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yoon-kooks · 2 years

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how many | jjk | 5

Pairing: Jungkook x TattooArtist!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Smut, BadBoy!AU

Summary: To Jeon Jungkook, you’re just the cutie who sits across from him in art class. He doesn’t have a clue that you’re also the hidden face of his favorite tattoo artist on social media. When the bad boy notices you’ve taken a surprising interest in his ink, he dares you to explore every inch of his body until all of his tattoos are accounted for. Tempted by his irresistible smile and delicate touch, you might even let him in on your little secret.

Word Count: 4.7k

Parts: 0 ◆ 1 ◆ 2 ◆ 3 ◆ 4 ◆ 5 ◆ 6

A/N: no smut in this one;;;;;;

◆ the one he drew for you ◆

Thank god for midterm week. For an art major like yourself, the usual midterm exams are replaced with art projects that you don’t really need to worry about. This actually allows you to squeeze in more tattoo appointments than usual throughout the week.

While you’re busy in the studio, your super hot smartypants boyfriend, Jeon Jungkook, is busy studying for all of his comp sci exams that you know he’ll ace. The timing is a little too convenient, but you’re just happy you don’t have to make up any excuses for why you’re too busy to hang out with him this week.

It’s not that you don’t want to spend time with your new boyfriend—in fact, for the past 120 hours, you’ve been yearning for his smile, his touch. You just need to focus and power through all of your appointments now so that you can make time for him this weekend. Because this is the weekend where Jungkook learns that you and his favorite tattoo artist are the same person.

You’ve even been dropping subtle hints throughout the week to see if he can put two and two together.

Y/N🍑 [MON 11:13PM] “so i may or may not be planning a surprise😈”

Jungkook🦆 [11:14PM] “It’s not gonna be a surprise if you give me a heads up, silly”

Y/N🍑 [11:14PM] “i could give you a million hints and youd still be surprised”

Jungkook🦆 [11:14PM] “👁👄👁”

Jungkook🦆 [11:15PM] “What are you up to?”

Y/N🍑 [11:16PM] “nothing!👼”

During class on Tuesday, he bribes you with coffee in exchange for more information about this “surprise.” He knows you can’t say no to caffeine in the morning.

Snatching the hot cup of coffee out of his hand, you offer him a single hint. “Try searching through the lizard tag on Instagram.”

“You’re such a dork for lizards, you know that?” He pulls his phone out and scrolls through the many charming reptiles on social media. He swipes past all the chameleons and leopard geckos until his thumb pauses at the sight of a happy little bearded dragon. “Okay, I’ll admit that one’s really fucking adorable.”

You nod and point out a baby albino alligator. “This one’s cute too, right?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook chuckles. “Wait, is this part of your evil plan to get me to like lizards? Are you trying to start a lizard family with me?”

“No, no, I promise I’m not surprising you with a new lizard friend,” you assure him. As much as you adore lizards, you shudder at the thought of feeding them live insects.

“Then why are we looking at all these little guys?” Based on his bright smile, he’s clearly not against your lizard agenda.

“Remember when I mentioned the lizard tattoo?” you ask.

“The one you supposedly had an appointment for on the day we went to the duck pond?” Jungkook tilts his head. Then he furrows his brow. “I thought you were just fucking with me. Did you actually get it?”

You shake your head with the smuggest smile. “No, but it’s probably the biggest hint you’re going to get.”

The albino gator you pointed out earlier was the exact photo you used as a reference for that tattoo design—the one you tattooed onto a man’s calf shortly after your first kiss with Jeon Jungkook. You posted the final product on @snowsleeve’s IG just a few days ago, so there’s a good chance the boy has already seen it.

Unfortunately, Jungkook doesn’t quite make the connection.

“Then… Are you planning on getting it?” He taps the back of your hand holding the coffee cup. Even the smallest amount of physical contact between you and him is enough to give you butterflies. “Because a tiny lizard would look cute on you.”

If you weren’t in the middle of class, you’d hop out of your seat and into his lap. Instead, you lean in closer toward his side of the table and settle for something flirty.

“I’m sure you’d look cute on me, too, Jeon.”

On Wednesday, Jungkook takes a break from studying to work on the next art project assigned by your professor. The two of you claim an empty studio in the art building and get to work.

For the assignment, your professor keeps it simple with few directions. All you need to do is pick an artist with a unique style and replicate that style in a drawing of “whatever your heart desires.” To put in the least amount of effort into this project, you go with the artist you know best—snowsleeve.

When you turn to Jungkook, he’s doing what appears to be intense research.

“Should I go with Murakami or Naoko Takeuchi?” he asks. You could easily see him replicating the work of Murakami, known for his bright and bold pops of color. You haven’t seen Jungkook use much color in his art so far, but you know he’d at least have fun with it.

“You can’t go wrong with Murakami,” you shrug. “I don’t know who Naoko Takeuchi is, though.”

Jungkook holds out his phone with Sailor Moon’s squad gracing the screen. “Oh, she’s one of the lesser known manga artists out there. Guess that’s why you’ve never heard of her.”

“Fucking smartass.” Your glare lasts about three seconds before you wrap your arms around his neck and give him a kiss. You’ve been deprived of that hot sensation against his lips for far too long, and the taste is divine. “But now that you mention it, I’m actually curious to see what you can create in the iconic Sailor Moon style.”

“Okay, that settles it. I know exactly what I’m going to draw.” The boy begins sketching an outline on his canvas with the most enthusiasm you’ve seen from him when it comes to schoolwork. He may not always show it, but Jungkook’s passion for art runs deep. And his desire to create isn’t all that different from your own. You just watch him in awe until you remember you have your own piece to work on.

The second the tip of your pencil hits your canvas, Jungkook looks over, curious about what you might be drawing.

“I’m going with body art that our good friend snowsleeve would design,” you say before he can even ask. You outline a masculine torso, strategically twisted and posed in a way to hide body parts that would otherwise need to be censored. You’re going to cover every inch of that torso in ink that would look so hot on a certain male friend of yours.

“Isn’t your style already pretty similar to hers?” He continues drawing, occasionally glancing back at panels from the Sailor Moon manga. “That wolf you drew on my hand the other day was definitely giving me snowsleeve vibes.”

“This project shouldn’t be too hard then,” you hum. At the very least, Jungkook isn’t oblivious to the similarities between the art you’ve shown him and snowsleeve’s tattoos. “The faster I finish this, the more time I can spend on preparing that surprise for you.”

“Oh? The surprise is something you need to prepare?” The tip of Jungkook’s pencil makes a hard stop against his canvas. You can see the wheels turning in his head. “Are you sure you aren’t setting up a huge lizard terrarium in my apartment?”

You burst out laughing. “I’m sure.”

“The lizard thing is throwing me off,” the boy groans, tossing his head back. The naughty side of you sees this vulnerable state as an invitation to climb on top of him and relieve some of his frustration. But you know Jungkook needs to finish this project today so that he can focus on the rest of his exams for the week. As much as it pains you, you have to control yourself. Thankfully, art is the perfect distraction.

When you’re satisfied with your snowsleeve-inspired piece, you lean back as Jungkook leans over you to check it out.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think snowsleeve drew this herself.” His eyes wander across the torso, from the playful fox rolling in grass to the dancing forest fairy to a familiar wolf wagging its tail like a good boy. With its long snout, the wolf nudges a carrot toward its bunny friend as a peace offering. Among the rest of the art that fills your page, it’s the wolf and bunny image that really stands out.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you say, turning your attention to Jungkook’s Sailor Moon-inspired work in progress. The beautiful heroine has your cozy vibe, your cute fashion sense, your lizards, and your personal superpower—art. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re drawing me.”

“Oh, it’s definitely you, Y/N.” His face is all smiles and crinkles as he reaches over to pinch your cheek.

“No wonder why you were so passionate about it,” you tease. You look at the heroine again. He’s right. It’s definitely you. She radiates warmth and good vibes with her goofy grin and the fun little lizard drawings brought to life by her powers. It seems the boy will never let the lizard thing go, but you love that this is how he sees you.

Jungkook nods. “I’ve realized art is a lot more enjoyable when I’m creating it with someone else in mind.”

You couldn’t agree more. The pure happiness that reflects in the eyes of your clients after their appointment is what makes it all worth it for you as a tattoo artist. Because you’ve created something personal that they can always look back on and feel some type of way about.

“That’s a good mindset for a future tattoo artist.” Your finger runs along the outline of every tattoo on his hand. He watches patiently and flips his palm up as soon as you’ve traced them all. He’s clearly asking for more of your touch. You quickly draw an imaginary smiley face on his palm before slipping his pen back into his grip. The two of you can save the handholding for this weekend.

Jungkook pouts, giving you a chance to reconsider the physical contact before continuing on with the project. Shortly after, he pokes his head up from the canvas with a sudden request. “By the way, can you give me another hint about that surprise?”

You tap the torso covered in snowsleeve’s art. “This is a pretty big clue.”

“I like my theory of you getting a tattoo,” he says with a thoughtful gaze. “But it couldn’t be that simple, could it?”

Thursday isn’t as exciting as Wednesday because you don’t have the luxury of seeing your boyfriend in person. Instead, you’re stuck in your studio from sunrise to sundown while Jungkook crams for his final and most important midterm.

After your last appointment of the night, a mischievous idea comes to mind so you decide to stick around a bit longer. First your sweater comes off, followed by your strappy bralette. You lay the client chair horizontally and hop onto it.

With one hand just barely covering both your nipples and the other holding your phone up, you snap a series of not-so-innocent photos of your bare skin against the black leather. The best pic is one where your expression is more sultry than angelic, and there’s also enough shit in the background to serve as a clue to your whereabouts.

Along with the faux nude, you send Jungkook a few messages. Hopefully, you won’t be too big of a distraction from his studies.

Y/N🍑 [8:56PM] “this is the last hint im giving you, jeon👼”

Jungkook🦆 [8:56PM] “Your boyfriend is very lucky”

Jungkook🦆 [8:56PM] “omw”

Jungkook🦆 [8:58PM] “Wait”

Jungkook🦆 [8:59PM] “Is that a tattoo place?”

Jungkook🦆 [8:59PM] “You’re actually getting one huh”

Jungkook🦆 [9:00PM] “Show me?🥺”

Y/N🍑 [9:01PM] “dont you have an exam to study for?”

Jungkook🦆 [9:02PM] “Y/N please I can’t focus on studying after seeing you like that”

Y/N🍑 [9:05PM] “good luck on your exam!👼💖💖💖”

Thankfully, your naughty photo only costs Jungkook two points on Friday’s exam, and he still manages to score the highest among his peers. To celebrate the end of a busy midterm week, you send him an official invitation to the unofficial Bring Your Boyfriend to Work Day at your studio on Saturday—the same day as his appointment with snowsleeve.

“Is Bring Your Boyfriend To Work Day a real thing?” Jungkook shoots you a skeptical look as the two of you stroll down the streets of the art district. He’s been cautious all morning. Probably due to the big surprise you won’t shut up about.

“We’re making it a real thing,” you say. “Aren’t you curious about the work I do outside of school?”

“I thought you said people just commission you for your art?”

“...Yeah.” Your voice has that but-there’s-more-to-the-story tone.

“Y/N, you’re killing me.” The boy places two hands on your shoulders and gives you a little shake in mild frustration. Eventually, though, his arms fall into a warm embrace around your waist.

On instinct, you spin around to face him. He still has dark circles from all those late nights of studying, but that doesn’t make him any less cute. With a big fat smile, you hook your arm around his and say, “The surprise will be worth it. I promise.”

“I know it will.” Jungkook lets out a dramatic sigh as you drag him along and into your studio.

It’s a cloudy Saturday morning. The studio is quite dark, but you make the executive decision to keep the cream curtains closed and the lights off for dramatic effect. But despite all the tattoo equipment staring him in the face as soon as he walks in, your boyfriend doesn’t look half as surprised as you’d anticipated. Either he’s known all along, or he’s just pretending to know.

With your arm still around his, you give him a rambling tour of the small space. “Here’s my art wall, this is fancy equipment that no one cares about, that’s the futon for when I need a nap, the back wall has some cute pictures… oh, and I have an espresso station set up in that corner. I’m learning how to make latte art.”

“Latte art makes a little too much sense for an artist who thrives on caffeine.” Jungkook grins. There’s no doubt in anyone’s mind that this is your second home. Your boyfriend takes the lead and sits you down in a familiar leather chair. He shamelessly stares at you through the camera lens formed by his thumbs and index fingers. “And this is the infamous chair you took that naughty photo in?”

“Maybe.” You glance up at him with the same inviting eyes from that photo. You rarely sit in the client’s seat, and the shift in power is painfully obvious. In this studio, you’re usually the one in control, the one leaving your mark on someone else’s skin. But now, Jungkook stands over you with nowhere to hide. You’ve never felt so vulnerable in your own studio. And if he wanted to, he could really mess you up.

He presses his weight against the armrests and leans himself over your body. His lips find yours and smother them with an endless wave of fervor and affection. For a long while, you forget the entire point of the outing. Nothing else matters aside from this intimacy between you and the boy you adore. You feel like you’re in a dream, the kind you never want to wake up from.

Jungkook eventually pulls back to let you breathe but holds your gaze with a subtle smirk. “I think it’s almost time for my appointment, Miss Snowsleeve.”

You study his face quietly for just a moment. There’s not a shadow of doubt to be found. His confidence is so fucking attractive.

“How long have you known?” you ask.

“In my mind, it wasn’t confirmed until today, but I’ve been considering the possibility since that night at the pool.” The boy watches as you get up to finally turn the lights on. On your way back around, you gesture for him to follow you to the back. “Did you know you and snowsleeve have the same exact texting style? Exclusively lowercase.”

“That was the dead giveaway for you?” You encourage him to take a look at the collection of photos hanging on the back wall.

“It couldn’t have possibly been the glaring similarities in your art,” Jungkook says with sarcasm. He examines the polaroids of your favorite tattoos on some of your favorite people—fellow artists like Amber and Zico, celebrities like Park Jimin and Min Yoongi, and regulars who’ve supported you since the beginning. Even Seokjin has a place on your wall with a serpentine ankle tattoo that he rarely shows off outside of your apartment. Your boyfriend points to the pic of you and Amber and adds, “Couldn’t have been your extensive knowledge of local tattoo artists, either.”

“Definitely not,” you play along.

“And the more I thought about it, I realized it wasn’t a coincidence that the snowsleeve stalked my IG and liked one of my posts on that first day of art class.”

“Hey, first of all, I wasn’t IG stalking you.” You were totally IG stalking him, and both of you know it. “And second, I guess your attention to detail isn’t that bad after all.”

“It’s kind of hard not to notice the quirky little things about you.” Jungkook’s eyes pan from you, to the wall of polaroids, and to the art you’ve poured your heart and soul into. “Is there a reason why you choose to keep this all a secret?”

You nod. It was a conscious decision to keep your art detached from your name and face. Sure, it’d become less and less of a secret as your list of clients grew, but you just wanted to prove something to yourself.

“I’ve relied on my art for most of my life. It’s always been my ice breaker, my security blanket, my escape, and it’s become the only thing I’m known for.”

You think about how in every class and every friend group, you were labeled “the quiet one who was good at art.” Everyone would make small talk with you about art galleries, awards you’ve won for your art, and Pablo freaking Picasso. Your 9th grade math teacher even tasked you with decorating her classroom in geometric art. No one ever talked to you about your favorite reptiles or your love of pineapple pizza. Because what else did anyone know about you aside from art?

“I only know you as the number one lizard enthusiast in the world,” Jungkook jokes. His down-to-earth smile is both contagious and comforting. “I get where you’re coming from, though.”

“It’s not all that different from you and your two Instagram accounts. One is for here,” you say, poking the charming dimple on his cheek. “And the other is for here.” You interlace your fingers with his tattooed ones and hold his drawing hand up. You aren’t the only one who wishes to separate themself from their art—perhaps for opposite reasons.

You want to be seen as more than just your art, just as Jungkook wants to be seen as more than his pretty face.

“Yeah,” he says softly as he threads his free hand through his hair. “By the way, I’m sorry I spoiled the big reveal.”

You shake your head. “In all honesty, I preferred you to figure it out on your own.” In an instant, your grin goes from angelic to devilish. “And besides, I have one more surprise for you.”

“Why are you smiling like that? Should I be scared?” The boy spins around and frantically checks every corner of the studio. He searches high for hidden cameras, low for booby traps, and all around for possible lizard friends. You can’t help but laugh. You’re dating a complete goofball.

“Relax, it’s behind the espresso machine.” You pull him over toward the nutty aroma of roasted coffee beans. With a straight face, you add, “Try to be quiet, or else it’ll lash out at you.”

Jungkook does a good job of staying silent, although his wide-eyed expression speaks volumes. If you had to guess, he’s probably thinking something along the lines of, “I fucking knew it. It’s a fucking snake. This is what I get for dating that adorable reptile-loving dork.”

“I’m just fucking with you, Jeon.” Despite your evil cackle, the boy lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s not something nearly as exciting as a bearded dragon.”

“What is it then?” He tries to peek over your shoulder, but the object in question is already tucked away in your hands behind your back.

You gesture for his hand, and never once has he hesitated to give it to you. After placing the small metal object in his palm, you fold his fingers around it. “Take a look.”

Jungkook unfolds his fingers and finds a shiny key.

“You’re giving me full studio access?” He definitely wasn’t expecting this one.

“You can come in anytime to practice or borrow equipment or—”

“Or make myself a vanilla latte?”

“Exactly.” You plop yourself back into the leather chair and catch the boy by his wrist. He stumbles forward with the momentum and nearly falls on top of you. “You can even do the honors of giving snowsleeve her second tattoo.”

You flex your fingers, drawing attention to the outer edge of your hand. If you want to start small, a hand tattoo sounds appropriate. And besides, you find all of Jungkook’s tiny hand tattoos so dang charming, and that may or may not be what’s inspired you. When clients ask you about it, you can tell them the story.

“I know you’re in high demand, but is there any chance I can get an appointment with you today?” you ask innocently, ignoring the fact that you’re supposed to be having a consultation about Jungkook’s next tattoo. But that can wait a little longer.

“Someone’s eager,” he chuckles at your aggressive puppy eyes. If you could be an emoji, you’d be an angry one with puppy dog eyes and hearts. “But I suppose I can squeeze you in right now since you’re so fucking cute.”

You use this opportunity to give Jungkook a step-by-step tutorial on a proper tattoo setup. You show him your signature plastic wrapping technique, give him a rundown of your favorite machines, and share everything else with him that’s become second nature to you.

“So are we actually doing this?” he asks after a few practice doodles on fake skin with your favorite pen for lining. His lines are smooth, his hand is steady, and the depth looks about right.

“I’m in if you are.” You sit curled up in the leather chair, doing your best to mask the nerves building up inside your chest. The last thing you want is for your own uneasiness to rub off on a boy who has yet to tattoo an actual human being. “We can do something small and simple, just so you can get the feel of digging into real skin.”

“Bet.” Jungkook gives you a confident nod. “Any special requests?”

You point to the side of your hand, just below your pinky. “Something cute that you can freehand? Like a bunny fairy?”

“The biggest surprise of the day is that you don’t want a lizard.” He rolls in on your stool, takes your hand, and draws out exactly what you ask for. And it’s super wholesome. He leans back to get a glimpse of your reaction. “Good?”

“The best.” You can’t take your eyes off the floppy ears, the delicate wings, and the cute little heart nose. The love you feel for the boy and his art is starting to eat away at your nerves. You better keep yourself in check. Otherwise, you might do something too bold or reckless. Because that’s how safe you feel when you’re with Jungkook.

After making the switch from marker to machine, a few butterflies come fluttering back, but you’d like to believe you’ve still got a good poker face. In one hand, he wields the buzzing machine that seems a whole lot more intimidating when you aren’t the one gripping it. He slides his other hand beneath yours, against the plastic-wrapped armrest. Maybe he won’t feel the jitters vibrating through your body.

His gloved hand feels more like a fuzzy blanket keeping you warm on a gloomy rainy day. A boyfriend could say a lot of things to put his partner at ease in this situation. He might say, “It’s okay,” or “Let me know if the pain gets to be too much,” or even, “You don’t have to force yourself. I’d love you with or without this tattoo.”

Jungkook isn’t that boyfriend, though. He doesn’t need to speak into existence what you already know. He has his own way of doing things.

“Do you remember that first day in art class? When I drew that other bunny for you?” He holds your gaze for a moment. The buzzing fades into the background, and you feel the muscles in your hand loosening up. “I held your hand just like this.”

Of course you remember. No boy has ever made you feel so comforted by a single touch. That day, you were so happy. And for the first time in a while, you felt excited for the days to come. It marked the beginning of something precious with no end in sight.

You nod, prompting him to continue on with his storytime. He gives you one last squeeze before retracting his hand so that his canvas is resting on a flat surface.

“I still think about that day a lot, you know.” His voice is soft, yet everything comes out so clear above the humming. How can a boy like him be so sweet? It still blows your mind that you had this bad boy image of him when he first entered the classroom that day.

“Me too.” Your cheeks are starting to hurt from how much you’re smiling. “Little did I know, that bad boy with the tattoos would turn out to be the biggest dork and sweetheart ever.”

“FYI, you’re the only person who’s allowed to call me a sweetheart.” The face he makes at you is a mix of a pout and him trying not to smile. Whatever it is, it serves as the perfect distraction for the needle hovering above your hand.

The first needle contact is more of a graze against your skin. He glances up for your reaction. You mouth, “A little deeper,” and he makes the adjustment several times. You don’t mind that he’s slowly easing both of you into it. He could spend a week chipping away at this simple tattoo, and you’d still love him.

When he finds the sweet spot in your skin, you stay quiet to let him focus. You want to praise him for how crisp and clean his lines are, and how pretty the bunny is turning out, but you bite your tongue and save it for the end.

“Anything else I should add in?” Once he's gone over every line, he sets the machine down and lets you admire the art he’s left on you. It’s tiny, adorable, and so so special to you. You don’t need anything else.

“It’s perfect.” You hop out of the seat and stretch, admiring your beautiful new ink in the studio lights. You’re glowing. From the stool, Jungkook lets out a healthy sigh, both exhausted and relieved to know his first attempt went as well as it did. You lean over, lift his chin, and steal a kiss. “Thank you, Jungkook,” you whisper into his mouth.

He kisses you again and licks his lips.

“So, are we still having my consultation?” His eyes wander across your body, from the tattoo he gave you to wherever that other tattoo might be hiding. Something tells you he wouldn’t be against rescheduling the consultation. “If not, you can come over and play with the cat.”

#bts smut #bts scenarios #jungkook smut #bts imagines #bts fanfic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts fluff #bts bad boy au #jungkook tattoo #jungkook #bts

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the-hinky-panda · 3 months

Text

Off Grid: Part I (Horacio Carrillo x Reader)

Title: Off Gride

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Horcaio Carrillo x Fem!Reader

Summary: Horacio survives the ambush and is sent to a CIA safe house to recover. You, a homesteader and survivalist, are his handler until he's healed. But when you both realize that you're just property, you start planning on how to slip out of your government cage and start your own lives.

“Loneliness is a mirror, and recognizes itself.” - Jodi Picoult

You’re nine and running through the bayous of Beauregaro Island, a slip of land off the coast of Grand Isle, Louisiana. You and your father had been living in an abandoned shack on stilts. No electricity, no running water, no way for people to find you. You had been living off the swamp land for a little over a week when your father caught sight of lights out on the bayou.

“Kontinye, fi!” her father hisses over his shoulder.

Keep up, girl. And you try, honest to God, you try. But you haven’t eaten a solid meal in three days and your legs won’t work the way you need them to right now. You’re tired, and sluggish. When your father looks behind him again, you can see the resignation in his eyes. It will be many years after that night before you realize that’s what it was. He picks you up under your armpits and tucks you into a hollowed out tree trunk.

“Rete.”

Stay.

So you do. You stay as the hounds run past the tree, tracking your father’s scent and not yours. The men with shotguns and flashlights pass next. Then comes a terrible silence: no splashing through the water, or hounds howling, or men shouting. It makes the shotgun blast all the more deafening and world changing when it explodes through the quiet. You clamber out of your hiding place and run towards the flashlights now. Your father is the only concern you have now. The flashlights that had been bobbing in the dark, are now focused on a body that is face down in the black bayou water.

“Papa!”

Your shout alerts the men to your presence but you don’t care at this point. Your father, your protector, your best friend is gone. You’re alone and you don’t want to be. If these men are going to take your father away from you, then you’re going to go with him. You splash your way past them and reach for your father’s bloodsoaked shirt but just as your fingers brush the soft flannel fabric, someone pulls you back.

“Easy, Piti,” a deep man’s voice says.

But grief and fear turn you into a rabid animal, kicking, screaming, scratching. He’s wearing a bulletproof vest so all your blows are glancing and weak.

“Stechner, what do we do with the kid?”

You find yourself being handed off to another man with a beard. He recoils from holding you, your filthy clothes, muddy shoes, and bared teeth. Instead, you’re dropped back down into the ankle deep water and the new man grabs ahold of your arm.

“I’ll deal with her.”

He starts marching you off, away from your father. “You killed my papa! And now you’re going to leave him there? The gators-”

“That’s the idea, sweetheart. Right-wing militia man gets turned around the swamp and eaten by an alligator. Daughter rescued after surviving days on her own in the bayou. How’s that sound?”

You stare up at him, every fiber in your being filled with hate. “Like bullshit.”

“Oooh, got a mouth on you.” He gives a short nod. “I may be able to work with that, kid.”

Exhaustion quickly overtakes you as you struggle to keep up with long strides. You focus instead on the rhythmic footfalls in the squelching mud. Anything but the uncertainty and loss that has made a hole so large in your heart, you’re going to have it for the rest of your life.

Thunk.

***

Thunk.

Your eyes open and you’re staring at the rough hewn beams of the small cabin in Vermont.

Thunk.

You had fallen asleep on the couch reading Jane Eyre.

Thunk.

Sitting up, you look around the small living space for the noise that’s roused you from your nap. You’ve had a house guest for the last month but now that he's moving around, new noises have invaded your small homestead and you’re trying to learn what all the new noises mean.

Thunk.

You finally recognize the sound you’re hearing and it launches you off the couch. You shove your feet into the rubber boots that had been left by the door and notice your charge’s boots are missing. “No, no, no…”

You take off down the handful of stairs off the front porch and jog out to the woodpile. The woodpile that has grown quite a bit since yesterday. How long has he been out here? You see him, white t-shirt soaked with sweat as he raises the ax to split another log. Seeing the bulge of his biceps as he prepares to bring the ax down belies the fact that out of the month of his stay here, three of those weeks had been bedbound.

“Colonel Carrillo!”

He brings the ax down with one forceful blow before leaving the blade stuck in the old tree stump and facing you. “¿Si, Enfermera?”

Nurse. That’s been his nickname for her since his arrival. He doesn’t realize you’re his handler, protector. Nursing him back to health after a cartel ambush in Medellín is only a small part of your job with him. “You’re not cleared for-”

He scoffs and wipes the sweat off his forehead with his shoulder. “It’s cold at night here.”

You step in front of him and grab the ax handle. “I’m sorry it’s not as balmy as it is in Medellín, but you should not be out here doing this.”

He shrugs, a smirk crossing his features. “I seem just fine.”

Yeah, that’s the current problem you’ve been having. He’s twice your age, just back from death’s door, and the handsomest man the CIA have ever dropped on your doorstep to shelter. And there have been quite a few over the last ten years. None of them have caused you to second guess your life and goals. You’ve been loaner since the night your father was shot down by a joint task force of the ATF and CIA. But this man, the one standing in front of you in a shirt clinging to him like it’s two sizes too small, arrogant and handsome, he’s causing you to wonder if maybe there’s more to life than being the US government’s half-way house.

“Seeming and being are two different things.” You yank the ax out of the tree stump with a sharp jerk. “My boss is going to have my ass if you suffer a setback now.”

“Are you trying to get me out as soon as possible, Enfermera?”

“The sooner, the better, Colonel.”

Especially for you.

#horacio carrillo x reader #horacio carrillo x you #horacio carrillo fic #horacio carrillo #colonel horacio carrillo fic #colonel horacio carrillo

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wroteclassicaly · 10 months

Note

i’m here dw <3 i’ve been thinking of the idea of him fucking you and interrogating you hehe. “you wanna cum? you better answer my fuckin’ questions first.” taking total and complete control over you when you’re being difficult is sooooo 💫🫶🏻 He -han

Mr. Tillman loves him some bondage. 🥵

Also… I’m sorry that this took on a mind of its own, and I gave some Headcanons/backstory, that we don’t have yet. I do know Roy is most likely Gator’s dad, because his name is listed as Roy Tillman, so I’m assuming? 😭

Warnings: Language, bondage, edging, possessive Gator, vaginal sex, and use of a sex toy!

~*~

If you told yourself that you never thought about what Gator would, or could do to you with the plethora of binds he kept on him (or in that rust bucket he called a pick-up) — you’d be the biggest liar in the whole entire Midwest. Asking didn’t seem like an option to you, and you weren’t sure if Gator would a) use those specific things on you, or b) think you could handle them. You weren’t the type of girl that he usually took home to bed and be rid of. When you started sleeping together it surprised everyone in town, because let’s face it, word travels when a Tillman is involved in even a spill on aisle twelve. The whispers were more aimed at you, the quiet little mouse that ran the town’s one and only library, and resided on the edge of poverty.

Your grandparent’s lived and died in a trailer, and your dad left with his high-school sweetheart. Your mom had scurried out of town and went further into the country, residing on a farm with her flavor of the last few years. You’d known the Tillman’s since you were born, school mates with Gator, your grandfather working for the city with Roy’s father. It was a weird cycle, things often happening that you didn’t want involved in. So you opted to stay in town in your upstairs studio — charmed by it’s exposed pipes and original hardwood floors — rough, but yours.

Your work was a flight of stairs and down the street — away. You’d pass your favorite diner and the station, both of which Gator always routined in the morning, similar to your own schedule. More often than not, you’d see him clambering from his merlot colored 1948 Ford pickup. He never shut up about restoring the thing, much to Roy’s constant dismay.

“Buy a new one, boy. Waste of time.”

Gator added that to his many blissful defiances towards his father. Ones that could be overlooked. He knew better than to tow the line on the bigger things, even if he was ‘Sheriff’. Still, Gator Tillman did whatever job he was presented with, and he did it well. It followed on the spurs of a roughened elegance, like a soft spicy cologne, the leather of his combat boots, that thick gel he laid his chestnut tresses back with, or the beard burns he decorated along your thighs.

The morning that started it all, is when you’d had some continuous issues with idiot kids breaking into the return box and busting it into dents. Was it a big deal? Not really. But you weren’t about to lose your shitty minimum wage job for childish theatrics, all because your manager was a tight wad, and the town hall was in Roy’s back pocket, unwilling to let funds go for things that weren’t firearms. You hadn’t unlocked the box for returns, and you heard the kids throwing rocks, ramming it with the tires of their bikes —sheer boredom on a summer morning.

Gator was already out there, leaned over the top of a neon green set of handlebars, palm clasped on the pre-teen’s shoulder, shaking his head. The kid was pale, holding up his hands in apology, and turning towards you with glossy eyes. A quiet ‘M’ sorry, M’am.” Had tumbled off his lips. If they hadn’t continuously caused so much damage, you would’ve felt bad for him.

As he rode off into that crisp morning air, you’d turned, only to find the sun illuminating Gator’s enriching chocolate eyes, irises scattered with shards of mossy green and embers of golden flecks, his caramel colored hair slicked back until it looked darker than its natural shade — shining, freckles splattered all over his face and neck, a glimpse of his gold chain peeking out from his navy blue t-shirt, his vest tossed over his loose jean jacket, with his look completed by his thigh holster and weapon — strapped to his gray and black camouflage cargo pants. He drank in your reaction like a man dying of thirst. And the rest became one for the small town history books.

~*~

“Gator, just… fucking… PLEASE —“

A hand that is tainted with the musk of your own arousal, it lays flat over your mouth, his chain dipping between the valley of your perspired-drenched breasts, a brutal thrust delivered. His stubble formed beard, it scratches at your earlobe, his lips whispering out in a tone of mocking. “Didn’t I tell you not to talk unless you have answers for me?”

You mumble against his hand and he reaches back over with a free set of digits, snatching your wand off the table and pressing it back onto your clit. “What’s that, sweetheart? Was that a confession or another mouthy mistake?”

Tears soak your lash line, your cunt dousing him with new waves of cream each time he gives another push. He smirks, eyes blown and receptive, features a lit with mirth. He loves you not giving it up as much as he’s giving it to you. This… interrogation became more than his jealousy. A fun little game that he knew would also test his sanity not to claim you outwardly.

His spit-slick hand leaves your mouth, the vibrator being pulled off as you start to buck into his pelvis. You whine loudly, panting, his hand slapping above up into your bed frame, caging you in beside your cuffed wrists. You’re dripping down his balls and your ass, out of your fucking mind with raw need. You’ll say anything he wants, at this point. His calloused thumb-pad hovers over your clit, lips puffing out another questioning demand. “I asked you who he was and why he thought it was okay to act like your little hero, huh? He sniffin’ around you, wanting to hike up his leg for a piece of territory?”

“I need you, Gator! I want —“

His thumb grazes your clit and presses down… hard, leaving a painful ache snapping inside of your belly, but not enough to give you what you need, simply just encourage its flames. You tighten around him and he pulls out some, shaking his head. “Don’t care what you want. He’s playin’ on my turf, with my bitch. And she’s already been claimed.”

You attempt to twist your hips, but he rises onto his knees, hairy thighs pressed into the underside of your own. He’s in your face again, clicking his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “You wanna cum? You better answer my fuckin’ questions first!”

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buckysgrace · 5 months

Text

2. My Heart Can't Tell You No

Pt 2 to Every Little Thing :)

Gator Tillman x OC

CW: Cheating, blowjobs

“This is when all the kids would get together,” Ruby proclaimed proudly as she flicked through the photo book with Hugh, “They always got along so well.” Daphne felt her eyebrows knitting together at her mother’s words, her eyes caught Noelle’s as they appeared to be thinking the same thing. They got along well enough now, but there had been many fists thrown and tantrums caused by one another in their youth.

Hugh had one leg crossed as he sat near Ruby, scanning through many of her photo albums from Daphne’s childhood. She felt her cheeks reddening, knowing that there was more than one picture of her in there running around with no diaper on.

Daphne peeked over Hugh’s shoulder, scanning the photos briefly to confirm that Gator was also included in the pictures. She was sure that he was in as many photos with her as her siblings. She felt her heart beating a little faster as the guilt settled into her stomach again, eating at her until she could no longer look at the pictures of them.

She felt worse than awful. She felt as if she’d for sure damned herself to hell now. There was no way Hugh would ever forgive her if he found out. She didn’t think he should forgive her either. There was no excuse for what she’d done. She hadn’t even protested, fought to not to do it. She had wanted Gator just as badly.

She thought about him continually as the days rolled by, her mind torturing her with the image of him on his knees in front of her. She sat next to Hugh, crossing her legs as she desperately tried to think of someone else. Anything else.

“You bathed together?” Hugh raised an eyebrow, looking a little concerned as he faced Daphne. She parted her lips, leaning over to get a better idea at what he was looking at. Her and Oliver couldn’t have been any older than four in the picture, which meant that Gator and Noelle would’ve been about six. August would’ve just turned eight at the time. A smile crept onto her lips as she looked at the bubble beard she had put on Gator.

“As kids,” Daphne defended as she looked over into the photo book, “He was like another sibling.” She muttered softly as she leaned back against the couch, knowing that it wasn’t like that at all. She had never thought of Gator as a brother, not once.

“Please,” Oliver snorted as he brought his soupy ice cream up to his lips, “You had the biggest crush on him in high school.” He responded dryly, blinking softly as he waited for her to deny it. She sat forward, her cheeks burning at his accusation. It was true, but she had done a good job at hiding it. There was no way that he knew. “I did not,” She shrieked in horror as she threw a pillow at his head. Oliver yelped, nearly dropping his ice cream onto the floor, “You’re such a liar.” She told him pointedly, feeling more on edge the way everyone kept teasing her about Gator. She wanted to keep herself from spiraling, feeling like everyone would know the truth if she didn’t deny them.

“Watch my pillows,” Ruby said in a huff as she gave the two of them a stern look, “Stop being such a child, Daphne. Oliver, stop teasing your sister.” She said at last, shaking her head as she turned another page. Hugh looked at Daphne a little amused before he looked down at the album again.

Daphne turned, making sure that Ruby was distracted before she stuck her tongue out at Oliver. He returned the favor, making sure to curl his lip up and scrunch his nose as he did so. She rolled her eyes before she settled back in the chair

Her eyes drifted to the old western that was playing on the TV, trying to think of anything but how she’d so easily cheated on Hugh. She felt awful, shameful as the memory of Gator’s fingers digging into her thighs came forth. She had thought of him when she’d showered the night after, how his fingers always reached parts of her that she wasn’t able to get.

“I don’t remember you mentioning him.” Hugh said a little later once everyone had dispersed from the living room. Daphne hummed softly as she looked at the album from her high school years, wrinkling her nose as she remembered how badly she’d hated her braces.

“Who?” She asked him as she examined her prom picture. She had nearly stuffed her bra, until Noelle had convinced her otherwise. She had been pouty at the time, but now she was grateful. She could only imagine how awful it would’ve looked. She was more than happy with how big her boobs had grown.

“That uh,” Hugh paused for a moment, looking like he was rehearsing what he was trying to say, “That Gator boy. Why would you not tell me about him?” He furrowed his dark eyebrows together, his eyes filled with confusion as he watched her.

“We don’t talk anymore,” Daphne told him seriously, trying to ignore the fresh shame that settled inside of her gut. She still couldn’t believe she’d let Gator weasel his way in again so easily, “We were really close as kids and we just grew apart. I don’t see what the big deal is.” She shrugged her shoulders, hoping to shut the conversation down.

“I was just asking a question,” Hugh defended himself a second later, “I didn’t mean to offend you.” He said a little softer, his eyes gleaming like he looked guilty. She chewed on her bottom lip, trying to ignore the guilt that was burning inside of her. She knew she had snapped at him for no reason. She was the one in the wrong.

“You didn’t,” Daphne sighed deeply, feeling a little bad with how snippy she’d grown, “I don’t want you to feel bad. They used to tease us about getting married one day but we just never liked each other like that. He was a friend.” She replied softer, feeling a little less stressed at the topic. She had rehearsed and practiced for so long about how calm and collected she’d remain when Gator was brought up, but all of that seemed to go out the window.

“Okay,” He said slowly as he watched her, his hazel eyes looking at her inquisitively, “What happened? You seem bothered by him.” He admitted to her, looking like he was concerned as he nudged his shoulder against hers. She sighed as she moved her leg underneath his longer one, linking the two of them together.

“It’s just annoying,” She said as she huffed deeply, “I’m marrying you. I don’t know why they need to bring him up all the time.” She replied as she set the photo album down, trying to avoid the pair of brown eyes that seemed to be staring up at her.

“Why did they want you to marry him?” He asked her curiously as he turned to face her better. She looked down at her lap, pressing her fingertips against her knees as he pushed her bangs from her face.

“My mom was best friends with his mom before she left,” Daphne said softly, “They grew up together. His dad and mine got really close in return. He works for him.” She shrugged her shoulders softly, feeling like that was the end of the story. She didn’t want to talk about how Gator had been her whole world, how she used to dream about marrying him the way everyone teased her about doing. They wanted different things and she’d found that with Hugh.

“What does a sheriff do anyways?” He asked a new question, tilting his head as he waited for her response. She grinned as she looked up towards him, matching the smile that rested on his lips.

“I don’t know,” She admitted with a laugh, grinning at the way he squeezed her thigh, “Basically enforces laws, I think.” She said slowly, not really ever dwelling on what Roy did. Hugh leaned forward to kiss the top of her head.

“I think I’m going to take a nap,” He said softly once he pulled away, “I still feel like I should be sleeping right now.” He admitted. She nodded her head, noting the bags that were underneath his eyes.

“I’ll see you later.” She told him sweetly, grinning as she leaned over the couch to smack at his butt as he walked away. He blew her a playful kiss before he strutted into the guest room down the hallway. Her parents had been insistent that they didn’t share the same room, even though they were engaged.

Not that it really mattered. Hugh wasn’t much for snuggling or kissing anyways. He claimed it to be a sensory thing, but she often wondered if it was his lack of experience. They’d only brought up sex once or twice, but he’d never touched her in such a manner. He never watched her undress either, always shied away when she’d quickly change in their bedroom.

“Mama,” Daphne whined as she walked into the kitchen, “Please stop bringing Gator up around Hugh.” She said desperately, raising her eyebrows high as she pouted her lips out. Ruby’s blue eyes met Daphne’s in surprise.

“Why?” She looked at Daphne confused, “You two were really good friends and we did really think you were going to get married. Until, well…” She trailed off, giving Daphne a knowing look. She huffed in frustration, feeling like she would never hear the end of what could’ve been between her and Gator.

“Gator and I were never together,” She reminded her mother quickly, “You should set him up with Noelle. They’re the same age.” She said with a shrug of her shoulders, trying to keep as stoic as possible. However, the thought of Gator with anyone else still filled her with jealousy.

“Do you want Gator with Noelle?” Ruby asked in amusement, her dark eyebrows raised high as she waited for Daphne to answer. She fiddled with the kitchen towel, drawing her nails across the simple design as she did her best to deny her feelings. Three long years of trying to erase him and she still felt like nothing had changed.

“Why does it matter what I want?” She asked softly as she finally stopped fiddling with the towel. Gator hadn’t ever wanted a relationship and she wasn’t going to let him string her around forever. She deserved to move on, to be happy.

“You know it’s odd,” Ruby said slowly as she rested her hand on her hip, “You still can’t give me a straight reason as to why you ran off.” She tilted her head, holding her eyebrows up highly still as she waited. Daphne traced the constellations across Ruby’s cheeks, wondering how badly she’d hurt her mother when she’d left.

“I told you, I was doing missionary work,” She shrugged her shoulders as she kept her face down towards the window, not wanting to give anything away, “Then some of the other girls wanted to take a trip through Europe and I joined them.” She said briefly, acting like she hadn’t left without saying anything.

“But you didn’t even go to summer camp when you were little because you hated being away from home,” Ruby replied quickly, still digging for answers, “What changed?” She asked her in confusion. Daphne paused, wishing she could be honest for once. She feared that if she started telling her about everything that had happened, she’d never stop. She shook her head, deciding it was best to keep secrets instead.

“I just grew up.”

////////////////////

“What do you do again?” Bruce asked for the third time the next day. He was sitting at the dining room table, all dressed up for the fishing trip he was taking the boys on for the day. Daphne dragged her eyes up slowly, pausing as she dropped the butterknife back into the jar of mayonnaise.

“Daddy,” Daphne looked at him as she sighed deeply through her nose, “We talked about this. He’s an artist.” She pulled a bright smile to her lips, hunching her shoulders together as she tried to feign being positive. Bruce, as expected, was taking the longest to warm up to Hugh. She had prayed long and hard last night that Bruce wouldn’t try and drown Hugh.

“Oh, right,” Bruce responded, still looking disgruntled, “Do you make a lot of money doing that?” He asked with his nose curled up. Daphne looked towards Hugh, noticing his panicked expression as his lips parted. She dropped her head and looked towards Ruby, searching for help.

“Bruce.” Ruby warned as she gently nodded her head in Daphne’s direction. Daphne was sure that Ruby didn’t look like much of a threat to most people. She barely reached Daphne’s shoulder, had a petite frame and always bore a dazzling smile. Daphne knew the truth, however. Ruby was the one to be wary of.

“It’s just a question,” He said in defense, “I just want to know how he’s going to take care of my daughter.” He said, feigning a smile as he turned his attention back to his hunting magazine. She breathed in deeply, closing her eyes as she knew what this was really about. Bruce had been the least supportive about her engagement.

“Well,” Hugh looked a little uncomfortable as he rubbed his palms against his hands, “It depends. Sometimes the money is good. I think Daphne wanted to do more of her singing.” He said as he motioned towards her, his lips curling up into the softest smile. She felt her eyes widen, realizing that Hugh had forgotten that they weren’t supposed to talk about her singing.

“Singing isn’t a job,” Bruce replied dryly, giving Daphne a stern look as he reminded her. She shuffled lower as she sandwiched the pieces of bread together, wishing that Hugh hadn’t brought her up, “Besides she can’t. She’ll have to look after the children.”

“Children?” Hugh stuttered out, his eyebrows raised wide as his features mixed into horror. She felt her own face heat up, knowing that children hadn’t really been discussed. She wanted kids and figured he had to, as that was sort of the point of marriage. However, his reaction didn’t seem like he felt the same way.

“After you get married,” Bruce said slowly, like Hugh couldn’t comprehend his words, “The children that you’ll have. I’m not letting you live on my land just to chase after some silly dreams.” He said pointedly as he leaned back in his chair, referencing the whole point of them moving back here.

France was expensive, far too expensive. She supposed they could’ve made it work somewhere out of the city, but Hugh was right. Sometimes he went months making very little money and she didn’t make very much money working in a bookstore while she finished off college. He didn’t speak to his family for unknown reasons that he had yet to tell her about.

Bruce was paying for everything. Her dress. Hugh’s tux. The location, the flowers, the food and music. There was not one thing that Bruce would not be financially aiding in them other than the ring that Hugh had got for her. Most of the guest list that was compiled was people that Bruce wanted to invite.

And as a gift, Bruce would be building a house for them on part of the land. No cost. Daphne didn’t feel like she had a right to say anything against Bruce’s wishes. She owed him a lot. She only hoped he’d warm up to Hugh and not try to make him an outsider.

“Go get loaded up,” Ruby said, effortlessly changing the subject as she finished piling the sandwiches into the baggy. Daphne passed her the apples, then the chips, “You won’t catch any good fish if you wait too long.” She reminded him quickly.

Daphne waited a second later, leaning against the counter as Bruce mumbled under his breath. She waited until she no longer heard his heavy boots tapping against the wooden floors. She watched the way the rays of sunlight dipped into the room and cascaded against them.

She glanced towards Hugh, feeling bad as he struggled to get his boots laced up. They were an older pair of Oliver’s, very worn and probably stinky. She scrunched her nose at the thought, watching as Ruby carried the bags filled with their lunches out the door.

Hugh and Daphne fell into silence. She chewed on her bottom lip, as the guilt burned deep inside of her chest. She felt terrible for how she’d treated him, how she’d betrayed him. The feeling only burned deeper the worse that Bruce behaved.

“Your father doesn’t like me,” Hugh said slowly, making her wince at the hurt in his words, “I don’t think the animals do either.” He replied a second later, looking to be deep in thought. She felt her lips twitch into a smile, thinking of how the chickens continually chased him around.

“He will,” She promised him as she squeezed his hand, “He’s just tough. He’s been tough on all of us.” She told him truthfully, thinking of how Bruce had allowed for her to sing in the church choir but nothing past that.

Hugh still didn’t seem too enthusiastic about going, but Daphne feared that it would only grow worse if he didn’t at least try with her dad and brothers. Not that August or Oliver seemed to be the issue. She had pulled Oliver aside before they left and made him swear that he wouldn’t let Bruce do or say anything too harsh.

She thought that she would distract herself after, not wanting to linger in the house and pour over picture books that would just make her heart hurt. Everything still reminded her of Gator, like she had some ghost of him lingering about her. She blamed it on her shame, on how horrible her actions had been.

She went into town instead, determined to bury her thoughts through spending money and eating her feelings away. Not that it ended up working very well. She ended up catching up to distant friends, former teachers and friends of her parents. They asked about her trip, about Hugh and to her dismay, Gator. It was all busy talk, each one of them trying to dig around for some sort of gossip that they hadn’t heard of.

By the end of the day her head was aching so badly that she feared she’d given herself a migraine. Her bags were cluttered in the passenger seat, though she felt like she was no longer happy with her purchases. Nothing could erase the guilt and shame that was swirling inside of her chest, threatening to boil over as she touched her fingertips against her painted lips. She thought of Gator again, how nicely his mouth had molded against hers

She shook away the memory as quickly as it had come to her, trying to ignore the rush of desire that formed in the pit of her stomach. There was no use in dwelling on the way Gator touched her as it was never going to happen again. She promised herself that.

“Shoot.” Daphne cursed as the sirens to the truck eventually turned on. She inhaled deeply through her nose before exhaling through her lips as she pulled over to the side of the dirt road. She leaned over the console, digging through the old papers until she found her proof of insurance. She twisted at the crank until the window was lowered low enough to see out of.

“You know why I pulled you over?” She heard his voice before she locked eyes with him. She gaped, looking at Gator in disbelief as she shook her head. She dropped the papers, deciding he had no reason to pull her over in the first place. He just wanted to irritate her.

“Gator,” She huffed in frustration, “What on Earth are you doing?” She asked him seriously, trying to decide if it was worth it to hit him with her car door. Perhaps it would knock the cocky smirk off of his lips.

“Your tags are out,” He drew out slowly as he tapped his fingertips against the windowsill of her truck, “Which means you can’t be driving this old thing.” He curled his lip up, giving her a mock shrug like he actually regretted what he was saying.

“Don’t kick my truck,” Daphne said pointedly as she watched him. It had been her grandfather’s from the seventies. A chevy that sat low to the ground, the white paint was peeling and no matter how often it was washed, there was always a layer of grime on it, “I didn’t know my tags were out. I haven’t been here.” She reminded him softly.

“Shucks,” Gator said playfully as he shrugged his shoulders, “I guess you should’ve checked that out before you drove it. Sometimes you women just aren’t very bright when it comes to cars.” He teased her, his brown eyes gleaming as he scanned her features. She picked up his tone, thinking that it sounded like he was lost in a memory. She hoped it was the time she’d yanked out a fistful of his hair when he’d insisted that girls had cooties.

“Ha,” She blinked, hiding the way she was rolling her eyes, “I’ll go in tomorrow and get my car inspected.” She said briefly as she reached for the crank, wanting to put as much distance between the two of them as possible. She turned away, unable to look him in his eyes for too long.

“Need to search ya.” He drawled out slowly, his lips curling up softly as he leaned against the truck. She snapped her eyes up towards him, hating how cocky he still looked.

“What?” She looked at him in disbelief, “Why would you have to search me? My tags are out. That’s it.” She held her hands up, understanding that he knew full well that she wouldn’t have anything bad hidden away.

“We could call it probable cause if you really want,” He said as he turned his lips into a frown and pretended to think about it, “Why don’t you just get out of the car and let me do my job?” He asked as he tapped at her windowsill before taking a few large steps back.

Daphne sighed audibly, but did as he asked. She could remember the way he used to rough house as kids. She didn’t feel like having him drag her out of her little truck. She slammed the door with a little force, shooting him an irritated look as he touched the small of her back and forced her to face the car.

“Spread them,” He said sternly before kicking his boots against her shoes, making her spread her legs wider, “C’mon. Don’t be such a bitch about it. You’re the one driving around with expired tags.” She felt a moan die on her lips as he slowly dragged his thick thigh between her legs and then pulled away.

“Gator,” She gasped as he pressed her forward roughly, “Please.” She squeaked out softly as she used her palms to keep herself balanced against her truck. She held onto it tightly, fearing where her hands might go if she let go.

“What?” He asked as his hands found her hips. He rubbed his calloused fingertips back and forth slowly, just enough to press the hem of her shirt up so he could rub his bare skin against her own. She breathed in deeply, trying to ignore the sparks that traveled up her spine.

“Nothing,” She said quickly, hoping that he didn’t catch onto the desire that was building in her stomach. She swallowed harshly, trying to ignore the guilt that was rising in her bones, “Just get it over with.” She mumbled as she looked ahead, grateful that he couldn’t see her face.

He hummed in response before he began to pat up her hips, doing it rough enough to make her flinch at the first touch. His movements got gentler, slower as he moved further up her torso. She breathed out harshly, trying to pretend like she wasn’t slowly trying to press herself back up against him.

“What’s Frenchie issue?” He hummed softly, her body twitching forward as he brought his fingers down against her ticklish ribs. She fought back a giggle, trying not to get annoyed as he purposely did it again.

“What do you mean?” She asked as she swallowed down her laughter, feeling a little nervous as his fingertips moved up further and further. Her skin felt like it was burning, liquid fire spreading through her veins as Gator’s fingers lingered underneath her boobs. He was silent for a moment, his breath warm as he pressed closer against her.

“Why won’t he fuck you?” He questioned huskily as he whispered into her ear, lightly brushing his tongue out to lick against her earlobe. Her breath caught in her throat as he cupped her boobs in his hands, squeezing roughly as he pulled her back against his warm body.

“He’s a gentlemen.” She whispered when she found the courage to speak. All of her guilt and shame had left, replaced with lust as his fingers pressed lightly into her skin. Gator snorted as he continued to knead at her tits, his lips dragging against the crook of her neck as he pressed his thigh between her legs again.

She moaned softly as he pressed his thigh further against her wet heat, rocking her back and forth slowly as he nipped at the side of her neck. She tilted her head, trying to find the urge to dismiss him from her. His tongue flicked across the base of her neck, trailing up slowly as he dragged it across her cheek and to the corner of her lips.

“You don’t like gentlemen,” He mumbled as he moved his fingers against her spine, before he dipped her fingers up her shirt to unclasp her bra, “You like being treated like a whore.” He responded as he pulled away, leaving her struggling to fix her bra into place.

Her face was hot again, but not from embarrassment as he slowly took a hold of her hands. She breathed out roughly, trying not to think about how well their hands molded together. A soft grin forming on his lips before he pulled his hands away and gripped the hem of her shirt and tugged it over her head.

“Gator,” She choked out, feeling exposed as he gripped her bra and tossed it aside. His breath tasted of strawberries this time as he leaned in closer to her, his nose pressing against her skin as he dragged his nimble fingers up her arm again, drawing goosebumps against her skin, “I don’t think this is how you search someone.” Her heart was hammering in her chest as she found the courage to bring her eyes up towards him again.

“You could be hiding something,” He said simply as he traced one of his hands down to her left boob, earning a yelp from her as he pinched her pink nipple, “Strip the rest of the way and bend over.” He said as he took a wide step back. He cocked one of his hips out, resting lazily as he waited.

She could feel her fingers twitch in anticipation as his gaze burned through her skin, like he was examining each exposed inch of her. She darted her eyes from left to right, peeking at the dirt road but she knew that no one else would be coming out this way.

She slowly rolled her shorts down her thighs, bringing her panties down with them. She hoped that by keeping her clothes rolled up together he wouldn’t try and run off with another pair of her underwear. Her heart hammered roughly in her chest as she gripped her ankles and bent over, fully exposing herself to him. She was glad for the night sky, for the odd position so he couldn’t see the way her face was burning.

“God,” He breathed out slowly, sounding far closer to her than she expected, “You’re telling me he’s never touched this?” He asked her seriously. She jolted forward, shutting her eyes tightly as he brought his palm down against her wet cunt. Her legs burned from the position, but she stayed still in fear that he may pull away.

“No,” She whined softly, “Gator, c’mon.” She whispered out, although she wasn’t really sure what she wanted. Her body reacted on an instinct, purring as she pushed her hands up to her knees and rocked herself back against his fingers.

“Whatcha want baby?” He teased her as he dragged his long fingers through her wet folds. She exhaled deeply, curling back as he lightly brushed against her clit. She didn’t care about anything else right now, just about how badly she wanted him.

“You,” She responded as she desperately turned around, “I want you.” She breathed out, sure that her eyes were wide and crazed as she stepped closer to him. His eyes traveled down to her lips, watching her mouth as she spoke.

“You don’t want your pretty boyfriend?” He knitted his eyebrows together as he tilted his head, feigning confusion as she felt like she’d been slapped. She remembered how wrong this was, how terrible her actions were.

She teetered back and forth for a moment before she couldn’t control her want anymore. She didn’t care about Hugh at the moment, and didn't want to think about him. This could be the last time with Gator. She just needed one more taste before she was done.

“Gator,” She sighed deeply as she gripped at the material of his vest, “Please.” She begged him softly, fluttering her eyes up at him as she tried to pull him closer to her. Despite it being so hot earlier in the day, she was growing chilly from the cool air dancing against her bare skin.

“You look pretty begging,” He grinned as he tucked her hair behind her shoulder. She lingered against his touch, feeling like a cat who wanted more pets, “Get on your knees.” He said briskly, cupping his hand over her shoulder before he forced her down.

She yelped softly as she hit the ground hard again, her knees already reddened from their previous encounter. She thought of how he always enjoyed marking her up, even though it was in places no one else would see.

She moved her hands to his thighs, eagerly clawing at the rough material of his pants before she reached to undo his belt. She could feel her heart hammering roughly as she inspected the gun on the side of his thigh, thinking about the time he’d made her suck on the head of one of them.

“I thought you didn’t want to do this anymore?” He questioned her as he gripped her chin, giving her a soft squeeze, “What changed?” He asked huskily as he stared down at her, his brown eyes even darker as she wiggled her way closer to him.

“I want you.” She whispered pathetically as the rocks dug harshly into her knees. She pouted her lips out, hoping to convince him as she nuzzled her face against his skin. His lips curled up, looking satisfied with her answer as he gave her face one last squeeze before he released her.

She felt nervous suddenly, thinking about how she hadn’t done anything like this for three years and he had certainly slept around in the time since she’d been gone. She unzipped his belt, tugging his pants down just enough to stare at the large bulge that greeted her.

She ran her fingertips across his boxers slowly, her eyes watching in fascination as she thought of the way he used to roughly jerk his hips against her hand and the prettiest sounds that left his lips. She pulled his boxers down, giggling at the way his cock popped out.

He was large, even longer than the ones that she’d seen in porn when they’d watched it together. He was slightly paler than the rest of his body and his tip was a nice pink that seemed to match the color of his lips.

She wrapped her hand around him slowly, enjoying the way he throbbed against her palm as she spread some of his precum down the length of his cock. Her eyes felt heavy, similar to the way he felt in her hand as a sigh left his lips.

She kitten licked around the tip of his cock, savoring the taste of his precum on her tongue. She slowly flicked the tip of her tongue against his slit, enjoying the guttural moan that left his lips. She could feel the heat spreading between her legs as she desperately fought the urge to move a hand down and touch herself.

She slowly wrapped her lips around his pink tip, feeling a little encouraged by the way he slowly began to pet through her hair. She forced her jaw to relax, struggling for a moment as she tried to grow accustomed to how he fit inside of her mouth again.

She slowly bobbed her head up and down the length of his cock, squeezing her thighs together at the rough moans that Gator was creating. It sounded better than any song she’d ever heard. She hollowed her cheeks, determined to hear more of those sounds as her desperation to please him rose.

Gator’s fingers slipped through her dark red locks, gripping her strands tightly as he slowly pressed his hips forward. She shut her eyes tightly, gagging as his tip slid against the back of her throat. She gripped a hold of his hips, trying to pause his movements for a moment so she could recollect herself.

She inhaled sharply through her nose, trying to calm the rough way her heart was beating as she picked up her movements again. She swirled her tongue around the ridges of his cock, earning another groan from him as she slowly pressed more and more of him into her mouth. She enjoyed the way he felt in her mouth as she flickered her tongue around his ridges, enjoying the sensation of him.

His cock felt heavy in her mouth as her lips burned from the stretch of him. She slowly dragged her eyes up his abdomen, up his chest until she was greeted with his features. She felt herself moaning around his cock, her clit throbbing as she took in the look of pleasure on his features. She had seen his expression wrinkled up into pleasure hundreds of other times, but somehow this felt different.

He huffed deeply as he rocked his hips forward, moving slowly as she continued to keep a steady pace around his cock. She could feel her movements becoming a little quicker, longer as she tried to fit more of his cock into her mouth. She moved her fingertips to his pink balls, squeezing them softly in her hand to earn another groan from him.

Drool began to leak from the corners of her lips as she bobbed her head with his languid thrusts, her fingers digging into his thighs as he rutted into her mouth. She was fighting the urge to gag as his tip pressed against the back of her throat with each of his movements.

She kept her eyes peeled to his features, drinking in the image of him as his brown eyes fell onto her again. She could feel a giddy feeling forming in her chest as she dragged her tongue along his heavy cock. She liked the way he was watching her; she had always enjoyed being the center of his attention, always craved it. She used to hate when he'd attract the attention of other girls. She had wanted him to herself at one point.

She thought that he was the most handsome person she’d ever seen. She stared at the way his eyebrows knit together as he tilted his head gently back, how wide his lips parted as the sounds rolled off of his tongue. She had an urge to kiss every inch of his skin, to feel his cock dragging inside of her walls instead of her tongue. She pushed his cock further inside of her mouth, desperate to impress him as she rolled her tongue against the base of his cock.

“Fuck,” He spit out as he fisted her hair tightly, squeezing roughly as his movements became more sporadic. She gagged this time, spit leaking free as he fucked into her mouth, “Jesus. Shit, shit.” He cursed as he pressed his hips forward harshly, dragging her roughly by her hair as he pressed roughly into her mouth.

She gagged hard, blinking away the tears in her eyes at the sudden intrusion as his salty cum filled her mouth. She closed her eyes, continuing to flick her tongue across his cock to ensure that he wasn’t leaving anything behind. She felt crazed suddenly, remembering that this could be the last time that he touched her like this.

She stood urgently, gripping a hold of his shoulders for support as she slammed her lips against his. He molded easily the way she had a few days previous, one of his arms wrapping around her waist to pull her closer.

She stood on her tippy toes, moving her palms to his jaw to get better leverage as she slowly rolled his spunk off of her tongue and into his mouth. He groaned in response, his nose brushing against her cheek as their tongues molded against one another's.

She moaned as she rocked her hips forward, her thighs wet with slick as she desperately wanted to feel him touch her. He bit down on her lip, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he gently tugged on her mouth. She whimpered in response, her eyes gleaming over his cocky features in lust.

“You gonna go home and touch yourself, yeah?” He mumbled as he dragged his hands against her hips. She breathed out roughly against his mouth, sharing the same air as him as he pressed his fingers lightly against her clit. She nodded her head desperately, praying for him to do something to her.

“Yeah,” She flicked her tongue out against his mouth again, urging for him to kiss her again, “Whatever you want.” She told him truthfully, offering herself up freely. She’d do whatever he asked right now. He just had to say what.

“Send me a picture,” He bit his bottom lip as he gripped her soft face again, his fingertips digging into her skin as he roughly tilted her eyes up towards him, “Let me know if your boyfriend can taste me on your tongue.” His lips grew into a menacing smirk before he pulled away, taking slow strides backwards until he reached his vehicle.

She was beyond frustrated, her clit throbbing between her legs as her jaw dropped in surprise. She watched the way he sent her a playful wave, how he paid no attention to the way she shyly tried to cover herself as he quickly drove off.

Her hands shook as she dressed herself again, taking a moment to search for where Gator had tossed her bra aside. She felt dirty, her thighs wet and sticky as she took the uncomfortable ride back to the house. She didn’t know how she was supposed to face Hugh again, or how she was supposed to have any dignity. It was like she wasn’t in control of her own actions.

She didn’t have to carry her shopping bags far, as Hugh walked out of the house as soon as she stepped out from the truck. She paused, nearly tripping over the ground as she examined the way Hugh was walking. She felt worried, already feeling a lump in the back of her throat as she was sure she’d been caught.

“What happened?” She asked instead, horrified as she tilted Hugh’s cheek to look at the bandage on his skin. She shook her head in disbelief, hoping that it wasn’t anything that Bruce had done to him.

“Fish flew off,” August answered as he clasped Hugh on the shoulders, giving him a soft squeeze as he laughed, “And the hook got stuck in his cheek.” He replied, grinning wickedly as he twisted his finger into a hook and pressed it against Hugh’s cheek.

“Your father hasn’t stopped laughing,” Hugh replied pitifully as he swatted August’s hand away, “He can’t even look at me now, he just laughs.” He spit out as he pouted his lips out in dismay. Daphne covered her hand over her mouth.

“Oh, Hugh,” She drew out softly, although her mind was still focused on how she could still taste Gator on her tongue, “I’m sorry.” She said a second later, trying to hide her laughter as she was suddenly overcome with emotions. She was glad she was at least laughing and not crying like she wanted to do. She felt the need to scrub her skin clean.

“Now you’re laughing.” He whined, sounding like a small child as he brought his hand up to his sore cheek. She shook her head, blinking away the tears that had formed in her eyes as she thought of how ridiculous she was being. She felt jittery with her worries as she thought about how hurt he’d be if he knew what she had been doing.

“No, no I’m sorry,” She giggled softly as she gently touched the bandage on his cheek, “Oh, it happens to the best of us. I have a scar from a snake bite on my ankle.” She offered, trying to make him feel better as he pulled his face away from her.

“Oh yes,” Hugh said sarcastically, “Compare a snake to a little fishy.” He said teasingly, his hazel eyes sparkling as he watched her. She held a smile to her lips, trying not to think about how she didn’t get the same butterflies that she got when Gator looked at her.

“Just think,” She said softly as she moved her bags to one hand and used the free arm to hold onto his bicep, “Now you’ll always have something to laugh about with my dad.” She reminded him, although she knew it wouldn’t make up for the many memories he already had with Gator.

#Gator Tillman #Gator Tillman smut #Gator Tillman x oc #Every Little Thing #Daphne Williams #Gator x Daphne #Fargo fx #fargo season 5

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oh-hell-help-me · 11 months

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*Talking to advisor off camera* [Are you sure this is how we do shout-outs here? Okay...]

HELLLOO TUMBLR! I have been binge-watching animal documentaries since *looks at script* March 28th of this year! It has been a BLAST, especially as I realize there are things about reptiles I haven't realized are incredibly cool and endearing!

Before getting into the deets, I do dedicate this post to @leavemebetosleep, especially with this post fueling the second half of my binge (with Bowuigi focus, of course)!

With that out of the way, let's talk about Gharials and (Alligator) Snapping Turtles!

Now, Gharials? BEST FRIGGIN' PARENTING among the crocodilians -which is saying something, considering they are the shining exceptions among reptiles who take the time and energy to protect their young before, during, and after hatching! They are extremely protective and gentle, and have a great variety of vocalizations that impressively dip into water-churning infrasound and comically high chirps [think laser guns]!

They're funky-looking with their long jaws, which prevents them from carrying their young like normal, but they are unhindered from protecting their young nonetheless? And what's more? THEY HAVE YOUNG MALES PROTECT THE BABIES OF OTHER PARENTS! Usually, as a babysitter to flex their parental capabilities, BUT YOU CAN FEEL THE PROTECTIVE VIBES AS THEY LET THOSE BABIES RIDE. THEIR. BACKS! AND----ooof, they're Critically Endangered....

But you know what? I might be limited in information about them, BUT I HAVE NO LIMIT TO MY ADMIRATION FOR THEM!

And Snapping Turtles? They are one of my favorite turtles and are incredibly relevant to how I view Bowser! Aside from the turtle-based facts of them liking shell-brushing/scratching, they are capable of affection that is described as 'dog-like'. It doesn't help that I have knowledge of certain sites and vids that have shown these turtles from a perspective that has had me hooked on topics of conservation [including the aforementioned Gharials].

BUT, if you're here for the Bowuigi content, then picture this:

See Luigi making these comparisons, doing research in his free time and watching social habits to try to connect with his Koopa family. Watch as he tries and succeeds in doing gestures of affection that include calming shell-rubs, giving constant piggybacks when the kids feel vulnerable (physically or emotionally), or even noticing traits that fall WAY outside Turtle-Gator parameters (because of Dragon-Koopa aspects)!

Have Bowser give affection like an excited Golden Retriever, greeting Luigi on sight with tail wagging. Maybe have him be embarrassed by accidental Koopa-Bellowing that ends up rizzing Luigi anyway! Maybe have Luigi try to recuperate with his lightning powers (because electrical pulses can make infrasound)! Maybe have moments of experimenting with what sounds Luigi could make, and Bowser finding any fails to be adorable, and to be utterly smug when Luigi pulls it off and surprises Koopa Troopas with this new ability!

Have these two knuckleheads realize that they both like cuddling sessions filled with casual scritching from each other. Maybe have the Koopa Family just have random cuddle piles like Ball Pythons and bask in each other's presence!

Heck, you can go into Bearded Dragon territory and include nuzzling and casually losing teeth because they regenerate. Maybe have moments where the guards sleep standing up with impressive posture. And maybe have Luigi doing a lot of arm-waving for reasons.

#bowser #luigi #bowser jr.#koopalings #and weird but fitting characteristics #that I should mention #gharials #snapping turtles #and of course #bowuigi

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munsster · 2 years

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omg i didn't know you also did poly writing??? i made the request for secretly dating robin + reader but could we also sprinkle in some (platonic) stobin + reader if possible? no one writes poly stuff and it makes my heart so happy to see someone willing to do that 🥺

bright shiny object

A/N: if i’m not mistaken, these are both requested by the same anon? and of course i can do that!!! i wasn’t sure if you meant only steve and robin platonic and then both x reader, so i just did that but if i screwed it up, please feel free to lmk and i’ll write you something new :)

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader, Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: When the pressure of a secret girlfriend and a fake boyfriend becomes too much, what can you do? 2.0k words

Warnings: angst, homophobia/biphobia, secret dating, fake dating (?), technically cheating, being closeted, beard steve 💔, cursing, mention of reader’s parents🫣,

It's like nails on a chalk board, the thorn in her side, ache in her stomach. A vortex of pointy things down the drain of her lungs and back up again. Flu-like symptoms ripping her away from rewinding tapes when you arch onto your tip toes and press a kiss—sweet and quick and sticky—to his forehead, but she knows he'd never appreciate the way you pull away with a smile and hold his hand in front of his varsity friends.

Even if she agreed it was for the best, it doesn't mean it was an easy decision. It was hard. It was tumultuous and gagging like knowing there's a storm out there but choosing to sail anyway. Because, God—at the end of the day, you just can't resist sailing.

"Hutton? You think so?"

"I mean, duh!" you huff, "Total betty, you gotta admit it. Plus, she's got that contemporary charm, yunno?"

"I get what you're saying, but Kelly LeBrock has..."

"Tits?"

"Class, sunshine. Get your mind outta the gutter," Steve teases, hands on your hips, letting you be closer, letting him eye you and bicker quietly against the counter. "Besides, Weird Science is always gonna be a hit. American Gigolo is nothing but a... a bunch'a prostitutes and pricks—"

"Hey, we're not talking about quality of film, here, alright? We're rating strictly based on babe-ness. And I say Lauren's the epitome: a ten, deadly with the perfect amount of substance. And those doe eyes are killer. You just don't get that from LeBrock."

"Okay, okay... but does she have killer boobs—"

"Hey, Robin?" you shout, one hand firm on Steve's pounding sternum, and she can't look over for fear of shredding herself down to stumps and misshapen parts. "Settle the score: Kelly LeBrock—great hair, great rack—or Lauren Hutton—a classic cover girl who, I must say, was simply born for the silver screen, I mean, let's not forget Gator—"

"'Nuff pandering," he whines, glancing over at Robin with a lazy look in his eye, "c'mon, lady-expert, spare a little wisdom."

She groans, armful of tapes and moseying out from behind the desk with a, "you know I don't trust Harrington's taste."

You laugh.

"Looks like I win!"

“On a technicality," he whines, "ask anybody else—"

"Nope, it was a fair vote!"

"You know that's not true. Biased polls are like... so not allowed."

"What about the electoral college?"

He sputters and tosses a hand in the air, accepting defeat with a laughing kiss to your chin, and Robin's about to push a double feature into her skull. You're not his to treat like that. To act fleeting and carefree. That's what's not fair. He's all public, and she's between the sheets. Hushed. Even if it's an agreement, a signed contract doesn't make any of this easier.

"Alright, letterman, I better get going before my folks go postal," you say, glancing over at Robin when Steve dips down to kiss your cheek. With a palm curled into the slope of his shoulder, you grimace. Because Robin's chewing her cheek, and it gives her a frown. One he wouldn't notice, but you sure as hell would. You sure as hell do. And it's like a twisting dagger when she forces a smile at you.

"Am I still taking you home?"

She nods and throws off her vest, tucking it under her arm and beelining it for the door.

"Woah, no 'bye, Steve! Thanks for covering my ass... again!'?"

But she's not listening. She stopped listening the day she met you. It was the first time she realized there's more to life than white noise. She's tossing herself into your passenger's seat, watching your fingers slip from his hand. It's too genuine for her to stomach, and she wants to know if you're doing it on purpose.

"She means well," you sigh, and he crosses his arms when you slip around the counter.

"Or you're just a bad influence," he teases.

"Oh, I'm the bad influence?"

"Yep."

"Uh-huh"—you roll your eyes with a smile. Not because you're lovesick or strung out. Because you're friends. You've been friends, and it's still hard to see him hopeful for a lie. Even if it's your will. Even if you could make it go away because you're in love with your girlfriend while he thinks it's about him—"Buh-bye, Steve."

"Bye, sunshine." He winks. And with the sound of the ignition, Robin clears her throat.

"So, uh... your parents are home."

You nod. "Shouldn't be too much trouble. Lord knows their god-fearing asses don't suspect a thing. I'm still an innocent little dove in their eyes."

She snorts.

But after that, the short drive home is excruciating. A kind of prolonged and sustained torture that’s never rattled your ribs like this. Never threatened to break you down into confession before now. She cranks the volume on your car stereo, synth blasting against your calf, puckering your skin like a burn. You can sense her stillness without actually looking at her. She’s staring straight ahead, and you don’t think she’s ever been so damn focused.

The jingle of your keys and the rumble of the engine fade out to the sound of her footsteps trailing you to your door. And you think you’ve avoided the den—they’ll be inside glued to analog cable—you shuffle right past the front door with your hand reaching for Robin’s. But you don’t make it. You stiffen when one of them greets you with a hug.

“Why didn’t you tell us Robin was dropping by? We would’ve saved her some casserole!”

“Oh, it’s no problem—”

“We were gonna eat later anyway, so,” you huff, “not a huge deal. But we should get started on this movie if we wanna… have time to do… that. ‘Kay, night—!"

“Why don’t you invite Steve over? Oh, we just love that boy, such a gentleman.” It’s like an eternal staring contest, trying to gauge which parent knows what about who. A battle between yourself and the self they pictured for you. Internal turmoil and bubbling guts and all that. You could throw up when they glance at each other across the living room.

“Yunno, I'm so glad you finally found yourself a nice boyfriend."

Splitting hairs. And staring through you to Robin. Because they both know. Or they think they know what Robin is. You’re all but digging your nails into your palm at the oil spill of mania inky ‘round your neck.

“Yeah. Me too,” you say through your teeth, grabbing Robin’s wrist and crowding towards your room.

And despite the clobbering of digs, she calls, “Was nice seeing you again!”

“We’re glad to have you, dear.” But it’s empty. Water off a duck’s back when you close your door just a little too hard. Feeling like it rattles the house. Definitely rings in your ears. You’re grumbling over yourself when she flops back onto your bed. Eyes shut, fingertips rubbing nothing together, and blowing hair off her forehead.

“I’m sorry,” you sigh, crouched and two fingers pushing the edge of the tape into the hard plastic flap of the VCR. “Thought they’d be wine drunk and passed out by now. Turns out they’re just fucking vicious—”

“D’you think…” she sighs, crossing her arms over her face, “do you think maybe this isn’t such a good idea... anymore?" So it’s muffled and you don’t know what to say. You stand and stare at the dust collected atop the lip of the television, how it’ll stay there because no one dusts it. After all, who would.

“What makes you say that?” But you already know the answer, and you’re pretty sure you won’t rest until somebody grabs your face and shouts it.

“Just… everything. Don’t you think it’s a little—I dunno—exhausting?”

“I don’t know, Robin, is that what you think? Is that what you want me to think?”

“No—no, of course not. ‘M just saying…”

And when you turn to look at her, she’s sitting up. And she really cannot stand your expression and the way it’s already accusing her of the truth. That she’s fucking terrified, and she doesn’t know if the love of her life is worth it. She doesn’t know if she’s worth it to the love of her life. Anymore.

“I know exactly what you’re saying,” you say. It’s too exacting and deadly. Cuts too deep like some kind of monster. She had no use in believing in them until she did. And now she does.

“Well…?”

“Well, I think that no matter how exhausted being what we are makes me… I’d let it run me dry ten times over before even considering giving it up. I think you’re worth my demise, Buckley… and if”—you think what you’re choking on is distress, but it’s much easier to blame bile—“if you don’t see that, then yeah, maybe this isn’t such a good idea anymore.”

She can’t keep it together. Not with the tears in your eyes and her cotton mouth. She stands and finally faces you. Finally looks you in the eye. And she feels like Steve for just a second: earnest, brutal, like heartbreak is the breeziest thing since labor.

“So that’s it, then?”

You haven’t moved. You don’t think you could if you tried.

“No. No, that’s not it, Robin”—you scoff—“God, I can’t believe you’re not even gonna try and fight for us. One sign of tension, and you fold? That’s so fucking selfish—”

“If it was just one sign of tension, I’d sit quietly and bear it like always, but it’s not. It’s fucking sirens and roadblocks and spike strips, and at this point, I’m running out of fight. All I’ve wanted for the past six months was to hold your hand and not get weird looks and off-handed comments. Don’t you get that? I just want a normal fucking relationship like everyone else, but instead I’m stuck on the outskirts of some weird love-triangle bullshit—it’s so fucking draining—!"

“Well… well, I’m sorry I put you in that situation, but I’m just trying to keep us safe! I know what people say about people like us, and it’s fucked up, Robin. We’re outcasted as it is, and this—”

“This is so frustrating,” she groans, pushing a hand through her hair and shaking her head as she turns away. And all you can do is watch her pace. And pace. And your anger melts down, crackles and burns at the wick, and digs itself a cavern.

“You know, that’s all I’ve wanted, too,” you sigh, “when I’m out with him, and when he kisses me, I… it’s like… I feel like such an asshole for thinking about you. The entire time. But you can’t blame me. You’re all-consuming. I mean, he’s great. He is—Steve is wonderful, but… he’s not the one I want. I would bid my life on a single moment with you.”

Her shoulders slump. And her head leans into her fingers, dousing knuckles in hot tears, back heaving between broken sobs.

“Hey,” you coo, cupping her elbows until she softens with a wet blink of her droopy lashes, “I think it’s exhausting and selfish and messy most of the time, and I think… I think it’s still a good idea.”

She blubbers noiselessly and needlessly, already drooping into your arms and the way your fingers press into her shoulder blades. And the way you tell her she’s good and fine despite all the one-way habits and slips of the tongue. Despite all the words she never figured out how to articulate in time.

But all she really needed was a second to catch her breath. Which was something she found proved a lot more difficult once you came along. With that goddamn smile and sense of direction. You kiss a teensy patch of freckles on her jaw. And she finally feels steady enough.

“We’re a good idea.”

masterlist

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