back! At least I’m not a coward like you—”
“Coward?” He asked, voice low.
“You heard me.” You spat, voice warbling again with anger. You hated that you got like this; whenever you were angry, you’d cry. “At least I have the stones to face my mistakes. I don’t run away from them, Clyde.”
With that you walked away, leaving him standing there in the gravel of the Duck Tape parking lot.
He made no move to follow you, thank god.
You decided to call it a night, knowing any chance of letting loose was long gone. Though you weren’t angry with her, you didn’t think you could face Mellie or the girls again tonight. You pulled your cell phone from your bag and sent a quick text to the group chat, telling them you’d decided to head home. You sent a separate one to Mellie, telling her you weren’t mad at her but you needed some time.
You walked back to the front of the bar, leaning on the wood of the front railing, and stared at the phone screen. Your mother and grandmother would be asleep by now, and even if they weren’t, you weren’t sure you wanted to see them anyway. You could always call your cousins—but doing that would open up the door to countless questions and speculations at why you were leaving Duck Tape looking an emotional wreck.
Then, it hit you.
You found the contact easily and hit call; there was one person who you knew you could call whenever, wherever to come get you, no questions asked. You just hoped he was up.
#logan lucky#clyde logan#clyde x reader#clyde logan x reader#clyde logan fluff#clyde logan fanfiction#clyde logan x female reader#clyde logan x you#logan lucky fanfiction#mellie logan#jimmy logan#adcu#adcu fanfiction#adam driver fanfic#adam driver#diamonds and stones
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Anything with Maurizio
Her Love is my Religion
Maurizio Gucci x f!Reader
summary: Even after four years of marriage, Maurizio still loves you like it’s Day One.
word count: 1.0k+
warnings: 18+ (no sexual themes, but i DO NOT want minors interacting with my content in any capacity), this is a short one! just fluff, alcohol mention
He can see you from across the room, that dress that dips so low— shows just the perfect amount of skin. Your hair is perfectly in place, a wine glass in your hand. You’ve got the prettiest smile on your face, legs crossed at the ankle. You’re speaking to his mother. He orders himself another drink, eyes drifting from the woman he loves to the hoard of men— including his father— sitting at a table a few paces to the left. One day he’ll be at that table, discussing the future of Gucci. But for now, he stands at the bar. He admires his wife from afar. Thinks he couldn’t possibly have gotten this lucky. Like all of the stars aligned just for him.
He thanks the bartender, pushing himself off of the counter. He smoothed his jacket just a bit, hand curled around his glass as he walked over to where you stand. His free arm curls around your waist, head dipping down to press a kiss against your temple. His mother smiles warmly, hand pressed against her chest. “Mio figlio.” She sighs happily, her heart bursting. She’s so proud of where Maurizio is in his life. Of how happy he is with you on his arm. She takes a moment to admire the protective hold he has on you, before she’s looking over for her own husband— excusing herself quietly.
Maurizio smiles, giving your hip a squeeze. “Let’s head out, mia piccola colomba.” He’s tipping your chin up, making you look him in the eye before he’s kissing you. He’s not got a care in the world as he does. Doesn’t pay any mind that there are people around or the fact that you’re at an event. The way your dress hugs your body in all of his favorite places reminds him of your wedding. It reminds him of your bodies pressed close, his hands on your hips and your head on his chest as you swayed to the live music his mother insisted on for your reception. The gleam of your ring under the flashing light reminds him of that night— laying you down in the bed you’ve shared for four years now, how the lamp shone directly onto the gold, letting him know you were officially a Gucci. His wife.
You pull away from his kiss, pressing a hand against his chest with a smile. “lead the way.” you tell him, eager to slip away from the conversations you’ve had to be keeping up on. His hand, large and heavy, wraps around yours. He can feel your fingers twist and tangle into his, something you’ve always done. Ever since that fateful meeting. You’d hold his hand so tightly, let him know you weren’t going anywhere. He brings your hand to his lips as he places both his glass and yours down on an empty tray. He kisses your skin gently, using his free hand to push the door open. His mother and father spot your departure and he just gives them a subtle wave. He’s getting the night with his wife whether anyone likes it or not.
It’s not a long walk, back to your apartment. But Maurizio slips his jacket off and wraps it around your shoulders just as he had so many times before. Your heels are the next thing to leave and he reaches for them, holding them in the opposite hand he’s holding yours in. “Have fun tonight?” he asks softly.
And the truth was, yes. You did have a nice time, believe it or not. You watched Maurizio mingle with those he hasn’t seen in years. Watched him light up because of jokes, smile at ideas he hadn’t thought of, and get praised by others. You watched deep blushes set in on his cheeks at times, you saw him even hug his father. “Yeah, I had a nice time.” You admit, savoring the details for yourself. He doesn’t need to know just how closely you have been watching him tonight, he might as well have an idea already with how closely he was watching you. “We should do it again sometime.” That causes a laugh to rumble out of Maurizio’s chest. “Oh, come on Mau. It wasn’t that bad!” You laugh at yourself. Maurizio had never enjoyed these kinds of things.
Maurizio makes quick work of letting you into your home, flipping the first light switch by the door. “Let’s take a bath?” He suggests. You watch as he disappears into the bedroom off the hall, untying his tie. The ruffling of clothes followed by the sound of the tub in the master bathroom filling up. There’s a large garden tub in there, fortunately big enough for you and Maurizio. And maybe that’s exactly how Mau loves to unwind after these kinds of things. Loves soaking in the hot water, relieving all the tension in his sore muscles— as he holds you close and thanks the moon for bringing you to him.
You’re quick to discard the jacket from your shoulders, leaving it in a messy pile of fabric at the end of your sofa. When you enter your bedroom, the master bathroom door is open wide and you can see Maurizio bent over the side of the tub to adjust the temperature of the water. You let your dress fall from your body. It again, forms a small pile at the end of your bed, just as the jacket had. You smile lovingly, Maurizio has a heart of gold. Just for you. Your underwear forms another small pile at the entrance of the bathroom, your arms wrapping around his waist from behind. His hand covers where yours are locked in place and he smiles, letting you lean against his back. He loves these moments with you more than anything, the ones he can just relax into and not have to worry about the world around you. He stands up straight once the bath has settled in fully, bubbles climbing up the sides of the tub. He’s turning, pulling you into his arms. He smiles down at you, glasses still perched high on your nose. “Four years of loving you and my feelings have never changed.”
You can feel yourself growing hot, unsure if it’s from Maurizio sharing his sentiments or just how exposed you are in front of him while he’s standing in his boxers and t-shirt. His arms tighten his grip around your waist and you sigh lovingly, leaning into his chest. “Mine have never changed either, amore.”
tags ;; @peachyproserpina @eeopxlt
#maurizio gucci#maurizio gucci x reader#maurizio gucci x f!reader#fluff#adam driver character#adam driver fanfic#adam driver fandom#adam driver characters#adam driver#cw: alcohol mention
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🍔 - I can never get enough of your Flip hcs :D
🍔What's a headcanon that hasn't made it into a published fic yet?
Flip's first ever dog was a basset hound that lived mostly outside.
He was a porch dog named Red, so named for the russet coat that shone in the Coloradoan sun.
Flip and that dog went nearly everywhere together that a boy and dog could go -- you didn't see Flip without Red, and you didn't see Red without Flip.
He wasn't allowed inside, too dirty and slobbery for Mrs. Zimmerman's clean manicured home, but every now and again, Flip would sneak him in through the back porch and on particularly cold nights, let Red snuggle up at the foot of his bed instead of the chilly dog house.
Red was a good dog, never barked at the mailman or newspaper boy. He walked you home from school on nights when Flip was running groceries for the neighbor or trimming the lawn of the elderly couple down the block.
He ate just about anything, never picky and always happy for some leftovers from the diner that you and Flip frequented on your teenage date nites.
After Red passed away at the ripe old age of 14, his red gone mostly grey, Flip never thought about getting another dog. He didn't have the time for one anyway, not with his job at the police station, working his way up to detective.
In fact, it isn't until he's growing a bit of grey around the temples himself, that you surprise him one Hanukkah with a basset hound puppy that simply had to come with you from the pound.
Beside himself with emotion and reflections of his childhood, he followed suit and named this one Blue, after the big satin ribbon you tied around her neck.
And even though he knew this puppy would never replace the one he had grown up with, he found the old leash from the garage and realized just how badly he had missed those post-dinner walks.
#flip zimmerman#flip zimmerman x reader#flip zimmerman x you#adcu#adam driver fanfic#adcu headcanons#flip zimmerman headcanon#ask game#thank you!!!
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It’s Just Politics (Part 1 of 2)
Commander Mills x senator!Reader (f)
written for my welcome back celebration, phase one.
y’all voted, y’all wanted me to write some more Mills, so here I am :) this is part one of two, so enjoy the beginning of the story and get excited for part two which will be coming soon!!
content warnings.
accidentally walking in on someone naked (he walks in on her), implied/mentioned age difference (gap not specified, Mills is 36)
word count: 3.4k (...whoops)
summary~
Commander Mills reluctantly takes a last-minute job captaining the Senator of Somaris’s personal ship on a flight to Cyllene for this year’s galactic policy conference. Both of them get much, much more than they bargained for...but they’re not necessarily complaining about it.
"You're kidding me."
Jai shakes his head, continuing to submit order forms for ship parts.
"I'm dead serious, man. Travis wants you to do it, it'll pay well, and you won't be gone for that long. At least two weeks, it's just to Cyllene for the annual galactic policy conference. Simple."
"Nothing is ever simple with her, you know that. She's impossible to deal with."
Mills huffs.
"What happened to her captain? Why can't he do it?"
"Dunno. I think he transferred or is off on a long-range mission. I can't remember, but you should take it. Even though the Senator is a bit of a difficult client, she has a lot of power and could easily help you get a higher-paying job."
Mills knows Jai is right. He should take this job; he needs the money after paying for Nevine's treatments. He has to continue supporting his wife even if their marriage is a bit on the rocks.
"Fine," he says after a moment. "I'll tell Travis that I'll take the job."
Jai smiles, walking past his coworker and giving him a pat on the back as he does so. He lets out a soft chuckle.
"Good man. Just...try not to kill her, okay?"
Mills hums, smiling ever so slightly.
"No promises."
***
"Are all of my dresses packed properly?" you ask the service droid as it begins to load your things onto the dolly. "It's of the utmost importance that they not be wrinkled. I want to represent Somaris to the best of my ability at this year's conference."
"Yes, Mistress," the droid says. "I made sure to pack each one myself."
You nod slightly.
"Good. Thank you, I always appreciate your hard work, PZ."
"Of course. I am always at your service, Senator."
PZ finishes loading the bags and quickly takes them to the royal vessel while you prepare for the long journey ahead. You always hate going up into space, but unfortunately, it's an integral part of your job, so you have to do it more often than you'd prefer.
You walk to the docking bay, and you stop as soon as you see him walking towards your ship.
"You're kidding me."
Mills huffs out a soft laugh as he passes you.
"Yeah, that's what I said too."
"Tell me you're not the one flying the ship. Please, please tell me you're not in charge of this trip--"
You catch up to him.
"I need the money, alright?" Mills says, jaw clenching. "That's the only reason I agreed to it. Trust me, I wish I didn't have to, but there's hardly any work for pilots right now."
"No need to give me your whole life story, Mills. I won't cry you a river like others may have."
You roll your eyes and walk towards the ship ramp, immediately colliding with him. Apparently, he decided to step forward at that exact moment that you did. You huff and leave him in the dust, boarding the ship and immediately going to your sleeping quarters.
This'll be an interesting journey, that much you're sure of...
***
For the third time in the thirty minutes you've been flying, your water glass nearly falls onto the floor as the ship suddenly jerks to the side, then a bit downward, before returning to a steady state. You shut the computer off and walk to the cockpit, immediately hearing Mills's grumblings as he reaches across the controls console.
"I know you dislike me, but I didn't think you'd try any sort of murder attempt until much later in the trip," you say, crossing your arms as you stand in the doorway. "And I must say, I'm extremely disappointed in your efforts thus far."
Mills's jaw clenches once again. And here he was, starting to relax now that he's mostly figured out the new controls...
"For now, I figured having you get sick would be satisfying enough," he says, turning around to look at you. "The murder attempts will be much more obvious, I assure you. Plus, keeping you alive until after the conference is in my best interest, so I get paid for at least half of the trip."
You chuckle dryly.
"Fair point. Now, are you sure that all of your licenses and qualifications aren't expired? Because you're flying this ship almost as badly as I do, and I don't have any licenses."
"I've never flown a ship with such unnecessarily complicated controls," he replies simply. "This is a class of ship I'm not used to handling."
"Mm, mhm. Sure, my ship's definitely the problem. You could never be at fault for not having flown a diverse range of ships in your many years of being a pilot...because you're old."
He huffs.
"Really, you're resorting to calling me 'old' now? You can't find any more halfway decent or clever comebacks in your apparently vast bank of them?"
You smirk slightly.
"So you admit that my comebacks are clever and good?"
"No, I said they're clever and halfway decent," he says, unable to help the tiny upward twitch of the corner of his mouth. "Big difference. Also, I'm not old."
"Everyone who's old tried to say they're not old. If you're over 40, you're officially old."
"How old do you think I am?"
He looks back at you.
"I dunno," you shrug. "Like 40."
"Fuck, I'm 36," he grumbles, turning back to flip a switch on the panel. "Go back to your quarters, Senator. I'll try to keep the ship under control, although I doubt it'll be to your very high standards."
You turn and begin to walk away. Suddenly, the ship dips again, and you nearly lose your balance, falling into the wall. You whip your head around and hear the softest of chuckles from the cockpit, rolling your eyes at the sound.
"Just do your damn job, Mills."
***
Mills sighs as he flips the autopilot switch and prepares to head off to his sleeping quarters. He probably should've asked where his quarters were before takeoff, but honestly, he didn't even think of it at the time. He was too busy dealing with you.
As much as he hates to admit it, you actually intrigue him. You're young, beautiful, and incredibly hard-headed. All qualities he saw in his wife when he first met her.
Several doors line the hallway, and Mills picks the one closest to the cockpit. It opens, and it's a closet filled to the brim with luggage and garment bags. He huffs, then shuts it promptly.
He moves to the next door, already mentally checking out for the night. When it opens, his eyes widen.
You're standing completely bare, applying your body lotion before you dress for bed. You turn around and gasp, quickly covering your breasts before turning away.
"Get out!"
Mills, for a moment, can't bring himself to move. Fuck, it's been a while since he's seen a naked woman, and you're so--
"GET OUT!" you exclaim, looking back at Mills. "OUT!!"
He suddenly snaps back into reality, muttering an apology before shutting the door and letting out a shaky breath. He tries to commit it all to memory: how your skin shone in the dim lamplight, your plump breasts and hardened nipples, the beautiful curve of your hips...
Turning away, he walks to the final door in the hall, which contains a small cot. He puts his things into the small dresser and tries not to revisit his memories of your body. It's highly inappropriate for him to lust after a woman years his junior, especially since he hates you, and you two have yet to have a non-argumentative conversation.
Suddenly, the door slides open as Mills takes off his shirt. He turns around and sees you, now dressed in a nightgown, looking absolutely infuriated. But he doesn't miss how your eyes dart down his body momentarily.
"What is wrong with you??"
You ask angrily, glaring up at him.
"Why didn't you close the door right away? Why'd you keep looking at me? Are you some kind of pervert or something?"
He huffs, turning away from you.
"No, I'm not a pervert. I just froze up for a moment. I was surprised. I thought the room would be empty...it won't happen again. It was an accident."
"Mhm. Aren't you married? How would your wife feel if she saw you staring like that?"
"Yeah, well, she and I aren't exactly on the same page these days," he says, pulling his sleep shirt on before turning to you again. "So what, you wanna see my dick, make us even?"
Well, kind of.
You huff, crossing your arms.
"No," you say. "Because I'm a lady and would never do anything like that."
Mills chuckles.
"Mhm. You just keep telling yourself that."
He reaches for the pants resting over his hips.
"If you're such a lady, I suggest you head out before you see anything improper. God forbid."
"Goodnight to you too, Captain."
***
Mills's quarters are open when you pass by, so who wouldn't be curious about what secret life this guy could be living? You look around, then step inside. It's very basic; he's brought almost nothing personal. Well, almost nothing. You spot a holoprojector lying on his bed.
Is the great Commander Mills enjoying some pornography during his downtime?
Chuckling softly at the thought, you pick it up carefully and turn it on, purely out of curiosity. What comes up is incredibly unexpected. It's a young girl playing with a toy ship. Suddenly, it clicks in your mind: this is his daughter. Before she…
You scroll to the next one, and the next, and the next, watching only a few seconds of each. Then, you reach one where she's looking much sickly. She's got a nasal cannula in, and her cough, which you noticed throughout the videos, is much worse.
And then, you flip to the very last side. It's the voice of your wife, hand on your daughter's lifeless one.
Oh no—
"What are you doing?"
You gasp softly, startled at the sound. He's calm, but a certain edge to his voice sends a little chill down your spine.
"I-I..." you don't have an answer. "I thought this was something--"
"Give that to me," he snaps, snatching it from your hands and turning it off. "This is my quarters, my personal space. What's so hard to understand about that, huh?!"
You open your mouth to speak. He doesn't allow it.
"I would never think to step into your room and look through your belongings. You think just because you're a senator that you outrank me and can do whatever the fuck--"
"That's not it!" you say suddenly. "It was wrong, alright? I'm sorry. I made a mistake. I let my curiosity get the best of me. I didn't think you'd have anything like that."
For a moment, Mills is genuinely surprised at your quick admittance of guilt. He thought you'd surely make up some bullshit excuse as to why you're in here looking through his daughter's holo memories.
Just seeing that bit of the final holo of his daughter already has him tearing up, but there's no way in the galaxy he's gonna cry in front of you. He looks away, setting the holoprojector back down on the top of his dresser.
"Go."
You're at a loss for words. Look at what you've done; you've violated his privacy and forced him to relive such an awful memory. All because you wanted to get some dirt on him. It all seems silly and stupid now.
"Look, Mills, I'm really--"
Tears are threatening to slip down his cheeks. He needs you to leave before you see him break down.
"Leave!" he snaps again, although his voice is much shakier this time. "Leave me a-alone!"
You swallow harshly, then walk back towards the door. You pause for a moment, looking back at him, seeing how his whole body shakes as he tries to keep his sobs.
"I'm truly sorry."
He says nothing, waiting until the door closes to let out the quiet but violent cries he's been holding in.
*
When dinner rolls around, you sit in the same seat you usually do at the small table. Except there's no sign of Mills anywhere. He's stayed on the bridge with the door shut all day. PZ brings out your meal, then sets Mills's down at his usual spot.
"Where is the Captain?" PZ asks. "Will he not be joining you for dinner this evening?"
You shrug slightly, looking over at the bridge door.
"I don't know, PZ. He hasn't left his pilot's seat all day."
"Well, perhaps I should--"
"No," you interrupt. "You don't wanna irritate him. He's had a rough day. I'll take it to him if he doesn't come out."
PZ nods, then walks back to continue checking on your dresses. You sigh softly and eat alone, occasionally looking over at the door. Nothing.
You really don't wanna take the food in, but you know it's the right thing to do. Plus, it'll give you time to hopefully apologize again for earlier without him yelling or getting too upset.
With a deep breath, you press the 'open' button, and the door whooshes, revealing the tall back of the pilot's chair. Various controls on the panel flash and beep. He reaches over to silence them.
"Yes?"
You step forward.
"I have your dinner. I figured you wouldn't wanna come out to eat with me--"
"A correct assumption."
"...so I brought your dinner in here."
He nods.
"Thank you."
You set the plate down to the side.
"Look, I'm really sorry about what happened earlier," you say sincerely. "It wasn't my place to snoop around your quarters, and I apologize. I also...I didn't know about your daughter. I'm sorry about that, too."
Mills says nothing but turns around in the chair to look at you. After a moment, he nods slightly.
"Thank you for apologizing. And I'm sorry that I snapped like that. It's just a hard thing for me to revisit."
"Of course, and I completely understand why you reacted the way you did. I deserved that, but you didn't deserve to have your private life violated like that. I'm sorry, truly. I feel terrible about it."
He's very much surprised by your sudden remorse and show of emotion. You rarely soften like this, and it makes him wonder if he's jumped to conclusions too soon. Maybe you're not always the hard-ass, demanding, a stubborn politician you make yourself out to be.
"All is forgiven, Senator. I promise it's alright. I appreciate you apologizing."
You nod, offering him a small smile.
"Great. I'd hate for us to be on shitty terms for the rest of the journey."
"Agreed," Mills nods. "Thanks for bringing my dinner. I'll see you tomorrow, Senator."
"See you tomorrow, Captain."
***
"Wait, wait..." you start, huffing softly. "You're telling me we have to stop on Zexade for fuel? I thought this ship could carry enough fuel for the entire journey. I've never had this problem before."
"There's a first time for everything," Mills replies simply, flicking a few switches on the dashboard. "We had to take an alternate route around a nebula, which took more fuel than anticipated. Zexade should have what we need."
"How long is that gonna take? We cannot be late to this conference, Mills. It's super important that we arrive on time--"
"You'll get there on time, Senator. You insisted we leave two days earlier than we needed to. Do you not remember that?"
Your jaw clenches.
"I recall that, yes. But I've been late before, and it was absolutely humiliating. I want to be sure I'm there in advance to begin talking with the other senators."
"The refueling stop shouldn't take more than a few hours. We're on schedule to arrive on Cyllene early."
He rolls his eyes.
"There's no need to worry about anything. I have it all under--"
A loud crash is heard, and the ship lurches. You stumble, quickly gripping the wall for support.
"Everything's under control, huh?" you ask bitterly. "Then what in the world was that?"
The control panel and the proximity sensor start beeping frantically, and Mills groans. He was worried that something like this would happen. More shots are fired at the ship, and he dodges most of them.
"Get out of here! Strap into a chair or something!"
"What is it? Why are they shooting at the ship--"
Another bold hits the ship and takes a few pieces of paneling off. You nearly fall again.
"Pirates," he says. "They want the ship to salvage and possibly take us hostage for ransom money. Now get into a seat before you get hurt!"
You run back towards the emergency seats, but then you see the hatch for the gunner position. You know at that moment what you need to do. The ship dips again, and you fall into the wall with a soft groan, but you climb into the gunner seat before any more sudden jerks.
Mills' eyebrows furrow when he hears static from a headset hanging on top of a control panel. He lifts it up and puts it on, thinking it could be some sort of communication from the pirates.
"Get me into position," you say, flipping switches and pressing buttons rapidly, warming up the guns. "I can take them out."
"What the fuck are you doing down there?! I told you to strap in--"
"Fuck strapping in; I'm not just gonna sit there and wait for you to let the ship be torn apart. These pirates are gonna take us out if we don't put up some sort of defense."
He knows he should focus on the pirates, but he's still trying to wrap his head around that you apparently know how to operate the gunner position. He's also trying to wrap his head around that he's about to take commands from you.
"Alright, alright," he says, adjusting the headset quickly before swerving more shots. "Do you have a shot?"
Your jaw clenches.
"Do you think, if I had a shot, I would have told you to get me into position?!"
This is gonna be harder than he thought.
"Can we save the biting wit and snarky remarks for when we're not getting shot at by pirates, please?!"
"Fine," you huff. "I've almost got a shot on one of the ships. Take a sharp left and drop her down a bit."
He does what you say, and you quickly shoot the pirate ship down, which explodes and takes another one out. You smirk, mentally high-fiving yourself.
"Suck it!" you say into the microphone, forgetting that it's on. "You just got shot down by a fucking senator, losers!! Ha ha!"
Mills listens and allows a slight smile to tug at the corners of his mouth.
"Your mic is still on, Senator. But thank you for that wonderful piece of audio," he says, looking over at the proximity map. There are two more ships left. "I'm gonna pull up really hard and try to get you a clear shot on the two smaller fighters. Can you do that?"
Your cheeks warm with embarrassment.
"Y-Yeah, yeah, of course, I can. Just get me into position, and I'll take care of the rest."
"Good."
He chuckles softly and suddenly pulls up, accelerating rapidly.
You keep your hands on the trigger buttons, holding on tightly as the ship climbs almost directly upwards. The pirate fighters are obviously confused but follow, climbing with us.
“Do a corkscrew maneuver!” You say into the mic. "Now!"
"What?! You want me to do a what?! You're crazy!"
You growl softly.
"Trust me, just do it!!"
Mills grips the steering wheel tightly and begins to spin the ship around and around, cursing you in his head as he begins to feel nauseous. Your eyes narrow, and you shoot at the vessels, hitting one, then the other.
"I got 'em! We're clear!"
He slows, returns the ship to the usual level state, and sighs, running a hand through his hair. Goddamn, that was fucking crazy. You're...incredibly quick on your feet, and you ultimately made the right call.
Between your genuine apology and this sudden show of badassery, it's almost hard to believe that Mills is starting to actually like you. He'll never admit that part out loud, but it's true.
You emerge from the hatch and walk to the cockpit, releasing shaky breaths. The adrenaline is still flowing as you head towards Mills' chair.
"So..." you start. He turns and looks at you, and you offer him a teasing smile. "How much longer to Zexade?"
-- part two (upcoming) --
general taglist: @mrs-zimmerman
fic-specific taglist: @mrs-zimmerman @safarigirlsp @queeniebee
◆ wanna join? here’s the link: adcu taglist ◆
#mrs-gucci#mrs-gucci writes commander mills#65 movie#65#commander mills#commander mills fanfiction#commander mills x reader#commander mills x you#commander mills fluff#commander mills smut#mills x reader#mills x you#mills fluff#mills smut#adam driver#adam driver fanfiction#adam driver imagine#adam driver fanfic#adcu#adcu fanfiction#adcu fic#adcu smut#adcu fluff#adam driver character
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Thank You - One Shot
Summary: (#30 on this prompt list. ) A rainy day with your roommate and best friend, Adam, turns into a bit more.
Pairings: Adam Sackler x Reader
Word Count: 1,250
A/N: I am terrible at summaries. This is purely self-indulgent because I am trash for Adam Driver and wanted to write something involving him.
Please do not repost or redistribute my work! Reblogs are welcome!
It had been pouring rain all day, so your plans to go shopping sounded less fun than they had when you made them. Instead, you threw on your favorite pair of joggers and a long-sleeve shirt that you stole from your roommate and best friend, Adam. Your plan was to order delivery, watch your favorite guilty pleasure shows, and maybe do something creative, but you’d only do it from the comfort of the couch.
You had gotten situated on the large sectional and just grabbed the remote when you heard the front door opening, followed by a groan. Looking over, you saw Adam in a soaking wet jacket, his hair dripping, and a plastic bag in each of his hands.
“Why didn’t you drive?” you asked him.
“I did. This was just from the trip from my car into the building.” he replied, kicking his shoes off.
“Why don’t you go get changed? I’ll put your clothes in the dryer.” You said, standing up from the couch.
He set the bags he was holding on the counter and shrugged out of his jacket and jeans, right in the entryway. “Don’t look in those bags yet.” He said before going down the hall to the bathroom.
“Noted.” You chuckled softly as you grabbed his discarded clothes and headed to the laundry room to get them in the dryer.
Adam came behind you and put his jeans and shirt inside the dryer with his other clothes and a towel. “Have you eaten?”
“Not yet, I was thinking about ordering something.” You replied, getting the dryer started. “What are you hungry for?”
“Order whatever you want. Pizza?” he replied, slowly walking backwards out of the room.
“Pizza’s good.” You nodded, following him out of the room.
You followed him into the living room and sat back down on the couch, grabbing your phone so you could order pizza. It came about forty-five minutes later, and you both ate while watching a rerun of Law and Order. After you both cleaned everything up, Adam grabbed the bag from the counter and brought it over to the coffee table. He set it down and sat next to you, gesturing to the bag.
“What?” you asked.
“Open it.” He said.
You looked at the bag and then back at him. “Is it gonna jump out at me or something?”
“No, nothing like that, just open it.” He shook his head.
You leaned forward and opened the bag, looking inside carefully. You pulled out adult coloring books, markers, colored pencils, and crayons. Then you pulled out your favorite snacks and two puzzles. “What’s all this for?” you asked, turning to look at him.
“I know you said you were supposed to shop, but I know that whenever it pours like this, you like to stay home.” He shrugged.
“Adam, you didn’t have to get me all of this.” You smiled.
“I know. Technically it’s not all for you though, I already claimed this one.” He said, grabbing one of the coloring books.
You watched him as he moved to the floor between the couch and the coffee table, wasting no time opening the markers and pencils. “You’re staying home on a Saturday night to color with me and do puzzles?”
“Why’s that so hard to believe?” he asked and looked up at you. “Come on.”
You smiled, shaking your head as you moved to sit next to him. “Adam, this is…thank you.” You nudged his arm gently.
“You’re welcome.” He said and nudged you back.
The two of you colored before switching to the sketchbook and trying to draw the strangest monster you could both come up with. While you did so, you chatted about a little bit of everything, joking, and discussing deeper topics. After finishing a page in your coloring book, you leaned back and watched him, he was taking his time with a drawing, and you couldn’t help but smile.
He looked over at the pile of markers and noticed you watching him, so he looked at you. “What?”
“Nothing.” You shrugged. “This just means a lot to me. I know it’s not a huge thing, but it still means a lot.”
“Well, you mean a lot to me so making you happy is a mutually good time.” He said and picked up a marker.
It caught you off guard. You both were close, and you were sure there were mutual feelings between you two, but neither of you acted on it. “You mean a lot to me too, Adam, and I love you.” You smiled.
“I love you too.” He said and began coloring another spot on his coloring page.
“I’m gonna find a way to pay you back for this, you know.” You said and started coloring a spot on your coloring page.
“You already have.” He shrugged.
“How?” you asked and looked over at him. You both did plenty for each other, that’s what friends did. He watched terrible horror movies with you, you took him to auditions and listened to his rants when they didn’t go well. Neither of you felt obligated to, you just did it. But this seemed like a special circumstance.
“I had nothing to live for, but then you came into my life. So, thank you.” He deadpanned, looking at the markers to pick another one.
You looked at him and smiled some. “Yeah right.” He said it so nonchalantly, you thought he was joking. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah.” He said and looked over at you.
He wasn’t joking about this. “Adam…”
“I’m serious.” He said.
You didn’t know what to say to him, so you pushed the coffee table back gently and knelt in front of him. “You never told me that.”
“Well, I didn’t know how you’d feel about how I feel about you.” He shrugged.
“What if I felt the same way about you?” You asked softly.
He looked up at you, tapping a marker against your knee gently. “How do we feel?”
“Like there’s something more than friendship here.” You said. Maybe it was the cozy feeling of the night, or maybe it was him being vulnerable with you, but it felt like the time to get everything out in the open. “Is that how you feel?”
He sat up and put his hand on the side of your neck, his thumb running along your jaw. “I don’t have arts and crafts night with just anyone.”
You smiled and leaned into his touch. “Aren’t I special?” you teased.
“I guess.” He teased back.
“Is this gonna make things different between us?” you asked him, your hands resting on his chest.
“I hope so.” He nodded, leaning in slowly.
“Me too.” You whispered, leaning in to close the space between you.
He pressed his lips against yours, his hand moving to the back of your neck to bring you closer to him. You moved your hand to his collar, holding it gently as you kissed him back. It was like a weight had been lifted between you.
You broke the kiss slowly to take a breath, smiling as he kissed along your jaw. “Thank you.”
“For what?” he asked and looked up at you, his free hand moving to rest on your hip.
You didn’t know how to put your feelings into words. “Everything.”
He nodded and kissed you gently. “Thank you, too.” He kissed you again and then looked up at you. “I’m still gonna win our monster drawing contest.” He grinned.
#(my writing.)#(one shots.)#adam driver fic#adam driver fanfic#adam driver fanfiction#adam sackler x reader#adam sackler x you#reader insert#adam sackler#hbo girls
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gardenfullofsage' writing prompts.
Angst/Smut/fluff
Kylo Ren:
'I can't do anything without you...'
2. 'You're all I'll ever want. You're all I'll ever need.'
3. 'Say that you love me.'
4. 'Beg me to stop. Get on your knees and beg.'
5. 'You'll never be anything without me. I created you.'
6. 'I love you so much, it's tearing me inside and out.'
7. 'Please don't go... Stay.'
8. 'I can take whatever I want, whenever I want.'
9. 'I'm in love with the taste of you. Give me more.'
10. ''I'll kill for you.'
11. 'I'd kill anyone that gets in my way of owning you... I'd even kill you.'
12. 'No one would ever come in between me and you.''
13. 'It's just me and you.'
I've come up with some prompts, I've hit a massive writers block and I would love some ideas. Please don't be afraid to request any I would greatly appreciate them.
#adam driver#adam driver x reader#adam driver smut#adam driver fanfic#kylo ren#kylo x reader#kylo ren smut#prompts#star wars sequel trilogy#angst#smut#fluff
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New Years Kiss
Characters: Maurizio Gucci x Reader
Word Count: 887
Note: Happy New Year everyone! I wanted to write this up real quick, it's not much, but I was really feeling Maurizio on this tonight. I typed it up really quickly, just wanted to get something out TONIGHT before it turned midnight on the west coast (where I'm at!)
Phrases to know: *Guarda quanto sei bella - Look how gorgeous you are
*Amore mio - my love
Contents/Warnings: Fluff, kissing, pretty SFW, some sexual language
You and Maurizio had just landed in New York City. He claimed he was here strictly on business, but it was a holiday and you knew it.
While he did have business meetings to attend, you stayed in the luxurious hotel room he had booked for the two of you. However, he promised you two would explore the city after the meeting today. After all, it was New Year's Eve.
You were applying your lipstick when you heard the door open and click shut.
“Love?” Maurizio quietly called, peeking around the corner to see you in the bathroom. He stood behind you in the bathroom, completely taking in your appearance while you finished up your makeup.
“Guarda quanto sei bella.”
You turned around, eyebrows raised at your husband. He was never light about compliments, showering you with them constantly. You smiled up at him, his hands finding your waist. Maurizio pulled you in, pecking at your lips a few times.
You pulled back slightly, humming.
“Thank you,” you whispered, fluttering your eyelashes.
“Any time, Bellissimo.”
You both exited the bathroom, pulling on the boots you intended to wear out today. Pulling on your stunning white coat to pull your outfit together, Maurizio barely changed his clothes and was ready.
“Men, absolutely no effort, and they can still look good,” you hummed over at him, listening to the chuckle in response.
“I know, doll, just call me flawless.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling as he stood in front of you once more.
“Let’s get going before we can’t move at all out there,” he suggested, holding his hand out, dragging you out of the hotel room.
Maurizio let you pick any stores to go into, any sights to see, and generally whatever you wanted to do for the rest of the day.
By the time the sun was setting, you were both walking back into the hotel, not avoiding any crowds. Setting everything you had bought from the day, which wasn’t much, onto the chair in the room, Maurizio looked at you with a slight smirk.
You looked up from sorting through the new belongings, tilting your head at him. He got that look in his eyes typically when he was in the mood. You shook your head, setting your things down.
You aimed a finger at him, shaking your head once more.
“Not right now, we were just out all day.”
Maurizio looked puzzled, giving you a smile.
“I meant champagne, amore mio. Let’s ring in the new year with some champagne and we can people-watch.”
You giggled as he picked up the hotel phone to dial for room service. Within no time the bottle showed up in the room, and your husband tipped room service generously.
You both stood on the balcony, both enthralled with the crowd of people down below. You had no idea how much time had passed, but the crowd grew louder with every passing moment. In a way, it was really fun to see everyone crowd around, pushing and shoving in an attempt to try to get out, or get farther in.
“People really come here to do this every year?” You questioned, turning your head to him.
The dark haired male turned his head back to you, looking you in the eyes.
“It’s a party, why wouldn’t you?”
You shrugged, a smile creeping onto your face.
“I don’t think standing in that crowd would be my thing.”
“Love, we are pretty much here for the party as well,” Maurizio mentioned, shrugging, a hand running through his hair. He straightened out from leaning over the balcony, checking his watch.
“11:30. So close.”
Maurizio kissed your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. You both shared a sweet moment, though anyone who looked up could probably see you two.
He leaned down close to your ear, gently placing a kiss on your earlobe.
“I am going to give you such a treat after midnight.”
His words made you shiver in anticipation, eliciting a soft noise from you. When your husband stood up straight one more time, you half closed your eyes in a seductive glance, lips slightly parted up at him.
“You’ll get one too.”
Maurizio shuddered, chuckling down at you, giving you one more kiss before turning back and leaning over the balcony again. You dragged your fingernails along his back, leaning gently against him.
As the time drew closer to midnight, Maurizio pulled out the champagne from inside the hotel room. He was going to pop it over the balcony, and not the safe way, either.
Soon enough, the crowd began the ten-second countdown. You and your husband looked at each other, bright smiles on your faces.
When it hit one, Maurizio used the hand that wasn’t holding the alcohol to pull you in, planting a long, loving kiss on your lips. You both grinned into the kiss, pulling away so he could pop the bottle.
You were both sure that it hit someone in the sea of people down below, worrying you for a second before laughing along with your husband.
He poured the champagne into the glasses, handing you yours first. You clinked your glasses together, Maurizio planting one more kiss on your lips before you took sips of the alcohol.
“Happy New Year, Maurizio.”
“Happy New Year, Bellissimo.”
#adam driver fanfic#adam driver#adcu#adcu writer#adcu fanfiction#adcu community#adcu fluff#adcu fic#adcu x reader#fanfiction#fanfic#adam driver fanfiction#maurizio gucci#maurizio x reader#x reader#reader insert#adam driver character
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Please post something? …. Pleasseeee!! You’re the best writer on this whole app!!!
Dear anon <3 Your message truly means so much to me! I've been struggling with writing for the past year and a half. Inspiration has been scarce and I've been doubting my own ability to write. Also, I'm indecisive when it comes to deciding who to write for (so if you have any preferences please send me another ask) But!! I am working on a new fic that I'm hoping to finish as soon as possible.
Here is a sneak peak:
It was common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was utterly and completely infatuated with you. You were it for him. The one he would marry, build a house for, have kids with. You would be his end, but you were not his beginning.
It was common knowledge that Flip Zimmerman was on an apparent path to sleep with everyone he could that wasn’t you. Fuck, finger, and fondle like he wasn’t an officer of the law and he wasn’t in a very public bar at that very moment. You could see his hand run along her leg, caressing it with the pads of his fingers before it disappeared beneath the fabric of her skirt.
#flip zimmerman x you#flip zimmerman#adam driver fanfic#adam driver smut#Adam driver x reader#flip zimmerman smut
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Would you possibly consider doing a sex pollen fic with Commander Mills and the ☁️ prompt 6? 💛💛💛 thank you
“𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐮𝐬𝐬𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭…”
pairing: Commander Mills x F!Reader
Warnings: 18+. Sex-Pollen, so Dub-Con by default. Oral (f receiving), fingering, dirty talk, cumming in pants, lalala Jasmine’s a slutttt
mills masterlist | main masterlist | follower celebration | taglist
Dread drips from your pores, manifesting in sweat. It should have been obvious not to touch the bright red petals of the flowers blooming from the bush in the forest. Red equals danger, after all- but it had been so pretty.
Being childish, trying to bring a smile to Mills’ stern face, you’d pushed the flower into his ebony hair. He’d scowled at first, but kept it tucked behind his ear.
The sweats had started not long after, heat blooming through your body and roasting you from the inside. Then the arousal. It crawled across your body, ripping you up internally. Fuck, you’d never been so horny, and Mills looked so fucking good— the perspiration settled in his clavicle called to you, tongue desperate for a taste.
The aloof personality of the Commander had dropped away almost instantly, pushing you into the forest grass and undressing you with an animalistic force, seams of your cargo pants tearing.
Tongue buried in your dripping cunt, Mills groaned loudly as he pushed his erection into the forest floor, grinding his hips for purchase. Each delighted hum from his chest vibrated against your cunt, and you came with a shriek of his name. Again.
“Oh my god- ohmygodohmyghohhhhh-“ you ramble, falling into a pathetic wail of bliss as you push your hips up into his face, clit bumping his nose. He plunges his fingers deeper inside of you, tracing your g-spot with deft fingers.
“Fuck,” he pants heavily, looking up at you through his lashes with those eyes, dripping like honey. His mouth is soaked, glistening in the sunshine. “Your pussy tastes so sweet…”
“Ugh-Hah-Hah- Oh fuck,” you squeal, feeling everything pull up tight. “I’m gunna fucking cum again, oh my god, ImgonnafuckingcumaGAIN-��
“C’mo-“ He cuts himself off, wrapping his lips around your cunt and swallowing you down, flicking his tongue over your clit viciously. When you cum, it rattles your bones. Rips through you like liquid heat that makes you sob loudly, body trembling with the force of your tears.
“Hah- Oh shit-“ Mills’ shoulders stiffen beneath your palms, his hips rutting into the soil beneath him. He’s panting heavily, letting out pained groans and rambling to himself.
“Fuck, Baby’s pussy is so wet, isn’t it? So fucking sweet and tasty. Could fucking drown in it- ohfuck,” he spit out, his hand splayed over your abdomen. “Just another taste. Just one more tas-“
You try to escape it, pulling your hips away from the overstimulation, but Mills swipes his tongue through your folds once more, body seizing up as he cums with a devastated groan, his nails digging into the flesh of your stomach.
“Oh- Mills-“ you sob out, eyes rolling back into your skull as an orgasm rocks you again.
#commander mills fanfic#commander mills x reader#commander mills x you#commander mills x female reader#commander mills#mills x reader#commander mills x f!reader#commander mills smut#65 movie#65 movie fanfiction#65 million years ago#65 movie fanfic#adcu fic#adcu community#adcu fanfiction#adcu x reader#adcu smut#adam driver#adam driver fanfic#adam driver smut#adam driver x y/n#adam driver x you#adam driver x reader#adam driver fic#જ⁀➴ mail: received#✩‧₊˚ 6k follower celebration ˚₊‧✩
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Visitors (a 65 story) - Chapter 1: Prologue
Pairing: Captain Mills x Fem Reader
Fic Summary: 65 million years ago, Captain Mills (played by Adam Driver) crashes a passenger transport ship into Earth during the Cretaceous period. You are among three survivors of the crash. Together with Mills, you must make your way to the only shot of extraction through an unknown terrain riddled with deadly prehistoric creatures.
Warnings: Mention of suicide, loss of parents, trauma bonding
Fic Masterlist
Read on Ao3
___
The planet Somaris
Mills
“This time is different. The longest I’ve been away was 6 weeks, this is two years.”
“I know. But you’ll be back, and she’ll still be here.”
He feels the warm sand stick between his toes as he tries to savor the feeling of this moment. The salty sea air filling his lungs, the rays of sun kissing his tanned arms. The feeling of Alya held safe in those arms, the smell of her hair against his shoulder. The sight of their precious baby girl, who wasn’t such a baby anymore.
She’s so much like her mother it made his head spin just thinking about it. What did he do to deserve two of them? Beautiful, smart and confident women. Stubborn, sometimes to a fault, his daughter’s health grew steadily worse by the day and yet she’s splashing in the waves, bent on ignoring how her chest felt tight or her eyelids heavy.
The decision has been made for him, the final chance to bail long past now. But as he breathes in this perfect last moment with his family he can’t help but push down the urge to say screw it, to tell the buyers they can shove their quotas where the sun doesn’t shine and park himself right on this beach until the end of his days. This urge is silenced altogether as Nevine turns from the shore and gives him that heart stopping smile she got from her mother.
Two years will slip by like nothing if it means he can afford to keep that smile on her face longer. This one last job will finally get her treatment, give her a chance at the life she deserves. Let her mother be able to sleep through the night and end the whispered midnight arguments over family priorities and rising medical expenses.
He smiles back.
“Just two years.”
Chapter 2
#65#65 movie#Adam driver#mills#65movie#ariana greenblatt#65 fanfic#65 fic#mills x you#mills x reader#mine#Adam driver character#Adam driver fanfic
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The Most Tragic of Mistakes
|Charlie Barber x Fem!Reader Short Story|
Masterlist
Summary: You're a fresh-faced makeup artist trying to make it in the Big Apple. Finally, you get a job as a makeup artist for Exit Ghost's new production of Caligula and meet the infamously intense director, Charlie Barber.
Warnings: Sex (of course), Caligula was not a good man, do not recommend looking him up, age gap, adultery, unprotected sex, Dom!Charlie, the other woman-type trope, power imbalances, workplace relationships.
More warnings will be added as the story progresses.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
#adam driver fanfic#adam driver#adam driver fanfiction#charlie barber x you#charlie barber fanfiction#charlie barber smut#charlie barber x reader#charlie barber#marriage story#marriage story fanfic#wattpad fanfic#wattpad fanfiction#books#fanfic#wattpad
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diamonds and stones (masterlist)
pairing: clyde logan x f!reader
rating: 18+ éxplicit!
warnings: short description of domestic violence, PTSD, eventual smut, soooo much angst,
summary: “I think I might always be in some kind of love with you,” — F. Cabanes or, a story of friendship and second chances.
CHAPTERS:
prologue
part one
interlude: the letters (coming soon)
extras:
spotify playlist!
#adcu#adcu fanfiction#adcu smut#adam driver nation#adam driver fanfic#clyde logan x y/n#clyde logan fan fiction#clyde logan x reader#clyde x you#clyde logan/reader#clyde logan x you#clyde logan fanfiction#clyde logan fluff#logan lucky fanfiction#clyde x reader#clyde logan x reader#clyde logan x female reader#clyde logan
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