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yougavemeyourheartyouknow · 2 months

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It wasn’t over, it still isn’t over. (Bandit cowboy! Miguel O’Hara x Fem! Reader) Part 2

Wake up babe, new cowboy Miguel fic just dropped! This part was heavily inspired by the notebook. Period pieces are not my strong suit so apologizes if it’s not good. Not proofread, enjoy!

(Y/N)-Your name.

Cursing, mentions/usage of alcohol, attempted robbery/theft, mentions of guns, Miguel jokes about manhandling you but nothing actually happens, mentions of sexual acts, but nothing happens.

Word Count: 2.3k

Part 1

Masterlist

—

Five years.

Five years since you had last seen the cowboy who had stolen your heart.

You had graduated college and moved out of your parents home, moving a few towns over, nowhere near a big city like you lived in during your youth in the East but a lot larger than the one you had lived during the whole Miguel incident. You lived in a nice home, gotten a job as a teacher for the younger kids in town and… you were recently engaged.

Your fiancé was a nice man, sweet, understanding, kind, easy on the eyes, you liked him a lot, the only problem is, you didn’t love him. You should feel bad about getting married to a wealthy man who you didn’t even see as more than of a friend, but at the same time, your mother thought it would be best to marry you off to her friend’s son that just so happened to be inheriting his father’s liquor business when he settled down. It was a marriage of convenience if anything, at least he was polite with you despite neither you or him having any romantic feelings, if anything it made the whole thing a bit easier for you. Growing content with the fact that this would turn into your future children’s definition of love.

Five years to grow from a silly lovestruck teenager into a young woman with responsibilities and a bright future ahead of her, and you still thought about him. You can't help but frantically Miguel’s name under the obituary section of the town’s paper, unknowingly breathing a sigh of relief when his name wouldn’t appear. Although it was foolish, and despite no longer living in the same small town as your parents, you couldn’t help but feel a bit bitter at the fact he hasn’t found you yet. Was he even attempting to look for you? With a reputation like his, you’re certain you weren’t the first girl he’s charmed to get under his sheets… or in your case, jail cell. So, eventually, you stopped hoping, if he hadn’t found you during the last five years, he surely wasn’t looking. Why should you?

—

“Darling.” Your fiancé, Austin, called out for you before rounding the corner that connected the living room into the kitchen. You hummed in response as you kept your eyes on the stack of papers you were currently grading for your students, a pen in your dominant hand as your free one tapped a mindless tone to help keep you concentrated. “Put the papers down and take a break will you? You’ve got all week to grade those tests.” You let out a huff and a whine as you put the pen down, he was right. Your eyes keep unfocusing and your wrist was being to grow sore, making your fiancé tsk. “I don’t understand why you don’t just quit, I make enough to support us both.”

“I should,shouldn't I…” You contimplacted with a weary chuckle, and although your tone was joking, you were seriously considering it. You adored your students with all your heart, you really did. But the school was putting so much pressure on you because they refused to hire another teacher to help lessen your workload. So you and two other teachers were juggling a handful of 300 seven year olds, it was a lot… to say the least. You picked yourself up from your seat to stretch your body out, before turning to Austin. “Now was that all you came to tell me?” You asked in a playful tone.

“No, actually… I came to ask for a favor.” He admitted, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. “Ya know I’ve got that… liquor convention event out of town this weekend, right?” You nodded in confirmation, “well, I was wondering if you could do me the favor of just checking in on my office while I’m gone. I’ve heard a lot about break ins and whatnot during these times, just drop by for a few minutes for the 4 days that I’ll be gone.”

You tapped the nonsensical rhythm again as you thought about it, it wasn’t too much of an ask, you’d just drop by for a few minutes a day, you shrugged. “Sure. What’s the worst that could happen?”

—

Saturday afternoon, your first day off and your third alone. Grateful for the ability to sleep in and being about to eat a well rounded breakfast. After doing your usual morning routine, and having changed into one of your simpler dresses to go out and run some errands for the day.

Gone out to get groceries, send out a letter to your parents, went to the tailors to drop off some Austin’s shirts to be hemmed since you didn’t feel like sitting down all to do it yourself, even finished grading the last of the test all before noon ended. After tidying up your work from its usual spot from the kitchen table, you made yourself a quick lunch and went to read a few chapters of your book on the couch. Only to end up falling asleep, and once you woke up, you glanced at the clock-shit.

“It’s half past five?! I was supposed to go to his office an hour ago!” You yelled to no one but yourself as you quickly got up from your spot on the couch, fixing your hair quickly as you threw on your coat, and made your way back out the door.

—

“I told ya boys this heist would be easy… if we leave by dusk we could hit up that train that passes by el dorado tomorrow evening…” Miguel chuckled as he tossed his now full bag of valuables to his brother, who then passed it over Peter would load it to one of their horses that they had waiting for them around the back of the building.

After that night he had escaped, it took him about a month to find his partners in crime, following their trail through stolen newspapers from random porches and the knowledge of how their usual trail was, luckily they had kept his horse safe and well taken care of too.

“One more bag then we’re as good as gone.” Miguel said with a smirk, making Gabriel Let out a laugh and a clap. Right when Miguel was going to prep the last bag, the faint noise of rushing made all three men stop in their tracks. Before he sent his younger brother a glare and he hissed in a low tone through his teeth. “Pinche cabrón- I thought you said this place would be empty all weekend.” (Fucking dumbass)

“I thought it would!” He whispered-shouted back, before they heard the door creak open.

“Fuck-okay… um, go check if it’s the sheriff.” He quietly ordered Gabriel, before turning to Peter, “Get the horses ready incase we needa’ book It.” With a nob both males did as told, as Miguel quickly went to pack the last bag.

When his younger brother entered the front room, he swore he heard him mutter the words “hello pretty lady” before the muffle sound of rustling and some high-pitched yelping, but never was a shot fired, so clearly it couldn’t have been someone to play an immediate threat. Just as he was finishing tying up the bag, Gabriel came back into the room, but not alone.

“Look at what I found, it must be his little wife.” He said almost mockingly as he hazardly pulled you into the room and pushed you into the room in front of Miguel’s feet, but with your face being tilted down as you caught yourself from falling face first onto the wooden floor.

“Careful!” You yelled as you try to collect yourself, once you get yourself to look up at the bandit you were dropped in front of, your scowl immediately turned into once of disbelief, and it seems his expression matched yours.

You both seem to have froze up in time as you both did nothing but stare at each other, Gabriel just crossed his arms and raised a brow, Peter came jogging in to inform his friends the horses are ready when he saw the odd scene, opting to keep his mouth shut.

Finally, you came back to life as you blinked, as if expecting his to disappear right before your very eyes again, and when he didn’t, you finally whispered a faint. “…Miguel?”

“…(Y/N)…” You nodded your head, despite it not being a question, and he cleared his throat, not breaking eye contact with you as he spoke his next orders to Peter and Gabriel. “Unload all that shit and put it back.”

—

He had told Gabriel and Peter to go on to do the train heist without him, and that he'd meet up with them afterwards. Saying he had “unattended business to take care of”. So now here he was, in your kitchen, only being lightened up by a few candles as darkness overtook the sky. Both of you sharing drunken giggles over dinner. Miguel’s black cowboy hat that was certainly too big for you sitting on top of your head as you sip on your beer.

“That hat looks adorable on you.” Miguel chuckled, making you shake your head with a giggle, your free hand going to rest on top of the hat to help keep it stabilized.

“It’s so big!” You countered as you take the hat off and went to hand it back to Miguel, who grabs it and sets it back on his head.

“You know you shouldn’t be wearing just anyone’s hat. Ya know what they say about wearing a man’s cowboy hat.” He joked as he put down his now empty bottle, chuckling when he saw your face contour in confusion.

“What do they say?” You asked curiously, making Miguel’s smirk widen.

“Wear the hat…” he tapped the brim on the hat for emphasis, “Ride the cowboy.” He finished, making you gasp dramatically.

“Miguel! That’s inappropriate!” You pretended to be offended, but you couldn’t help but crack a smile near the end of you reprimanding him.

“Oh please, you act like you haven’t before, why not again? Unless you want me to come over then and manhandle you.” He was only joking of course, he may have been a thief and a murderer but he’d never hurt a woman, especially not you. You let out a faux gasp, playing along as your right hand goes to your chest for emphasis.

“You wouldn’t dare. I’m a married woman.” You said in a softer tone, going to sip your bottle to finish it off. You haven’t really told him you were going to be getting married soon, even though he knew you were in a relationship, he didn’t quite know how serious it was.

“Not yet.” He replied almost immediately, shaking his head as his playful tone dropped to a more serious yet still gentle tone. The soft smile stays on his lips but it didn’t meet his eyes anymore when you raised your hand to show off the silver band that decorates your ring finger, the diamond shining even only in the candlelight. It took you a moment too long to realize this.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You asked, the start of a giggle comes out with your words but they quickly die down in your throat as the once playful atmosphere starts to turn more serious.Miguel just shakes his head as a hand goes to rub at his chin.

“Nothing nothing… just didn’t think you’d ever get married… thought what we had was something real.” He admitted, eyes casted downwards as he goes to fidget with a bent half beer bottle cap. You let out a scoff, offended by his words.

“Don’t try and think I just forgot about you the moment my father dragged me out of that door,” your brows furrowed and your arms crossed on the wooden table as you started to chastise him, “I was stuck on you for five years Miguel. Five. Years.” You emphasized the two words with taps on the table. “Don’t get me wrong, Austin is a great guy, but it was my parents' idea for me to marry him. They thought it was a good way to get me to stop thinking about you-“ You shouldn’t be admitting that outloud but the buzz made your mind hazy.

“Do you love him?” He interrupted you, eyes burning into yours, those same intense eyes you had dreamed about as you slept, you had to look away.

“It’s not that simple Miguel-“

“But it is.” He insisted, standing up from his seat, the chair screeching as it tried not to topple over. “You either love him or you don’t.”

“I’m not doing this with you Miguel.” You shook your head as you stood as well, going to clean up the mess you two had made, trying to erase any evidence you two were there.

“Too bad, I’m not just gonna drop this and let you disappear from my life, I’m not losing you again.” He declared, you weren’t going to justify his admission with a response, but as you go to pick up a few empty bottles, they slip from your hands, cracking into hundreds of small shreds as Miguel’s hands turn you around to face him. A shocked gasp begins to leave your lips before it is quickly swallowed up by his. You know you should push him off, but you couldn’t help but melt underneath his touch.

Miguel O’Hara was a criminal, a thief of many things and no matter how much you try to stop him, he’ll always find a way to steal your heart all over again.

—

Taglist: @famouscattale @strawberryjuice9 @loser-alert @maomaimao @franceseca-the-1st @xevita @marshhbs @inlovewithpandora @vera4luv @mcmiracles @eddieslooneymoonie @to-the-endoftheline

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jayke0 · 10 days

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Bunk Up

Summary: Arthur invites you on a hunting trip, but you foolishly forget your tent. No harm done, you can bunk up with him, right?

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: a deer gets killed (camp's gotta eat), female masturbation, dry humping, fingering, p in v, breeding kink if you squint, unprotected sex, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 3,132

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

…………......................………………………………….

Why in god's green earth had you agreed to go on this hunting trip again?

Oh yeah, because you have a hard-on for Arthur Morgan… figuratively, that is.

It'd be alright if you could just tell him your feelings, but you'd prided yourself on liking more respectable, more rich men in the past; that's the easiest way to make a living, at the end of the day. You'd originally intended to go for the gang leader, but that man is oblivious and stubborn as hell, not to mention not actually rich, much to your displeasure.

Then Arthur had introduced himself to you. His stupid snarky remarks and silly outfits and disgustingly beautiful eyes all seemed to merge together into this gorgeous man that loomed in front of you and had your knees almost buckling.

Even worse, he'd noticed the way your demeanour changed and how your body seemed to crumble under the weight of his soft eyes.

“Hey! Are you even listenin’ to me?” His gruff voice breaks you from your trance.

“ ‘course I am, I always listen to your wise words, Mr Morgan.” You remark, looking up at him from the position you'd had your eyes trained on seconds ago. “Yeah, sure.” You feel his rough fingertips turn your chin back towards the deer in front of you, a gesture that makes heat rise in your cheeks all the way to the tips of your ears.

“Take the shot, you got a perfect shot there, can't miss it.”

The cold varnished wood cools your warm cheeks as you bring it close to your face and grit your teeth.

“Always shoot on empty lungs.” His whisper sends shivers down your spine before you take the shot, a loud crack echoing through the trees as a clatter of birds ascends into the sky.

“You did good! That was perfect.” A soft grunt leaves his throat as he gets up and checks the prey. “Think Pearson will make a good meal outta this,” his eyes then meet yours. “Good girl.” he tips his hat to you.

Damn Arthur Morgan, with that shit eating grin that makes your stomach flutter.

“You know I ain't one for pickin’ on people–” Arthur starts, shoveling chunks of peaches in his mouth, “but I don't think I've ever seen someone forget their tent on a huntin’ trip.”

“Ok, for one, you're always picking on people, ‘specially if you don't like ‘em. And for two… just– shut the hell up.” You pull your coat tighter around your body to shield yourself from the cold rain drizzling down your neck, the soft fur bringing you some warmth and comfort to your otherwise shaking body.

“Easy girl, don't be gettin’ mad at me now. Besides, it means you get to share a tent with me, ain't that a dream?” A simple grumble from you makes the man chuckle lowly. “I won't take that personally.”

It was a dream, and you hated admitting that.

Luckily, you'd remembered your bed roll, so at least you didn't have to snuggle up under the cotton sheets with your rugged partner… but, admittedly, a small part of you is disappointed at that.

You try to forget about those thoughts that are festering in the back of your mind and making you squeeze your legs together, but as the cold seeps into your bones and makes yourself huddle further into the sheets, you find yourself backing up against the warm body behind you.

The soft rustle of trees keeps you awake, at least that's what you tell yourself at first, not wanting to give into those filthy images of the cowboy flashing behind your eyelids.

Soon, all too soon for your liking, you find yourself panting. It's barely audible, but it's enough to make yourself embarrassed and look back at the outlaw peacefully sleeping behind you, unaware of the pictures you have playing on loop in your head. It makes you bite your lip; the thought of touching yourself right next to the man you've been meaning to tell your feelings to for months.

Quietly and carefully, you slide your hand over your body and between your legs, rubbing your already damp cunt over the fabric of your underwear. The feeling makes you grit your teeth much like earlier, and a small noise sneaks past your lips. You look back at Arthur again to see his chest still rising and falling slowly… fuck it, what's the worst that could happen?

Your hand slips into your underwear before you're even registering it. It's too cold to take the blanket off, or even your underwear for that matter, so you just run your fingers through your wet folds under the thin fabric. The slick noise it makes sounds too loud in the quiet forest, but at this point you're pretty sure the man is asleep, so you continue teasing yourself.

Your fingers circle your hole as you imagine it being his thick digits instead, or maybe even his tongue, since he's usually so quick with it. Another wet noise fills the tent when your fingers slide inside your needy cunt, buried to your knuckles as you massage that glorious spot inside you. When you pick up the pace, and the noises get louder, you're practically praying, wishing it was Arthur's fingers instead. They'd stretch you wide and fuck you good, the thought makes you shove some of the blanket in your mouth.

You're teetering on the edge at this point, scanning your brain for that final image that'll send you descending down the cliff… but a thick arm wrapping around your waist has you freezing in place.

“What have we got here?” Arthur's low, sleepy voice has the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, raising goosebumps all over your body as if he'd just ripped the sheets from your body.

“Arthur!–shit, I'm sorry–." You start, but his nose pressing against the back of your neck makes you stop in your tracks.

“I ain't judgin’ you, girl. We've all got our urges, desires.” He shuffles up closer to you, closing in on your body till his chest is pressed against your back, and his crotch is angled perfectly against your thighs. “Just wanted to know what you were thinkin’ about.”

God, his voice is so soft and low, it could make you fall asleep if your fingers weren't still knuckle deep inside yourself. “I–uhm…” Should you admit it? With the way he's pressing against you, it makes you think you should.

“You.”

“ ‘s that so? And why ain't you told me about this before, sweetheart?” His breath is hot on the back of your neck, pushing out any coldness that was left in your body as his large hand splays across your stomach and strokes your soft skin.

A huff escapes your nose a little louder than you expected. “Because… I'm embarrassed, I don't wanna be thinking about you like this.” You mumble ashamedly, but as those words leave your lips, you start moving your fingers inside your cunt again; a ‘come hither’ motion that makes you bite your lip to contain your noises.

“Oh, that ain't very nice. You ain't exactly a saint ya'self, Darlin’.”

Fuck, the way his words roll off his tongue makes you roll against your hand with a soft noise.

The action must've pleased Arthur, because he lets out a pant and presses his hips closer to yours, grinding in tandem with you as your hips roll on your fingers.

This feels so strange and wrong, but you aren't sure why. It's not like Arthur is married or even has a girl, he's just as lonely as you, and maybe that's exactly why you're so drawn to each other.

“Mmm, been dreamin’ ‘bout this for months, pressing against you like this.” He groans softly. His chin is placed neatly on your shoulder, cheek pressing against yours as his stubble itches your skin. He feels so warm and big behind you, like he's shielding you from any and every burden, and as his hips rock against yours more, you can't help but do the same. You grind back on him with short, soft pants, tilting your head to just get a glimpse of his blissed out face.

“When was the last time you did something like this, cowboy? You're acting like you're gonna cum in your night clothes.”

That makes a soft chuckle leave his red lips, flushed face pulling away from yours to look down at you.

“Long enough to be needin’ you.”

His words make you shiver, but he's quick to distract you with his hand taking your wrist and swatting your hand away.

“Lemme do it for you, sweetheart, please?”

Before your brain can even question or think about it, your body is telling him yes, your head nodding almost instantly. His fingers are quick to dive into your under garments and slide through your slick folds, a groan from him ringing in your ears.

“Dammit girl, you must have one hell of an imagination to make ya'self this wet… Jesus.” He grunts, looking down at his hand in your underwear with only the dim light of the lantern making your skin glow.

“I always get like this when I think of you, Arthur.” You tell him as your hand wraps around his wrist. “You're the only one that can make me cum.” You moan in his ear, making him dive his fingers into your needy cunt.

The stretch is wonderful, not enough to hurt, but enough for you to feel it, and it's just how you expected, if not better. His thick digits curl and glide over your walls until he finally feels you squirm against him as they touch that delicious spot.

“Yeah? You like it there, darlin’? Want me to keep goin’?”

Again, your body simply speaks for you, nodding quickly and grinding down on his fingers. You feel him grind his hips against you again, his body seemingly wanting to get impossibly closer to you as he ruts against your ass.

“You're such a pretty girl, y'know that? Been waitin’ to tell you that since the day we met.” He rests his chin on your arm so he can peck the exposed skin and continue curling his fingers inside you.

The tent is once again filled with the filthy sounds of your hole taking two fingers, sloppy wet sounds that would make you feel ashamed if it didn't feel so fucking good. It feels like all your nerves are being stroked at once, each time his fingers brush against your tummy or stroke your walls feels like you can't get enough of the electricity that runs through your body. You grip his thick arm, looking back at him as moans fall from your lips.

“You're damn good… shit.” You whimper as he looks up at you, big round eyes meeting yours to show he's there.

“Well, I appreciate that, comin’ from you.” He chuckles lightly, his own words breathy while his hips start to snap a little faster and become sloppy. “You gotta lemme feel this cunt for myself, please sweetheart, lemme feel this cunt clench around my cock.”

You find it hard to stop rocking your hips when he's talking to you like that, but eventually you take a deep breath and stop yourself. His fingers slip out of you with a lewd sound, and you feel him shuffle to get his night clothes off.

Your own are gone within seconds, your body too hot and needy to worry about if you'd thrown them outside to the wolves to get torn to shreds, all you can focus on is the man behind you.

As much as this position made you wet before, you desperately want to see his handsome face, even if it is barely visible. So, you flip onto your other side and rest your hands on his chest, the warmth spreading through your fingers. You can practically feel his excitement buzzing off of him and through your body, and it makes you giggle a little. “Jesus, you really ain't done this in a while, have you?”

“Not with a girl as pretty as you, sweetheart.” One hand slides over your cheek while his other finally gets his clothes off.

Just his tone alone makes your cheeks heat up, but as he leans in for a kiss, you find yourself taking in a breath of surprise. It's easy to melt into his arms and get lost in the feeling of his lips; they're surprisingly soft and sweet, and they feel like they fit perfectly on yours.

You're so swept up that it takes you a second to notice his hand snaking around the back of your knee and pulling your hips closer to himself.

That's when you feel it.

His length rests against your slick pussy lips, your leg now cocked over his waist to get him close. It feels bigger than you expected, thicker than you expected, it makes you whine softly on his lips.

You hate his little grin that you feel spread across his face. “Impatient, ain't you?” He teases, slowly rocking his hips against yours to let his cock slide through your sopping folds. His tip manages to butt against your clit each time, making you furrow your brows and moan softly on his lips.

Your hand is still resting on his cheek as you feel him push in for the first time, and god are you glad you're holding onto your bedroll with the other, because the stretch and the way he fills you makes you almost cum on the spot, a loud moan spilling from your lips to make you whimper embarrassedly.

“Oh sweetheart, don't be embarrassed. I love the noises you're makin’ for me, they're makin’ me so goddamn hard, can you do it again for me?” He asks as he pulls his hips back before sliding inside your warm, slick walls again.

You're quick to oblige to his plea, your body automatically reacting with a soft choked moan at the surprise of his thick cock stretching you once again. You can feel his calloused fingers still gripping the back of your knee to hold your leg up, giving him the perfect angle for his length to hit every nerve you have inside you and send sparks of arousal up your spine.

“Thaaat’s a good girl, look at'chu.” The man purrs, his warm breath making your eyes flutter shut so you can focus on his cock spearing you with each slow, deep thrust.

“Holy shit, Arthur, f–feels like you're splitting me in half.” You moan as your hands slide over his thick biceps and along his broad shoulders, finding that the perfect place for you to grip on for dear life too.

Arthur groans before leaning forward to press a kiss on the top of your head as he pants softly. “Biggest you've had, huh? Never felt somethin’ like this inside you, have you?” He doesn't accept the simple shake of your head, instead giving you a sharp thrust that has your nails dig into his flesh and a whimper spill from your lips. “No! No, I haven't… I love it, dammit, I love your cock.”

Something inside him seems to click as you say those words, a long moan slipping from his throat as his grip becomes tighter on your leg to pull you closer to him, his cock burying deeper inside you. He doesn't give you time to adjust before his hips are colliding with yours and the sounds of both your arousal soaked thighs are filling your ears and sending waves of pleasure from your head to your toes.

“Listen to those filthy noises, girl, that's all you. That's your wet cunt..” Arthur manages to moan out. He tilts his head down to watch your hips connecting, his head resting against your collar bones. “What a pretty cunt it is too… shit, I ain't ever felt somethin’ as good as this, miss.” His words seem to roll off of his tongue with ease, as if he's a erotic poet reciting the words he's scrawled down on the page. Maybe it has something to do with that journal he's writing in all the time… lord above how you'd love to read that.

“For you, Mr Morgan,” you blabber without even thinking about the words coming from your mouth. “I'm all for you, want you to take me like this over and over–.” It's funny how worked up you get over your own words, but it seems to have an even better effect on Arthur.

His brows knit together as his jaw hangs open a little, and dirty blonde strands of hair fall in his face and stick to his forehead perfectly.

“Shit, girl, you're gonna make me finish inside you if you keep talkin’ like that…” The man groans, his lip finding its way between his teeth to give him something to chew on. Somehow, his thrusts get faster, impossibly better as you feel the molten heat spread through your body and up to your throat to make you moan his name, along with any other expletives that come to mind.

Before you can stop yourself, you're saying dangerous words that, with any other man, would be like handing a loaded gun to a baboon.

“I want you to do that Arthur! Please– please cum inside me–” Your entire body tenses up before you come crashing down, whaling and grasping onto him for dear life as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm and make sharp thrusts that have you whimpering loudly. Your walls clench him tightly in pulsing rhythm, driving him closer and closer to the edge.

It's only a few more seconds before he's tearing his body away from yours and fisting himself, white ropes shooting all over your tummy as groans and growls rumble in his chest and his head throws back.

You watch the whole scene in front of you in awe, as if you're at the goddamn theatre watching a play… no, it's better than that. You'd never had time for the theatre, but you always have time for Arthur, despite how he gets on your nerves sometimes.

You smile softly at him as he lifts his head to look down at you, a smug grin on his face as he leans forward and pecks your lips.

“Hey, what's with the grin?” You huff softly and hit his chest playfully.

“Nothin’ just been waitin’ for you to admit your feelin's for me for a while now.”

An annoyed growl leaves your lips as you feel your face heat up with embarrassment, burying it in his chest instead to save you from his teasing.

“Shut the hell up, Morgan…”

#arthur morgan #arthur morgan smut #rdr2 #rdr2 smut #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader

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hihomeghere · 4 days

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megan, darling sunshine, i have the softest of soft requests for you with our favorite cowboy. 🥺

can i request #6, #34, #36, #41, #83 with arthur? i desperately need protective, soon-to-be dad!arthur in my life. it's what we all deserve, honestly. 🤍

thank you so much! i can't wait to see what absolute magic you make with these prompts.

Deserving | Arthur Morgan / Reader

First off let me give you the fattest smooch <3

Word Count : 1.9k Prompts : 6. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear. 34. I think you're showing. 36. You're glowing. 41. The baby loves hearing you sing/speak. 83. Was that a kick? Warnings/tags : Cursing, talk of abandonment, Reader is 5 months pregnant, Arthur deserves a second chance at being a father, Self degrading talk on Arthur's part, Switch POV.

Arthur was aware it was a tad foolish the way he was feeling. Although seeing you growing his child has awakened something that had been lying dormant in him. Something that he hardly understood himself. A primal feeling, knowing that he was the one who made you like this. That it was his seed that had made you grow swollen and round and so damn gorgeous.

He was also painfully aware of the gold ring in his pocket, his nerves eating him from the inside out. He had never been so nervous in his entire life, more nervous than when he went on his first job. Unlike a job he had never felt more unprepared. He had always wanted children, and he had dreamed of having children with you. But Jesus, he was terrified he would turn out like his old man. He didn’t- no - he couldn’t mess up this time. Not with you. Yes, he loved you. God he loved you more than anything. Arthur did not necessarily believe in soulmates. Perhaps when he was younger he could have believed that his soul could be tied to another person, but he wasn’t that foolish anymore. Love was something you worked for, it wasn't predestined by whatever god was above. He knew you could easily find another man to love you, even with the babe. He also knew you deserved someone better than him. You deserved the world, deserved someone who would build you a home, someone who hadn’t been too damn chicken to ask you to marry him before knocking you up. But he also knew that no man could love you like he loved you.

“You’re staring Arthur.” You chuckled, raising a brow as you turned to face him. Your hand resting on your hip as you leaned on the boar skinned table.

“You’re glowing.” He said softly, not denying the fact that he had indeed been staring at you. How could he not? You were really glowing, he hadn’t known that that silly saying about pregnant women was the truth. You were like some angel, the glow coming from within, lighting up the small tent. If he squinted he swore he could see a halo around your head. Especially when your bump had finally shown itself.

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips as you went back to whatever task you were working on. He walked up behind you, his deft fingers working on removing his gun belt. Laying belt down on the table before pulling you against his chest.

His hands lovingly squeezed your hips, before moving to your stomach. He sighed contently, laying his head in the crook of your neck. Breathing in your sweet smell, his calloused hands running over the soft fabric of your skirt. His heart nearly stopped as he felt the swell of your abdomen. Nearly brought to his knees by such a small thing. Well it wasn’t exactly small anymore, you had finally ‘popped’.

“‘Think you’re showing, sunshine.” He whispered, his breath tickling your ear as he swayed with you in his arms. You giggled, shying away from his lips as they brushed against your neck.

“I would say so, can’t fit in my damn pants anymore.” You chuckled, shaking your head as you continued to patch a hole in one of his shirts.

In all honesty, you hadn’t been able to fit in your pants for a long time. It had been almost four months since the fateful day you told Arthur you were pregnant.

You had all the telltale signs, breast tenderness, food aversions, etc. Along with Abigail’s damn knowing glances, and then your monthly cycle had been absent, confirming your suspicions. You had nearly gone mad, a million thoughts running through your head. How were you supposed to care for a child with the lifestyle you had? You had briefly discussed children with Arthur, but it was always in the future. When you weren’t being chased by the law or Pinkertons or whoever. You didn’t want your child to be raised how either of you were raised. Always on the run, never having a true safe place to call home. Speaking of the future, marriage had always been a talk for the future as well. Now you were here, an unwed mother.

And then there was Isaac and Eliza. That was a whole new can of worms to throw into the mix. Would he even want to have a child right now? Would he still want you after he found out? If he left you what would you do?

You would manage, that’s what you always did. But you didn’t want to go through this without him.

He had found you pacing near camp, nearly chewing your lip off. His heart constricted in his chest as he watched you.

“Everything alright darlin’?” He asked, pulling you out of your downward spiral. A similar concerned expression on his face as he took you in. You met his bright blue eyes and instantly you fell apart. Tears welled up in your eyes as he rushed over to you. Taking long strides across the grass before pulling you into his broad chest. His calloused hands warm and loving as they rubbed up and down your back, your body shaking with sobs you couldn’t control. “Darlin’ you’re scaring me.” He said softly, laying his chin on the top of your head. “Talk to me sunshine.”

“Arthur I think-“ You let out a shaky breath, “I think I’m pregnant.” You cried, tears clouding your vision as you looked up at him.

He was frozen, his brain short circuiting as he tried to process the words you had just said. He must have heard you wrong.

“What… what did ya say darlin’?” He asked, his hands on your biceps as he held you in front of him. His brows furrowed and his lips drawn into a thin line.

“I’m pregnant Arthur.” You said, your lip trembling as you waited for his response. You were trembling in his grasp, your heart pounding against your rib cage.

“Okay.” He nodded slowly, still trying to wrap his head around it all. Goddamn it Morgan, you’ve gone done it again. Are you seriously the most foolish man alive? His thoughts spiraled into their usual degrading speech. Here you were shaking in his arms like a damn leaf and he was too damn stupid to say anything. Say something, anything, to stop her from crying. Your tears tugging on his heart strings. “It’s okay, it’s okay.” He cooed, wiping away your tears with his thumb. “Don’t cry, please.” He said, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“M’sorry-” You sobbed, looking down.

“Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize for this.” He said holding your face, “If anyone ought to apologize, it should be me.” He said, shaking his head. You bit your lip, looking up at him.

“Arthur, what are we gonna do?” You asked, finally calmed down enough to speak a coherent sentence. He clenched his jaw, looking off to the side.

“Do you want this?” He asked softly, running his hand down your arm. Taking your significantly smaller hands in his, squeezing them gently.

“I-“ You sighed, letting out a long breath. “I think I do.” You nodded, hesitantly raising your head to look at him. He exhaled a breath of relief.

“Okay.” He nodded, “I want this too.” He said, giving you a reassuring smile. You couldn’t help but let out an equally relieved breath, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“Yeah?” You asked, chuckling breathlessly.

“Yeah.” He nodded, chuckling along with you. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you, you or the baby, I swear.” He said gently pulling you closer, his hand moving down to caress your stomach.

You smiled at the memory as Arthur rubbed his hand over your bump.

“They movin’ any?” He asked, kissing your cheek.

“They have been most of the day.” You chuckled, following his lips with your cheek as he pulled away. You turned around in his grasp, laying your hands on his chest. “They’d probably move if you talked to them. You know how the baby loves hearing you talk.” You said, smiling up at him. He grinned, his eyes sparkling with pride.

He knelt down, feeling his mothers ring slide lower into his pocket. As he knelt face to face with your round belly, he couldn’t have been more thankful that Mary had returned his ring. That things hadn’t worked out between them, because if they did, he would have missed this.

He pressed his lips against your belly in a chaste kiss, before chuckling softly to himself. “Hey there kid.” He said, his grin growing if that was even possible. “Ya bein’ good for ya mama?” He asked, running his hand over the tight skin. He felt a small kick under his palm, looking up at you for confirmation that it wasn’t a part of his imagination. “Was that a kick?”

“Sure was.” You chuckled, laying your hand over his. He chuckled, shaking his head as he stared at your belly. There had been too many nights lying next to you on his small cot, twirling the ring in his fingers. Just trying to work up the courage to ask you. Even before your belly started to swell he had dreamed of asking you. He just wanted everything to be perfect, although in hindsight it was a foolish thought. Things would never be perfect, that was the thing wasn’t it?

Now was the time. He knew it, kneeling here in front of you, but how was he gonna ask? How was he gonna get past the lump in his throat?

“Hey kiddo, ya think I could have a moment with your mama here?” He asked, a nervous smile on his lips as he looked up at you. “I got a question for her.” It was now or never. He reached into his pocket, his sweaty fingers grasping the small gold ring. He took in a deep breath before finding your gaze, holding out the ring to you. You gasped, covering your mouth with your hand, tears pricking your eyes.

“This… well this ain’t how I imagined this. I wanted to do something special for ya and I should’ve done this a long time ago. I promised ya when we found out about the kid I wouldn’t let anything happen to ya. I mean to keep that promise. There are men more deserving of you, hell I’m probably the least deserving-“ You scoffed shaking your head, “But none of those men could ever love you the way I do. So, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” He asked, gingerly holding your left hand.

“Yes, yes!” You cried, grinning as he slipped the ring onto your finger. He let out a breath of relief, getting to his feet. You threw yourself into his arms, laughing as tears slipped down your cheeks.

“It’s uh- I know it’s nothing fancy but-“ He said softly, “It was my mothers and I know she’d want ya to have it.”

“It’s perfect.” You said, pulling away to admire the ruby ring. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” You chuckled, wiping away your tears as you admired the ring. Arthur’s heart warmed at your words. He would never know what he had done to deserve someone like you, you and the baby. Although he may not have said his vows at that moment, he made a silent one in his heart. As long as his heart was beating, and there was still breath in his lungs, nothing would ever happen to either of you.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #Arthur #red dead redemption arthur #red dead #red dead redemption #rdr #hihomeghere #mini prompt #dutch van der linde #hosea matthews #john Marston #abigail roberts #abigail marston #javier escuella #arthur morgan x reader #Arthur Morgan x pregnant reader #jack marston

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sbdskate · 7 months

Text

Laws Of Attraction (Part 8) - DR x lawyer!fem!reader

Summary: McLaren is in breach of contract, dr3 hires a lawyer to deal with the aftermath. Tropes ensue. Slow burn. Enemies (kind of)-> Friends/colleagues -> Lovers

Pairing: lawyer!fem!reader x Daniel Ricciardo

Warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, language, slight angst, alcohol consumption, McLaren, bad jokes

Word Count: 4,277

A/N: I tried out some different writing styles this chapter and candidly, I’m not sure it’s my best work. There are more scenes from DR’s perspective and I found out that writing race dialogue is very difficult. I tried to stay true to the actual Abu Dhabi 2022. Please bear with me through this chapter, feedback of any kind is always appreciated. Please, thank you, and enjoy!

When you arrived at the paddock, Daniel was still distracting himself by taking pictures of literally everything, including the ground. You let him be though, no matter how silly it seemed. The last thing he needed was to psych himself out before the race. As you approached, the McLaren PR crew was already waiting with cameras to get content for the last Unboxed video of the season which was your cue to peel off.

“How are you feeling?” you asked hesitantly, making sure to keep an appropriate distance from your client.

“Honestly, I’m fine. Maybe I’ll feel different once the suit’s on, but right now I’m good.”

“You’ll let me know if you need anything, right?” He caught the seriousness in your tone and found it endearing you were being so protective of him. It seemed you were more nervous than he was.

“Actually, hold on,” he stopped walking.

“What? Is everything alright? Oh-” *click* “Daniel!” He laughed at your disgruntled expression as he lowered the camera.

“I’m fine, promise. I’ll see you after the race.” He gave you a polite pat on the shoulder as he began to walk away, but you grabbed his arm before he was out of reach and pulled him in for a big hug before you could second guess yourself. He didn’t think twice as he wrapped his arms around you. You quickly released him, reinstating the arm’s length between you.

“Good luck today, you’re going to do great,” you said as you composed yourself. He walked backwards continuing your extended goodbye, unable to look away from you.

“I know,” he said, with a cocky smile plastered on his face. *click*

You snorted, your stoicism overpowered by his charm. You waved one last time as a sendoff before he disappeared into McLaren hospitality.

As usual with race day, it was a lot of hurry up and wait. Daniel exchanged helmets with Lando and Zhou, sat for photos with the team, sat for photos with the grid. He tried to take in every detail. He laughed when he walked in the garage and saw his mechanics donning cowboy hats embroidered with “yee-haw thanks DR” and the outline of him doing a shoey.

Everyone seemed to think he would be walking around as though he were attending his own funeral, but for the moment he felt he didn’t have much to be sad about. He needed a break – from the spotlight, from McLaren, from training, from racing in general, and there was no shame in that. In twelve hours that break would become a reality, and that was something to be very happy about.

When it came time to change into his race suit, he waited with baited breath for the garment to exert some kind of magical force over him. He stood in his drivers room waiting for the tears, or nerves, or something. Everyone told him it would hit him when he put the suit on. But he examined himself in the mirror, widened his stance and put his hands on his hips. Power pose. No, he was still the same Daniel Ricciardo, despite what people tried to tell him. And this was just another race.

It was less than ideal starting P13 due to a three-place grid penalty carried over from the Brazilian Grand Prix after his run-in with Yuki, but Daniel pushed aside all the growing frustrations as he waited eagerly for the lights to change, feeling his pulse sync with the idled roar of the engine. The few seconds before the race played out in slow motion, as they always did. The rest of the pressures of the moment faded away as he focused on what was in front of him, ready to react. He was at peace, and allowed himself to feel the overwhelming therapeutic emptiness. Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

And it’s lights out and away we go!

He survived the first lap shuffle and chaos, but lost a position to Lance. There was still plenty of race left though, and his goal first and foremost was a clean race without a DNF. Making it through the first few clustered laps unscathed was step one. Once the pack started to disperse, he began his grueling climb back to the points.

Here comes Daniel Ricciardo on the inside of Schumacker, gaining a place back.

It was lonely for a while. He extended his lead from Mick, but couldn’t seem to fully catch up to Lance. Lance pitted on lap 14, as expected with mediums if going for a two-stop strategy, allowing Daniel to gain a position. It subsequently opened up the floodgates, others shortly following suit bringing Daniel up to P8. He knew he would have to pit eventually, but if he could just nurse this set a bit longer and maintain this position as long as possible, he had a shot to finish in the points.

Lap 18, Daniel Ricciardo still hasn’t pitted yet.

Even in the last race, it shouldn’t have surprised him that McLaren would try to short stick him one last time. Good riddance he would be done with this circus in an hour. George passed him, as he expected in better machinery and on fresher tires.

He finally pitted on lap 20, switching to hards. The team did a great job with a 2.3 second pit stop but he came out in P18. He had a job to do, it was time to get to work.

Daniel Ricciardo, down in 18th place. Making some overtakes and having a bit of fun. Makes a lovely move on Kevin Magnusson going into Turn 9.

In quick succession, he picked off Mick and Bottas, Seb pitted, and somehow Alonso DNF’d. Before he knew it, he was back to where he started in P13.

Fernando Alonso has not had the best of luck, our first retirement of this evening. Mechanical failure. That is a real shame for him, real shame. Meanwhile, here comes Sebastian Vettel! Haven’t said that in a while. Very nice move on Pierre Gasly.

News at Alpine that there’s some water leak, that was why they had to pull Fernando in. He feels the unreliability there has cost him nearly seventy points during the course of this season. Since he came back to Formula One, well, the reunion with Alpine then Renault has ended in retirement. Sad for all parties. And this means that Fernando Alonso has been beaten by his teammate, Esteban Ocon. But I’ll tell you a bit more about that later, as Daniel Ricciardo manages to get past the Alfa Romeo of Zhou Guanou.

He encroached on Alex, smelling blood in the water. Even though Alex nicked the wall, he maintained the position longer than he thought. He had to respect the work the kid was doing in that tractor trailer of a Williams. The track conditions were cooling as the sun set, making it difficult to regulate the temperature of the tires.

Daniel Ricciardo trying down the inside there on Alex Albon. Now you saw what happened in Mexico when he tried that on an unsuspecting Yuki Tsunoda and they came together, but this time around they managed to keep apart. But uh, for McLaren they need to start clearing a few cars here. Norris is seventh. Ricciardo out of the points. Albon now pits.

He wished he could have overtaken Alex properly, but he wasn’t complaining as he gained another position. The second stoppers continued, moving his way up to P9. He could breathe a bit now that he was officially in the points. But it was short lived as his friend, former teammate, and mentor had popped up in his rearview, more than two seconds behind, but quickly closing the gap. There were still fifteen laps requiring him to preserve the tires while defending his position.

Sebastian Vettel is gaining a bit on Daniel Ricciardo in tenth place. Ten laps to go.

He almost missed the second Aston Martin in his rearview as Lance passed both of them. He shared Seb’s frustration that they were the sacrificial lambs of their respective teams testing out the one-stop strategy. He was still in the points for now, but Seb was an admirable adversary and with only seven laps left in the race he would not take the position for granted. With officially one second between them, he had to push. They were both on very old tires, but Seb’s were younger.

The two leavees, Ricciardo and Vettel. Vettel’s closing in on Ricciardo, and he’s going to get him in the next lap or so if the current pace keeps up. Five laps to go in the Formula One season, 2022.

And oh my God, what’s this? Hydraulic problem for Hamilton, as you can see as Carlos Sainz passes Lewis who’s still stuck in seventh gear! This might be curtains for Lewis Hamilton this evening. He’s got it down into fifth gear – oh. Oh no, this is disappointing.

As was the nature of racing, he wasn’t going to question his adversary’s misfortune. With a mechanical failure taking Lewis out, he moved back into P9. He was so close to the finish line he could taste it, but Seb was still less than a second behind.

The final lap. He saw the fireworks go off for Max, but he couldn’t lose focus.

Daniel Ricciardo under immense pressure from Sebastian Vettel. This is going to go all the way to the wire.

There’s twelve million dollars on Sebastian Vettel trying to overtake Daniel Ricciardo here, twelve million dollars if they can get extra points at Aston Martin to see if they can get above Alfa Romeo in the Constructor’s Championship. Is it Ricciardo or Vettel? Nineth or tenth? Both drivers leaving as of the end of this season. Ricciardo potentially to go as a reserve driver at Red Bull. Sebastian Vettel waving goodbye to Formula One and giving us thrills and excitement right to the checkered flag! Is he going to get past Daniel Ricciardo? It’s going to be close!

Ricciardo takes that nineth place, Sebastian Vettel scores tenth in his final race! And well, what did he say? “Remember these times, they might not last forever.” Sebastian, thank you. The memories definitely will.

Daniel's jaw unclenched to let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in that moved his whole chest, shoulders relaxing. He barely had time to process what he had just accomplished when his engineers came on the radio.

“Yes mate, P9. Good job. Finished in the points. Good stuff, good stuff.”

“Cheers guys, that was, uh, that was fun at the end. Think we did well to hold him off, well done. That was good.”

“Great race buddy. Great overtaking, that was a proper Honey Badger show, that was good.”

He bit his tongue. He could only be so pleasant to the people who had diminished his confidence over the last two years. Having officially crossed the finish line of his last race, he would remain polite and cordial but didn’t feel the need to suck up to them more than he needed to.

“Daniel, could I have Purple Default 64X. And if you could go back to Purple C1.”

He did as he was told, unphased by the short radio congratulations. He was pleasantly surprised, however, when a picture of his win at Monza last year popped up with the rest of the team. The memory of that day came flooding back and the feelings that went along with it. The triumph he finally felt. The renewed sense of hope for what may come with the rest of his tenure with McLaren. The Daniel in the picture had no idea he would basically be kicked out of the sport he loved so much in less than a year. He had no idea he would fall out of love with it, even as he was just starting to get his groove back.

“That’s cool,” he chuckled. “That’s really nice, thank you guys.”

“Cheers buddy. It’s been an honor, Daniel. It’s been an honor, really great good two years.” He hated the lump he felt in his throat. “I know we haven’t always had the results we’ve wanted, but we’ve had some pretty good ones along the way. And uh, I think I speak for everyone on the team when I say how much we’ve all enjoyed working with you.” He swallowed thickly, praying no one had eyes on the front facing camera in the car.

“Yeah, appreciate your efforts. Thank you…Alright, it’s nice to finish in the points. Well done guys. Thank you.” He did his best to switch the conversation back to race at hand, taking away the focus of the gravity and finality of the situation. Looking at it in isolation, away from the totality of the last two years, it was a good race. He continued to drive and wave around the track, doing some donuts here and there, but the gestures felt empty.

“Ok, so into the pit lane, and when you turn the engine off then go to P0. Kill the car and switch everything off.” The back of his eyes began to sting. Switch everything off.

“Understood. Uh, alright guys.” There was so much he wanted to say but he was never good with words, especially not at this moment. “Thank you. I think you know…how much I appreciate your efforts over the last two years. So… thank you.” He tried to keep his tone steady, but felt his voice crack. “And thanks for this display, on Purple C64. Cheers.”

“Yeah, 03 we weren’t really able to use I’m afraid.” He knew the engineers were only talking about the mechanical configurations, but the words felt like a gut punch. They were done with him. There was nothing more that needed to be said.

The feelings he had waited for all day, the ones everyone expected, suddenly hit him like an avalanche. He wanted to get out of the car desperately, but couldn’t do so when he was a mess like this. It was probably the last time for the rest of the night that he would have any time to be by himself with just his thoughts. It was done – and he realized again after taking a few moments to compose himself, maybe for now that was a good thing. What was it Seb had said?

“There are a lot more important things than racing in circles.”

He jumped out of the car, feeling the impact of the gravel below his feet. He stretched his limbs, finally free from the confines of the cockpit and was hit by a wave of relief that washed over him. He was free from expectations, restrictive diets, constant jet lag. Free from McLaren. All he had to do was get into his ugly orange team kit one last time for post-race interviews. He knew he would be asked hard questions, about his past and his future, but he was ready. He had nothing to be ashamed of, and if anything, had many things to be proud of. You’re the only driver to have won in that brick of a car in the last ten years you constantly reminded him. He finished the season on a high, including a great race battle with Seb. He was done hiding, done minimizing.

So he went from interview to interview, unafraid to be honest with himself and the world. It’s ok to admit that he’s had a hard time the last two years, that he’s happy to be taking some time away from the sport and to take care of his mental health.

He slowly made his way back to the McLaren garage as he pushed through the crowd, dodging fans trying to get selfies and autographs, politely declining additional interviews and comments from strangers. In a sea of blurred faces, he spotted you. One of the mechanics had gifted you an extra celebratory cowboy hat and you appeared to be in deep conversation with one of them. Your hands moved around animatedly as you spoke, like they always did when you were passionate about something. The mechanic laughed, and he wondered what joke you had told or whether you had said something unintentionally funny. He found himself smiling, excited to get the answer.

The mechanic noticed him first and waved. He touched your shoulder and pointed in Daniel’s direction. You squinted as you searched the crowd with intense focus. Daniel’s heart nearly exploded when your eyes finally landed on him – you waved eagerly with the biggest, brightest smile on your face that put all the track lights and fireworks to shame.

The mechanic gave him a quick hug and pat on the back first, adding a subtle wink for good measure before walking away, seemingly aware of the need for the two of you to have your own space. For the second time that day, you engulfed each other in a warm, firm hug that perhaps lasted a beat too long. He liked how you perched on your tip toes to get your head as close to the crook of his neck as possible. He liked the feeling of your small, delicate hands on his back. He liked that he could smell your hair products, distinct from the scent of your perfume, sweet florals and jasmine contrasting accents of patchouli and bergamot. He liked you.

“Congratulations! I’m so happy for you, you were amazing today,” you gushed.

“Thanks,” he said, knowing that the flush he felt in his cheeks wasn’t from the race.

“How are you feeling now?” you asked sincerely. He took a moment to think on it before answering.

“I’m not sure. Good I think, but tired.”

“That’s valid.”

“How was your day?” It was an innocent question, so he was confused when you laughed. He was just trying to make conversation. “What?”

“You just had your last race of the season and you’re officially getting out of your contract with McLaren tomorrow, and you’re asking me how my day went?” He shrugged.

“I’ve already talked about myself more than enough today. I want to hear about you.” Your laugh lines softened.

“Well, let’s see. I didn’t have to work, I met Usher, and I got to watch my friend’s last F1 race and he kicked so much butt. So I’d say it was pretty great.” His heart skipped a beat. Friend.

“You met Usher?” He glossed over the other stuff, unable to trust himself if you delved any further into the topic.

“Yeah, he was hanging out in the McLaren garage. Did not have that on my 2022 bingo card. But uh…” a sheepish grin grew on your face. “I don’t think he appreciated I kept dropping his lyrics in casual conversation.”

“Oh no,” he laughed, and the smile on your face grew.

“Y’know… just when I thought I said all I could say, he was like…yeah. And he also said -”

“Hold on let me guess,” he said between giggles. “You remind him of a girl he once knew.”

“You know…you would not believe all the things she put him through,” you said, joining him in laughter. He observed you playing with your hands behind your back, your chest puffed slightly, clearly finding great joy in your own corny jokes.

“Maybe if we’re lucky he’ll perform at the McLaren afterparty.” The words rolled off his tongue before he had the chance to think about what he was asking of you. It was one thing to go out with some of the other drivers offsite, but a McLaren sponsored event when you had been their adversary only a short few months ago was less than appropriate.

“You’ll have to let me know.” His heart fell a little, not missing the polite decline of his subtle invitation. He didn’t want to admit how much he truly needed you there. But he was on a roll with this whole honesty thing, so he bore his soul to you.

“I don’t want to go,” he said in a low voice, running an anxious hand through his hair. “I’m tired and I don’t know how I’m supposed to spend the night celebrating with these people. I can barely look half of them in the eye.” He couldn’t remember the last time he had begged for anything. He hoped his plea would be convincing enough, but you only gave him a sympathetic smile.

“You’ll be ok. Lando will be there, and there are plenty of people in your garage that had nothing to do with the decisions Zak or Andrea made. You still have people in your corner. Lots of them. And they want to celebrate with you.” He closed his eyes as you encouragingly rubbed the side of his arm, but finished with a firm pat. “Chin up. You’re almost done.”

Right. The race was only half the battle he would face today. Until the end of the day, he was still an employee of McLaren.

“Will you come pick me up if the kids at school are mean to me?” He always used humor as a defense mechanism, but he hated how much truth there was in the metaphor. You leaned in close to whisper your reassurance, a calm pleasantness in your shadow of a smile. You spoke slowly and deliberately.

“I will commit a felony and make it look like an accident if anyone is mean to you.” He was left grinning from ear to ear when you pulled away, your quiet resolve contagious as he felt his anxiety melt away. “You got this, and I promise I will celebrate with you after everything is signed tomorrow.” You extended your pinky, and he gladly linked his with yours in a solemn vow.

“Fuck ‘em all, yeah?”

“Fuck ‘em all.”

You sat in bed freshly showered, full body shaved, and facemask on. You felt guilty as hell sending your client off to the lion’s den with no support, so you had gone straight back to the hotel once he was out of sight. There was no need to go to the Amber Lounge or anything, not that you would even be able to get in without Daniel. Besides, you had your own personal Super Bowl tomorrow that you needed to be prepared for. You had ordered room service and shot off a few emails when you heard a knock. You checked the time – it was nearly midnight. You wrapped yourself in the cozy hotel robe for modesty before checking the peephole. To your confusion, but not surprise, you saw Daniel standing by himself in the hallway.

“Hi?” He looked up, admiring your frame in the doorway. You were just as beautiful in a robe and slippers as you were in a LBD and Louboutins. He bit his lip for a moment, clearly holding back a smile.

“Hi. Uh, I think you got something-” he trailed off, lightly brushing the tip of his nose with his finger.

“What? Oh! Fuck. Right.” You turned around to quickly rip the nose strip off your face. You winced, feeling the sting of the adhesive. You did your best to hide your discomfort and embarrassment with a smile when you turned back around. “Sorry about that. You’re back earlier than I thought.”

“Yeah. I figure I showed enough face for the evening. Plus big day tomorrow, right?” You nodded, unsure where this exchange was going as he fidgeted in place. “Also…” he looked around cautiously. “I didn’t want to get caught stealing this.” He pulled a bottle of very expensive champagne from behind his back, proudly presenting it to you. Your jaw dropped and morphed into a giant grin in spite of the arguably illegal activities that had transpired.

“You didn’t…For me?” You grabbed the bottle from him, feelings goosebumps form when your fingers brushed. “Wait. If I accept this, does it make me an accomplice or accessory after the fact?” He chuckled.

“I don’t know, you’re the lawyer. You tell me.” He took a step forward.

“Well. I’m not going to say no to a free drink I suppose,” you said, examining the bottle in your hands. He cleared his throat.

“I figured we could enjoy it after tomorrow – or, I mean, you could enjoy it,” he took another step forward. For reasons unknown, he seemed to lose confidence as the gap between you narrowed.

You looked back up at him, inspecting his condition. Perhaps he was a little tipsy, but he was far from being wasted which you were pleasantly surprised about given his apprehensions going into the evening. It either meant he wasn’t leaning on alcohol to handle his emotions, or he was taking tomorrow’s signing very seriously, or both. Whichever one it was, it demonstrated restraint and growth and you were proud of him for it. Admittedly, you had also been nervous leaving him to his own devices for the evening. You had wanted to go with him, to be there for emotional support. You had relied on the rationale that it was a McLaren sponsored event, but at this point the two of you had a consistent track record of blurring the lines of professionalism and friendship whenever you went out together. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him – you didn’t trust yourself.

But the man standing in front of you was composed and mature (relatively speaking, of course). Perhaps a little nervous, as you watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. But nevertheless, even after the emotional, mental, and physical turmoil of the day, he stood before you with respect and poise. Yes, you trusted yourself with him wholeheartedly.

You took a step back, opening the door wider.

“How about we enjoy it now?”

Tags: @ravenqueen27 @leslizzle @zendayabelova @eitak-t @chiliwhore @wewoo1233 @thatchickwiththecamera

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the-sunflower-room · 5 months

Text

✧akutagawa with a s/o who doodles on him ✧

akutagawa x fem!reader headcanons

☆note: i am a chronic doodler (art major moment, everybody point and laugh) and i was thinking about how cute it would be if akutagawa had a s/o who loves to doodle on him, so here it is! please enjoy lovelies xoxo

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-for starters, akutagawa is pretty much stoic and cold with 98% of the human population

-he’s just a serious guy with major rbf what can i say

-to the rest of the world, he’s the terrifying mafioso in black who brings death and destruction wherever he goes

-but to his significant other, he’s just her “sweet ryu” as she likes to call him

-in the privacy of their home he sheds his role as the mafia devil and takes on the role of doting boyfriend

-he has such a soft spot for her it’s crazy

-anyways

-she has this little habit of doodling anywhere and everywhere

-on her arms, on napkins, on corners of paper

-she’s always drawing little hearts or stars or characters—you name it

-whatever she’s feeling at the moment

-eventually she gets brave enough to draw a little heart on the back of akutagawa’s hand one day

-he’s just reading on the couch with one hand resting on his thigh and suddenly feels a pen pressing into his skin

-he starts to protest but she’s so focused and content while she’s working on it that he leaves it be and goes back to his book

-she expects him to humor her for a little while and then wipe it off eventually

-she’s pleasantly surprised to find that it’s still there as they’re getting ready for bed that night

-the next day he walks around the port mafia and goes about his very serious business with a little heart on his hand

-she notices how he refuses to wash it off and can’t help how giddy it makes her

-takes it as a sign to do it more often

-it becomes a therapeutic thing for both of them

-they’ll just be sitting on the couch, watching a show together or something, and she’s just mindlessly doodling on his hand or arm

-he tries sooo hard to hide his smile

-will prob turn away and cough into his other hand to cover up the stupid lovesick grin on his face

-totally denies it when she questions him

-he’s a feared member of the port mafia, of course he’s not completely enamored with the silly little drawings she’s lovingly inking onto his skin (yeah ok)

-she knows he loves it

-some days she’s feeling more ambitious and colors in some of her doodles with markers or colored pens

-“it’s like i’m giving you little tattoos! they totally make you look more badass” (she says as she draws a snake with a cowboy hat on his wrist)

-he secretly adores seeing all of the creative designs she comes up with

-when he walks around with the doodles on his skin it’s like he’s carrying a little piece of her with him

-if anyone in the pm catches a glimpse of his hands and dares to say something about the colorful ink, he immediately snaps at them

-“why don’t you mind your business and stop wasting air with stupid questions, you pathetic imbecile”

-this man is so whipped and protective ok

-like he hates pretty much everyone but her

-will defend his s/o till the day he dies and do anything to make her happy

-and i mean anything

-even if that means having a poorly draw cat peeking out from under his sleeve during a Very Important Meeting with mori :)

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#bsd akutagawa #akutagawa ryuunosuke #bungo stray dogs akutagawa #headcanon #akutagawa x reader #akutagawa x you #bsd x you #bsd x reader #akutagawa headcanons #bsd headcanons #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #akutagawa ryunosuke x reader #akutagawa fluff #soft akutagawa #established relationship #akutagawa x fem reader #akutagawa x reader headcanon #bsd port mafia

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kometqh · 11 months

Text

Return pt.2

╰┈➤ Ethan Landry x Female Reader

╰┈➤ Warnings: mentions of murder, blood, cursing, breakup, angst turned to fluff, ghostface! au, not explicitly following the events of the movie (Scream 6), alcohol, mean and sad ethan :(

╰┈➤ Summary: Ethan has to break up with Y/n, but regrets it instantly. Why? Because to him, she's the love of his life.

╰┈➤ Word count: 3,609k

╰┈➤ Part one

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He'd done this before; same thing over and over. One victim after another. Something in him twisted and churned at the stranger's screams, their begging, their cries, but a more cruel, a more violent part of Ethan supressed that twinge of guilt. It's not like he could do anything anyway – his dad would skin him, and his sister would take it upon herself to make his life more miserable.

"Please no! Stop I beg you." A voice screeched in his ear, begging for mercy, bloodied hands grasping his own. They were in hysterics, using all their strength against him but to no avail. His mind was elsewhere, the screams becoming white noise as he continued to drive the knife up. Agonisingly slow, too. He could feel the skin cut beneath his fingers, the blade never stopping. "I don't want to die..."

Their voice became all but a whisper, their hands losing the strength they had just a moment ago. He chuckled quietly, before abruptly pulling the knife out, his chuckling turning into a full-blown laughter as they screamed, body twitching against the wall behind them.

"I'll make it quick buttercup, yeah? Would you like that?" He whispered into their ear, holding the knife too close to their neck for comfort. He could feel them tremble, even in their half-passed out state, their fear too overwhelming. A slight nod followed shortly after his words, and he tutted in disapproval, moving away to take in the sight, his work.

"Please- if you're going to kill me, do it quick!" They exclaimed.

"So much demand from someone in your position..." He wasn't impressed, nor was he content. He didn't like being told what to do unless it was coming from Y/n. Speaking of which, he looked around the room for something. A clock.

"Shit."

His eyes caught sight of the moving handle, it was coming close to 8pm, in 15 minutes he was supposed to meet Chad.

"Look buttercup, I would love to drag this out, but I'm running low on time-" He muttered, more to himself really, whilst flipping the blade in his gloved hand, the sound of his footsteps bouncing off the walls as he stomped towards his victim – a fellow student – plunging the knife into their chest repeatedly, choked stutters and gagging resonating within the room, followed by pure silence just a few short moments after.

"Fuck."

He wiped his knife clean on their clothes, turning to a window. His bag was there waiting for him, ready with his awfully stupid costume that Chad would force him to wear later on.

He heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head, muttering curse words under his nose as he awkwardly exited through the window and onto a rusty staircase.

Taking his mask off, Ethan inhaled a deep breath of air, shoving the damned thing back into his bag and instead placing on the wretched cardboard cut-out.

What even was it? He had no idea.

Down below, his bicycle was waiting for him, luckily it hadn't been stolen by some drunkard. Everyone seemed to be drunk and gone by this time, celebrating Halloween.

His feet moved quickly, the tyres spinning aggressively as he swerved to the left, narrowly avoiding a car. "Watch where you're driving dickhead!" He shouted, flipping the driver off in a fit of rage. After a couple of minutes, he could see heaps of students cluttering the streets, all dressed in silly, sexy or actually well-done costumes.

Some hollered at him as he hurried past, others swore as he swerved, his eyes finally settling on the half-naked figure of Chad, sported in some shorts and a cowboy hat, waiting outside their shared dorm building.

"Ethan what the fuck?!" Chad shouted, prolonging the 'fuck', flailing his arms in the air as he approached the teen, "You were supposed to be here ten minutes ago! Where were you?" He continued, his arm wrapping around Ethan's neck as the boy put his bike away.

"Sorry Chad, I was in the - uhm, library?" Ethan said slowly, though it sounded more like a question rather than a statement. It wasn't questioned by Chad though, who seemed like he already had a few too many drinks for the hour it was. He was already swaying as he walked alongside Ethan, tripping over his own feet - earning a few giggles from passing ladies - winking and blowing kisses, flashing his pearly-white teeth in a boxy grin.

In all honesty, Ethan didn't expect to get away with his lie so easily, but Chad was such a frat boy he couldn't keep his hands off alcohol until they got to the party. He let out a relieved sigh as he heard music blasting out of a specific home - the 'go to' for everyone.

There wasn't a single week without at least one party, and that added onto the ease Ethan felt any time he had to go and slash someone up.

Because nobody would even notice he was gone. Not even the people that called themselves his 'friends'.

Okay - that wasn't the whole truth. There was one person that truly did care for him. A small smile tugged at his lips as he thought of her - her beautiful, soft and shiny hair, that smile that made her look like an angel sent by God himself - no, not even that, she is a literal Goddess - he thought, those little crinkles under her eyes as she smiled, the few tiniest freckles scattered across her cheeks. The way she would always lead him to the dance floor, enticing him, bringing a smile of his own to his face. His heart pounded, no, it clawed at his chest whenever she was around. She was his whole world, and she held his heart in her grasp. He was at her mercy.

But their relationship wouldn't last.

As much as Ethan loved Y/n, he would eventually be forced to kill her. She was heavily associated with the 'Core Four', as Chad liked to call it, being present at the Woodsboro event. She was there when his brother was brutally slayed by none other than Sam Carpenter.

A string of curse words fought to escape his mouth, but he fought against it as Chad pulled at his bicep, leading him away to a group of dancing girls - who in his mind - were the most awkward dancers possible.

"Ladies, meet my bro Ethan." Chad introduced, slinging one arm around Ethan's shoulder and the other around a blonde girl's waist, "Ethan, these are my classmates. They're all gorgeous aren't they?"

Ethan grinned at the group, doing his utmost best to look sweet, innocent and convincing. Chad wasn't aware of his current relationship status, and that was okay. Neither Ethan nor Y/n were bothered enough to tell anyone; they'd figure it out on their own.

"Hey there, nice to meet you guys!" He shouted over the music, lightly nodding in greeting as his cardboard helmet slid down and blocked his vision. He was about to move it out of the way, but a smaller hand did the job for him. He looked to his side, and was met with a big cheeky grin. The one he adored.

"Y/n? It's good to see you!" Chad erupted, arms raising high as he embraced her in a suffocating hug. Ethan's heart twitched, his stomach twisted with a tinge of jealousy. He did not like the sight of Chad acting all touchy with his girl - did he need to do so?

The answer was a simple no.

Y/n's hands awkwardly patted Chad's back, her eyes nervously moving from the other girls to Ethan's, though his seemed to have a darker look in them - he wasn't happy, "Alright Chad I think that's enough." She said quickly, clearing her throat whilst backing away from the taller male, and joining Ethan at his side.

She turned to Ethan, her gaze meeting his lovingly, "Hello stranger."

"Hey there, fancy seeing you here." Ethan said, clearly pleased as he bit his lip lightly, his hand itching to reach out for her own, and it would have if it wasn't for another body crashing into Y/n's back, arms slinging over her shoulders as lips entered Ethan's vision, a sloppy wet kiss was planted on Y/n's face.

"Mindy?! Ewww your breath stinks!" Y/n exclaimed exaggeratedly, fanning the space before her face as she moved her head away. Mindy chuckled at that, attempting to gift her with another kiss whilst fluttering her eyelashes and puckering her lips in, what she thought was, a seductive manner, "Oh come on! My kisses can't be that bad!"

Ethan looked to her, a questioning eyebrow raised, "Are you sure?" He scratched the back of his head, purposefully looked around the room to imply Mindy was, in fact, a bad kisser. Though he couldn't know really. The girl in question smacked the back of his head, a nasty snarl gracing her features, rolling her eyes in the process, "Thanks Ethan. At least I can pull the ladies, unlike someone..." A couple of 'oohs' and 'ahhh's' left the small group, and Ethan could almost feel the sting - only he didn't, because in his mind he did pull the best girl possible.

And she was standing at his side, stifling a couple of giggles.

"Come on Y/n, let's get some drinks." Mindy said, taking a hold of Y/n's hand as she lead her away.

Ethan shook his head and chuckled, sending a slight wave at Y/n, who had turned back to say something, but was far too gone to be heard. He reached into his pocket, fished out his phone, and was greeted with the sight of two missed calls from his sister - Quinn. He sighed heavily and excused himself from the group, making his way outside as he attempted to ring her back.

The phone rang for a long while, and Ethan was growing agitated the longer it took.

"Ethan? Why didn't you answer?" Quinn's annoyed voice rang through Ethan's ear.

Clicking his tongue, he retorted, "I told you I will be busy. I'm at a party, why are you calling me?"

"You need to break up with that bitch. Plans have changed." Her tone was cold, and Ethan let out a scoff at the insult. How dare she insult the one girl he cared about?

"Me and dad decided to let her live," She took a pause, awaiting any sort of reaction from her brother, but was greeted with pue silence as he anticipated her words, "If you break up with her, we won't kill her. We will only go after Sam, Tara, Chad and Mindy. Though I can't promise you that she won't be injured during the process."

"And if I don't? Maybe she can still be an asset." He argued, directing his attention at a stray rock on the side of the pavement, kicking it, "Then I will personally ensure she is gone. We need you to stay focused, Ethan." Quinn's voice sounded harsh, and it sent a chill down his spine, his eyes widening in horror. He never believed her threats were real; up until now. But she was giving him a choice.

"Ethan? Did you hear me?"

He took a moment to say anything, his attention shifting to how rapidly his heart was beating, how he suddenly felt so warm and self-aware, he felt as though he could feel every sensation on his body - from that miniscule itch on his thigh to the way his hair began to stick to his forehead unbrearingly.

"You'll let her live? If I break up with her?" He asked, swallowing down the invisible lump that had formed in his throat. He's never felt this way. What was it? Anxiety? Fear? Over the phone he could hear a male voice call for Quinn, and he visibly cringed, "I am very serious Eth. You think I wouldn't be up for the task?" She questioned, taking a puff of air, "Dad's getting impatient, and I'm being kind by giving you a choice. So act fast."

And with that, she hung up the phone.

His arm fell limp, and the blood pumping through his veins deafened him. His thoughts raced one hundred miles per hour, and yet did not come up with a single answer or solution to his predicament.

His sister, his own flesh and blood, was threatening what he deemed the 'love of his life', but was giving him the chance to save her life? He definitely needed a moment to think that one over.

A few minutes went by, the music coming from within the house never stopped. It worked as background noise as he pondered, talking under his breath about all the possibilities and pacing around, clearly anxious. Could he get out of this one? Was breaking up with Y/n really the ultimate choice?

He felt like falling in through the earth, down into its very core so that he did not have to make such a choice. He wasn't stupid though - he knew if he suddenly disappeared, that Quinn wouldn't hesitate for even a second - and Y/n's life would be in grave danger.

He couldn't let her do that. If anything, he would break up with Y/n, break her heart and have it crumble to pieces just to ensure her safety.

"What's got your pants in a twist cupcake?" A soft voice asked behind him, at first he was slightly startled, but then realised who it was. His damnation, "Y/n? I thought you were busy partying?" He exclaimed, hand gripping his chest as a nervous, toothy grin creeped up his cheeks.

The girl in front of him swayed a little, hands interlocked behind her back as she looked up, "Well I was, but you were gone for so long I started to think you snuck off."

He chuckled, shaking his head in denial.

"No, I wouldn't of left you here, alone." He said quietly, looking straight into her eyes cutely, "Chad would do anything for a chance with a girl as pretty as you." Ethan continued, now shuffling closer and closer, until their torso's were just a mere inch away from touching - so close he could see that dusty pink colour decorate her cheeks. That really did do a number on him.

"Well, luckily for you, Chad isn't my type," A small smile tugged at her soft lips, and she fought hard to contain it as she spoke, moving her hand to trail her fingers down his chest, keeping her gaze locked on it, "My type are sweet, cute, nerdy boys, with adorable brown puppy eyes and soft curly hair. Specifically, brunettes." She shifted her gaze, now looking into his wide eyes, the street lights reflecting in her pupils.

That light dusty pink colour from earlier? It now turned into a full-blown crimson blush paired with a wide smile.

"Are you embarrassed?"

"Why do you ask?" She looked at him once more, chewing lightly on her bottom lip, her blush intensifying further as she had indeed been called out.

"You're blushing. So much. It's quite cute actually." Ethan teased, his hand slowly moving to grip hers, sliding down to interlock their fingers together, "I think we should get out of here." At that, his heart picked up the pace, and nervosity took over him. Should he do it now? Maybe that'll be for the best.

His mind rushed as Y/n pulled him along, into the crowded streets and through dark alleys. Their breaths matching in pace and heartbeats matching in rhythms, their hands interlocked and feet moving synchronically.

Cars honked at them, street lights flickered and light rain pattered down, drowning out anything but each other's presence. Ethan kept trying to think of the right things to say, but her presence overwhelmed him, tugging painfully at his heartstrings. He couldn't bear the thought of leaving her. But he had to, for her safety. And so, his mind made the unconscious choice to let her go.

Even if it hurt.

It would be like acting, he told himself. His ears could barely process the words she was saying, the blood pumping through his head deafening him. He was getting anxious and fidgety.

His footsteps came to a slow stop in an alley, his hand pulling her backwards. Her breath hitched, and she gazed lovingly into his eyes, but he could see the growing worry. How am I going to do this? He restrained a smile, and blinked away the tears that threatened to gather in his eyes, not looking at her, but rather off to the side.

"Eth? What is it?" She asked worriedly. He could hear her laboured breathing, and gulped down the lump that formed in his throat.

"I don't know if this is a good idea..." Ethan's eyes met hers, his heart beating loud against his ribcage. He fought hard against his urges to grab her hand from his shoulder, place a gentle kiss on it before embracing her and muttering sweet nothings and reassurances into her ear, that she shouldn't worry and it didn't matter.

"You know what I mean," He continued, taking a deep breath, maintaining eye contact, "Us. This isn't working out."

He shook his head, seamlessly trying to rid his head of those thoughts, but to no avail. His heart panged with guilt at the sigh she let out, "Why are you doing this?"

"We both know this isn't working. It'll only end in us both getting hurt," He paused, taking a deep breath, an attempt to calm his racing heart before he blurted out, "I don't love you."

He put on a stoic face, letting go of her hand. Putting much needed distance between them. If he didn't, this simple task would become much harder.

"W-what do you mean? Just two days ago you were on about how you can't stand being away from me! What happened? What changed your mind?" A light smirk tugged at his lips, his nerves taking over every cell in his body - he was scared, terrified. That smirk was quickly wiped off as he saw the pain in her eyes - the one thing he never thought he'd be the cause of.

"Why are you doing this Eth?"

"I have to. It's best if we stop whatever this is."

"How do you know? Are you really thinking about what's best for me?" At that, his anger took over.

He was doing all this just to protect her. He was being selfless, and all that she was doing was making his life more difficult. He hated (loved) how she questioned his choices, never went down without a fight. His vein was visible on the side of his temple, and his teeth grinded on each other.

"Stop making this so difficult! I am doing what is best for me!" He shouted, breathing heavily, feeling his face became hot to the touch, he pointed to himself, but stuttered his words out as his hand almost slapped hers, "I-I don't give a fuck about what you want! Okay? This is over, we are over." Upon saying so, another lump formed in his throat. He wanted to take his words back so so bad. But how could he?

She nodded her head at him, and pushed past him, bumping shoulders. His eyes caught sight of the first few tears, and his heart shred into bits.

"Y/n! Wait!" He shouted after her, following in her footsteps, but she ignored him as though he didn't exist, "Come back!" With that, she entered the crowded streets and disappeared, from both his sight and his life.

"No no no. What the fuck do I do? What the fuck did I do?!" He questioned himself, one hand gripping and tugging harshly at his hair, the other dragging over his face, and he wished this was all some sort of a sick dream.

He couldn't believe he just did that - abandoned the love of his life and watched her walk away. It's for the best. He shook his head, slapping himself lightly before rushing into the crowds, in hopes of catching up to her.

'She must have gone back to the party, right?' He thought, looking ahead into the crowd. Hoping to catch up. His legs carried him, they ran, and his mind pleaded whatever God was above them, whatever fate chose this. The house party wasn't too far, as the pair hadn't gotten far before he made his declaration. Within 15 minutes he was there, his height bringing an advantage to his speed. He pushed through and into the house, looking around in a panic.

"Where is she?"

Sweaty bodies and spilling drinks blocked the path, hands raised in the air and swaying to the sound of music. Ethan received a couple of (accidental) slaps to the face, which helped sober him up a little from his panicked state. He had reached the kitchen, an island decorated with red solo cups and empty bottles of all kinds of alcohol, stood in the middle. And on the other side of it was Y/n, busy talking to Tara and Chad, her lips trembling and hands shakily bringing an alcohol-filled cup up.

His heart broke into a million pieces, just at the sight of what he had caused. Was begging her for her forgiveness now a bad idea? Probably. He listened to his better judgement, swallowing the lump in his throat harshly, his Adam's apple bobbing as he did so. His hand wiped the forming tears away and he walked away, breaths heavy and trembling as his heart shook. He couldn't sabotage her safety - one which should have been guaranteed the moment those words left Quinn's lips. Though, his sister was renowned for being an immensely good liar - only that part seemed to escape his mind.

I just wanted to say a quick thank you, I am so grateful for anyone who has read Return, I'm thankful that you all enjoyed it and I really hope Before You is up to your guys expectations <3 For those who have read the pre-edited version, this new one has a few minor but important changes. Thank you for whoever reads this <3 - kometqh

Tags: @netey6m

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion #jack champion x reader #scream 6 #scream vi #ethan landry fluff #fluff #angst #ethan landry angst #scream six #horror #gore #ghostface #Halloween #scream 2023 #scream imagine #scream franchise #scream movies

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rhettabbotts · 1 year

Note

“friends don’t do this kind of shit”

“this feels dirty” “that's because it is”

with our favourite dilf? 🥺👉🏻👈🏻

🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

no rules in breakable heaven - rhett abbott

pairing: dilf!rhett abbott x babysitter!reader

summary: when a late night turns into a learning experience.

w/c: 2.5k

warnings: 18+ only. SMUT. corruption kink. age gap (babysitter mid 20s, rhett late 30s). inexperienced reader. making out. fingering. hand job. consumption of alcohol but both parties are lucid. dirty talk. daddy kink. talks of losing virginity.

a/n: dilf rhett and babysitter’s origin story! pour one out for the fatherless girls.

“Guys my age are just so - they don’t understand women. They think about one thing and one thing only and when you don’t want to give them that thing, you’re useless to them. It’s so frustrating,” you exclaimed, sinking further down into Rhett’s couch.

You don’t know why you were talking about this with your boss. He should be the last person you’re ranting to about your troubled love life. But he was here and he was listening, thumb caressing your bare ankle in lazy circles. You hadn’t planned on spilling your guts to him on his couch but you couldn’t stop it.

Rhett had worked late, something about the fences being torn down by the recent storm and it had to be fixed before the cows got out of the south pasture. You didn’t mind staying longer than planned. You loved every minute you were able to spend with the girls. Bedtime with them was easy, you had enjoyed a long day at the park, letting them play in the splash pad to their heart's content. They were both out like a light the second their heads hit their pillows.

You tidied up their toys in the living room and made quick work of the dishes from dinner, storing the leftovers in the fridge for Rhett later. It was nearly ten o’clock when you heard the horses riding in, the bunkhouse boys being rowdy as always. Peeking up from your book when the sound of the lock clicked, you saw Rhett. Sweaty and grimy and all cowboy. His hair was curling at the ends, courtesy of the humidity. Kicking his boots off and mumbling “shower”, he was gone and out of your sight.

You were half tempted to pack your bags and slip out before he finished his shower but you were also tempted to stay. So you stayed. You heated up a plate for him when you heard the water shut off, sitting down at the table to wait for him. You felt silly. You knew he probably wanted to just lay down and go to sleep but you missed him as crazy as that sounds. Over the past several months of babysitting his daughters, you had grown close to Rhett. You didn’t have many friends that lived close by and he spent most of his days working, so it was nice to sit down and have a glass of wine and talk to someone who was over the age of ten.

You ignored your friends’ comments about how “he totally wanted to fuck you.” You would roll your eyes and brush off their crude comments, reminding them that he was just a friend - really, just your employer. But you couldn’t stop from wishing there was something more, that you could be something more.

Brought back to reality by the sound of Rhett’s heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and into the kitchen, your body ran hot at the sight before you. Dressed now in a tight fitting black t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, he looked delectable. You mentally smacked yourself for even having those thoughts. He was silent as he pulled out a crystal glass and reached for the top shelf in the cabinet, displaying a bottle of expensive whiskey.

“Rough day?” You questioned as he poured himself a generous amount of the dark liquid.

“You have no idea,” he responded before downing the drink in one gulp. He made a satisfied sound as it made its way down his throat. Rhett finally looked at you and he smiled softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

You were in a daze, looking at him, watching the way his muscles rippled beneath the shirt. Finally snapping out of it at his acknowledgment of the food, you cleared your throat and shifted in your seat.

“Oh.. that? It was nothing. I figured it would be more fulfilling than chicken nuggets and mac and cheese. We already had that today,” you said, a small smile forming on your own face.

He pulled the chair out and sat down across from you, sinking into the seat and digging into the food you had prepared. You were silent while he ate, trying not to stare at the way his jaw worked or the way his hand dwarfed the metal fork. He finished hastily, like he hadn’t had anything to eat in weeks.

“That was amazing,” he sighed, a satiated grin on his face as he patted his belly. “Where the hell did you learn how to cook like that?”

“Had to survive college somehow,” you giggled, earning a small chuckle in return. You reached for his empty plate but was quickly intercepted by him grabbing your wrist, not roughly but it made you squeak nonetheless.

“I got it, don’t worry about it. You’re not my maid.”

“I just wanted - I know you’ve had a long day and I wanted you to rest,” you stammered.

“And I will. You’ve had a long day, too. Will you - do you want to stay for a little longer? Tell me how today was? I’ve got a bottle of wine I’ve been meaning to crack open,” he spoke quietly, nervously. How could this man ever be nervous? He made you nervous.

“I’d love to.”

Nearly half a bottle later and you were explaining to him how your failed blind date went. How the guy immediately went in for a kiss when you made it to your car. Wine gave you no filter, even if it was only one glass. You knew you were in dangerous territory but you continued.

“I truly don’t think they know how to satisfy a woman. I mean - do you guys grow out of that or is it just something embedded into your DNA?”

“Trust me, honey. Not all guys are like that,” Rhett said as his thumb rubbed a bit higher, brushing across your lower shin. It made you shiver slightly, the callus that was on the pad scratched against your skin. His eyes were heavy, squinting a little at you as his mouth twitched up into a smirk.

“Hell, I’ve never even had a guy give me an orgasm before!” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. Your hand slapped over your mouth the second the last syllable left your tongue. Rhett’s eyes widened and his thumb stopped, mouth agape. Your own eyes widened in horror at your confession.

“That was so inappropriate! I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have-“

“Are you serious?”

His question was genuine. He was curious.

“Um, yeah. It’s just- well just the one time. In college when I- it was over in like, maybe five minutes? And he left right after. Oh, this is so embarrassing.” Your hands shielded your face, you couldn’t bear to look at him.

“Hey, it’s not embarrassing. That guy was a shithead for doing that. That’s not a real man,” Rhett explained. “Your partner should always focus on your needs as well. They need to take care of you.”

Rhett shifted on the couch, closer to you. Your upper thighs were pressed against his and your breath caught in your throat. Something shifted in the air. You felt it. Rhett’s tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he quickly glanced down to your chest, watching as it rose and fell in short breaths.

“Rhett-“

“You’re so beautiful,” he muttered, like he was saying it to himself. Like he didn’t mean to say it out loud for you to hear. You gasped softly. He was looking at you in such a way that it made your thighs clench involuntarily. A dark heat in his cobalt eyes that you had never seen before. You surged forward, tangling your fingers into his hair and crushing your lips against his own.

Rhett moaned unabashedly, licking into your mouth without preamble. His hands traveled to your waist, pulling you onto his lap. You were so enraptured in the feeling of the way he licked and nipped and the way his grip tightened on your hips, you couldn’t think straight. Once your brain caught up to what was happening, you pulled away.

“Rhett, we- we shouldn’t. You’re- and I’m- we’re friends and this shouldn’t happen. It would complicate things and-“

“Friends don’t do this kind of shit. Dance around each other for months. The flirting. The teasing. I can’t be just friends with you, honey. I want- I want more with you. I can’t get you off my mind. You’re all consuming.”

His confession made your chest ache. You felt the same way. You have felt the same way for a long time and now he was here right at your fingertips. You pulled him in for another bruising kiss.

Things progressed much quicker after the second kiss. His rough hands roamed over the planes of your body, sliding up your thighs and under your dress, fingertips dipping under the hem of your panties where your thighs met your ass. You bucked your hips reflexively, causing you both to release wanton sounds.

“Rhett. Touch me. Please, touch me,” you whined desperately, moving your hips clumsily against his own. He laughed lightly as he pulled away to settle back into the couch cushions. Your heart was beating rapidly, a thousand race horses galloping against your rib cage. He was drinking you in like he drank the whiskey earlier, hands coming up to grope your chest.

“You’re a dream, baby. An absolute dream.” His voice once laced with sleep was now full of lust, desire, want. No one has ever made you feel the way he’s making you feel now. It was like he knew the effect he had on you, if the smug smile on his face was any indication. “This what you wanted?”

Your nipples hardened and Rhett tugged at them through the thin material of your dress. Your own hands found their way to his strong chest, running them over his broad shoulders and up his neck. You tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear, such a soft gesture compared to the way he was squeezing at your breasts. A particularly sharp tug to the pebbled bud pulled a whine out of you.

“I want- I need you- oh, please,” you babbled.

“Tell me,” Rhett commanded.

“Want you to touch me here,” you said as you grabbed one wrist and put his hand between your thighs. His hand cupped your clothed pussy and dug the heel of his palm against your clit. He hummed, pleased with how wet you felt even through the cotton.

“Good girl. Fuck, you’re so wet. I can feel it.”

His finger traced a line from your hole to the bundle of nerves, moving up until he dipped it into the waistband. He took his time, drawing slow circles around it like he had previously with your ankle. That felt like a lifetime ago. You whimpered as he traveled lower, tracing your swollen lips languidly. Effortlessly. Even when you did this, it never felt this good. The angle was awkward but he slid one finger into your dripping hole, leading you to jerk in his lap.

“So tight. Squeezing my finger like that. God, honey. Is this all for me?” He thrust his thick finger in and out of you at a slow pace.

“All for you, daddy,” you moaned before you realized what you were saying. His low groan and harsher thrusts of his finger validated your feelings. He liked that just as much as you did. He soon added a second finger, stretching you more.

“Can I- please can I touch you, too?” You nearly begged, nails digging into his biceps at the feeling of his digits moving inside you.

“Yeah, baby. Touch daddy. Shit,” he grumbled as your hand slid beneath the elastic of the sweatpants. It took some maneuvering but you were able to pull them down below his hips. His cock was rock hard, pink tip leaking precum and you so desperately wanted to get your mouth on him. Your thumb rubbed just under the head, biting your lip when his hips thrust up.

His unoccupied hand grabs your wrist and raises it to his face, pursing his lips and spitting a generous amount into your palm.

It was quiet for a few moments as you both found your rhythm again. You tried your hardest to match the thrusts of his fingers but you couldn’t focus, not with the way he hit that spongy spot inside you every single time.

“This feels- god, this feels dirty. Fuck, Rhett. Right there,” you whimpered.

“That’s because it is. God, listen to you. No one’s ever made you feel this way, have they? Baby, shit- tighten your grip just a little- there it is. Atta girl,” he praised.

You were so close already, trying your best to stave off the feeling in hopes of this lasting longer. But you were chasing that high, riding his fingers eagerly. He was leaking on your hand, canting his hips up to get more friction. Hushed moans and grunts escaped the two of you and you drew near to the edge.

All it took was one gasp of your name from Rhett’s mouth to send you spiraling into pure bliss. You threw your head back in a silent scream. Your thighs quaked uncontrollably as the pleasure washed over you. It took just a few more pumps before Rhett’s release. He had leaned forward to crush his mouth against yours, moaning as he came all over your hand and inner thighs. It was all so overwhelming. All of these new feelings and questions that swarmed your brain as you both came down from your climax.

You sat on top of Rhett breathless, wincing slightly as he pulled his fingers from you. They glistened in the low light and you saw stars when he slid his digits inside his mouth, licking them clean of you.

“You taste good,” he said nonchalantly. “Let me get a towel so I can clean you up, okay? I’ll be right back.” He placed a gentle kiss to your lips before grabbing a warm wash cloth from the bathroom down the hall.

Your mind was reeling. Rhett just got you off. Rhett kissed you back. Rhett said he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Rhett-

“Here you go, honey.” The warm dampness jolted you out of your thoughts and you were staring up at the man before you. His graying hair hung down in his face, framing it like a portrait. “You okay?”

“You just gave me the best orgasm of my life. I’m perfect,” you teased. He rolled his eyes but there was only affection in the gesture. Rhett pulled you into his lap once more after he cleaned you, kissing all over your face.

“So… what now?”

“Now… I’m gonna sit here with a pretty girl in my lap and kiss her until she’s tired of kissing me. Listen, I really like you. And I know this will be hard to navigate but… I can’t give you up now, honey,” Rhett declared.

“I really like you too, Rhett,” you affirmed before leaning forward for another kiss. It was going to be difficult for numerous reasons but you were ready to face it head on. Maybe it was okay to be a little selfish for once.

#shelby’s sleepover #rhett abbott #rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott x you #rhett abbott smut #dilf rhett x babysitter #dilf rhett 4 ever <3

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chaotic-mystery · 8 months

Text

Pairing: dbf!Joel x f!reader

Summary: your waitressing job has been going good so far and Joel’s finally warming up to you. Halloween being celebrated at White Pony has to you excited for all the customers you can serve…but what does Joel do when one doesn’t treat you how you should be treated?

Content Warnings: eventual smut bc enemies to lovers okay we’re getting there! 18+ mdni!, mean!joel, drinking, no outbreak!au,reader smokes, Joel smokes, Joel’s bitch ass girlfriend, slut shaming (we don’t like Michelle) groaping, fighting, mentions of wounds and blood, reader has daddy issuessss, Joel finally being NICE (will update as we progress)

Word Count: 4.3K

A/N: This shit is starting to warm up and I am biting my fingers for the barbecue scene okay!!! Will they kith? Maybe. If you can spot all my silly references in here, kiss kiss to you pookie.

Within the last two weeks of training at White Pony to be a waitress and being with Michelle almost every night, you had to see more and more of Joel. The first few days he refused to come in the bar like he always did before you got the job. It was his- as he put it, “place to be away from you.” Nice.

Michelle was still just as scary as the day you met her. She kept Joel close in her eyesight when you first came to training but as the days passed and she watched you two hardly say any words to each other, she loosened the leash on him again. Since your blow up with him, things were still kind of weird in the way that all you said to each other was, “You done with that?” and “Another round.”

Tonight you were celebrating Halloween down at the bar and Michelle told you all to come dressed as something, no shift unless you actually try with your outfit. It should’ve been no surprise to her that you'd show up as a blood sucking vampire and not just a regular old boring vampire. The black corset dress with the stockings and glitter everywhere had Michelle’s mouth dropping with shock. “Darlin’ when I said dress up I didn’t mean that dressed up.” Her fake witch nose was kind of crooked with the way she glued it to her face but it suited her. The passive aggressiveness she gave you was really starting to work your nerves but the tips were good here, you could easily talk shit about her attitude later while counting all your bills.

You smooth down your dress and give a twirl, showing off your boots that you just got in the mail. You’ve already heard from Joel how many packages get delivered daily and that “the mail truck parks too long in front of his driveway” yada yada yada. He whined the same spiel every time you almost had it down word for word.

Joel’s eyes meet yours as he leans back in the stool and he begins turning slowly while his eyes scan your outfit briefly. A sly smirk forms on his lips, “So just how much garlic should I put around me to keep you away?” His glass meets his mouth, taking a small sip of his whiskey. Your plastic tray falls at your side as your shoulders drop, your eyes low with annoyance.

“Yeah? You feel proud of that one old man?” you mock, leaning against the bar until all your drinks are done being made. The glasses start to pile up, ready to be taken to the corner of girlfriends celebrating the night all dressed up as different colored crayons.

Your fingers delicately place each glass on the plastic tray and Joel gives a breathy laugh. “I’m proud of that, yeah.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, cowboy. You're not my type to even sink my teeth into.” The firm tone takes him by surprise and his eyes flicker over your body once more before scoffing.

“I’m everyone’s type, thank you very much. I’ll take another whiskey too, ma’am.” The devilish grin appears once more which only makes your eyes roll.

“You aren’t even in my section Joel. Fuck off, get your lady to do it.” You shoot back, the annoyance not shying away from your face at all. Joel nods slowly and turns away from you, finally laying off just long enough to let you get back to your job. Michelle watches you closely as she overhears you telling Joel to fuck off, her stern look burning imaginary holes into you.

When she busted you for talking like that to Joel, it was just best not to even look at her, this not being the first time she’s caught you with your sailors mouth in full effect.

With the night flying by from a packed bar, the tips were coming in well. Everyone was dressed up as something, leave it to Joel to dress up as…himself.

“Let me know if you need anything else!” You shout over the music to your newest table and give everyone a smile before retreating to the bar. With Joel and Michelle in the corner canoodling at the end of the counter, you couldn’t help but throw up in your mouth a little. Her costume wasn’t going to last much longer, the evidence of a missing nose so apparent. Her costume was falling off her shoulders constantly, it was a bulky old witch dress and it looked ancient.

Your hands run along the bar and pat it eagerly like an impatient puppy just ready for another table and more money.

Suddenly a group of men walk in and the bar gets a tad quieter. The dress shirts they have on are so tight you can see the tank top underneath the fabric. Something about them just stuck out like a sore thumb in the best way possible and you wanted to be the one to serve them.

“Nell, how do I look? I’m gonna take that table and get the best tips for us all tonight.” You giggle and fix your hair while the bartender tells you how good you look. Joel must’ve sensed someone having fun because the next thing you know, an arm was grabbing you and walking you towards the back of the bar away from all the bustle and crowd.

“Ow Joel, get off me. What are you doing?” You shout, grabbing your arm from his grasp and groan while rubbing the tender skin.

“No, you aren’t taking them. They’re out of town assholes that sometimes stop in and it’s nothin’ but issues every time. Let Danny take ‘em.” He almost sounded concerned but the look in his eyes didn’t last long before he looked away.

You stomped your foot softly and groaned, folding your arms across your chest. “Danny doesn’t even pool his tips at the end of the night like he’s supposed to! I can handle it Joel, I’ll call you if I need you to reenact Road house, okay?” You snicker at your reference and walk away before he could argue more, your tray innocently behind you as you walk up to the full table of intimidating men.

Joel was seething in the corner, his tongue running over his teeth against his closed lips while he watched one already get handsy and try to cop a feel under your dress. Joel Miller was not jealous. He was worried for your safety and you were known to get yourself into some crazy things due to miscalculation on your part of common sense. He was almost too aware of how chaotic you could be at times but at this moment it wasn’t a joke to him. He sat back in his chair and turned it so you were in his view the entire conversation. The glasses of whiskey turned to glasses of water so he could be clear minded if things got sticky. You walked back over and he pretended not to overhear your conversation with Nell about the men fawning over you.

Joel rolls his eyes and drinks his water, the annoyance you even entertained those assholes after he told you not to, just sitting deep inside his chest. Your small tray was packed with beers and shots of your top shelf vodka and his eyes widened, already knowing how tonight was going to play out. He sighed, smacking his hand on the bar before getting up to change the song on the jukebox. Searching for what felt like forever, he finally landed on one of his old favorites.

Porn star Dancing by My Darkest Days & Zakk Wylde.

You stupidly sit on one of their laps and try to engage in the conversation but it always turns back to you. Hours go by of the conversation being about you and not in the best way. They’re asking what time you get off, where you got your sexy little outfit, what color were your panties, shit you shouldn’t be asking your waitress. A hand reaches to your neck and squeezes, making your skin crawl inside. They all smell of menthol and nicotine mixed with gray goose, too much liquid courage.

Joel grabs Michelle and starts dancing with her in the corner, her back to you at the table the entire time. He keeps his eyes locked onto you, very very closely. Even when you extend an arm to grab an empty bottle out of the way his eyes are following. They kept tugging you to sit back down, making his blood boil and his teeth clenched tightly. Somehow you managed to slip away for just a moment and make your way to the bathroom, darting around the corner into the pitch black hallway that was sheltered from noise. Joel lets go of Michelle and follows you without any sound, trying not to startle you.

He stands against the wall and listens to your sobs muffled behind the bathroom door. The tears were pure fear and regret. Maybe, just maybe, Joel had a point. Even if you wanted to close their tab and stop serving them it would just make things so much worse for everyone. You got yourself into this mess, now it was up to you to get yourself out of it. You grab a small piece of toilet paper and blot away your tears, the post cry makeup making you look even better than before. Such a silly way of looking at the situation but you couldn’t deny a good cry moment.

A chill ran down your spine as you faced Joel outside of the bathroom, his head hanging to hear better. When the door squeaks open, his head snaps up and his eyes are on yours. With his strong gaze not leaving yours, you clear your throat and shrug like you know nothing.

“W-why are you outside the ladies bathroom?” You knew why he was out here, he probably saw you run in here and wanted to report back to Michelle, or even worse, tell you, “I told you so..” blah blah.

“Are you okay?” His hand rubs his neck as he stands up straight, moving closer to you. He reaches out and grumbles as he wipes away a tear. “Can jus’ ask Danny to finish out the table, s’okay if you change your mind.” Your glossy eyes look up at him and you smile, shaking your head no.

“Can’t. I got this Joel, I just need to get through it and I’m done for the night.” Your hands wrap around your arms, shivering under the A/C vent. Joel’s shoulders drop in frustration and he sighs loudly.

“Darlin’...” he starts, “don’t do this. Look I’ll tip you whatever they were even thinking about and more jus’ don’t do this to yourself.” His soft words were actually making you reconsider but then again, what did he care? You snap out of it and sniffle, shaking off the sadness.

“I’ve got it Joel, promise.” A fake smile passes from your lips and he doesn’t take the bait at all. You both walk down the hall to find the table empty of bodies and three dollars squashed under a shot glass with vodka dripping down the side. Three. Dollars. You embarrassingly grab the money and look around confused as to what you could’ve done to deserve a three dollar tip. “God damnit..” you mutter under your breath. The glass clanks together as you begin to clean off the table, not wanting anyone to see this mortifying crime scene any more than they have to.

Joel’s frame catches in the corner of your eye, his mouth covered by his hand. When you stop cleaning to look at him, he stares right into you and for a split second it doesn’t look like Joel at all. He gets up, snatching the three dollars from your hand and you knew something bad was going to happen. Joel shoves the exit door wide open and smacks the siding of the building. As he marches outside, he sees the fancy car still sitting in the parking lot, the men outside around it cracking jokes and being rowdy.

“Joel…” You call out and immediately run after him, small struts because of your boots. “Joel sto-”

“S’cuse me fellas. Three dollar tip, really?” Joel chuckles and puts a hand on his hip, the look on his face hard as stone. Here we fucking go, you thought to yourself. Everyone from inside gathers outside and you slowly make your way to Joel, his hand flying in your direction motioning you to stop in your tracks.

“What’d you say, dickhead?” One of the men called out, his words semi slurred. His friends laugh and Joel sarcastically laughs before standing up straight.

“See, I don’t know where y’all are from but around here we tip our waitresses real nice. Three dollars? Cmon man.” He was maybe thinking they “forgot” to put down a ten dollar bill or something, no way they meant three dollars.

“Man she was worth three dollars but she can come home with me if she wants for the rest of the tip, know what I mean?” The assholes behind him hoot and holler, clapping their hands together and praising the man for the disgusting comeback.

“Joel stop cmon just drop it it’s fine let’s just go back inside.” You firmly shout, voice cracking from humiliation. Joel turns to look at you and pushes his hand down telling you to calm down. As his boots drag against the gravel making his way to the group of skeezy men, he tuts loudly at them.

“Do I have to teach you a thing or two about manners, asshole? She’s not a fuckin’ fast food burger that you get for three dollars. She’s worth way more than that. You basically groaped her all night, askin’ what color her panties are, when she’s leavin’, how badly does she want your money, but I don’t have to tell you any of that. You know exactly what you’ve been sayin’ to her all while she’s jus’ doin’ her job. So let me ask you this, you do plan on tipping her correctly, yes?” Joel stopped just as he was toe to toe with the man, not a smirk to be found anywhere except on Joel.

“Ye-yeah man um, let me get my wallet.” He hastily reaches into his pocket while he stutters apology after apology to Joel. Just as he’s pulling his hand out, he balls it into a fist all wound back to hit Joel. Never once did it connect with his cheek, never.

Joel grabs the skeeze’s wrist and twists it roughly before throwing him on the ground, his buddies getting up contemplating if they really wanted to do this or not. Joel gets on top of him, throwing punches left and right, grunting with every connection his fist has with skin. Blood trickles down his hand between his fingers and he doesn’t stop until the guy is begging for mercy.

Wiping his nose and breathing in deeply, Joel gets up and grabs the wallet that was supposed to be taken out before all this started. His bloody fingers split it open and find a bunch of cash, flicking through all the bills.

“How much was their bill, darlin’?”

Everyone's eyes were on you and the chattering started to fill your ears.

You clear your throat roughly and walk closer to Joel by just a few steps, not wanting to get too close.

“Uh…I don’t remember. It was around 213 dollars I believe…lots of gray goose shots.” Your eyes went wide when he pulled out two 100 dollar bills and folded them, passing it to you between his index and middle finger. You take it apprehensively, staring at the grunting man rolling around on the ground. Joel nods at you a little and asks if you’re okay. Just as your lips part to tell him thank you, someone is running up on him.

“Joel watch out!” You shout and he pushes you back so much you fall on the ground. A fist hitting him right in the face, “You fuckin’ prick! Wanna piece of me old man?!” The other guy shouts at Joel and hits him, starting to wrestle him on the ground. They roll around causing the gravel dust to stir up and you think quickly on your feet. Going behind the guy trying to wrestle Joel to be on top, you kick him right in the balls with your boots. “Get off of him!” You shriek and grab his hair, tossing him backwards. The audible winces and groans from the crowd echo off the buildings, Joel sits up and looks at you like you were some angel or something.

Reaching out your hand for a lift, you take deep breaths and help him up off his ass.

“How was that for your reenactment? You okay?” He asks as he begins to brush the gravel off his palms. The men were on the ground rolling in pain still, such a funny thing to watch.

Chuckling softly, you turn back to Joel,”Yeah I’m okay. You okay?” You nudge his arm and see his knuckles still dripping blood. A small nod comes from him and you grab his hand slowly to observe the wounds.

“Should get some ice on that Mr.Miller.” The glimmer in his eye takes you and draws you in, standing there holding onto his hand for far too long. Everyone behind you cleared out and went inside, leaving Michelle there alone. She clears her throat and you snap back to earth and drop Joel's hand rather fast.

“Take her home Joel. She’s done.”

“What?!” You shout in complete surprise.

“Mich come on baby I don’t think that’s very fa-” Joel’s reasoning is cut off by a groan from Michelle.

“No! I can’t have a floozy willing to do whatever for tips work here and expect my boyfriend to protect her! You’re done!” She was expressive with her hands just like your mother used to be, which was exactly how you were feeling. A little girl once more and your mom was beyond done with you.

Your tongue pushes against your cheek and you go inside to get your coat and purse. Nell was the only bartender who didn’t treat you like a monster and she started to get pissed off when you told her the news. Joel and Michelle were outside arguing and you stood by the door eavesdropping, careful they couldn’t see you.

“You’ve never once defended me from a creep like that!”

“Oh Michelle, is that what this is about? Really?”

“No, of course not Joel! You know damn well she knew what she was doing dressed like that coming to work and getting on their laps the way she did! What else did she expect from them?!” Her hands were flying up in the air as Joel’s head dropped, shaking side to side.

“Michelle she’s just barely started her life, what did you want me to do, hm? Watch them take advantage of her?!” His arms reached out, searching for something that wasn’t there.

“No but what do you think is gonna happen when she walks around here acting like a slut?!”

As your fast breaths started to fog the glass awaiting Joel’s response or even some sliver of defense, nothing. He said nothing.

Joel knew that wasn’t true. He watched your driveway like a hawk regardless how many times he said he didn't. Tommy was the first and last person you’ve been with since you moved back but that was none of Michelle's business even if you wanted to get with everybody.The door flew open and you walked to your car, getting in the passenger side. All you wanted to do was cry yourself to sleep, Joel could drive. More muffled sentences rang outside the car, something about Joel calling her tomorrow. You felt pretty buzzed after that encounter until overhearing that fuck ass conversation. That was probably the first time anyone has cared so much about your safety, your well-being, you in general. No one has ever willingly stuck up for you like that and beat someone the way Joel did. Not even your own dad has done that or would ever. You must’ve been replaying in your head the images of Joel beating that man so much because all at once you came back to the now, his fingers snapping in front of your face.

“Cmon, we’re home. You’ve got a cut on your knee sweetheart. Let’s go clean it.” He fumbles with your house keys and unlocks the front door, making his way into your house.

“Jus’ sit, I’ll be back. Where’s the bathroom?” Shutting the front door, you point to the left and sit slowly to observe the cut.

It was definitely something. The nylon stocking was tattered and covered with dry blood caked onto the broken skin. Joel arrives with the rubbing alcohol sloshing in the bottle along with a washcloth.

“I didn’t mean to push you down so hard, m’sorry.” Joel kneels down in front of you and rests your foot against his thigh so he can examine how bad it was. Those beautiful brown eyes were getting you again. It didn’t seem so far-fetched to forget everything, even the conversation you overheard, until he pressed the alcohol to your skin. Sucking in a sharp breath, you grab the armrest of the couch and whimper quietly at the contact.

“Ow..Joel that-ah-ooh-that hurts.” You suck in sharply again, his eyes going back to your cut.

“I know baby, I know..I’m sorry, jus’ hold on f’me.” He whispers as he rips the material of your tights until a large hole is created around the scrape. His rough hands covered in blood were so gentle on your leg, his fingers wrapping around the back of your boot covered calf.

“You should really let me bandage up your hand, can at least do that much for you.” The room went silent and all that was heard was Joel’s deep breaths and the washcloth pressing against you. He sighs and grabs a bandaid from where he set it down on the couch cushion, opening it to cover the wound.

With a firm press on the edges, his thumbs smooth over the entire bandaid and he glances up at you hoping you weren’t wincing in pain.

After a long pause he mutters, “I’ll be fine, just need some ice is all. Also um…darlin’..” he started and continues to ever so slightly rub the bandaid.

“I know you overheard ‘Chelle and I talkin and I just wanted to apologize on her behalf. She doesn’t think those things about you and neither do I, okay?” He didn’t sound too sure that he even believed the words coming from his mouth.

You were too emotional to argue with him so a small nod was all you responded with.

It was a bullshit apology and it didn’t even need to come from him but there was too much in your head right now, an apology was the last thing you were concerned about.

Without a word you get up slowly and step onto the front porch with a new pack of cigarettes in your palm. Joel hesitated following but he wasn’t done with you just yet. The front door squeaks open softly and before even turning around you had the cigarette held out for him to take a few drags from.

“Are you uh..are you goin’ to your dad’s barbecue this weekend?” The smoke rolled out of his mouth and he ashes over the railing.

“I’ve thought about it..” You take a puff and pause. “What would I even say? ‘Hey dad uh I know I just got my job here but I got fired because I was dressed like a slut.’ Mmm, I don’t know, Joel.” All the smoke exited your lungs by the time you were finished talking and the glowing orange light was lifted again as your cheeks hollowed taking another hit.

Joel turns to you slightly, holding out his hand with his fingers spread and ready to take your cigarette.

“Jus’ don’t tell him anything. He couldn’t even wish you luck or congratulate you for gettin’ the damn job anyway. Asshole.” His face disappears behind a cloud of smoke and it was probably for the best due to the shit eating grin on your face while his words echoed in your head.

“So you’re finally getting it I see, Mr. Miller.” The cigarette slowly dwindles and he lets you have the last drag.

“I can’t see why he’d ever treat you like that, I wouldn’t dream of treating you that badly and you really know how to work my fuckin’ nerves sometimes, little girl.”

The pair of you laugh and Joel flicks the cigarette butt on the driveway, shoving his non fucked up hand in his pocket. The dim porchlight hardly illuminated his face but the moon on the other side made up for what you couldn’t see.

“Get some sleep, you’ve got job hunting to do tomorrow.” His boots clunked against the wooden floorboards of the steps, gravel crunching as he got further across the way to his sidewalk.

“Oh, one more thing sweetheart!” He shouts from his porch.

“I’ll back you up no matter what. He doesn’t know you anymore, not like I do.”

Your face was hot to the touch from his words. Joel Miller finally finding his heart? Who knew he had one? Each of your front doors closed and you went to sleep that night just imagining how the barbeque is going to go. Joel fell asleep that night with a bag of frozen peas on his knuckles and a small grin on his face.

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thedovesaredying · 2 months

Text

Monsters in the Dark | Nikto x Reader | Part 2

Second chapter of the Cowboy!Nikto AU. Written from the POV of Nikto this time. A reminder once again that there's a prologue and "part 1" is only the first full chapter. The original cowboy AU is owned and created by @ghouljams.

A/N: I'm a day late on my estimation for when it would be done, but life decided to get me sick, busy with uni work, and put one of my legs completely out of action. I also realized about 3 husbandry manuals deep into my research that the chapter would be a bit too long if I included that much information. Instead, the info will be sprinkled in among the next few chapters.

Warnings: Sputnik being a silly girl.

Masterlist: CoD Masterlist

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The weather is downright miserable. While one might assume the worst weather would be torrential rain or unforgiving hail, Nikto is firmly of the belief that there’s nothing worse than a hot, sunny day. It’s hard enough to be constantly covered from head to toe, but to then add on the Texan sun beating down at its full strength? He’s certain he’ll be nothing more than a puddle of sweat by the end of the day.

At least Sputnik seems to be enjoying the disgusting temperatures. She’s running around the front of the property, completely unfazed by the heat. She welcomes it, in fact, using it as the perfect excuse to paddle into the large dam for a cool swim at the day’s warmest.

Her paws are caked with mud and grass, so much to her sadness she’s been barred from entering the house, forced to wait until she’s dried off and all the muck has fallen off of her paws. If she’s still dirty by the end of the day then a quick hosing down will be in order, but she’ll likely consider that a fun game too.

For now, she’s content to lay stretched out on the porch, her side rapidly rising and falling as she pants.

The weather isn’t the only thing that’s miserable, however. Nikto’s mood has been foul ever since his forced trip into town for new supplies. A certain hyena had decided that she was bored while her owner was away and had decided to chew a rather large hole in the wall of the shed.

The hole was easily large enough for her to climb through and so, after having already spent most of the day hard at work, Nikto was forced to leave for the only hardware store in town. Some new planks of wood and a hammer not riddled with rust later, and he’s reminded of the invoice he received the vet clinic a few days prior and has also yet to pay for.

He’s not quite sure what possessed him to go to the clinic in person, but he was disappointed regardless with what greeted him. The receptionist was painfully cheery and seemed determined to dig into his business with her endless questions. He’d left feeling completely drained from only a single conversation with the woman. You hadn’t been there. He can’t fathom why that annoys him so much.

The hole in the shed was simple enough to fix, even under the intensity of the sweltering heat, but the issue of Sputnik remains.

Clearly, he can’t leave her unattended for several hours at a time just for work. She’s never had to entertain herself in such an environment and clearly, it’s stressing her out being without her only packmate. She requires both social interaction and physical activity, but above all of that, needs mental stimulation.

Like a toddler left without a guardian, Sputnik has decided that she can tear apart the house and garden while unattended. Plants have been torn out of the ground, wooden structures gnawed to bits, and most concerningly, large holes dug along the fence line.

The situation is far from ideal, but Nikto does not abandon his own. He isn’t like those bastards at the CIA who are willing to leave those loyal to them knowing full well they will perish without help. He made that decision a long time ago, and Sputnik’s very name is a tribute to that.

It was only three years ago, but it felt like eons. It started with a small enemy group hidden deep within the South African wilderness who were utilising spotted hyenas as guard animals. Nikto and his team had cut through the animals both outside and inside the building, even the ones hidden away in the basement below.

In the end, only a single cub remained; a tiny girl still nestled up against the steadily cooling body of her mother. She couldn’t have been more than a week or two of age, bright eyed as all hyena newborns are, and covered in scraggly fur.

The other men on the team planned on putting the animal out of her misery, but the sight gave Nikto pause. She was small and defenceless, and abandoned by her cowardly handlers to be killed by their enemy. It was a story he couldn’t help but find familiar. Picking up the infant, she snuggles into his vest, completely trusting of him despite not having known him for more than a few seconds.

She whines and licks at him as he tucks her into his shirt, safe and warm pressed up against scarred skin. No one says a word, when he leaves the compound with the cub and boards the waiting helicopter for the trip back to base.

His first thought was to name her Laika, but that name seemed a little too common for his taste, and so he chose Sputnik, the name of Laika’s space capsule and eventual tomb. A tribute to yet another stray who was left behind by those who should have protected her.

Sputnik would not suffer the same fate; she would never be disregarded like a broken toy thrown into the trash. She’s good, she’s loyal, she trusts Nikto unconditionally. Destroying a bit of property would never be a reason to break that trust.

Instead, he presses dial on your number and holds his phone to his ear. He’s been thinking it over for several minutes, finger hovering over the button with your contact listed, before forcing himself to press it. For a long while it rings and he’s about to give up when you finally answer with a bright greeting to whoever is on the other side.

He grunts out your name, listening as you happily chirp his own back at him in return. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” you ask. He can hear the soft rumbling of a car’s engine in the background and can only assume you’re driving somewhere.

“I require... assistance,” he says after a long pause, letting the conversation drift into silence. While it isn’t necessarily help he’s asking for, it still rankles deeply that he isn’t solving the issue alone. He despises being indebted to anyone for anything, but for some reason he doesn’t get the feeling you’re out to acquire favours from anyone. You’re a professional merely doing what you’re trained for and nothing more. He can admire that.

“What can I help you with? Is Sputnik alright?” You sound so genuinely concerned about her, so much so that it sounds like you almost drop your phone.

He glances down at the hyena laying happily at his feet, panting up at him with a broad grin. “She is fine,” he confirms, catching the relieved sigh you let out, “it is behavioural issues she is dealing with.”

You make a soft sound, clearly intrigued, “well, I’m on the road at the moment heading toward my next appointment, but I should have time to drop in to your place in a few hours. Will you be around then?”

“да,” he hums, “we will be here.”

“Perfect! I’ll be there in a few,” you confirm, and after offering an acknowledging grunt, he ends the call.

He goes to pocket the phone but pauses, glancing at your number. Mulling it over for a good long while, he selects the number and adds it to his contacts. There’s only two other people there, one of them his current workplace and the other one of his old acquaintances from before even his time in KorTac.

A rather dramatic huff from Sputnik draws his attention from staring at his phone, and he watches her with hidden amusement as she rolls over onto her stomach. She looks up at him with big, sad eyes and a pathetic whine. When he merely rolls his eyes at her she playfully snaps her teeth in his direction.

“Я не знал, что ты такая королева драмы,” he growls back, curling the undamaged part of his lip at her.

The hyena, fortunately, can tell he’s still joking despite his deadpan tone and leaps to her feet with a delighted cackle. She shakes out her coat, biting at the air. The moment he so much as twitches a finger in her direction she turns and leaps off the top of the deck, forgoing the stairs so she can sprint across the yard.

Nikto stands from his chair but doesn’t give chase, watching as the crazy animal spins around in circles before darting off toward the dam again. She dives into the water with a splash, sending muddy water in all directions. He cringes slightly at the sight of the hyena now dripping with muck. At least he was already planning on hosing her down. The rest of the afternoon passes slowly, with Nikto taking some time to rest while Sputnik causes minimal trouble.

When your car finally does pull up, the poor girl has exhausted herself again, laying in a pile of leaves while she happily naps away. The moment her flicking ears pick up the sound of your truck on the gravel she jumps up again, eyes wide as she takes in the familiar sight. She’s already giggling to herself with excitement, looking between Nikto and your vehicle.

“место!” Nikto calls, ignoring the sad whimper that earns. He approaches when you pull up, patiently waiting as you drop out of the front seat and close the door behind you.

When you spot him, you offer a wave and grin, “hey, Nikto!” You take a moment to glance over at Sputnik and he can see her near enough vibrating with how excited she is to come over and greet you out of the corner of her eye. “How’ve you been doing?” you stop just before him, looking him right in the eye, completely unfazed by the monster you’re facing down.

“We are fine,” he says, perhaps a little too firmly given the way you blink at him, “we require some assistance with behavioural issues.” He quickly amends his statement in the hopes of not immediately scaring you off.

Fortunately, you’re quick to bounce back, a smile returning to your face, “of course, what sorts of problems are you experiencing?”

“Спутник!” The hyena’s head shoots up upon hearing her name, “ко мне!” She sprints across the grass, very nearly crashing into his legs with her enthusiasm to heed her owner’s command. “She is getting bored when left alone,” he explains, watching as you reach your hand out for the hyena, “eating walls, digging holes, breaking everything she can reach.”

Sputnik snuffles at your hand, before whining and immediately shifting to lean up against you, demanding pets. You scratch behind her neck and Sputnik’s tongue lolls out of her mouth in delight. “I’m sure we can work something out to help prevent her from damaging anything else or accidentally eating something she shouldn’t be.”

“She struggles when left alone, especially during work hours,” he adds on, turning and starting to stalk toward the side of the house where the majority of the damage can be seen.

“Okay, well she sounds like she just needs some enrichment to keep her occupied while you’re away,” you nod to yourself as you follow Nikto around to the side of the house. Several of the small plants that had been happily growing in little spots around the yard have been either pulled from the soil or completely shredded if they couldn’t be moved.

You look at the scattered remains of the poor shed’s wall, but don’t look entirely surprised by the backyard warzone you’ve stepped into. You frown down at Sputnik, scratching her between the ears, “what a silly girl,” you coo, rubbing at her ears as the hyena grins up at you with half-lidded eyes, “you shouldn’t be eating all this stuff, it’ll make your tummy sore!”

Somehow, your baby-talk voice just serves to make Sputnik even giddier, and she eagerly licks at the tips of your fingers. Nikto almost rolls his eyes at the little heart eyes the animal is subjecting you to. It’s impressive, really, how she can remember someone is a friend from only a single interaction.

When you snap back from your babying of the animal, you quickly refocus. “Hyenas have very powerful jaws, and they love to chew things, so if she doesn’t have enough to keep her entertained then she’ll find something to destroy.”

“She was given an old tyre a few weeks ago, but it only lasted a few days.” To say he was deeply unimpressed with how quickly she’d torn it to pieces would be an understatement. He knew that Sputnik had quite the bite on her, but to chomp through nine millimetres of rubber like it’s cardboard? Impressive, if a little annoying.

“How big is your freezer?” you abruptly ask him, and Nikto suddenly worries where this line of questioning is going. Does he need to check the trunk of your car? Regardless, he offers you a nod.

“Perfect!” You clap your hands together, making Sputnik jump excitedly at the sudden sound, “it’s supposed to be quite hot tomorrow, so I can think of at least one idea for her.” You start listing out what the two of you are going to do rapid-fire with the same confidence and efficiency of any commanding officer.

You’re in your element, your passion for your work clear as day and you have him following your every instruction. You’re like a fount of knowledge when it comes to anything and everything husbandry related, suggesting changes to Sputnik’s diet, new toys to keep her entertained, and ways to prevent her from destroying anything she really shouldn’t be messing with.

When you finally end up leaving, it’s long past sundown. Sputnik has grown bored of watching the two of you working in the shed and has retired to her massive dog bed for a nap, so the two of you have been working in comfortable silence. He’s glad you don’t feel the need to fill the air with irritating chatter, only offering corrections here and there.

He escorts you to back to your truck, closing your door behind you once you’re settled comfortably into the driver’s seat. You roll down the window and offer him a grin, but he can see just how tired you are given how your eyes are slightly drooped. “How much do we owe?” he asks, quickly tearing his gaze from your sweet smile.

Little wrinkles appear across your forehead as your lips turn downward, an innocent, confused look on your face, “owe you?”

He resists the urge to roll his eyes and instead just huffs in mild amusement, “payment, for your work.”

Your eyes light up in understanding and you laugh, “oh, no, don’t worry about that,” you wave him off, “I’m just happy to help out.” You just smile up at him, as if you can’t see anything wrong with what you just said.

Nikto is forced to remind himself that you’re a civilian, not another untrustworthy operator. Not everyone does things purely for the pay they’ll be rewarded with, even if the very thought of not giving you something in return makes him uncomfortable. He holds his hand out to you, “phone.”

You blink at him for a second, but quickly do as you’re told, just like the good girl you are. He goes into your contacts and adds his number and details, hitting save the moment he’s done. He doesn’t bother adding a picture, passing your phone back to you, “call us when you require assistance.” He waits until you offer him a nod before he steps back from the side of the car.

You have an odd, flustered look on your face for some reason, but you’re quick to snap out of whatever daze you're in and give him a quick wave as you put your truck into reverse. He watches silently as you disappear back down the driveway and into the steadily darkening evening, waiting until you’re out of sight.

Sputnik is absolutely delighted the following morning when Nikto presents her with her blood and peanut butter ice block.

Translations

“да,” - “Yes”

“Я не знал, что ты такая королева драмы,” - “I didn't know you were such a drama queen,”

“место!” - “Stay!”

“Спутник!” - “Sputnik!”

“ко мне!” - “Come!”

#writing #call of duty modern warfare #reader insert #call of duty nikto #cowboy au #nikto x reader #fanfic

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ofsappho · 10 months

Text

Heartless CHAPTER 8.5

🔞 Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader 🔞

Fake marriage/marriage of convenience

You and Ghost get into a fight when he refuses to go dancing with you

Hello. I know it’s been a while 😭😭😭 I’m so so so sorry. Thank you all again for your patience. This was supposed to be one big chapter, but I thought I’d post what I have now just to make everyone happier while I work on the rest. A lot of smut in the next chapter. Hope y’all enjoy. YES THIS IS THE SET UP FOR GETTING DICKED DOWN BY COWBOY HAT GHOST. PLEASE BEAR WITH ME.

If one were to go off your husband’s tone, they’d think you just walked out of the bathroom in a stained brown paper bag. “You’re not goin’ out,” Ghost says after re-locating his jaw to its natural position under his balaclava.

“Hm. Thank you for your input, Ghost, but I wasn’t aware that I’d asked.”

You spin around with a huff and march back into the bathroom to examine your appearance, flinging the door open with such force that it slams into the wall.

Before you can shut it behind you, maybe lock it just to piss him off, your husband braces a veiny forearm on the doorframe and leans in. “You’re not. Not like that.”

“Why? What’s wrong with the way I look?” You ask as you go in with more blue glitter on your eyelids.

“You know what I mean.” His voice rumbles gruff and low.

And you can see his eyes looking at your ass through your cutoff denim shorts in the mirror. “Am I ugly? You don’t like it?”

Said shorts make your legs look fifteen miles long and are cut almost indecently short, accentuating your full hips and flattering your tummy. To fit the night's theme, you have on a very nice push-up bra with a white crop top tied in a bow under your boobs. And black cowboy boots, of course.

You have a matching hat somewhere…

Ghost rolls his eyes. “Fuckin’…” He sighs.

“Gorgeous, doll. Don’t pout. C’mere.” Then he reaches out and snags you by the waistband of your shorts, pulling you into his tall frame. You go easily, unable to resist him even if you wanted to.

Ghost tugs his balaclava down to chastely kiss your cheek. “Prettiest bird I’ve ever seen.” Please, like you can’t feel him pawing your butt with a gloved hand.

You rock yourself back, barely grinding against him. “Then I’m going out. Like this,” You tell him. You bat his hands aside to face him, your nose inches away from his mask. “You can come with me if that would make you feel better.”

Did Ghost really expect you would be content to twiddle your thumbs at the barracks and not explore London? You were pleasantly surprised to find a thriving line dance scene in this part of the world, and doing silly little dances while sort of drunk to cheesy country music sounds like your idea of a good time.

So this lovely Saturday night, you decided, ‘Why the fuck not?’ You can handle your sore back tomorrow. And now you’re trying to convince your stubborn mountain of a husband to tag along.

Ghost releases you so quickly that you stumble and have to catch yourself. “I don’t dance,” He says in a flat, deeply unenthusiastic voice.

“Please? It’ll be fun!” This might be a little cliche, but you’ve never gone on a date with him before. You’ve spent your time hanging around him and his team, wherever they may be, and yeah, you signed up for that…

But you want a date. You want overpriced drinks and holding his hand as you walk down the street. Something more. That doesn’t seem as unreasonable as he’s making it out to be.

“I don’t dance.” He turns away without looking twice and strides out into the bedroom. Ghost’s coldness hurts more than his rejection.

You don’t understand why you care so much about something so small. If he were anyone else, you’d take the L, move on, and go where you’re appreciated. “I wouldn’t even make you-“ You try, still staring at his back and wishing he’d meet your gaze.

But you don’t want someone else. You want him, just for the night. Have you asked him for anything else before? You haven’t.

“No.” Oh, is Ghost suddenly too good to be seen with you in public? Marrying you under false pretenses is fine, but God fucking forbid you go to a bar together?

“But-“

He snorts. “Fuck no.” He strips off his gloves before tossing them on the bedside table, clearly uninterested in discussing this further. “Christ, woman. Don’t look at me like that. Can’t you take no for an answer?”

You look at yourself again in the mirror. Blue eyeshadow, long, fluttery fake eyelashes. Pink lipgloss dabbed on your mouth. And glitter on your eyelids and cheekbones, like a goddamn fairy.

You’re too beautiful to be upset and too beautiful to sit around doing nothing with a man who couldn’t give less of a fuck.

Where is your cowboy hat?

You find it buried in a suitcase. “Ugh. Why are you being such an inconsiderate asshole? Go fuck yourself,” You snap as you set the hat neatly atop your hair. Then you grab your phone and send a couple of messages. Soap might be free, and you’d even settle for Sergeant Garrick or Alejandro.

You have your IDs stashed in your bra, along with some pounds. You do a once-over in the mirror and brush some imaginary lint off your cleavage.

“Where are you-“

You cut him off. “Out. If you won’t dance with me, I’ll find someone who will.” Someone who won’t make you want to cry, whose dismissal won’t feel so awful. You’re not interested in testing out the durability of your mascara.

“Love-“ You can hear his heavy footsteps heading your way.

Unfortunately for him, you’re already in the living room, making a beeline straight for your front door.

Your phone dings.

“Alejandro is free. I’ll see you later, baby. Don’t wait up,” You call over your shoulder, too upset to look back.

Your mouth presses into a flat, pinched line. You’ll get so drunk you won’t remember this fight and exhaust yourself dancing, and tomorrow, you can go back to pretending like you don’t care about Simon.

Music pounds in your ears. A man croons over guitars and banjos and a trilling piano in a thick Southern accent as Colonel Vargas turns you around the dance floor of this American-themed pub. The place is so over-the-top that you find it charming - everyone’s dressed like you, in cowboy hats and boots, and you hear more than a few lousy imitation American accents. Very quaint.

Blue and magenta lights drape all of the dancers in a riotous rainbow of color. There’s a mix of clumsy young folks your age, out for a cheeky pint with the lads, so to speak, and older regulars who came here for the same reason you did; to dance.

Alejandro has a very respectful hand on the small of your back as he effortlessly guides you side to side, forward and back.

You relax and let yourself sway with his pace, your feet moving perfectly in time, even once you stop consciously thinking about it. “You’re good at this!” You say loud enough so he can hear you over the music.

Alejandro flashes a white-toothed grin at you from under the brim of his black hat, the band trimmed in shining sterling silver.

“I’d hope so. Back home, in Las Almas, we go dancing a lot. Rudy and I.” He falls silent to guide you past a few people conducting themselves far less elegantly than the two of you.

You feel as though you’ve just stumbled on some great secret and found worthy by the keepers.

“Rudy?”

Alejandro’s face is a sight to behold. You can see a red tinge on his tanned cheeks under the lights. “My, uh, how do you say it? Los Vaqueros. He is my… vaquero.” Cowboy. His dark eyes glimmer, and you understand. Alejandro and his Rudy are continents apart, and you can taste their chemistry from where you stand. You feel it thrumming under Alejandro’s skin, like the mere mention of Rudy is enough to bring him to life in a way you’ve never seen before.

“Back, back, there you go. Out and-“ He lets go of your other hand and pulls back, leaving you plenty of space.

Your hair fans out around you as you twirl towards him on the balls of your feet. “Spin. Very smooth, Colonel,” You compliment. One of his arms wraps around your waist, and the other folds gracefully over your chest.

You untangle your limbs from Alejandro as if you’ve been dance partners for years. “Sounds like you haven’t seen your cowboy in a while.”

“I haven’t. Our jobs keep us busy,” He says. His voice is quiet, a timid undercurrent of sound that you can barely hear over the speakers.

“He serves?”

Girls covered in dark orange tan and shimmering body lotion spill onto the dance floor in a mess of giggles. Alejandro deftly pulls you out of their chaotic path before you fall over them on your ass.

“We served together,” He says as he dips you with a solid arm supporting your back.

Rudy must make Alejandro so happy. “How romantic.” Ghost would never smile like the Colonel does. But what would Simon look like if he were so happy? Would his voice soften? Would he dance with you, even alone in your apartment?

“Sometimes.” Your dance partner catches your hat right before it slips off your head.

You squeeze his shoulder in gratitude. “He sounds like a wonderful man. I hope I get to meet him one day.”

“Stick around long enough, and you might.”

“Well, then I’ll plan on it.”

The song ends, and something less suited to two-stepping plays next.

The two of you have drinks on a table next to the dance floor. You’re not worried about anyone tampering with them; Alejandro has already scared off any fellow who so much as looked your way. “He’d like you,” He murmurs to himself.

You have your Corona with lime, Alejandro has been working on a glass of expensive tequila all night, sipping it as delicately as if he were drinking tea.

He’s looking at you funny. The way you’re chugging this beer is probably not helping. You finish it and wince at the taste.

“You want to talk about what Lt. Riley said to make you so sad, hermanita?”

You didn’t even tell Ghost where you were going. That’s how fucking mad you were. You turned your phone off once you met with Alejandro, not wanting to see any calls or messages that would’ve broken your resolve. But there’s a worse possibility - that there aren’t any calls or messages at all.

“Not really.” You let the empty bottle thump as you drop it on the sticky, barely clean table.

His disinterest isn’t supposed to be a bad thing. Ghost could be cruel, or unkind, or abusive. You’re very lucky he isn’t any of that.

Kind, handsome, and affectionate in his own way is a hell of an improvement. For a moment, you feel ashamed that you want more. So what if he hates dancing enough to curse at you over it? So what if he doesn’t know who you are, the things you like and don’t like, your favorite movies, or why you avoid your mother’s calls?

You busy yourself with looking at everyone else so you don’t have to meet Alejandro’s knowing gaze. “Sí. Whatever you say,” He sighs into his tequila. Hopefully, that’s the end of the questioning.

Of course, it isn’t. “That one is… Rudy doesn’t like El Espectro.” Alejandro’s brow furrows as he thinks over his following words. “But I wouldn’t want anyone else on my side.” There’s more than a little respect in his voice and the kind of confidence in your husband that makes you want to be a bit more confident, too.

“Sometimes I think he wants me on his side. Then I remember that he’s a stranger, really, and I’m fucking projecting. Projecting that he’ll ever want me more than, you know, normal.” Maybe the beer is making you chattier than usual. You can feel shit you’d never say out loud just flow from your mouth.

Alejandro snorts. “He definitely wants you. We all know that. It’s very clear,” He quips, snapping you straight out of your vulnerability.

“Ugh, shut up,” You tell him as you blush a bright red under your makeup and knock your elbow into one of his buff arms.

He leers at you across the table, waggling his dark eyebrows and grinning once you start giggling. “Why do you think Soap has those new earplugs, eh?”

“Gross!” In revenge, you make a play for his drink. You don’t love anything harder than a glass of wine, but you’ll make an exception to spite Alejandro.

He laughs, holding his glass above his head where you can’t reach it. “I’m just playing!” Alejandro waits until you’re sulking in your seat before setting it down. “I won’t tell you you’re wrong, necessarily. But- but I think you’re underestimating him. Lots of people do. Ghost always gets the jump on ‘em. He might get the jump on you.” You gaze longingly at the remnants of his tequila.

“Whatever. I don’t want to talk about him anymore. It’ll just ruin my night. I need another drink.” That will solve your problems, at least temporarily. You’re not supposed to drink on your meds, but technically you’ve already started. In for a penny, in for a pound. And those rules are just suggestions, not hard restrictions.

The very friendly bartender with a thick British accent you can barely understand and nice eyeliner hands you one lemon drop shot, then another after you down the first. It burns like lightning in your esophagus. But the burn eventually turns into a pleasant tingle, warming you from head to toe.

You’re working on your third shot when Alejandro catches up to you. “Careful,” He calls over your shoulder.

You wave away his concern, another drink already in hand. This one is a rum and Coke, way too heavy on the rum. Did the pretty bartender do that on purpose, one girl to another? You like her even more.

The next song comes on - something loud and awful, its catchy beat punctuated by dubstep rooster crows.

“Come on, I fucking love this song,” You say, just barely slurring your syllables. “I’m not gonna shake my ass alone.”

GHOST POV

Your phone is off.

Ghost is embarrassed to admit he’s checked every hour since you’ve been gone. At least three hours, now bordering on four. And he knows your phone is off because when he calls, it goes straight to your fuckin’ voicemail. Which you haven’t set up yet, so he’s stuck listening to some stupid robot telling him to “leave a message after the tone.”

It’s driving him almost as mad as you are. When you get back - not if, when, the second thing he’s going to make you do is change that goddamn voicemail message.

The first thing is something along the lines of “make you sorry.” Ghost hasn’t ironed out the details yet. No matter. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

It’s dark out. It’s been dark out this whole time. You left with the sunset at your back.

While he knows Col. Vargas is with you, London is large. You’ve never been here before. Col. Vargas ain’t half bad with a map, but he’s not from around these parts either.

Maybe you never made it to… wherever you were going. How the fuck would Ghost know? How the fuck would anyone know?

He’s even angrier with himself that he was too much of a prick to listen when you mentioned it.

In the privacy of your quarters, Ghost pulls his mask off to run his hands through his shorn hair. The hair you cut.

It’s so quiet when he’s alone. This is the first time since- since you married him that he’s been alone.

You hum. A lot. Or you listen to music on your dinky wired earbuds, and he catches the sounds of your foot tapping along.

You snore, though not loudly. He’d never tell you, and he’s certainly slept under worse conditions. But it’s… nicer to kit up for the day, to brush his teeth and roll on his socks, knowing someone there will be waiting when he gets back.

Fuck.

Did you take the Tube? Buy a ticket? Oyster cards are cheaper, but you wouldn’t know that. Ghost should’ve told you. He should’ve been at your side.

He’s watched you struggle with the unfamiliar currency. You had all sorts of odd American notions about coins and exchange rates. Ghost had to correct you twice. After that, he secretly swapped out some of your dollar bills for pounds so that you’d be alright no matter what.

He left you with more than enough for a cab there and back. But what if the cabby overcharged you after hearing your accent? What if-

It’s a major metropolitan area. Criminals abound. Kidnappers driving ‘round cabs, stalkers, nonces. Statistically, at least one serial killer or two.

God-fucking-damn it.

You could be dead in a ditch, all because he didn’t want to go dancing. In hindsight, it doesn’t seem worth the quarrel.

This place is too quiet without you in it. He can’t stand to sit here in silence a second longer, staring at the lack of notifications on his phone and seeing shadows in the corners of the room. Closing his eyes won’t chase them away - he’s tried.

Simon only sees you covered in blood, a hole in your pretty head. Or duct tape over your mouth and your clothes ripped off, or you lost and alone in some alley, never to come home. Another name on the list of people he’s-

That’s enough of that.

He slips his gloves on, then pulls his daily wear mask over his head. Ghost has been choosing the balaclava more often. It’s something softer and a little civilian for you.

Not like you’re even here to appreciate it, he grumbles internally.

He runs the last moments he saw you over in his head a few times. You said Vargas was free, implying there may have been other options, but the Colonel was the first to respond. Ghost will eat his mask if Sgt. MacTavish wasn’t one of those other options.

The front door slams into the wall with more force than necessary. It makes a satisfyingly loud bang.

As Ghost picks his way through corridors he knows like the back of his hand, he thinks he should have told you again how beautiful you were. You would have left with a smile and kiss instead of a cold scowl.

He’s only being a good husband that watches out for you. That’s it. Ghost takes pride in being good at damn near everything, other than driving, so it’s natural for him to get worked up. Worked up is the wrong phrase. That implies that he’s agitated. He’s not agitated.

Is that a trace of your perfume he smells? Couldn’t be. Doesn’t make sense. Perfume doesn’t linger that long in the air. Ghost can smell gunpowder from a kilometer away and old blood three city blocks over.

And you. The scent is too faint for his comfort. If he can’t touch you soon, can’t gorge his eyes on your face and leave teeth marks in your skin, something’s gonna break.

Ghost leaves a boot print on the door to the communal bunks as he kicks it open. “Sgt,” He calls out curtly.

Surely, man-to-man, Soap can be reasoned with?

“Ah, so you’ve decided to show your face. Well, mask.”

Apparently not.

Irritation prickles down Ghost’s spine. “So that’s the way it’s gonna be.”

Soap finally condescends to get out of his bunk and stare Ghost down like he’s shit on the bottom of the sergeant’s shoe. “You’re a right eejit, Lt,” The other man snaps, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ghost doesn’t have time for this. “Where’d she go?”

“Fuck should I tell you for?”

His patience and self-control and restraint are hanging by a fucking thread, and Johnny’s disdain is like the edge of sharp scissors against it. Is Ghost the only person on this goddamn planet who cares about your well-being? Including yourself?

You’d be displeased if Ghost got your best friend’s blood under his nails. Very displeased. Simon holds onto that reminder for dear life.

“You out your fuckin’ mind? She could be-, “ At this rate, Ghost will never snap at you again. One go at this circus is more than enough for him.

“Ain’t my job tae find your wife,” Soap growls as he sticks a finger in Ghost’s face.

The sergeant is wasting precious fucking time treating Ghost like he’s the bad guy, and you could be gone by now. Ghost has bigger fucking priorities.

Simon misses America - which is something he never thought he’d think. England is full of his ghosts, moments away from breaking out of their graves. In your homeland, you were safe.

“You’re supposed to be her best mate. You don’t know where she is?”

Soap gnashes his teeth, his eyes glinting with fury. “Should fuckin’ kill you, you know that? Awa’ an’ bile yer heid.”

“I’ll come back and beat you black and blue after I find her.” Ghost’s brain teems with swarming, sticky thoughts, blacker than an oil slick. He needs- he’s not sure why he can’t breathe. His heart rate picks up, and he doesn’t know why and it needs to not do that.

He needs you.

“Worry about yourself, Ghost. I won’t need tae do a goddamn thing. She’ll have you on your knees like a dog.” Soap pauses. “You made her fucking cry.” His words hang in the air like a noose around Ghost’s neck.

“Wasn’t tryin’ to,” Simon retorts. Then he shuts his mouth and thanks God that the mask hides his face. He sounds like a whiny, immature brat and certainly feels like one. Not a man, not the kind of man he should be for you.

“I told you not tae hurt her.”

Ghost remembers. With vivid clarity. “…” On the tip of his tongue hangs the thought that Soap hadn’t needed to. Ghost took one good look at you in that dress, the simpering sweetness in your eyes replaced by razor-sharp steel in an instant, and he knew he could never hurt you.

But what Soap meant is that he’d trusted Ghost with someone precious, and today, that trust was shattered. “Aye, so ya can put a shot in some poor sucker’s head from 2,500 meters, but ya can’t spend time with the woman you married? And be fuckin’ polite to her?” The sergeant’s tone is so caustic he could use it to clean a Scorpion’s engine.

Simon is familiar with guilt. Guilt has been his companion his whole life. The kind of guilt that can never be cleaned because the people he wronged won’t come back.

This is a new kind of guilt. One with the hope of absolution. It makes him deeply uncomfortable, almost nauseous.

“…I can’t make it up to her if I’m not with her.”

That tiny concession still isn’t enough. “Useless. Absolutely fuckin’ useless,” Soap mutters.

“Johnny, you ‘bout done takin’ the piss out of me?”

“Right now, that’s Sgt. MacTavish to you, Lt.”

Dammit. “Sgt. MacTavish. Sir.” There’s blue glitter on the sink back home from where you were dusting it across your face. Pretty shade of blue. But Ghost had turned away when you stormed out, so he can’t remember how it looked on you. “Please.” Did it run when you cried? He hopes not. You shouldn’t waste tears on a bastard like him.

Soap doesn’t speak for some time.

Simon feels some odd, heart-wrenching, panicky desperation build and build, his hands grow clammy under the gloves.

His phone buzzes, and for a second, Ghost hopes it’s you. But it’s not - Soap’s sent him an address. Some shitty little pub not more than a half-hour drive.

“There. Don’t come back until you’ve proper apologized. An’ if you make her cry again? I’ll dummy-cord ya head to ya hand since you’ve lost your goddamn mind.”

Under Ghost’s mask, there’s the tiniest smile.

Soap claps him on the shoulder. “Now get out of here.”

if you want off the tag list, please just shoot me a message/ask! thank you <3

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odetodilfs · 1 year

Note

hii, its me again🦈🦈 i have request in my mind rn.. can you do agent whiskey x male reader where they argue and agent whiskey suddenly say that m/n is annoying, so m/n decide to give silent treatment and agent whiskey want m/n attention 🎶🎶 and the rest you can just go crazy with it like they having sex or maybe cuddles time💙💙 anyway love your writing, keep it up💫💫

-anon🦈

Apologies

Hey anon, super happy to have you requesting here!! This was really fun and lovely to make!

Pairing: top agent whiskey x bottom male!reader Content: Established relationship, praising, breeding and soft Whiskey.

“Jack, you can’t just tell me you’re gonna be gone for a day then actually take 3 days then say your phone ran out of battery!” you were mad at Whiskey, he pulled this stuff regularly, “Sometimes I wonder if you cheat on me” you sighed, “Wait, sugar,” he called you, but it was too late, you were angrily stepping towards your room now, deep down you knew he wouldn’t ever cheat on you. The man was all over you when he was at home, but the fear was there.

You had booked a date with you and him at this fancy restaurant which was usually always full for yesterday, but he decided to come back a day later without even telling you, which made you so mad and you didn’t know why. Whiskey once again entered the room following after you, “Sugar- please-” he begged you to listen. You just sat on your bed, with folded arms, you shook your head, he frowned and stepped outside your room.

After a few more attempts over the next few hours that failed miserably he decided to stop and just let you do your own thing, ny now you regretted giving him the silent treatment and worried if you were going to get the same from him, so you walked up to him, he was in the living room, looking anxious, you had a sorrowful look on your face, his eyes lit up when he saw you, but he didn’t say anything, “Listen, I’m actually so sorry” he started

“No, it was me, I over reacted, I was just pissed cause I booked this place at a fancy restaurant and you couldn’t make it in time, I was silly” you admitted, “No, no, sugar, you weren’t, I’ll charge my phone often, I’ll tell you when my missions are prolonged” he held your hand as he said it, “Jack…” you went in and hugged him tightly, you could feel him melt in your arms, “We’re good now?” he asked you, “Yeah, we are, but maybe I want something to make up for missing the table I reserved at that fancy restaurant…” you flirted while grazing his inner thigh, “You sure you wanna ride me, sugar? This cowboy is tired” he said, pointing at himself.

“Well, I don’t have to ride you, you can fuck me missionary” you said, getting closer to him, “and get to see just as much of my face as you do whatever you want to me,” you continued saying seductively, “Fuckkk… when you put it that way-” he smirked,

“Yeah, you’ll still be in charge” you kissed his neck as he flipped you over on the couch, “Over… here?” you asked, surprised he wanted to fuck you in the living room, “Yeah, over here, I’ve wanted to get these clothes off you for too long now” he immediately started removing your clothes, “Already hard for me, hm?” he asked seductively, smirking at you, “I always am” you giggled and he started putting lube on his fingers.

It was clear he was desperate for you by the way he was frantically trying to get his fingers in your ass, even missing a couple times. When he finally put a finger in your as you moaned in pleasure, the first touch your man gave you always felt so good, “F-fuck- Whiskey-” you moaned

“Shh, it’s alright, I’ll add in another one, you’re taking me well sugar, so well” he praised as he started to push 2 fingers. When his fingers grazed your prostate you jumped in pleasure as a shock went through you, it felt so goddamn good.

“W-Whiskey, please-” you begged having no idea of what you were begging for,

but the way your legs were shivering and the cries you let out were more than enough to let him know you liked what he was doing, his fingers always worked magic on you. As he withdrew his finger from your loosened hole, you saw him lube up his dick, “Gonna make everything up to you sugar, getting late, making you lose money, I’m gonna make it worth it, gorgeous, just relax” he whispered into your ear as he smiled sweetly, “F-fuck- do whatever you want-” you whimpered as he started to go inside you, “My sweet boyfriend, he’s so tolerant with me, sometimes too tolerant” he chuckled, you were feeling so much pleasure but even then you chuckled too, “I love you” he said quietly as he started to thrust, you were feeling so much you couldn’t even say it back, it was absolute bliss.

As he kept thrusting, his dick hit your spot over and over again, you were moaning and groaning in pleasure, all Whiskey could focus on was the tight feel of your walls on his dick, how tight you were, how sorry he was, he leaned in and kissed you with full force, his mustache tickling your lips, “Mmm-” all you could do was moan into his mouth as he fucked into you with thrusts that were progressively getting harder. The way his dick felt inside you was heavenly and he nuzzled your shoulder as he saw you getting more desperate to cum, “J-Jack-” you sobbed as you felt yourself tip over the edge, you bit hard into his shoulder as your dick sprayed you and him with cum, when you clenched around him he couldn’t hold it anymore and he shouted your name as he came inside you.

As you came down from your high he looked at you and kissed you again, not as rough, but sweeter this time, you moaned and sighed into each other’s mouths as you kissed him back, “Do you want more, sugar? Anything for you” he smiled, you were honestly exhausted so you shook your head and instead roped him in for a hug, “No baby, I’m fine, I just really wanna cuddle you” you smiled as you kissed his forehead, “So we’re good now?” he asked with the cutest, dorkiest smile he could have, “We’re good my love,” you said as you held him towards you, “I love you” he started to say, “I’ll try to work on my timing” he smiled, “Thanks love, I love you too, more than anything” you stayed talking until eventually you fell asleep, warm, happy and in love.

#agent whiskey #agent whiskey x male reader #jack daniels x male reader #jack whiskey x male reader #jack whiskey daniels #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal characters #x male reader #gay

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mignonricciardo · 2 years

Text

intro + masterlist

hello! I'm em, and welcome to my little space where I let everything in my silly little brain come to life :) I write mainly motorsport works, but there are some fics I love too much to go unpublished. learn a little bit more about me and access my masterlist⬇️

about me:

I'm american, but my family is from france so I speak french and a bit of Italian and spanish (these two might be a stretch)

I love most sports including f1, indycar, soccer/football, rugby and even american football

some of my favorite f1 drivers are daniel, mick, pierre, carlos, charles, lando and seb (but really I support most of them)

I also love books and reading and music <3

masterlist:

a one sentence summary is below each fic. for a longer summary, please check link of the original post.

as a note, I am an adult, so most of my work typically contains allusions to adult themes and/or adult themes. I will try to tag all of my work appropriately, but please be sure to check the more specific tags in each individual fic for specific mature content.

fics containing smut are denoted with a ★

motorsport/formula 1

DANIEL RICCIARDO

things have changed since the last yearly visit to the winter beach house, but if there's one thing that hasn't, it's the magnetism between callie o'connor and her best friend daniel. with an unspoken history and the urge to navigate their changing lives, the two bring the crew back together for one more winter at the house. is this the august trip that truly changes everything?

simply the best | pt. 2 (★)

dan has covid in bahrain, and you come down with it, too.

LANDO NORRIS

holiday jitters

the aftermath of two friends hiding their feelings sharing a drunken kiss.

taking care of him

taking care of lando during and after the spanish gp.

medicine

lando wakes up sick before the brazil gp and he knows just the medicine he needs

CHARLES LECLERC

pancakes for dinner

charles has pre-race jitters, and only he won't feel better until he admits something.

stuck in my brain

following the French GP, charles searches for comfort from his best friend.

CARLOS SAINZ

surprise, surprise | pt. 2

family vacation, holiday around the corner, unexpected pregnancy. what could go wrong?

LEWIS HAMILTON

compromised (★)

sneaking around mercedes team settings hasn't always been easy, especially when you're caught in a compromising position.

massages (★)

lewis is sore after a long day of testing, and you've got just the remedy.

PIERRE GASLY

sore loser

you've just lost the champions league, and your favorite boy is a call away.

comfort

pierre helps with your chronic illness, assuring that you haven't ruined vacation.

LANCE STROLL

self-control (★)

lance is injured but has little self control when it comes to you.

après ski (★) [written and social au]

lance has some ideas for how your trip's après ski should look. too bad his future brother-in-law has different ideas.

MICK SCHUMACHER

dim lights, thick smoke (★)

mick heads to the bar with his sister's best friend. tomfoolery ensures involving a certain cowboy fashion statement.

FELIPE DRUGOVICH

a helping hand (★)

a certain conversation with your best friend leads to him teaching you a few things

MAX FEWTRELL

secret's out

you don't realize max is on stream so you let you some words fly.

3 AM (★)

drunken nights in Ibiza followed by 3 a.m. texts. what could happen?

F1 DRIVERS

formula one drivers as romance tropes pt. 1

formula one drivers as romance tropes pt. 2

other fics

CHRISTIAN PULISIC

home for the holidays

christian is a little homesick for the holidays. you have a plan for that.

BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW

can't take my eyes off you

a long history with rooster comes to a head when you're brought back to top gun.

take my breath away (★)

rooster will do anything to make sure you first date happens, no matter the circumstances. [part 2 to can’t take my breath away]

tag list

if you want added to my tag list, shoot me a message! just let me know who exactly you want to be added on to :)

#mignonmclaren #masterlist #mignonricciardo

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jayke0 · 5 months

Text

Cowboys and Angels

Summary: The infamous outlaw, Jake Lockley, decides to spend the night with you.

Rating: nsfw, smut

Warnings/Content: reader is a prostitute, fingering, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, minor angst at the end, mentions of other men being assholes, lmk if there's anything else I should add :).

Word count: 3,420

Credit: @automnepoet for proofreading ily.

......................…………………………………………….

“What's a fine lady like you doin’ in a place like this?”

Yeah, like you haven't heard that before. Despite the way your eye literally twitches at that phrase, you take in a deep breath and turn towards the gravelly voice that beckoned you from the bar… pleasantly surprised with the picture in front of you.

An obvious gunslinger, what with the rifle and multiple rows of ammo hanging loosely over his shoulder, but, he's not as beat up as the others. Sure he's got some scars and wrinkles, jesus, he's got to be in his mid 30s at least, but his facial features are symmetrical, /handsome/ even. His brow is heavy, and it makes his eyelids sit half open, long lashes covering the rest of his brown eyes. The black moustache fits his look perfectly, sitting above a pair of red lips, hell, even the stubble that usually makes your skin crawl looks good on him.

It's like a breath of fresh air for you, and to be honest you're surprised the other girls hadn't pounced on him first.

“Waitin’ for a man like you to come along, mister,” you answer playfully, leaning against the bar so that your hip sticks out. Your dress is long, but it dips perfectly at the chest, and the cinched waist of your corset shows off your beautiful curves.

The gunman notices your pose, making a quick not-so-subtle glance up and down your form before that pretty, lidded gaze lands on your face again.

“Is that so? Well, you're lucky I can be ya prince charmin’ then, ain't ya?” He takes a final swig of his drink, though it seems he'd only just started, since you can barely smell the alcohol on his clothes as you move closer to him. You twist your body and rest your elbows on the bar, sticking your ass out a bit instead.

“Prince charmin’? Now I don't know about that, mister. You ain't the first cowboy to come in here and tell me I'm ‘too good for this place’.”

It's always amusing to you, seeing how much that comment seems to make the others falter, but as his smirk tilts to a soft frown, you almost feel bad for shooting down his shot… and possibly losing yourself a decent client.

“Oh– I'm just jokin’ around, sir,” you place your hands on his jacket, fixing his collar. “Pay no heed to my silly words.”

The grin that cracks across the man's face has your face heating up.

“I know, little lady, I'm just messin’ with ya too.” His eyes scan over you again, dragging his gaze up your body till he meets your eyes, tilting his hat up to look at you properly.

The way he looks at you makes your skin thrum. It's a dark gaze, but one that reads comfort to you, it feels like you could get lost in his eyes for hours, as if you're some vampire's victim being drawn in before being mercilessly devoured.

“Well… you certainly had me there, cowboy.” You giggle a little, mostly to break the tension between you that's coiling in your chest and making the room feel warmer than normal. A strong arm snakes around your waist, and you feel his fingers sprawl across your back, pulling you closer to him and his dangerous gaze.

His words break your thoughts. “I was only askin’ ‘cause I've been ‘round these parts quite a bit, and I ain't ever seen you, pretty.”

“I started a couple weeks ago, actually.”

“Ah…” you watch as his thoughts seem to trail off for a second; is he contemplating what he should say? It's not exactly like he's trying to court you, this is a business after all, and you're more than used to handling the distasteful things that have been thrown at you.

Finally, his words start again. “Guess I had better get ya warmed up then, hadn't I? Though, I doubt you've been strugglin’ for clientele.” He gestures around the dismal saloon at the other men, all in varying states of intoxication. His observation makes you giggle properly this time, but your brain lingers on what he meant by the first part. Despite your uncertainty in his words, you agree to his proposal, feeling his fingers graze the thread of your corset through the dress.

“I think you should, Mr…?”

“Lockley, but ya can call me Jake.” He says as he gets up and fixes his holster, placing a coin on the bar before gesturing towards you. “Lead the way, sweetheart.”

Why do you feel nervous? He has to literally take your hand before you actually switch into autopilot and lead him upstairs to the reserved rooms. Maybe it's the pressure of pleasing an older man? No, you've done that before. It's a thought that gnaws away at the back of your brain and evidently makes the gunslinger concerned.

“You doin’ ok? I didn't frighten ya, did I?” He sounds apologetic as he closes the door behind you both with a loud creak.

“No... no, I'm sorry! Forgive me, my head's been a little all over the place recently, nothin’ for you to worry about, mister.” You lie and shake your hands wildly, before you start undoing the top buttons of your dress.

He swoops in before you can finish undoing the second one, taking your hands and removing them from the fabric.

“I do things a little differently, if that's alright with you, miss.” You feel his calloused fingers glide over the pulse on your wrists, moving up before intertwining them with yours, “I don't just take, I make it so ya give ya'self to me.” The tone he uses feels smooth on your brain, it seeps into your ears and soothes the worries you'd had beforehand, his deep gaze only adding to that soft feeling in your chest, and the slowly growing need between your legs.

“Alright, Mr Lockley.” Your smile is genuine, one that makes the man break into a smile himself.

“ ‘Atta girl.”

His grip loosens on your hand so he can slide his own down your body and over your sides, until it eventually comes to rest on the small of your back, pushing you further into the heat of his body as he engages you in a kiss.

It's a nice feeling, having a man that actually knows how to kiss, so nice that you feel yourself getting lost in the bitter taste of his lips, wrapping your arms around his neck to get impossibly closer to him. His stubble scratches your chin as you drink in his taste and become intoxicated with just the simple feel of his body. Maybe it's because he's attractive, or maybe it's because he's so gentle with you, but either way you find yourself wanting more of him; more of his lips, more of his hands.

The gunslinger breaks the kiss, making you whine softly under your breath.

“Patience, little lady. I'll give ya exactly whatcha’ want.” You feel his lips curl into a smirk, one that makes you roll your eyes playfully.

“Forgive me, mister Lockley, but usually I'm bent over the bed by now with my drawers at my ankles.” You challenge, looking into his brown eyes as your fingers trace the soft, tattered scarf donning his neck.

“Well excuse me for tryna’ treat ya like a lady–.” He says before swiftly scooping you up and pressing you against the wall. It makes a gasp leave your lips, and your legs automatically wrap around his thick waist. “Next time I won't be so nice.” The way his lips brush yours teasingly makes your pussy clench, his words lingering on your lips like the faint taste of whiskey on his.

Using one arm to keep you suspended against the wall, his other travels up underneath your skirt and over your soft thighs. His fingers tease under the cotton of your drawers that fit snugly around your thighs, dragging his rough fingertips further and further up to draw a soft gasp from you.

“Ya ever had a man touch ya like this? appreciate ya like this?”

You shake your head and instinctively suck in your bottom lip to chew on while you try to close your legs, but he just pries them open again, looking at you with that damn lidded gaze that's making your cunt clench.

“Well, there's a first for everythin’, ain't there?” His breath is hot on your lips and sends ripples of shivers through your body, your breathing shaking just as much as your thighs.

He's just centimeters away from your pussy lips before he recognises the feel of his own jeans against his hands, so he does the only reasonable thing and lifts your skirt completely, astounded by the sight.

“My my…” He huffs with a chuckle, sounding surprised. There is your cunt, on full show through a hole in your drawers, one that'd been purposely crafted for your exact line of work. Your slick glistens in the dim light, and Jake can't help but run his fingers through your already wet folds, drawing a soft moan from your pretty lips.

“In all my years, I ain't ever seen that. You've certainly made my night, darlin’.” He purrs to you, voice as smooth as silk. “You ever talk?” He asks, that mild concern returning from earlier.

“They usually don't like it when I talk.”

“Yeah? Well I do,” he leans forward and nips your neck underneath your ear, taking the lobe between his teeth briefly. “I like hearin’ the noises ya make for me.”

Shit, that makes you actually moan, pressing down on where his fingers still linger atop your lips. They slide perfectly between given your arousal, and you grind your clit down in his fingers with a sigh. “Please, Jake, stop teasin’... I ain't ever wanted to be taken so badly in all my goddamn life.”

“But the teasin’ is the fun part.”

You can now feel the outline of his cock pressing against your thigh through his washed out jeans, and fuck does it feel big. You want him to pull it out right now just so you can look at it, but your thoughts are halted when you feel his fingers press against your needy hole. He circles it, matching the movements with his thumb on your clit. It feels way too good, especially when both of his thick digits slide inside you and stretch you open. Your jaw drops at the sensation as he starts fingering your cunt, massaging that sweet spot inside you that has you gripping his shoulders.

“No, Jake don't– dammit, don't do this to me–.”

“You can take it, there's a good girl.”

His praise only has your head swooning more and your chest pressing tightly towards his as you rock your hips towards his thumb. Each time he catches your clit it sends a wave of pleasure through your body to your toes, making you whine needily against his ear.

“Such pretty noises you've got, ain't ya? I wanna hear ‘em all night.”

Your orgasm crests quicker than you can tell him, and you teeter on that edge for what feels like eternity until finally you feel his thumb circle your clit one last time, and you come crashing down on his fingers, moaning out his name loud enough for the next room to hear. You rest your forehead on the man's shoulder, amazed by how easily his fingers drove one of the best orgasms of your life out of you.

“Wanna see ya do that again, darlin’, please lemme see ya make that face again?” Jake asks, his own words now breathier than before as he already starts working his belt and jeans open.

You give a shaky nod and pull your head from his shoulder. You try to ignore the ache already settling in your muscles from pressing yourself against the wall, too focused on the rugged man in front of you and the instrument that is ultimately going to split you in half. He goes to slide under your skirt instantly, but you tap his shoulder. “Oh, ya wanna see it first huh?” He grins proudly and lifts your dress enough to reveal his throbbing cock.

Fuck it's thick, and the way it's throbbing makes your mouth salivate, the tip already glistening with precum that he spreads over himself with his free hand.

“I dunno if I can take it, sir.”

“You can take it, don't ya worry that pretty little head about it. Just feel it, ok?”

You nod in response; it's funny really, you have no reason to trust this man, but after he's given you a great orgasm, it only makes sense that he knows more about the female anatomy than any other cowboy.

The fat tip runs up and down through your soaking folds, getting nice and lubed up before he starts to press against your hole. Your brows knit together in concentration as his tip slides in with a satisfying ‘pop’, a soft grunt leaving Jake's lips.

“That's good, girl, just stay niiiice and relaxed,” he groans. He rests one hand on the wall beside your head as his body inches closer to you and his cock sinks deeper inside your cunt, stretching it deliciously to an almost aching point. Finally, he bottoms out, and you can't help the way your walls flutter with how full he makes you feel.

“Ya ever had a cock this big, miss?”

You shake your head quickly with a whimper and your eyes screwed shut, but he grabs your chin and makes you look deep into the fiery pits of his own stare, “I asked ya a question, little lady.”

His voice is still soft, but there's a slightly threatening tone underneath, one that makes your cunt clench. “No mister, I ain't.”

“Mhm, good, means I get to carve my shape into ya then.”

The wail you let out is a result of both his words, and the way he pulls back just to snap his hips back into you again. It feels like it blinds you for a second, the feeling getting stronger as he begins a deep pace.

“Christ almighty–.” You feel like you're going to tear his shirt with the way your nails are dragging against the dark fabric already. Shotgun shells and trinkets rattle with each of his harsh thrusts, all mixing together with the beautiful sounds of both your moans and the slapping of sweaty skin.

“Godammit girl, I ain't ever had a cunt this tight before.” Jake's words are mostly grunts at this point, emphasised with thrusts that only seem to get harder and faster.

You can feel your back scraping against the wooden walls, but all you care about right now is the cock of the dirty old cowboy that's filling and fucking your cunt better than you could've ever imagined. It sends waves through your body each time his tip butts that soft spot inside you that has your pussy drooling over his length.

The people next door are sure to hear you, hell, the whole saloon can probably hear you, what with the floorboards creaking under Jake's boots and your hips slamming against the wall… not to mention your noises. Shit, you're sure your voice is going to hurt tomorrow, your thoughts only solidifying when you feel his calloused thumb return to your neglected clit.

“That's a good girl, keep makin’ those noises, show everyone how good Mr Jake Lockley makes you feel.” He's speaking through gritted teeth, eyes boring into your expression as you tilt your head back and wail again.

“Bet you'd love to have this cowboy take ya cunt every night, wouldn't ya?”

God, the white hot pleasure is coursing through your veins, making your muscles tighten and your thighs clamp shut around his waist. Your mouth and throat feel dry from all your moaning and gasping. You're on the edge again, cunt clenching around his cock in a vice grip, you just need that final push.

“Yeah, squeeze my cock like that, shit, girl. Ya gonna cum? Cum all over my fat cock, pretty.”

You feel like you're falling when it finally hits you, your body is swept with wave after wave of hot pleasure that makes you spasm and throw your head back against the hard wood… or at least what would be hard wood, if Jake hadn't put his hand there to save your precious head.

You feel like you're going to melt into him as he continues to fuck your needy cunt. He wraps both arms around you this time and drags you a little further down the wall so your pussy is at the perfect angle for him. It only takes him a few more thrusts like that before he coming undone with a loud, deep moan, hips stuttering as he fucks his spend into you.

The cowboy keeps you cradled in his arms like that for a bit, chest heaving like yours as you both slowly come down. You're the first to open your eyes, and you're glad you do, because the sight is gorgeous. His black curls are sticking to his forehead, nostrils flaring with each breath out as his eyes flutter a little. It's then that you realise his hat must've been thrown off in the process, either on purpose or by accident.

Finally, the man opens his eyes too and meets your gaze. It's soft and deep, one that makes your heart flutter and a smile tug your lips, despite your efforts to hide it. He carefully lifts you off of his softening cock and places you on the ground, holding you up until your legs stop shaking.

“Ya good?”

“Wonderful, actually.”

His smile spreads across his face as he reaches down to pick his jeans back up, his belt clicking while he does it up.

“How much ya want?”

Those words suddenly hit you like a bucket of cold water. For half an hour, you got to pretend like everything was good in the world, but his words simply bring you crashing back down to reality.

Jake's too busy sifting through his notes to notice the look on your face, the look of disappointment and distaste.

“I don't need money. I need to see you again.”

That instantly makes the outlaw freeze up, as if he's run into this scenario before.

“Oh, darlin’.” A frown now dons his perfect lips. He reaches forward and rests his hands on your shoulders, thumbs brushing your neck. “Ya know I can't do that. I'm sure you've seen my face before, if not ‘round here, then on wanted posters.” The sound of paper crinkling gives you a reason to avert his gaze. “Take this, ok? It's the least I can do for givin’ me a great night.”

You feel his lips graze yours then, the feeling making your breath hitch as loneliness sinks into your gut and stales your bones.

“Maybe I'll see ya around again, sweetheart.” He picks up his hat and dusts it off, placing it atop his curls before he tips it to you.

“G'night, miss.”

He's gone before you can even fathom a response. You're left in the silence of that creaky old room, wind whistling in through the cracked window and making your whole body suddenly feel cold. You feel numb as you sit on the bed and examine the money he'd given you, mindlessly folding and unfolding the notes as you imagine him already setting off on his horse, never to be seen again.

It's only then that you notice a scrap of paper mixed up in the notes. Your fingers trace the outline of it as you unfold it, and you realise it's an advert for a gunsmith, the same one that was scrawled in small lettering over his holster and ammo sash: his favourite gunsmith. Had he done it on purpose? Slipped in a golden ticket to your next meeting point? He certainly was shuffling around with those notes for a while.

It makes you want to jump for joy, a small glimmer of hope shining through the overcast clouds that'd been plaguing you since you can remember, your knight in shining armour; or at least… knight in washed out denim. You tuck it into the waistband of your drawers with a soft but excited sigh, before going to clean yourself up and head home, with something for you to finally look forward to.

...........................................................................

Tagging people 🖤: @boredzillenial @cowboymarcs @chichimisaki @faretheeoscar @fanofstuffidk @minigirl87 @marisferasiop @red-hydra @summonthesoups @steven-grants-world @queerponcho @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @ominoose @strangerhands @admiralackbarssugarbaby

#moon knight #moon knight system #moon boys #jake lockley #moon knight smut #jake lockley smut #cowboys #cowboy #red dead redemption 2 #cowboy smut #cowboy au

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nexionswild · 11 months

Text

IN WHICH you reminisce on the romantic time you've spent with arthur during the aftermath of his death.

includes: arthur morgan x reader [red dead redemption x dangerously yours]

content warning: angst, major character death, widowed!reader. [GN]

a/n: oh my god, i'm so sorry.. i don't know i felt a little silly today. hoping ya'll will enjoy it.

word count: 1, 094

You will look into the face of passersby.

Your mind went blank after Arthur's death, and ever since that day, you've been aimlessly wandering from city, how long has it been after his death? You barely know what time it is, you just knew it was around the afternoon since the sun refused to set yet. You've been thirsting for revenge, you've longed for the death of Micah and Dutch after they were the sole reason for the gang to fall out like that. But was it really worth it? You'd tell yourself, yes of course it is. But in the end, it brings no one back. It doesn't bring Susan back, or Lenny, or Hosea, or Arthur. Your beloved, Arthur.

The annoying yet hard working cowboy you've come to love from the very core of your heart. The cocky bastard who'd make fun of your sardonic personality, but essentially admiring your confidence and enthusiasm.

— hoping for something that will, for an instant..

You believed that somehow, in some miracle magic, that he came back to you. That he survived his attack, that he made it out alive and is just waiting for you somewhere safe and sound. Somewhere warm, where you'd picture him peacefully drinking a cup of coffee as he sat on the rocking chair by a fireplace. But each time you looked into the eyes of a stranger or when you stopped to take a good look at someone, it wasn't him. He never returned. He will never return. You just couldn't accept it.

Bring me back to you.

You couldn't believe how incredibly lonely you felt each night you spent on your own, you couldn't even get to prepare your camping correctly because of how your hands were shaking in nothing but pure emotional agony, you were devoid of all comfort and joy. The only time you felt some kind of positive emotion was when John invited you to his wedding with Abigail for celebration, but you couldn't help and think to yourself: if he had more time, would we be married? Would we be dancing the way John sways with Abigail? Would we share our drinks and taste each other's food?

The lack of noises, the sounds of the crickets and animals of all species ruffling and jumping around your area were the only noises that filled that aching silence. Not the sound of laughter, or bottles clinking, or Javier's songs with the melody of his guitar in the back as he sang.

You will find moonlight nights strangely empty because..

And each time you'd think about Arthur, his name escaped your quivering lips, dry from how you've been dehydrating yourself and concealed any type of self-care treatment. You were miserable, beat up like an old dog. You wanted him back.

"Arthur."

Your voice echoed in the empty valleys that you've been camping in for quite a while. But nothing made you cry more than the awful silence of your environment, and it only made you bring your knees up to your face, embracing your legs with your arms as you dug your head in between them.

Passersby would've heard your sobs and sniffles, but you made sure you were quiet enough not to be spotted by anyone.

When you call my name through them, there will be no answer.

You missed the way he touched you so lovingly, as if you were his world, and all his care bestowed upon you made you feel special than any person in this god forsaken country. The idea of his cuddles would put your throbbing heart at ease as you thought about it, the way his muscular arms would keep you warm the way the campfire would make you melt like a puddle of lava. You missed how he'd teasingly press his lips against yours as a hum resonated through your intimacy, or how he'd land a few pecks on the nape of your neck before eventually leaving in the intention of gaining money, whether it'd be through bounty hunting, debt collecting or robbery. You didn't mind his wrong-doings, to you he was a good man.

He was a good man because he loved you like you were the only woman in the world, and he stared at you with those beautiful blue eyes of his, admiring your beauty and smile. He was a good man, because all he's ever known is the life of an outlaw and his gang, he was simply the consequence of growing up in a bad environment. He wasn't perfect, but he was the perfect amount of imperfect. And when he made you understand that you'd certainly be doing a mistake loving all over him, a little voice in your told you he may not be wrong. And he wasn't wrong. Not because of the way he treated you, but because he's plaguing your mind and thoughts like a disease. He's spreading all over you to the point where you'd feel body tense and your fingers getting numb.

He's the cowboy you love, oh so much.

Always your heart will be aching for me.

And while you've been traveling with no objectives or not purpose, you could only reminisce about those long roads you and Arthur had taken together. Then, you think about the time he told you to leave him while he would've been on his own against a bunch of your enemies.

He knew the outcome if you swooped in, trying to be heroic. He'd lost so much, he didn't want to lose you, and for his sake, you only ran because he told you to.

He told you to go and don't look back, yet you keep making the grievous mistake of always looking back, in hopes of seeing him. You can't stop looking back, because that's all you know. You only know how to remember and miss, you only relied on Arthur because he taught you everything you know, and now that you're left without guidance or a voice of reason, what else can you provide? How useful are you, now?

He's been reassuring you that you could be a use for something, and he kept including you in missions although you weren't a part of Dutch's plan, and now that he's gone, what are you? A sad widow?

And yet you still convince yourself that it was the right thing to do, because that's what Arthur wants you to think. That you did the right thing.

And your mind will give you the doubtful consolation that you did, a brave thing.

#arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #gender neutral reader #red dead redemption #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 x reader #xreader #x reader #reader insert #heavy angst #arthur morgan angst #reader is gender neutral #widowed reader #🎀 : nexion 's fic

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pedges · 1 year

Text

to polish up a diamond - chapter i [4.3k]

joel miller x afab!reader

summary: “We can get an annulment,” Joel says, cutting you off. It’s almost as if he couldn’t wait to say it, and you’re not sure why that stings so much.

“Yeah—yes,” you mutter, swallowing the softball lodged in your throat. You clear it in hopes of sounding more compelling when you speak again. “Of course. Duh.”

or, the one where you wake up married to Joel Miller.

series notes: this is set in 2013, no virus; joel is 35, reader is 30. i wanted to make this as gender neutral as possible, but it will eventually become pertinent that reader is afab, and their gender expressions lean towards a more feminine side. if i eventually end up using pronouns, this note will be updated! also - this fic is being written with reader being a BIPOC in mind, in small ways, but it will be there in later chapters. (also joel is latino so, yeah.)

content for the series: 18+ themes (allusions to, and eventual smut, alcohol, swearing, etc), friends to lovers, accidental marriage, mutual pining

chapter warnings: allusions to drunken sex

chapter ii

a/n: this is unbeta'd (hoping to find one soon!), and i am terrified of posting this for some reason. just wanted to write a silly good time, and i hope i deliver! enjoy, my friends

You read about Paris syndrome in an article once, and laughed about it.

You laughed, because it seems a little silly to you to get your hopes up so high, that you go insane when reality doesn’t even graze the expectations. Paris exists on the same little drab Earth that you do. It’s just a place with buildings, and people, and croissants, and the Eiffel Tower.

Not the only one either, because you’re standing at the base of it, head cocked to the side, face scrunched up, staring hard—as if you can get it to turn into something it’s not. Like, the real Eiffel Tower, for starters. Or maybe even the one in Paris, Texas, with the little cowboy hat on it. That’s when you get it, you think, because if it’s anything like this, you’d end up out of your goddamn mind by the end of any trip to Paris. Then again, it’s not really fair, is it? Paris is Paris—and you talk a big game now, but you know that if you were really there, you’d buckle at the knees. But right now, you’re standing here with an oversized frozen drink from Fat Tuesday’s, one where the sugar can’t drown out the taste of the tequila, someone is pissing in a bush nearby, and you can’t feel your teeth—so you’ve got only a modicum of room to talk.

“Do—do you think the real thing is like this?” you ask into the night air, and even though you’re being quite harsh, you can’t deny how dazzling the lights are. Turning your head, you look at Joel, who’s standing there looking at you looking at the fake Eiffel Tower. His eyes are glazed over, yours probably are too, and he hiccups once.

“Wouldn’t know,” he says, and then, “You’re awfully pretty right now.”

Something flutters in your stomach. It’s not quite as graceful as butterflies—it leans towards something more violent, like bees. You think briefly of how bees are a little beautiful too, though. Either way, something ripples through you that you take a moment to relish in.

Instead of replying, you extend your drink to Joel. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap his lips around the plastic straw and sip until there’s nothing but a slurping sound resounding in the cup. You let out a giggle, and he emits something akin to one of his own. You can’t help but feel something blossom in your chest at how relaxed he looks. His eyes glisten with something that isn’t worry—worry about work, or getting Sarah to soccer practice tomorrow morning, or bailing Tommy out of jail. The Joel you know isn’t here, the one that carries the weight of the world on his shoulders—and to be honest, the jury is still out on the one that is. But as you smile at your friend, tingles coursing through your body, the last thing you truly remember is thinking about how he looks awfully pretty right now too.

—

Of all the things that could have woken you, it’s a knock on the door, and your first thought is why you didn’t have the foresight to put the Do Not Disturb hanger on the doorknob last night. Your second thought is about how fucking warm and cozy you are right now. Your third thought is your last, because it’s the only capacity your raging headache will allow. It’s about why you’re so warm and cozy, and that’s when you realize your cheek is pressed up against bare skin. In fact, you’re absolutely tangled with someone else—your leg hooked over theirs, their calloused hand on your naked torso, and you’re all but laying on top of them, clinging like your life depends on it.

In a way, it sort of does, because the more awareness that seeps into your brain, the more your head aches. The warmth radiating from the body that is rumbling with snores is the only thing that is making the act of waking up tolerable. At least for a moment.

There’s another knock on the door, and when a meek voice says something about coming back later for housekeeping from the other side, you finally remember exactly where you are.

You’re in Las Vegas. You’re sleeping in a hotel room. Joel is in the next room over. You saw Shania Twain’s residency last night, and the first half was fucking stellar. Calling everything after that a blur is an understatement, though. If you ended up bringing back some guy for a romp, you wouldn’t exactly blame yourself, but you wouldn’t be happy about it either. A Vegas one night stand where the guy is still in your bed the next morning would not be in your Top 100 Proudest Moments.

It’s just that, as the conscious mechanisms in your brain slowly flicker to life more and more, you take more of it in. Suddenly, you recognize the smell—besides the left over stench of alcohol and scent of hotel linens—as a familiar one. A good one, one you catch yourself soaking in too often. Like cedar, and lemongrass, and what you imagine the burn of whiskey in your throat would smell like. It’s then and only then do you lift your head up slowly, despite the disorientation it drags upon you, to see exactly whose hand is now searing your side, awfully close to your naked breast.

Pushing him out of the bed when you find out is merely an accident. A gut reflex, if you will.

Your heart is beating fast and loud, doing nothing good for your headache, but it’s the only logical reaction to finding yourself naked in bed with an equally naked Joel Miller. He lands on the floor with a harsh thud, and the poor thing looks like he doesn’t know where he is. You’d probably feel bad for him if your mind wasn’t reeling with a thousand questions.

“Jesus Christ, what the hell?” Joel is saying, groggy and tired, voice hoarse. Maybe pushing him out of bed was a bad idea, because now he’s on full display, so you pull the sheet over your head with a noise that’s somewhere between a gasp and a squeal.

“What are you doing here?” you ask urgently.

“What am I—this is my room,“ Joel says then. You lower the sheet just enough to see that yeah, his suitcase is here, his things are strewn around the room, and you’re the intruder in a foreign land. It doesn’t begin to explain things though—in fact, it just makes you feel sicker. ��Wait—“

Joel says your name, strained and confused. You finally look at him. His eyes are squinted, brow furrowed intensely, but he’s looking right back at you with the realization you had just thirty seconds ago.

“Oh god,” he mutters with that thick drawl of his, and yeah. You’re right there with him. “Don’t tell me—“

“I’m not,” you say quickly, “because we didn’t. Right?”

You’d have to be one gigantic, calamitous fool to believe that. Not only because with enough inspection, you can see a litany of marks on Joel’s neck and chest, like his assailant went a little wild, and there’s a dull, pleasant ache between your thighs—but because the harder your brain works, the more first flashes of last night come at you full force. You and Joel, hands on each other, Joel between your legs, your hand on his—

“Oh, god, we did.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands as you suddenly go through the full range of human emotions in less than ten seconds.

It’s not that it’s the worst thing that could’ve happened, it’s just—Joel is Joel, and you of all people know better. You do this thing, sometimes, when you meet someone new and you briefly imagine your life together, in all the possible iterations of it. You met Joel, and saw him there forever, like he’d seared himself into your life before you even learned his name. You’d rather die than risk anything else—regardless of whether or not you’ve wondered what it would be like to hold his hand, or kiss him, or fall asleep beside him.

“Hey, hey—” Suddenly, Joel is rising from the floor, a pillow that tumbled down with him pressed into his lap. You’re still not looking—in fact, you look like you’re about to die, which is why he is frantically searching for his briefs, or pajama bottoms, or whatever the hell he can put on. When he finds them, he does so quickly, and brings over the next best thing for you too. It ends up being his shirt, and neither one of you has the mind to think of how tender that is as you put it on. He kneels in front of you on the bed, like he’s about to put a bandaid on your wounds, which is so Joel of him. “It’s alright—it’s okay, shit happens, right?”

Yeah, you think, holding back a bitter tasting laugh, catastrophic shit like this always happens.

But you realize what he’s doing right away. Joel is watching you self-destruct, so he’s doing everything in his power to keep that from happening, even if he’s imploding himself. It somehow makes this a thousand times worse. Still, you finally look up to meet his eye. He looks tired, hungover, and a little confused. You’re one hundred percent sure you look exactly the same.

You truly do want to argue. You want to tell him No, this isn’t just a shit happens moment. Deep down, you know you’ve just altered your entire friendship forever, and no matter how bad you want to keep from imagining the downfall of You and Joel, you just can’t help it. But then he’s grabbing one of your hands, like he can see the cogs in your brain start to grind and smoke, and it douses whatever shitstorm is going on in there. You think you’ll save your catastrophizing for another day, at least until—

You look down at both your guys’ hands, just as your heart has begun to settle, before it shifts into high gear.

“Joel,” you say, small and quiet. Your eyes have gone wide and your left hand is frozen in his.

“What—“ Joel is saying as his gaze follows yours, and he sees exactly what you do.

On his left ring finger is a silver band. On yours is one to match, a diamond glistening in the light pouring into the hotel room, and suddenly a drunken, lust filled night between you two was the best case scenario.

Joel sighs. “You gotta be kiddin’ me.”

—

You might’ve blacked out again. No alcohol needed this time—all you know is one moment you were sitting there, staring at the very obvious wedding rings on both yours and Joel’s fingers, and the next, you were in your actual hotel room alone. You probably asked for a moment, and he gave you ten.

You at least had the mind to put some pants on, but when you finally return and knock on Joel’s hotel room door, you’re still wearing his shirt—and the ring.

“You might wanna look at this,” he says when he opens the door, not even missing a beat, and lets you step inside. Your head is still pounding, and your stomach is still churning, but you’re at least wide awake now. You’d spent the time in your room convincing yourself that none of this was real, actually. You guys were wasted, probably found some pawn shop, got the rings as a joke. But then Joel is handing you a Polaroid photo and now you’ve got to shirk any notion that this isn’t real. “Found it on the nightstand—then called the chapel, and—yep.”

If you weren’t in such a state of shock, you might cry. The photo is you, and Joel, obviously. Except it’s not just you and Joel, it's youandJoel—standing outside of a chapel called, well, Little White Chapel. He’s got his familiar hands on your face, and his lips on yours; you’re gripping his lapel so hard your hands might’ve been cramping, and you’re both fucking grinning into this sweet, tender, heart wrenching kiss. You can see the ring on his finger, clear as day. It’s a little sickening, how happy you both look, and even more so, how you two slot together perfectly. By the time you finish gawking at the photo, it becomes an indisputable fact. You got married—to Joel Miller of all people.

You wonder why he decided to show you the photo when it would have been just as easy to tear it to shreds and throw it away. You kind of wish he did, but part of you understands why, even if you can’t explain it to yourself right away. Still, you set it down and sit on the edge of the bed as you try not to think about what happened there just the night before.

“I can’t believe this,” you finally say, because you can’t. You truly believe you’re going to wake up any moment now, but the way your brain is threatening to crack your skull right now tells you that’s not going to happen.

“Guess you’re not the worst person this coulda happened with.” Leave it to Joel to joke at a time like this—and leave it to you to fall for it. You have to laugh, because the only other alternative is crying, so you do. It’s small, and weak, but it’s a laugh nonetheless; it’s enough to make Joel smile, like he’s a little proud it worked.

“Does this make the Vegas trip worse or better?” you attempt to joke back, though the ring on your finger is scorching your skin.

“Hm,” Joel hums. “Jury’s still out, I think.”

Another laugh escapes you, and tapers off into the air. Joel sits next to you on the bed. You can’t help but look down at the ring that adorns your finger. There’s a small, tiny, microscopic part of you that thinks it looks like it was meant to be there. You kill it immediately.

“So I guess—”

“We can get an annulment,” Joel says, cutting you off. It’s almost as if he couldn’t wait to say it, and you’re not sure why that stings so much. Still, you have to agree, because you’d be insane not to. You’re not the first people to get drunk and marry someone in Vegas, you’re certain, and you absolutely will not be the last. Though you’ve got a knack for feeling like you’re the only person in the world to feel a certain way at a certain time, you know at least this time that isn’t true. Because Joel is sitting right next to you, stewing in this all the same—it makes you feel less alone.

“Yeah—yes,” you mutter, swallowing the softball lodged in your throat. You clear it in hopes of sounding more compelling when you speak again. “Of course. Duh.”

“Truly don’t think this is as big of a deal as we think it is,” Joel says then. You wonder if he’s trying to convince you, or convince himself. You settle on both, just because it makes you feel better. But the thing is, it is kind of a big deal, at least to you.

Legally, an annulment would make it seem like this truly never happened. On paper, you and Joel would never have gotten married, and your lives would be as normal as they were yesterday. But the law has never mixed well with emotions, you think. Or the fact that you’re slowly regaining glimpses of the night before, and maybe remembering the way his lips felt on your lips, his hands on your body. Annulment of the heart sounds like a stupid phrase, but you’ve never wanted something so bad in your life.

“I suppose not,” you tell Joel, but you don’t sound so convincing. You’re not sure if he can tell, but if he can, he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, he reaches over for your hand and gives it the most reassuring squeeze he can muster. You wish his touch burned you, so you had a reason to pull away. It doesn’t, so you don’t.

“Lighten up, darlin’,” he says. “What’s that they say about what happens in Vegas?”

You roll your eyes—and though it’s a struggle, you smile anyway.

—

As it turns out, the plane home could crash, and it would still be less eventful than the rest of your trip—in fact, it might make things a lot easier. But the whole flight is turbulence free, and the wheels of the plane touch down in Austin like a butterfly landing on a flower. It seems a little cruel.

And as much as you and Joel want to pretend like this whole ordeal is so easily fixed, like you can make it disappear by filing some paperwork, there is something so obviously lingering in the air. It’s a funk, and it’s thick, and uncomfortable, and mean. You wish you could say you perfected the art of small talk with him on the way home. You wish you could say that as time trekked on, he got less and less terse with you. But Joel went from cracking jokes about it, to being the least interesting man on Earth, and you’re starting to think neither of you are really believing the whole it’ll be okay thing.

“Y’all actually came back in one piece!”

Tommy is picking you up from the airport. He’s standing at his truck, parked in an area that clearly says No Parking, but Tommy Miller has never been one to care, and you really want to go home. He grins at you guys, takes your bags from you as soon as you approach him with them, but neither you nor Joel really laugh at his jokes.

Joel grumbles something like a greeting, and you offer a quick hello, but you climb into the backseat as fast as you can.

“Well, fuck me, I guess,” Tommy says sarcastically with a click of his tongue, rounding the truck to get back into the driver’s seat because a security guard has finally spotted him.

“Sorry, Tommy,” you tell him. Guilt seeps into you—just because your life imploded in Vegas, doesn’t mean you have to take it out on someone who is kind enough to pick you up from the airport, which is arguably the most generous thing a human being can do. The least you can do is apologize, and lie, so you do, with a quick, “Just tired. Flight was awful.”

“Where’s Sarah?” Joel genuinely speaks, not in the muttery, mumbly way he’d been for the past twenty four hours. You try to think back to when his mood shifted, and place it somewhere between you giving him your ring (when you both found out they were bought with his credit card), or giving back his shirt. It makes something scratch at your brain in the most unpleasant way.

“Adlers,” Tommy informs him. “She’s makin’ y’all cookies. Told her you guys were only gone for four days, but she insisted. But—” Tommy says your name, “—she’s makin’ your favorite. Sorry, brother.”

A genuine, though small, smile twitches upon your lips. Of course Sarah is being such a doll—you know exactly where she gets it from. The thought brings a bit of an ache to your chest.

“That’s sweet of her,” you say, still wearing that meek voice.

A few beats of silence fill the car when Joel doesn’t make any comment, just lets out a small grunt.

“Sooo,” Tommy trails off when it becomes obvious he can’t stand it. “What did y’all get up to—how was the show? Still think I deserved to see Shania more, but whatever, I guess. Get into trouble? Feel like y’all the type to get married by Elvis or somethin’.”

You nearly choke. Tommy is laughing a little wildly, because he obviously doesn’t know, and to him, making a joke about two good friends getting shacked up is the funniest thing in the world. Mostly because he expects you both to be snarky about it, like you’ll go Eww, and Joel would say something like, In your dreams, darlin’. But instead, you feel like all the color is draining from your face and you can see Joel’s hand fist until his knuckles turn white.

“Concert was good,” you say quickly. There’s no levity in your voice, no insinuation that you found his joke funny. You couldn’t force it even if you tried.

Tommy doesn’t catch on though, at least you think he doesn’t. He just huffs, and pouts. “Tough crowd, gotdamn.”

Thankfully, Tommy quits while he’s ahead. He turns up the radio and accepts that you and Joel might be truly tired. In a way, you are, just not physically—though the weight of your emotions might be starting to get to you. As you lean your head on the window and watch your city fly by on the way home, you start to think about how you’re going to get home, Google How to annul a Vegas wedding, and pray for some sense of normalcy to return. Or at least that Joel will look you in the eye again.

The truck rolls up outside your house just as the sun has begun to set. You get out, fully prepared to do so alone, but as you’re grabbing your bags from the truck bed, you hear the passenger door slam shut. A moment later, Joel is taking one of your bags from your hands.

“Be right back, Tommy,” he calls to his brother, and gets two honks in response. He looks at you then, for the first time in what feels like eons, and nods his head towards your house before taking the trek up your walkway.

Tremors fill your chest, and that softball has made its way back to your throat. You feel like you’ve swallowed wasps, and that they’re going to come out in the form of word vomit if you don’t reign in the trillions of thoughts in your head right now. You step up to your front door, keys in your trembling hand, and let the two of you inside.

“Joel, I—“

“Listen—“

You both start and stop speaking at the same time. You bite at your chance to let him do the talking, gesturing for him to continue. He takes a deep breath before he does.

“Listen—I started thinkin’—”

“Uh oh.”

Your joke doesn’t quite land how you want it to, like it normally would, but you can see the tension in his shoulders deflate a little at the hint of mirth in your voice. You look down at the ground, kicking at it like a child getting in trouble and allow him to go on.

“I was thinkin’, and I just wanted to say sorry,” Joel finally says. “I’ve been actin’…weird. Didn’t mean to start icin’ you out, I just—I know I said this whole thing wasn’t a big deal, but I think we both know—”

“But it’s not,” you interrupt without really even thinking about it. Deep down, you know you don’t believe yourself. “I know it probably is. For other people, I mean. But what did you say? Guess you’re not the worst person, or whatever.” Your attempt at mocking his deep, gruff voice slices through the tension, at least a little, and you’re grateful for that. And even though he lets out a breathy laugh, Joel looks a little taken aback, like he didn’t entirely expect this reaction from you—and to be quite fucking honest, neither did you. Turns out those wasps you swallowed were reasonable ones.

“Right,” Joel says, stuffing his hands into his jean pockets. He rocks on his heels once. “Right. I just thought maybe—because you seemed a little torn up at first—I mean—damn, I’m really not good at this.”

You can’t help but giggle, because he’s not, but you can’t fault him. You truly can’t believe the one eighty you’ve both made, but you’re still not entirely sure the way you’re handling this now is true to how you actually feel. Regardless, something compels you to step forward, and lean up to press the most tender kiss to Joel’s cheek.

“I’m just glad you don’t hate me,” you say gently when you pull back. There’s something swimming in Joel’s eyes as you meet them—you can’t quite make it out. You stop trying when he offers you a quiet smile.

“Hate you? Could never hate you—you do too much for me. It’d be bad for business.” He’s teasing, you know he is, and you might actually start weeping because this is such a far cry from the Joel that you sat next to on a plane for three hours. Instead of weeping though, you laugh once more.

The truth is, you decide, that this entire situation is still gnawing at your bones, replacing the marrow with fear and uncertainty. But, though you’ve had to remind yourself a thousand times over, you’re not alone in this. It literally takes two people to get married, even if it was a black out drunk, late night, alcohol fueled Vegas wedding. The people in that photo, the photo you have in your suitcase right now, made that decision together despite whatever inhibiting factors—they both woke up the next morning confused, and unsure of the future. And even though Joel’s initial reaction was to comfort and soothe you, you knew sooner or later he’d start to rip at the seams. Sooner just came quicker than you thought.

With your own deep breath, you reach out your left hand to Joel. A silent offer that if he’s willing to work this out, you are too.

“It’s going to be okay,” you say. “Friends?”

Joel looks like he hesitates—for the briefest moment—if you had blinked, you would have missed it. You try not to take it to heart. But he finally puts his left hand in yours, and gives it a firm shake.

“Friends,” he replies. “Always.”

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller #joel tlou #pedro pascal character #my fics #buckle in folks

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