#stuck in traffic together
Note
Crozier/Fitzjames, fake amnesia
from this list of reverse tropes for fic writers.
i told @firstelevens I wasn’t sure I had it in me to write fic for these two and then I went and washed my hair and while I did that, this idea popped into my head fully formed and I was bound by honor to write it down. Also it’s the first thing my brain has wanted to write in like two months, so I took that as a good sign??
Anyway, here’s…something. Kind of a Parks and Rec AU?? but also not in any serious way? It’s like…what if these dudes from The Terror worked in local government or whatever… don’t worry about logistics, I mostly wanted to write Blanky and Crozier being best friends and also talk about sobriety feelings a bunch. AND THEN I DID. only fits the prompt if you squint super hard but, regardless, please enjoy…
on ao3 because why not
“So, you feel ready to go back to work tomorrow?”
Francis removes his gaze with considerable effort from the perfect red orb that is the sun sinking steadily under the horizon line across the lake and shifts it reluctantly back to Tom, who’s sitting back in his chair with his booted foot propped up on a milk crate that he got from God knows where. The sight of the boot that encases the lower half of his left leg does push a wave of guilty bile up the back of his throat but he’s already been told that if he apologizes for causing Tom to have need of it one more time, he’ll be drowned in the aforementioned lake, so he resists. Tom knows Francis is sorry about what happened and he’s chosen to forgive him, even if Francis still thinks it’s a stupid choice, second only to him befriending Francis in the first place all those years ago. Francis doesn’t know where he himself would have ended up if that hadn’t happened, though, so it all comes out in the wash he supposes.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Francis says, tracing a hairline fracture in his coffee mug with his thumbnail just for something to do. “If I take any more time off, I’ll just never go back, so it’s now or never, really.”
“Attaboy,” Tom says before taking a long, thoughtful drink from his own mug. Out of solidarity, or maybe sensitivity, he hadn’t had anything to drink tonight either, despite Francis’s assurances that it wouldn’t bother him and might even be a good idea, just for him to get used to it. It’s not like he could reasonably expect to go the rest of his life without ever seeing alcohol again. He’d seen four different ads for light beer alone this afternoon while watching reruns of ‘Bones’ on the couch and imagining every possible way his first day back in the office after rehab could go wrong and that hadn’t sent him into a tailspin, so he’d probably survive watching his best friend drink in his presence. Still, Tom had chosen to just drink decaf coffee with him after dinner like the ancient relics they are, because he is, without a doubt, the best person Francis has ever known. “You talk to anybody about it? I mean, besides me…”
“What, you mean like a therapist? Of course. I’ve got, what, six of them now, for Christ’s sake!”
“No, I mean, from the office. Have you talked to anyone about coming back?”
“Well, John, obviously.”
“I suppose you’d have to, yeah,” Tom says, running a ponderous hand over his chin. “Anything interesting from that quarter?”
“Just about what you’d expect,” Francis says, trying to be generous. John had been kind enough to let him keep his job, after all, despite how bad things got in the end, but Francis’s issues with the man remain, even with his newfound sobriety. Francis had sent him a long, downright obsequious email apologizing for the damage he’d done with his drunken theatrics both over the years and in the very recent past and explained in detail all the ways he was going to do better in the future, while expressing gratitude for the unprecedented amount of grace everyone, but particularly John, had shown him during this stressful time. It was, in no uncertain terms, the most embarrassing thing Francis has ever had to do, and he has, in his life, proposed to the same woman three separate times with absolutely no success, so it’s not like he’s lacking in options for that top spot.
John is, thankfully, the sort of man who likes to breeze past unpleasantness wherever he can and is also, more importantly, a deeply entrenched bureaucrat who’d just as soon do no work as do even a little work and therefore could not be bothered to hire a replacement for Francis. In fact, if he had to guess, John was probably clever enough to frame it as some sort of protection against a discrimination lawsuit somewhere down the line, despite the fact that several things Francis did at the staff Christmas party right before hitting rock bottom were definitely fireable offenses. John’s unflappable dedication to the status quo has worked in Francis’s favor for once, and while he certainly doesn’t deserve the break, he’s going to take it where he can get it on the off chance it never happens again.
“And the staff? Your team, I mean.”
“I got coffee with a few of them individually, just to clear the air and apologize, so that if anyone wanted to take a swing at me, they could do it outside of work,” Francis says, scuffing his shoe against the porch.
“Well, that’s considerate of you. Any of them try it?”
“No. The cowards,” Francis scoffs, which makes Tom laugh. “Jopson and Edward both seemed like they might be sick at the prospect of anyone in charge actually deigning to apologize to them, which was…humbling, to say the least. Then I got an extremely nervous monologue from Harry about the history and relative efficacy of Alcoholics Anonymous, which I think was his way of saying we’re square. And Silna told me if I tried to meet up with her outside of work hours again, she’d block my number and quit without notice, so...”
“She’s got the right of it,” Tom says, with a crooked grin.
“Yeah, that was my favorite of the lot,” Francis replies. “We’ll have a team meeting tomorrow and we’ll get someone in from HR so everyone can talk about feelings, God help us, but I think it might be okay. Which I could not have predicted when all this started, but here we are.”
“I could have,” Tom says. “You’ve made plenty of mistakes, I grant you, but you’ve also done right by these people in a lot of ways. They’re not going to forget that in a hurry. They’re a loyal bunch.”
Francis nods, looking out over the water again. The pinks and golds of the sunset a few moments ago have already faded into purples and blues as night creeps in. The nocturnal chorus of frogs croaking and insects trilling is rising in the nearby woods. He’s already said his piece about how absurd it is that they’re sitting comfortably outside on the porch after dinner—with jackets on and a fire going, sure, but still—and it’s only the beginning of March. Tom doesn’t need to hear any more ranting about global warming right now; it’s no fair repayment of his generosity. What Francis really should do is head for home soon and let his friend have some peace and quiet. He could use some of that himself, but he somehow doubts that he’ll get much rest once he’s home for the evening. At least he can panic about tomorrow properly there, though, by himself.
“Speaking of throwing punches,” Tom says, carefully, after they’ve been quiet a moment, “have you spoken to James at all?”
Francis winces with what feels like his entire body. “I haven’t had the chance,” he says, as lightly as he can manage.
It isn’t precisely true. If he found the time to contact everyone else who’d been affected by his spectacular fall from grace during his leave of absence, he could have found the time to reach out to James too, but he hadn’t. The apology he owes James Fitzjames is too big for an email, which he’d, in a truly cowardly fashion, gotten away with for almost everyone else, and the presumption and humiliation of asking for any of his free time as he’d done with some of his subordinates was a bridge too far. Besides, if they’d met up at a coffee shop to talk things out, Francis has no doubt James would have ordered his drink with oat milk or stevia instead of sugar or mentioned a cleanse he was on and Francis would have rolled his eyes and said something awful and then he probably would have had to go to rehab all over again, which would have defeated the point. Francis has been told by outside observers—professionals in the field, for what it’s worth—that he’s making progress, but he’s even more sure that he’s still, at his core, a miserable old bastard. He’s just less miserable than he was before, by a small margin. Unfortunately, he’s not any less old, though. In fact, he’s older, but that’s beside the point.
“You’ll have to face him sooner or later,” Tom says, not quite gently but not as bullying as he could be either.
“I know,” Francis says, covering his face with his hands. “I’ll do it tomorrow. I mean, if anyone’s entitled to an in-person apology, it’s James, surely.”
“After you punched him in front of everyone at the Christmas party and verbally berated him? Yeah, I think something more than a text message might be in order.”
“You accepted an apology text,” Francis says, scowling into his mug. “And I broke your leg. You needed surgery and everything. I don’t even think I broke James’s nose.”
“Only because your aim sucks when you’re wasted,” Tom replies, unbothered. “Gave him quite the shiner, though, if you want to compare wounds.”
Francis sighs. “I already said I’d talk to him. You have my word.”
“What am I? Your bloody father?”
“No, and I like you a great deal better for it.”
“Good, then what do I need your word for?”
“I was just trying to convey my sincerity.”
“I don’t doubt your sincerity, Francis. Never have. It’s everyone else you need to convince.”
“I don’t know what to say to James,” Francis says, into his hands. “I mean, with you at least, we’ve known each other for ages. We can bounce back from quite a lot, it turns out. James, he’s—I’ve never known how to talk to him in the first place. Now I’ve got to do it sober? I don’t know where to start.”
“How about, ‘James, I’m sorry for trying to knock your lights out with an audience present while I was drunk off my ass on the company dime’ to start?”
Francis closes his eyes and leans back in his chair, letting the shame wash over him like a wave and then, more importantly, letting it recede like waves do. He sighs loudly and shakes his head.
“You know, I’ve always regretted I wasn’t the sort of drunk who forgets what he does when he’s wasted. Feels like it might be easier, ultimately. Like, I could say, ‘oh, sorry for whatever I might have done to you, James. The trouble is I don’t remember any of it, but I’m sure it’s nothing I would have done sober, all the same.’”
“Feigning amnesia?” Tom barks, laughing and looking at him sideways. “What’s that? The thirteenth step?”
“Leave me alone,” Francis replies, waving him off but laughing himself despite his best efforts. “I’ve done a lot of owning up to things lately. Can’t I keep one petty grievance for myself?”
“You could probably get away with it, if you’d left it as a petty grievance rather than escalating to violence. And your resistance to dealing with James should tell you making amends there is your highest priority. Discomfort is a good thing here, a signal you’re heading in the right direction. If it were all easy, everyone would do it, you know.”
“That’s lovely, Tom. Will you be cross-stitching any of these aphorisms onto pillows to remind me to stay the course, or shall I just memorize them for when times get tough?”
“Fuck off, you dusty old prick,” Tom laughs. “Hey, what about this? ‘James, I’m ever so sorry for getting plastered and calling you out in front of everyone and then attempting to rearrange your pretty face with my fist! I do think some of the blame lies in you being so pretty and in me having some unresolved issues around my masculinity and my self-esteem, all of which you can blame on my waste of a father figure growing up, but in this case, I suppose I have to shoulder some of the responsibility for my actions myself. Forgive me?’”
“There’s no one else on earth who could get away with saying even half those things to me, you know,” Francis says, even as his blood doesn’t boil or even heat in the slightest hearing them. It rushes to his face instead, no doubt resulting in a fierce blush that the gathering darkness mercifully hides from view.
“I earned it the hard way, my friend,” Tom says, patting his boot.
“That you did,” Francis says, and rises from his seat. “I’d better be going, then. Much to do, after all: apologies to draft, laundry to fold, worst case scenarios to spin out.”
Tom gets up with effort, clunky and inelegant in his boot, but not so proud as to decline Francis’s hand when it’s offered. “I wasn’t trying to scare you off,” he says once he’s vertical.
“You didn’t. It’s like I said, I’ve a lot to do before the big day.”
Tom nods and, after a moment of deliberation, puts a hand on Francis’s shoulder. “You’re a good man, you know.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Francis replies, shifting away from the praise. “More of a bad man trying to be better.”
Tom gives him a long look at that and then shakes his head, smiling. “All that work on yourself and you still don’t get it,” he says, not unkindly. “What else do you think a good man is?”
Francis doesn’t know, but he spends the whole ride home and the rest of the night thinking about it all the same.
*
Francis’s plan of attack, such as it even exists, takes form more easily than he could have predicted. Once he starts thinking about how best to approach James at work and make amends on that front, he finds he knows a lot more about the man than he originally thought. A few years working together, however contentiously, has been enough to pick up on each other’s habits and quirks well enough that Francis can reasonably predict when he’ll be able to get a moment of James’s time without anyone else around. The fact that he can do this and yet never thought to do it before under any other circumstances is the cause of another wave of shame that passes less quickly than Francis would like.
Francis arrives at the City Planner’s office just before 8:30 in the morning with the certainty that he won’t run into John—the man has many flaws but his dedication to never showing up to work any earlier than he absolutely needs to is not one of them, in Francis’s opinion—but that he will, in all likelihood, find James already there and more than likely already working. He also arrives with the materials for a bribe, should that prove necessary.
He’s so worked up, going through everything he’s planning to say one last time in his mind before he actually sees James, that he doesn’t think to knock on the outer door, which is sitting half-open anyway, and just barges in instead. It’s not a great start, he realizes a second after it’s too late to do anything else, and it’s made even worse by the fact that James is there, as expected, and he’s only partially in his shirt, which is not so expected. Francis stops and gapes for a moment with all the grace of someone who’s been tased.
“God, sorry,” he says, and tries to step back, only to collide with the door jamb. “I should’ve—”
“Francis, it’s—good morning, I—this isn’t—I’m the—I’m sorry,” James says, managing to sound crisp and self-possessed even when he’s stammering his way through an apology. “I don’t normally…do this…in the office, I mean.”
“No, of course not,” Francis says, behaving like a teenager in a romantic comedy for some reason and averting his eyes, even though there’s nothing to see. James was in the process of buttoning his shirt when he came in, so it’s really the sight of his clavicle that’s made Francis so uncomfortable. Was he always this much of a ninny? Is that why he started drinking, to cover it up? It’s the only explanation that makes any sense now.
“I went for a run this morning and I neglected to pack a shirt with my work clothes, so I had to use the spare I keep in my desk for emergencies.”
The old Francis (of several weeks and easily a thousand group sessions ago) would have rolled his eyes at any number of things in that small explanation: running to work, keeping a spare shirt in one’s desk, referring to anything related to fashion as an ‘emergency’ and meaning it. Now, he nods thoughtfully and tries to think of it all as part and parcel of what he respects and admires about James: his dedication and planning, his ability to anticipate and address future challenges. The fact that he looks nice in blue. Whatever. It turns out it’s easier to do than he imagined it would be.
“I don’t think you have a habit of undressing in the office for fun, James,” Francis says, instead of any of those nice things. “Don’t worry.”
“Right,” James says, lightly, even as his shoulders remain tense. He does up the last few buttons and his clavicle disappears under the taut poplin fabric of his dress shirt. “Well, what can I do for you, Francis?”
Francis has heard—and, in turn, mocked—James on any number of occasions start conversations with a smooth, ‘to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?’, which is not an expression Francis himself has been treated to in a long time and for good reason. He doesn’t know why he thinks of it now, except that he’d take even a sarcastic reference to the pleasure of his company (of which there is none and never has been for James in particular, he thinks) over the idea that James should do anything for him, at this point.
“You’re training, then?” Francis asks, skirting gracelessly around the question James actually posed. “For another one of the what-do-ya-call-em’s? Not a marathon. The thing you did last year…?”
“The Ironman,” James suggests, looking slightly pained. “It’s a triathlon.”
“Yeah, that sounds right. Another one of those?”
“God, no,” James replies, nose wrinkling slightly before he seems to catch himself doing it and intentionally blanks his expression. “I’m not likely to do another one of those. I already have my bragging rights, after all. Today’s run was just for health.”
“Oh, sure,” Francis says, tapping a fingertip nervously against the cardboard sleeve of his coffee cup. “I’m meant to be doing that now.”
“Running?” James asks, betraying some surprise, which is fair enough.
“Exercising. For my health. To keep me…”
“Fit?”
“Well, distracted,” Francis replies, with a shrug. “There seems to be some thought of it helping to keep me away from drink, though I’m not sure what the logic is there. But I’m meant to be thinking of something I’d enjoy, anyway.”
“Not running, then,” James says, brow crinkling like he’s giving the matter serious thought. James is a fixer by nature—and by profession, of course, being paid mostly to follow John around and make sure the grand promises that flow from his mouth actually happen somehow. He thrives with a problem to solve. If Francis were even marginally less stupid and less proud, he might have thought to come to James sooner. He’s nothing if not several very large problems wrapped in a trench coat. Or a wind breaker, in actuality. The point is, Francis could use all the fixing he can get his hands on.
“Not likely. Never enjoyed it, really. Hard on the ankles, I’ve found.”
“Yes, it can be quite stressful on the joints. You’ve got to take all sorts of precautions,” James says, in the tone he gets when he’s working his way up to a long treatise of some kind, but he stops abruptly and his face betrays that he’s seemingly caught himself. He clears his throat. “So, it’s not for everyone. I understand.”
“Yes, well, my sponsor was saying that I might try tennis or racquetball, but then I’d have to find a regular partner or group, and I’m not sure I have it in me.”
“There’s a club nearby, actually, and they could help you arrange—” James pauses and shakes his head, once again stopping himself from expounding on the different options available the way he normally would. It’s an uncharacteristic amount of restraint coming from James, who loves recommending things to other people almost as much as he loves the sound of his own voice. Francis sees some of his own handiwork in this new display of shame and feels the need to make amends even more keenly than before because of it. “Well, you can Google it, I imagine, and it would be faster than listening to me. It is, uh—it’s in Eagleton, however, so I suppose that won’t do.”
“No,” Francis replies, frowning. “Thanks all the same, though. I imagine I’ll end up doing water aerobics with the rest of the senior citizens at the community center and call it a day.”
“You’re not a—you’re barely fifty, Francis!”
“I’m fifty-two, actually.”
“Oh, well, in that case, I hope you have your affairs in order,” James gripes, as he messes with something entirely unnecessarily on his desk. Francis smiles at the strange comfort of annoying him, which should not be reassuring to him at all but he’s a messed up sort of fellow even on his best days. The smile grows when James clears his throat again and adds, like he can’t quite stop himself, “Swimming’s rather good for the joints, actually.”
“Swimming?” Francis asks.
“Yes, swimming. As in, laps…in a pool. Something else the community center offers, if you were interested. It’s solitary—meditative, even—and good exercise. In—that is, in case you were wondering.”
“If this is you trying to talk me into a triathlon, James—”
James sniffs, more performatively haughty than genuinely haughty, Francis suspects. “I’d never,” he says. “I was merely recommending an activity that you might enjoy more than water aerobics, and that might spare the elderly of our community from dealing your obvious personality disorder early in the morning, when those classes tend to be held.”
Francis, much to James’s surprise from the look on his face, laughs at that. “I’ll take that under advisement,” he says, while James continues to regard him like he’s wild animal exhibiting signs of rabies who’s suddenly appeared in his path, which is maybe a common occurrence in town, depending on who you ask. “Thank you.”
James nods, distracted. “Sure.”
“Well, I—I…listen, I didn’t come here to talk about exercise regimes, which I figure you could have guessed,” Francis says, in a rush, because anything less than a headlong dive into the subject they need to discuss will hurt much worse than just getting it over with, he suspects. “And I don’t want to presume anything about your life, but I also figure there’s a non-zero chance that you’re already familiar with the famous 12 step program, maybe just through cultural osmosis, and I don’t want to over explain any of it to you, but, well, there’s a pretty important part about identifying people you’ve wronged through your addiction and the resulting behavior and making direct amends to said try people and—”
“I’m familiar,” James interrupts, softly. “Not directly, of course, or, um, anything like that—I don’t want to detract—but—”
Francis waves him off. “No need to explain. I just—well, obviously, that list of people, for me, had to include you, because of what transpired between us at the end of last year and how I behaved. The things I said to you, then—how I’ve always spoken to you, really—and of course, I—God, I’m so sorry. It feels absurd to say out loud but I’m sorry for lashing out at you and hitting you, I should never have—”
“It’s fine, Francis,” James says, starchily. He’s got a nervous hand pressed to his ribcage, so intently that it’s almost shocking to look and see no actual knife sticking out from there, somehow. With that, it’s hard to believe the breeziness of his words. “Really, this isn’t necessary.”
“And I’m telling you it is,” Francis explains, as carefully as he can manage. “Maybe it isn’t for you, I don’t know, but it’s necessary for me. Do you—can you understand that?”
“Yes, I’m sorry,” James says, after a deep breath. “Of course. Is there…more?”
“You tell me. Is there any other ways my drinking harmed you that I haven’t thought of?”
“No, I wasn’t—”
Francis holds up a hand to stop him. “That probably read as very sarcastic, given our…history, let’s say, but it was a genuine question. I think I’ve raked myself over the coals for every possible slight I can imagine but if there’s anything I did that I can address for you now, I’d have you tell me.”
“No, it’s fine, really,” James replies, shakily. “I only meant, I don’t really know what goes into all this. Is amends just an apology or is there more to it? I don’t need there to be, I was just curious. That’s all.”
“Well, you’re meant to endeavor to show you’ve changed your ways, I suppose. To indicate that you won’t be perpetuating the same harm in the future. Which, in this case, is tough, because…well, I mean, all I can give you is my word I won’t try to knock you out at work ever again.”
“Outside of work hours, however…” James muses, with a small, mirthless smile.
Francis winces, but otherwise doesn’t react. “I’ll never behave that way towards you again. On my honor, for whatever that’s worth.”
James folds his arms over his chest and looks down at the carpet, appearing like a sullen youth for a brief moment before he raises his gaze and becomes a grown man once more. Francis remembers when he’d shown up with John that first time, how he’d called James an infant to Tom when they finished their initial meeting with him about the town’s budget crisis all those years ago. Tom had laughed at him, wheezing ‘he’s a decade younger than us, if he’s anything, Francis. He’s our bloody peer now, and if you don’t see it, you’re cracked!’ Francis thought—still thinks—Tom is the one who’s cracked, in this case. James looked young, then; he looks young now, everywhere except the eyes, which contain a stormy sea’s worth of disappointment. Francis can be self-centered with the best of them but he knows he’s not the one who put that feeling there in the first place. He’s not that important. For the first time, however, he feels protective of the man in front of him because of it and takes it as his very solemn duty to never be the cause of his disappointment again, so long as it can be helped. All that and it’s not even 9 in the morning yet.
“It’s worth plenty,” James says, eventually, clearly just as uncomfortable with this much emotion so early in the day as Francis is and eager to be done with it. “Thank you, Francis.”
“Yes, well, I won’t take up any more of your time, I’ve been nuisance enough for one morning, but if there’s ever anything you want to discuss or clear up between us, my door’s always open. To you, that is. Well, to anyone, but just in case your particular welcome was unclear, I mean, you should—”
James sweeps a hand out wide in a graceful gesture like he’s literally clearing the air. “Understood,” he says, sincerely, “and appreciated.”
“Great,” Francis says, too cheerily and then winces again. “I mean, uh—right, I’ll just be going then.”
As he pivots back towards the door, the sloshing noise of the ice shifting in one of the cups he’d forgotten he was holding draws his attention. Christ, right. The whole point was—Francis really is starting to lose his mind. He contemplates just leaving anyway, like nothing’s amiss, but he’ll have to explain the two drinks to his team, absolutely none of whom will buy that the iced chai is for him. He’s gone on too many rants about how coffee shouldn’t be iced and tea only on certain occasions. He’s the type to drink hot, black coffee even on the most brutal summer days, though his sponsor did warn him that a lot of alcoholics do turn to sweets as a coping mechanism for replacing alcohol in their daily lives and not to be surprised if he found himself needing additional sweetener in his morning coffee as a result. Francis hadn’t credited it at the time, but he had found himself momentarily tempted at the coffee shop this morning by a sign advertising something called a ‘death by chocolate latte’ as the daily special before he’d gotten a hold of himself, so maybe there’s some truth to it. The point is, dragging this extra drink back to his office will be more humiliating than turning around and giving it to James like he originally planned, no matter how awkward it feels right now.
“Okay,” he says, turning back, “I promise this is the last thing and then I will let you get back to work. There’s, uh—it’s not a bribe, mind you, just an extension of the apology for what happened and for the fact that you’ll have to continue working with me for the foreseeable future and—you don’t have to forgive me, you don’t owe me that, I just thought—”
James looks at him, utterly perplexed, fingertips gently steepled on the top of the desk like he’d already been going back to whatever he was working on when Francis interrupted again. “What is it?” he asks, somehow still not betraying any annoyance at the interruption, hiding it well under an open tone of curiosity.
“The—this,” Francis finally spits out with considerable effort, holding the cup out towards James, rather than try to explain himself further. “It’s for you.”
“Oh,” James replies, with an expression like Francis is trying to hand him a live gerbil and not an upsettingly overpriced beverage like the ones he’s seen James drink on dozens of occasions. “I, uh—that’s really not necessary.”
“You must take it, James. Please. I said you’re not obligated to forgive me, I’m not trying to sway you, really. It just felt wrong to show up empty handed, after everything.”
“I understand, but, really—”
“You’re not on another one of your cleanses, are you? Giving up sugar or…calories before noon or something?” Francis ventures, imbuing his tone with more patience than he normally would, even though he still feels very little towards this thing in particular.
James is already so annoyingly healthy and brisk and handsome, it does take extraordinary amounts of patience to tolerate his talk of intermittent fasting and green juice with the goal of making himself even more annoyingly perfect. Surely, there’s got to be a limit to that sort of thing, but Francis doesn’t know; he’s on the opposite end of the spectrum it seems, having to re-learn the fundamentals of barely looking after himself in middle age without the aid of alcohol. It’s pretty grim, if he’s being honest. It really is no wonder that James has been so consistently earning the gold medal spot in the competitive sport of getting on Francis’s nerves, with that in mind.
His intentional gentleness does seem to pay off in this case, though, since James smiles at him in only mild embarrassment. “Uh, no, I’m not. I just—you’re not obliged to—”
“I know, but—listen, James, I already committed my penance by having to say the phrase ‘dirty chai’ with a straight face to a college student with a lip piercing at eight in the morning, okay? The damage is done. You might as well enjoy the spoils of my humiliation.”
James’s smile widens at that, looking for all the world like he can’t really stop himself. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but that mental image might be worth more to me than the entirety of your apology.”
“No offense taken,” Francis says, finally succeeding in handing off the cup, slick with condensation by now, into James’s care. “I hope it will sustain you for a while yet.”
“Oh, it shall,” James says, placing the cup gingerly onto his desk.
“Right, well,” Francis replies, “that’s all, then. I’ll see you…later, I suppose.”
James nods. “We have a meeting set for Tuesday—tomorrow. It should be on your calendar. Thomas said he—”
“If Jopson says it’s there, it’s there.”
“Great,” James says, easily. “Until then.”
“Yes. ‘Til tomorrow.”
Mission completed, Francis turns once more towards the door and is only interrupted in leaving by the sound of James clearing his throat behind him. He pauses, and looks over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows in question when he meets James’s eye.
“It’s only—forgive me if this is the wrong thing to say, under the circumstances,” James offers, fidgeting with the edge of the notepad lying open on his desk, “but you do—that is, you look well, Francis.”
Francis doesn’t allow himself the liberty of moving even an inch, not to fiddle with his collar or brush back his hair or otherwise indicate he gives so much as one singular damn about his appearance. “Do I?” he asks, tone purposely vague, like James has just told him the weather forecast and it’s only interesting to him in theory, really.
“Yes, very well,” James says, putting his hand flat on the desk very deliberately, like it was giving him away before. At what, who knows, but he’s got it under control now. “This change, it suits you.”
“Well, thank you, I guess.”
James now looks at his computer screen, absently. The next words he says might be something he was reading off of there, if they were anything else. “You look good, is what I meant.”
“How—?” Francis pauses, feeling immense pressure to say this right, somehow. “Sorry, but how would that be the wrong thing to say?”
“I wouldn’t want you to think, well—” James interrupts himself by laughing, just a little and rather joylessly. “It’s not that you didn’t look good before.”
“Oh, right,” Francis says, even as those words continue to make no sense to him in that particular order coming from this particular person. “Wait, you’re saying—I did?”
James meets his eye again, finally, but only to give him the most impatient, long-suffering look in human history. “Is it too much to hope that one of the twelve steps involves learning to take a compliment?” he asks, sounding depleted by the effort. “Because it is one of your most exhausting qualities that you can’t do so without endless interrogation first.”
“And it’s got a lot of competition,” Francis replies, feeling himself smile and choosing to do nothing to stop it, “what with all my other exhausting qualities.”
“You’re really only proving my point here, you know.”
“Thank you, James,” Francis says, dutifully. “It’s very kind of you to say. Better?”
“Much,” James sighs. “You’re showing remarkable improvement already.”
Francis leaves him, then, because to stay any longer would just be exposing himself to further ridicule and he’d absolutely deserve it, what with the stupid smile he now can’t seem to get rid of.
#lmao zainab's exact words when we talked about this prompt were 'i'm in my slightly confused but supportive parental energy era'#my madness is being indulged so patiently#anyway this has been stressing me out for a month now just take it away from me!!!#the terror#the terror amc#fitzier#francis crozier#james fitzjames#thomas blanky#writing prompt#reverse fanfic tropes prompts#god i've forgotten how to even tag writing anymore...#firstelevens#homelywenchsociety#that's my writing tag! don't worry about it!#prompt fill#as always when i come up with a silly au for something i'm like 'i don't know how everyone fits in i haven't thought about it at all'#except i am always lying because i always know#most important part of this AU is that tunbaaq is The Pit#and ross is mark brendana-quits#and that's most of what you need to know#please join me in imagining all of the truly absurd parks plotlines i can shove these idiots into#my favorite that i've thought of so far is forcing james and silna into ben and april's plotline of getting stuck in a parking garage#traffic jam together for hours#i just think it would break them you know?? and that's fun#anyway....
11 notes
·
View notes
Text
Finally seeing the gaslight anthem tonight 😎
#sometimes you decide not to go to a concert for a fav band by yourself.#because you’re extemely depressed and socially anxious and assume you’ll have another chance#and then a few months after the missed concert you find out the band broke up and you decide to be mad at yourself for not being brave#and going to the concert to yourself#and then sometimes 9 fucking years later you’re stuck in traffic on your way home from work and get an email#and learn on a random Tuesday that the band not only is back together but they’re coming to your town#and now you’re able to correct your fuck up because mental illness made you miss out
13 notes
·
View notes
Text
will reply to more messages tomorrow ! i must sleep nao !!!
#jhbgdsj so much love today thank u everyone 🥺🥺🥺 im so happy u love col as much as i do !!#we can talk abt it together <3#will also get to the tags of the the rbs tomorrow!! there are so many and i want to message each n every one a thank u !!!#also to my megumi fic omg i srsly didnt expect ppl to like the way i wrote him but am so touched n giddy that ppl do !!!!#liek !!! hdbvsghafb the idea for that fic came to me while my bf was driving me home n we were stuck in traffic 😭#i always tell him in some variation to keep driving until the end of the song!!! bc i like the song... HAHAHAHAAHAH#either he drives around a block or just drives slower dhsgj#but that night with the traffic had good vibes and i did want to stay there just a lil bit longer :') BSHSBNG AAH#but !! I am so happy ppl find my pre-relationship college megumi to alr be so boyfriend material <3#HSGDGHSAD#anyWAY tomorrow i am going to try to work on the col lingerie drabble so it can come out soon !! and brainstorm with niku for our event!!!#goodnight everyone <3#i talked so much again
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
I wonder if there is like a quota for how many fuckups a man can make in life. I don't know where I was going with this. I guess I just wish every step I made wasn't one in the wrong direction, or that I could at least backpedal out of bad decisions without any fatal consequences like damaging someone else. Life sucks.
#maybe it's just the tiredness and exhaustion talking sure but i think i need to become way less of a fuckup of a woman in order to do#anything worthwhile in life#lesson learned‚ i guess. don't make any decisions you would make once you have your shit together BEFORE that moment in time.#god‚ i wish there was an easier way to do these things. an easier way to learn. an easier way to live. i fucking hate being in pain and i#hate every single waking moment of my life i spend not in an ideal world where i am good and happy and free and not as fucking mentally ill#all the fucking time. i do wish there was an easier way to live. i really do. i hate my life. we are back to square fucking one.#just when i thought i was getting better i rush headfirst into oncoming traffic without a care in the world and another aspect of my#existence that once brought me great joy becomes almost nightmarish to think about‚ except this time around it was completely and entirely#my fault‚ and i see no way out of what i've done.#maybe‚ in another world‚ i could see the decision i've made‚ the path i've chosen‚ as a good one. but unfortunately‚ i am stuck with a hell#brain that hates me and everything i do‚ leftover traumas related to the concept commonly referred to as the defining trait of humanity‚#and‚ to top it all off‚ the beautiful words that i have received only send me flying into a state of panic once i turn my head to look back#at everything that was said and done. i genuinely hate how my brain works. i wish i wasn't so much of a scared‚ scarred‚ terrified injured#animal. i wish that i could enjoy nice things. i wish that i could just be alive and make mistakes and live life and be happy with all of#that. but that's not the kind of life that was cut out for me‚ and i have been blasting here's to you sitting numb in my chair wondering#how i even got to this point in time‚ mouth agape‚ barely breathing‚ gazing at nothing.#tl;dr no one on god's green earth deserves a fuckup like me#logs#black blank blah-blah-blah
1 note
·
View note
Text
I know tumbleweeds are horribly destructive and dangerous in so many ways, but they're so funny too. Like again horrific bastards, but they're so funny as a concept of an organism to me. Imagine if your yew shrub in your yard just died and decided to roll away 😭
"Honey, the shrub left again :("
And they can interlock with other tumbleweeds and grow into this massive mess too! These bastards bury people in their houses bc they get into a giant tumbleweed orgy and get stuck in front of people's homes! Not to mention how fucking flammable they are! Fucking WILD
#marquilla#im catching up on the news and tumbleweeds burying people in their homes was one of the stories sgdgdgdgdggd#it's so so funny to watch videos of them when they become tumbleweeds aka when the dead bush breaks off the roots and it's like#oh due to unfortunate circumstances... i have decided to pass away... goodbye... ✌😔#they cause traffic accidents too bc they group together and get stuck in the road 😭 and like nothing eats these bastards at least not HERE#and they reproduce and spread their seeds when they roll around bc these bitches GET AROUND#theyre just so funny but so so stupid 😭 nature's worst creation
1 note
·
View note
Text
WHY WAS THE ENDING OF 3RD LIFE SO EMOTIONAL. GUYS IM ACTUALLY SAD.
Grian and Scar tied in my heart. from forced together to friends til the end....
man.
#decided I'm just gonna watch last life as well today#then I'll probably do Hermitcraft 9 and 10#unless there's one I should also watch too???? Is it seven that's important or something idk#traffic light series#minecraft#also I see what Grian means by being stuck with Scar for literally ever season#but I love them together they're so funny...........#the actual pain in Grians voice when he beat Scar.... augh....
0 notes
Text
1 note
·
View note
Note
Dad!Spencer forgetting to take a hair clip out of his hair that his daughter put in earlier that morning 🤭 and nobody telling him until he goes home LMAO
Georgia has a cutesie little routine with her dad, he does her hair and she does his.
This morning Spencer has spent the better half of twenty minutes braiding her hair back and out of her face.
“Daddy, can you put the ribbons in today? The orange ones, please?” It would clash with her outfit but who is Spencer to deny her that?
“Course Georgia, on both braids or one tying them both together?”
He likes giving her choices like this, letting her decide little things so she feels she has a say. Spencer likes her to be knowledgeable and a little independent- but not too much, he still wants her to need you both.
“Invididually,” he smiles at how she says it and nods.
“Individually, you got it.” He ties the ribbons in cute little bows and then pats her back. “All done, go get breakfast with your mom.”
She starts to hop off the stool she’s stood on and then stops. “Wait. Daddy?” Her eyebrows pulled tight together as she reaches in her hair bag.
“Yes, sweetheart?” Spencer looks equally perturbed.
“Can I put this one in your hair? So we match?” He nods and kneels down, letting her little hands push back his hair and set the orange clip in his hair.
Breakfast is busy, as it usually is with a five year old. She wants waffles and you and Spencer spend a little time coaxing yogurt and fruit on her plate.
You pack her lunch kit, pack yours and then Spencer’s and you’re all rushing out of the door- you need to beat traffic.
You kiss Spencer goodbye and you both rush off- you to drop Georgia and Spencer to the bau.
His day doesn’t get less busy, an all paperwork day, so he’s stuck at his desk and while he gets weird looks from Derek, he doesn’t take it on much.
It’s not unusual at all.
“Okay guys, get home. We’re not getting much else and we’re all updated on the paperwork.” Hotch makes the announcement around four thirty and Spencer sighs, cracking his knuckles as he stretches in his chair.
“Alright, I’m headed home guys. Georgia started fractions today and that math is never good for six year olds.”
He’s packing his back and catches a look of himself in his laptop’s reflection before he closes it.
“Oh shit,” he mumbles, turning round Emily and JJ. “Did I have it in all day?”
They both nod, JJ smiles gently. “It’s a good look Spence, a nice touch from Georgia.”
“She’s getting better at gripping your hair back. Fine motor fully developed.” Emily compliments.
He blushes but doesn’t even bother to take it out, knowing she’s going to love it that he’s kept it in all day.
#spencerreid#spencer reid#spencer reid one shot#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid drabble#spencer reid fluff#spencer reid blurb#spencer reid fic#spencer reid x you#spencer reid x yn#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x black reader#dad!spencer reid#dad!spencer
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
Tonia nibbling on some popcorn as she watches. "The moose are fighting."
#ic | (heard and loved);#dash | (commentary from the leylines);#(haha get it scaramouche.... mouche.... moushe... moose.....................)#(btw i am STILL STUCK IN TRAFFIC vancouver u fuck get your shit together its just 1cm of snow)
0 notes
Note
Vox with an unlucky s/o?-
What about Alastor with a lucky s/o?
I CAME AS SOON AS I COULD
Alastor X Reader Headcanons
✅️Romantic
❌️Platonic
TW: None?? I think??
Description: ☝️⬆️
Unlike with Vox, Alastor immediately believes you when you tell him you're naturally lucky
However, maybe you should've kept it to yourself because what he takes away from that is that you're indestructible
Always sending you in somewhere dangerous first because he knows you'll come away unscathed
Physically anyways
Motherfucker you'll never psychologically heal from this
Sometimes he tries to use you as his good luck shield charm but it backfires and he ends up on his ass
"What just happened?"
It only cools down a little once you two are together
Somehow the fact that you're so lucky is something Alastor takes pride in as if he's the one responsible for it
If you're bragging about it then he's bragging about it
Even if you're not bragging about it
He's eager to prove it too, just waiting for someone to try and call bullshit
"Okay now I know you're exaggerating, Y/N isn't that lucky-"
"Wanna bet?"
Not him shoving you into traffic just to watch you miraculously spin back to him with some tasty food in your bewildered arms
"You're so thoughtful, my dear! That looks delicious~"
Fuck off you can't have any after pulling that little stunt
Alastor is so pleased when your supernatural luck pulls through because he knows he doesn't have to worry about you all the time
You get kidnapped?? Somehow you always end up home by the end of the day with your kidnappers blown up
You're stuck in a street fight??? Somehow you come out on top and the territory is yours now
Sometimes Alastor is genuinely baffled by just how lucky you can be but he's learned to just stop questioning it
You're his amazingly lucky S/O and he's so impressed by it, will use you to help him win bets/place deals
"Wanna make a deal that Y/N will land on their feet after I push them off this building?"
You're gonna make him so powerful
Sometimes you wonder if he's trying to kill you but all your anger melts away at the sight of his proud face
You can't stay mad him, not when he just wants to show you off and genuinely seems to believe in you
It helps that he rewards you afterwards with some affection, rubbing his cheek on you and telling you what a good job you did
Shut up and keep rubbing my head you psychopath
You can always get him back if you really wanted to, your luck would prevail and you'd come out on top
Not that Alastor knows that
You should get revenge
"Mm...you're so gonna get it...~"
"What was that now?"
The chaotic side of me took hold but I hope you still like it!!
#hazbin hotel x reader#alastor hazbin hotel x reader#alastor hazbin x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin x reader
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
technically hand-cuffing crowley and aziraphale together would be completely useless since they can just snap their fingers and be free.
however.
we are talking about the same idiots that drove to tadfield instead of flying or teleporting. aziraphale made the slow grandma scooter float. crowley drove his car all the way there and fucking. remained stuck in a traffic jam.
the same idiots that went through with the magic show instead of just walking away. that rode horses and hated it. that use their powers every single second of every day and have grown so used to them that they forget they are using them in the first place.
and then forget about them when they need them.
so yeah, technically they could miracle their way out of the hand cuffs. but they wouldn't. they'd whine and complain and forget they're capable of doing so.
then they'd make up and make out because that shit would work.
then, and ONLY then, does one of them snap their fingers so they can properly fuck nasty against a bookshelf and they both stare at each other, the cuffs on the floor, up at each other again, and think fucking hell i love that moron.
and then they fuck.
#alex talks good omens#good omens#ineffable husbands#crowley#aziraphale#good omens season 2#go2#aziracrow#crowley x aziraphale#ineffable divorce#the final fifteen
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
I’m a Good Girl, Officer!
Pairing: Reader x Detective Dixon x Officer Grimes x Officer Walsh
Summary: Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.
Warnings: NSFW. Foursome! :-) Unprotected p-in-v, spitroast, double penetration, overstimulation, praise and degradation, bimbofication, throatfucking, painal, breeding kink, using c*m as lube, and a (consensual) strugglefuck. Elements of dubcon à la power imbalance and coercion. Age gap. Public indecency, evading arrest, assault on two cops, and general drunken stupidity.
“Goooooood morning, babycakes!”
Your best friend rolled the hem of her shirt over her chest and shimmied her shoulders at the big white semi truck about to pass under the bridge. The stranger at the wheel took one look at the woman’s tits and almost swerved across two lanes of traffic. The sight sent you and your drunken group howling with laughter, falling onto the ground as Maggie yanked her top back down.
It was five a.m. and freezing. The club where you’d been boozing all night had long since shuttered closed, and you and your closest friends from high school—home for the holidays and happily plastered—had gone wandering home in a daze. When one of the girls had stopped suddenly at the midsection of a bridge, you hadn’t been able to keep from sharing her smile the second she’d grinned and said, ‘For old time’s sake?’
In no time at all, you’d been lined up along the metal railing and ogling the unsuspecting drivers down below. The freeway was mostly empty at this hour, save for a couple tractor trailers and early morning commuters, but that didn’t matter.
Rosita was up next. You watched her eye an RV as it bumbled down the road and saw her take hold of her shirt just like Maggie had. Then, right when the camper got close enough, the brunette bent slightly at the waist, flipped her top up, and screamed at the top of her lungs:
“HEY BIG RED!”
A big, buff dude with a bright red handlebar mustache looked up from the passenger seat, as did the white-haired, bearded gentleman wearing a bucket hat beside him. The pair then watched your friend’s roadside spectacle with shared looks of wonder and awe, before passing under the bridge as slow as they possibly could. Rosita staggered off the ledge and reached for the flask in your hand, heedless of her breasts still hanging out.
“Your turn,” she chirped before taking a swig.
Your feet were already wobbling onto the concrete slab. From your vantage point, the outline of the sun was just then breaking out across the tops of the trees, casting the morning’s first rays across your bare skin. You stretched your arms out wide, Titanic-style, and basked in the warmth—likely looking drunk as all hell as you did.
“Ooo, this one, this one!” Maggie cut in presently.
You followed your friend’s gaze and caught sight of a sleek, glistening firetruck speeding down the road.
Perfect, you thought as your eyes soaked in the sight. You pictured the truck packed to the gills with hot and sweaty firemen inside, and your fingers itched at the bottom of your shirt. Curled under the fabric and ready to lift as soon as the time came. Even from a distance, you could make out a tiny cluster of uniformed men at the helm, each of their faces contorted with curiosity.
The truck sped up and drew closer. Maggie squeezed your hip, Rosita chewed her lip, and together, you all stared the firetruck down with bated breath until it was just about to go under the bridge.
In a blink, you flipped your shirt up and shook your tits back and forth for the men going by. Much to your surprise, the firefighter in the driver’s seat honked his horn a couple times, and another one, at the rear, stuck his grinning head out the window and waved.
You, Maggie, and Rosita waved right back, practically falling over each other in fits of laughter as you yelled,
“Call me, daddy!”
The three of you collapsed on the sidewalk in a heap of shitfaced hysterics. Rosita flung your flask to the side and smacked you playfully across your boobs—still out and proud and likely able to cut diamonds with how hard your nipples had gotten in the chilly morning air.
“Daddy?!” she wheezed, “You skank!”
You straightened up, partially splayed across Maggie’s lap, and wiggled your shoulders once more, feigning that high-pitched, ditzy voice you used whenever you were hammered,
“Daddy please fuck my titties, I’ve been such a bad girl!”
Then you gave the best porn star moan you could muster and started to pull your shirt the rest of the way off. Not thinking, you balled up the light pink fabric and threw it up in the air while Rosita cheered—‘Tits out for the girls!’—and Maggie almost pissed herself laughing. Really anything would’ve had your sides fit to split at this point, seeing how faded and adrenaline-drunk you were.
You reached up and waited for the top to fall back into your hand...until it didn’t. You cast a sweeping look across the three of you to see if your shirt had landed somewhere else, but the garment was nowhere in sight.
You turned and craned your neck to see over the railing.
“Shit!”
You scrambled to your feet and gripped the metal siding of the bridge, tits fully out and exposed to the world. You watched as an old Ford Ranger picked up speed and crushed the scrap of fabric under its tires, before the driver, in turn, gawked and honked his horn like a fool.
Just as you started to turn back to tell your friends the bad news—and beg them for a piece of spare clothing to cover you—a sound startled you all.
The short, sharp yelp of a siren straight ahead.
Your hands flew to cover your chest while Maggie and Rosita went floundering over each other trying to get up. A few yards away, a police cruiser had pulled up to the side of the bridge with its lights flashing bright red and blue.
Shit, again, seemed to be the resounding sentiment among you three as the car started inching closer.
“Stop right there!” a voice boomed over the PA system.
That only prompted your group to take off running.
You, cradling your tits in both hands, and Rosita and Maggie trying desperately not to trip over the curb, the wayside trash, or each other as they raced down the street.
Two car doors flew open. Then, the sound of that same voice, breaking out across the still morning air without the aid of the intercom and telling you to freeze right now, followed by the sound of footsteps. Boots thudded heavy on the ground below, moving fast and with purpose. Both pairs easily gained on your three retreating forms in a matter of seconds.
Maggie and Rosita were already leaps and bounds ahead of you. Too busy juggling your tits and struggling to breathe, you felt your heart sink.
Rosita shot a look over her shoulder and cried, ‘C’mon!’ as she eyed the cops coming closer.
I’m trying, you wanted to say, but couldn’t speak. Your chest was too tight, pupils blown wide with fear.
This was not the fucking time to be having a panic attack. But here you were.
Before you could stop yourself, you waved a frantic hand to your friends and somehow managed to scream, ‘Go!’
The girls slowed, tried to urge you forward, but, sensing that you weren’t keeping up and wanted them to go on without you, relented at last. They bounded off toward a side street and disappeared down an alley while you felt your legs start to falter beneath you.
“Freeze!” the voice bellowed again. Loud, gruff, and much closer to your ear than it had been before.
You did as he said, not because you wanted to, but because you had to, then, or your body would’ve given out. Still in the grips of terror and rampant intoxication, you stopped in your tracks, spun on your heels, and watched the two officers sprint toward you.
You started to raise your hands in surrender, but just when one of them approached—presumably to tackle you to the ground—your instincts took over. You scarcely knew what you were doing; you just felt your leg lift with the last bit of strength you had left, then, astonishingly, deliver a kick straight to the first man’s gut.
To the shock of you, the cop, and his partner, the man went tumbling backward. Fell straight on the pavement in almost comical fashion and grunted in pain.
“Rick!” the dark-haired one yelled reflexively.
His gaze darted back to you in an instant.
You knew you were capital F fucked. You didn’t bother trying to run and simply stared at the man left standing in a mixture of horror and dread as he charged straight at you.
Your flight response abandoned, you had only to fight. And, by the looks of your opponent, you sensed this motherfucker knew how to tussle.
Before you could even prime yourself for another kick, the cop had taken you down with one lunge. Pinned you flat on the asphalt and yelled right in your face,
“I said don’t move!”
You moved. You moved in his arms while he wrestled you to the sidewalk, snaked his hand around your front, pressed your back against his chest. You moved when he barked his orders once more, told you to get down now and stop resisting, and even wrapped his arm around your throat to force your compliance.
Chokehold’s illegal, asshole, you thought, fighting hard against his grasp. This cop played dirty, and appeared to give no fucks about who could see.
Just as his grip started to tighten around your neck, you heard the other officer back on his feet, talking sharply into his radio:
“Code 10-33. Requesting backup on Fayette Bridge.”
At the same time, the man above you was trying to shake his head, craning his neck to get his partner’s attention.
“Nah, nah, Rick, I got her!”
When ‘Rick’ didn’t seem to hear and kept shouting into the receiver, the burly cop turned his body to the side, squeezing your neck even tighter.
“Rick!” he called, “I got her right here, she’s— FUCK!”
Suddenly, the man’s voice broke off in a strangled yelp as you sank your teeth into the flesh of his arm. When he loosened his grip out of instinct, stinging with pain, you made a desperate attempt to slip from his grasp and get back on your hands and knees.
The freshly bitten cop just slammed you even harder on the ground, unleashing a string of expletives in your ear.
“Fuck you, pig!” you screamed back.
You weren’t sure what had come over you in the few short moments preceding this one—what had irked you so terribly to be inclined to kick one cop in the stomach and bite another on the arm like a feral cat—but there you went. Face down on the pavement with a set of handcuffs being clipped over your wrists.
You winced when you were jerked back onto your feet, the cop’s left hand on your shoulder and the other at your back. He shoved you to take your first steps forward, you instinctively told him to eat shit and die, and as a grim, unsavory unit, you walked toward the officer with his grip still fastened tight to his radio.
“You alright?” Rick asked, out of breath.
His gaze seared right through you to his partner—whose face, you could sense, was already beset with a scowl.
“Bitch bit me,” he spat.
You saw Rick’s expression change, watched his mouth move to speak again, when a sound crackled out of the receiver in his hand. A couple code words and street names you couldn’t make out.
“That’s— that’s alright, now, Officer Walsh has the subject restrained,” Rick returned hastily.
At present, Mr. Walsh had his thumb dug deep in your back, ostensibly holding tight to keep you subdued but more than likely just being an ass. He felt you flinch and gave you a fierce shake.
“Quit squirmin’, girl.”
“Quit pinchin’ me, pig!”
“You’d best watch that fuckin’ mouth’a yours.”
The voice above your ear had you easily outmatched in volume and tone, coarse as it was unkind.
You decided to try your luck anyway.
“Make me, pussy.”
The last thing you saw was the look of bewilderment leap to Rick’s face as Walsh thrust you forward, suddenly, and slammed you face-down on the hood of their car.
“What’d I say ‘bout that fuckin’ mouthin’ off?! Huh?”
“Shane—”
Rick grabbed this Shane’s shoulder in an effort to intervene. Tried prying him off before he could shove you down any harder, but his partner seemed adamant. Shane put his palm over the side of your head and knotted his fingers through your hair, quick to pull.
“Nah, man, I ain’t takin’ lip from some halfwit bimbo—”
“Hey!” you started, only to have your words muffled with your head forced back on the hood.
“Shane!” Rick snapped this time, taking a harder grip of his shirt and yanking him back. To your dismay, Shane kept a chunk of your hair clenched in his fist and probably dislodged a dozen or more strands when he was pulled away.
You let out a gentle groan as your head hit the car for a third time and the two officers broke off in a skirmish.
“You heard what Dixon said,” Rick hissed.
“Fuck what Dixon said!”
“You cain’t just— you got no right—”
“I got every right, man, lemme tell you sumn’—”
Before Shane could ‘tell you’ much of anything, though, the two were rendered silent by the sound of tires on pavement close by. A halt, a tense moment, a car door swinging open and closed, and a whisper passed quickly from Rick to Shane as the two exchanged a look,
“You fucked up.”
You tried tilting your head up toward the windshield to sneak a look in its reflection, maybe see who was coming. You couldn’t make out a thing.
Then, presently, the voice of a much more hushed, humbler Officer Walsh as he spoke,
“Detective Dixon, how’s it—”
“Six bucks.” Another man, presumably Dixon, cut in.
“Huh?”
“Six bucks fer this fuckin’ coffee. Tastes like dirt.”
Oh, uh, yeah, you could just sense Shane shifting uncomfortably on his feet as he searched for the right words to say, maybe scratched his head once or twice. Fortunately for him, Rick came to the rescue.
“Tried that new place on Main, huh?”
“Nic and Norman’s, yeah. Eggs were runny as shit an’ the waitress kept callin’ me ‘Dale’,” the man, now presumably Dixon but not Dale, said in a huff.
It was as if you weren’t lying flat on your tummy with your top off and your hands cuffed behind your back. You stupidly hoped the new man hadn’t noticed you.
“Well who’ve we got here?”
Shit.
You heard footsteps approach, but you didn’t turn your head. Your lungs expelled a small, shaky breath as this detective came by and stood inches from your bent form.
“She and her friends were flashing their tits to the cars passing under the bridge,” Shane declared, a touch too smug as he said it, “The others got away, but this one was sweet enough to grace us with her presence.”
“Kicked me in the stomach and knocked me on my ass,” Rick added.
“Bit me, too.”
You heard a low tsk-tsk as the detective clicked his tongue. Took another sip of his mud-flavored espresso and shook his head above you. Your skin burned with the imprint of his gaze.
“Spring break come a little late this year?” he teased.
“Fuck you,” you muttered.
The men let out a collective chuckle at your tart words. You could just picture the smirks and sly glances shared between them as they watched you writhe against the hood of the police cruiser and try not to give them the satisfaction of seeing your breasts splayed out underneath you.
You were ashamed, admittedly, unsure of how to proceed with three cops at your rear and few options at your disposal besides swearing up a storm. At last, you decided to shift your gaze in their direction and shoot them a glare—more of an empty threat than any real message, but you didn’t care.
You turned and immediately wished you hadn’t.
Your heart leapt into your throat.
“Daryl?!”
This time, Rick and Shane were the only ones to laugh out loud, before quickly stifling the sounds when they realized their superior hadn’t shown a hint of amusement.
Daryl Dixon, the detective, and your brother’s best friend from college, stared down at you with a look of horror.
“Y/N,” he stammered, in shock.
It was clear he was trying with every fiber of his being not to look down at your tits, but his resolve was only so strong. Finally, he settled on looking away, fast, and staring off in the distance while you readjusted yourself.
“Been a minute,” he said, trying for a curt, awkward nod.
And a minute it had been. The last time you’d laid eyes on the man had been at a Christmas party hosted by your brother and his husband four years ago. You’d exchanged all of ten words in polite, drunken pleasantries, and he’d stumbled off at the end of the night with a gorgeous redhead dressed as Mrs. Clause. You hadn’t heard hide nor hair of him since.
For a moment, Rick’s eyes danced indeterminately between you two. Shane’s remained fixed on your face.
“You know this little hellion, Detective?”
Daryl cleared his throat.
“Yeah, uh, that’s— that’s Aaron’s little sister.”
“No shit?”
The words came out faster than Shane could think to stop them. Your hometown was no great metropolis, and even he knew of your brother through a friend-of-a-friend and several cousins’ babysitter’s grandma’s Aunt Carol, or some similar relation. He and Rick had probably partied at your lake house a couple times in college.
“Uncuff her.” Daryl’s voice had already lowered some, pacing away to give you privacy.
Shane obliged and freed you from the handcuffs. When you turned around, only the back of Daryl’s body was visible to you as he ducked inside the backseat of his car.
He returned a few moments later with a blanket. Tried his damndest not to let his vision stray an inch from your face as he handed it to you. Then he beckoned Rick over, and the two exchanged a few quiet words by his sedan.
“You got rabies or anything?” Shane was eyeing the tiny crescent of teeth marks on his forearm.
You rolled your eyes.
“Worse. I’m one of those walkers.”
Shane gave you a look that conveyed he was just as annoyed but didn’t say anything more, even when you made a face at him. He just crossed his arms, leaned back against the squad car, and gritted his teeth. Before you knew it, Daryl and Rick were walking back.
“I’ll take her to the station,” Daryl said.
“Alri—”
“What?” you cried, “For what?!”
You knew for damn what. You just couldn’t believe your brother’s best friend wasn’t planning on giving you a family friend freebie of some kind.
Officer Walsh supplied an answer for you nonetheless, “Let’s see, now: public intoxication, public indecency, open container, and aggravated assault on two police officers. That clear things up, sweet cheeks?”
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
“Disorderly conduct, too,” Rick chimed in. Trying not to smile as he said it.
The only ones still not amused by anything this situation had to offer were you and Daryl. The detective looked positively pissed and ready to chuck his cup of coffee over the bridge, while you wanted nothing more than to disappear into the ether. The two of you exchanged a brief, uneasy look and quickly looked the other way.
Rick and Shane were already retreating to their cruiser. You just watched them, almost forlorn, and pretended not to see Daryl signaling for you to follow him.
“C’mon now,” he murmured.
“Can’t you just let me off with a warning?”
Daryl was treading closer to you now, hand outstretched in an almost gentle sort of gesture. Like he wasn’t about to cart you off to the slammer.
“Y’know I can’t do tha’,” he replied, “With all the fuss ya caused, Captain would have my head.”
When you wrenched your arm away from his grasp, you saw him frown.
“Hey,” Daryl said, a little more sternly now, “Don’t make this harder than it needs ta be.”
You watched him reach for you again.
Your first instinct was to shrug him off. Your second was to flee.
You weren’t sure why you even tried it—it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment, like they did in the movies, to take off sprinting down the street. You gave it a shot.
Unfortunately for you, your feet didn’t carry you far, and Daryl had you snagged in his arms in about five seconds flat. You glanced to the first cop car and saw that Rick and Shane hadn’t even stirred from their seats. Just grinning and laughing at your attempted escape.
Detective Dixon had you by the bicep now, leading you toward his car with a little more force in his step. You were cursing, writhing, fighting every effort of his to corral you into the backseat, but, without much trouble, he pushed you in.
Rear doors locking automatically, you had little more to do than sit and pout and feel every bit the brat as Daryl buckled himself in and started the car.
“C’mon, Dar, this isn’t a joke. I could lose my job ‘cause of this,” you whined, threading your fingers through the wired metal barricade that separated you.
Daryl watched and waited for the other cruiser to fall behind him. Then he started off.
“Shoulda thought about tha’ before ya decided to show yer tits off ta the world, no?”
“Like four people saw us.”
In the rearview mirror, you could’ve sworn you saw a ghost of a smile cross Daryl’s lips.
“I got a pretty colorful phone call from a man named Eugene saying he saw three girls danglin’ half nekkid from a bridge tryin’ ta flag down a firetruck...Don’t sound all that discreet to me.” Daryl shrugged, pretending not to see you slump back in your seat.
“We were drunk!” you cried.
You threw your hands up and let them fall at your side, while Daryl made a wide left turn.
“So?”
“You’ve done plenty of dumb shit when you were drunk, Dixon. Don’t even start.” You raised your hand like you were talking to your mother as an angsty teen. The man in the driver’s seat hardly seemed fazed.
“Oh?”
You paused a beat, then jolted back up as an old memory stirred in your mind.
“Like— like the time you got so shitfaced on senior night that you stumbled into my room thinking it was the bathroom,” you said, hastily, “Pissed all over my floor.”
Daryl’s eyes darted up to meet yours in the mirror, sharing in that vague and ugly recollection from his college days.
“That was yer room?” he winced.
“I was twelve and terrified,” you said, hovering as close as the metal wall would allow you, “Didn’t even know what being piss-drunk meant until you decided to relieve yourself all over my Barbie rug.”
“Ah shit...I’m sorry, Y/N.”
“Let me out and we’ll call it even?” you ventured.
“Nuh-uh,” Daryl said, shaking his head, “Not how that works.”
You balled your hand in a fist and struck the wall between you, an exasperated sigh escaping your lips. Try as you might to fight it, you were still slightly buzzed and far more prone to anger than you normally would be. Daryl gave you a look.
“Pipe down, princess, ‘s’ain’t the end of the world.”
“And who the fuck are you to say?” you snapped, clenching your jaw.
Daryl pressed a bit harder on the brakes as he brought the car to a stop at a red light. Then he shot a look over his shoulder. His brow drew in just slightly.
“Yer a real brat, ya know that?”
“Really, pig?” you sneered.
“Yeah, slut.”
Your mouth fell open at the sound of Daryl’s first real insult. He’d been all placid smiles and gentle eyes, never lapsing in the civility of his rank or his respect for you, his close friend’s sister, until that point. You watched as his gaze visibly hardened and moved away from yours, foot hitting the gas when the light turned green.
“What did you just call me?”
“A fucking slut. ‘Cause tha’s what ya are,” Daryl answered, not missing a beat.
Had he lost his fucking mind? Who did he think he was? The man carried on, starting to increase the car’s speed,
“Nobody’s showin’ off a pair’a tits that damn pretty ‘less they’re a whore, ya know?”
You sat back in awe, hardly aware of the cruiser’s growing acceleration, or the fact that Daryl was just then starting to turn down a road you—and Rick and Shane—had never seen before. You were too offended. Flustered.
“Excuse m—”
“Yeah, I looked. You’ve got an incredible rack, really,” Daryl admitted as he cut you off, “Too bad it’s attached to such a worthless little slut.”
“Get fucked, Dixon,” you hissed, beating your fist against the divider once more.
“Oh, believe me, we will.”
Your blood likely would’ve run cold in your veins if you had the first clue what he was talking about. What did he mean by ‘we’? Why had he started smiling when he’d said that?
Presently, you looked out the window.
Where the everliving fuck had he taken you?
Instead of finding yourself parked outside the King County Sheriff’s Department, as expected, you cast a sidelong glance to the left and the right and saw nothing but trees. Wilderness. You were parked in a clearing, at what appeared to be a campground...in a quarry?
You turned back to Daryl, suddenly rigid with fear.
The driver’s side door was already slamming shut behind him. Instead of deigning so much as a glance at the back, he strode right past you and went over to the car that had just pulled up. Rick and Shane appeared just as confused as you were as they came to a stop.
You watched them, dumbstruck, pulse pounding in your ears as a hundred different thoughts danced in your mind and grew progressively darker the longer you stared. Were they going to torture you? Kill you? Cuff you to the car and kick the living shit out of you until you bled from the mouth and begged them for mercy?
There was no way the drunken fratboy of your youth, now a detective on the police force and your brother’s best friend, would do something so heinous, right?
You slinked back in your seat when you saw all three men turn and approach your car.
Now, more than ever, there was no place but the police car you wanted to be as Daryl flung the back door open and stuck his head inside.
“Hey,” he grinned, “Wanna talk?”
Before you knew it, your feet were planted on the rocky terrain directly in front of Daryl’s car, and your hands were clasped together. Not cuffed this time—just folded and trying to look as polite and unassuming as possible.
“We’ve got a proposition,” Daryl started, steady.
You watched him pace back and forth while the two other officers stood back in silence. Shane wore the faintest smirk.
“You don’t wanna go to jail, right?”
You shook your head no.
“Good, ‘cause we don’t really feel like bookin’ ya,” Daryl continued, “Too much paperwork an’ all tha’ bullshit.”
You nodded along, slowly. Relieved to hear you weren’t getting arrested but waiting to see what the ‘But…’ was.
“But, y’know— it wouldn’t be fair to let ya go that easy.”
You kept nodding. Now looking at Shane and Rick and finding both of them smiling.
“So I say we make ourselves a deal. That okay with you, sugar tits?” Daryl sneered.
You balked at the name but swallowed your pride and answered, ‘Uh huh’ in a small voice. Squeezed your hands even tighter together.
Daryl approached you for the first time. You stood there, trembling, still thinking there was a chance that the three of them might just beat the hell out of you right then and there—and you flinched when Daryl lifted his hand to your cheek.
He brushed a few loose hairs from your face.
“I think you need to start by saying sorry.” His voice was almost serene.
You blinked a couple times up at Daryl with wide, oblivious eyes, shaking your head when you didn’t understand what he meant.
“To Shane,” Daryl added.
Softly, he tilted your chin toward his friend, who was grinning even bigger now.
You struggled for a second, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before stammering:
“I-I’m sorry, Shane.”
Your voice barely reached them in a whisper. You were so confused.
And, just as you started to wonder if that was all they really wanted, or if there’d be some other catch, Daryl decided to supply you with a wordless answer before you could even ask. The “catch” caught you right on the backs of your legs as Daryl gave them a gentle kick, causing both to buckle underneath you. You fell to the ground on your hands and knees and straightened yourself up just in time to see Shane make his leisurely approach.
“I’m sorry, Shane,” you spluttered again, thinking he just wanted you to grovel there in front of him.
Daryl and Shane exchanged looks. Then they smirked at you.
“I think Shane would rather you show him how sorry you are,” Daryl said, suddenly leaning over to collect two handfuls of hair behind your head, “With your mouth.”
At any other time, such condescension dripping from a man’s tone would have turned you off—and pissed you off—immediately. With Daryl and Shane standing over you now, the former’s fingers slotting through your hair and the latter’s working to unzip his pants, you couldn’t imagine yourself being any more aroused.
It hit you like a ton of bricks, all at once.
They were there to fuck you, not fight you.
At least not in the way you’d imagined anyway. No doubt Shane was keen to get his fill, and might be a tad more aggressive than the others to get it, but Daryl would make sure he didn’t push too hard. He held your head in place while Shane pulled out his cock.
And, you hated to say it, but your mouth was salivating for a taste. You couldn’t be bothered to look up at either man now, just soaking in the sight of Shane’s thick, veiny member and feeling your face being moved closer to it. Not minding you were being manhandled as a gentle moan escaped your throat.
“Wanna show Shane how sorry ya are? Show him how good tha’ slutty little mouth’a yers can make him feel?” Daryl hummed.
“She’s droolin’, man,” Shane said, hardening at the sight.
You were. You couldn’t help it. You felt a thumb swipe at the spit that had just begun to trickle out of your mouth and sensed Rick at your side, enthralled as all the rest of them. Then that same finger drifted down to your tits, smearing the moisture all over one nipple before pinching the peak between two digits.
Your lips parted with another small whimper at the sensation, and Shane took that as his window to thrust his cock in your mouth. Caught off guard, you couldn’t help but gag when his tip hit the back of your throat, but Daryl steered your head back just in time so you weren’t choking on that first, single stroke.
“Easy, easy,” Daryl chided his friend as he watched your eyes water and your hand reach up to steady yourself against Shane’s thigh.
“You kiddin’? She fuckin’ loves it,” Shane grinned, “Don’t you, slut?”
You licked your lips and nodded. Didn’t bat an eye when Shane brought the head of his cock back down to your lips, and you quickly enveloped him in an open-mouthed kiss of sorts. Shane groaned at the sensation and couldn’t help but rut his hips.
“Such a fuckin’ whore,” he hissed through gritted teeth.
Daryl helped move your head up and down his length while you stared up at Shane with the prettiest, most fucked-out expression you could manage, and you felt his length twitch in your mouth. Daryl pulled you off.
“Now what do we say for kicking Officer Grimes, hm?”
Before you could answer, your face was tilted to the left, and you were met with the sight of Rick stroking his length at your side. A string of saliva still connecting your mouth to Shane’s cock, you looked up at the friendlier of the two officers and gave him a smile.
“I’m sorry, Officer Grimes.”
This time, Daryl let Rick take the reins, for a moment, and move your mouth over his shaft. You happily accepted him between your lips and started bobbing almost instantly. You relished the pleasure that flooded those soft blue eyes, the way they winced just a little when you took him to the back of your throat. Like he wanted to fuck your face but felt too overcome with some feeling or fear to give it a try.
You decided it was cruel to make a man so polite wait a second longer than he needed to. Presently, you pulled off Rick’s length with a gentle ‘pop’ and turned your head back over to Daryl.
“Can you please tell Officer Grimes to fuck my throat?”
All three of them froze for a second, taken back by the filth that had just come out of your mouth, still spoken so sweetly. You stroked Rick’s cock and pretended to be oblivious of what you saw. Deep down, you knew by the glint in their eyes they were yearning, lusting, fucking you in their minds with every innocent blink you made. You felt Daryl’s grip tighten in your hair.
“You heard the lady,” Shane said, words directed to Rick but gaze never leaving you.
Out of habit, his hand came to wrap around his own cock as he watched you take Rick’s. You glanced between the two of them, placed a quick kiss on the tip—first on Rick’s and then, to the men’s surprise, on Shane’s—and parted your lips when you moved back to Rick.
Officer Grimes didn’t hesitate this time. He leveled himself with your mouth and pushed all the way in. You started to moan, but the sound was audibly cut short by a spasm in your throat. Rick reached the back of your warm, wet orifice with ease and, going further than Shane ever went, actually slid down that space. Exactly how you wanted him. You bobbed your head and hummed to show your appreciation.
Encouraged by how eagerly you swallowed him and how quick your whimpers were to reverberate down his length, Rick moved his hips. Watched you gag once or twice and blink through a couple tears, before Daryl wiped the moisture away as Rick had done for your spit. You were every bit the pampered and primped fuckdoll in their hands, bobbing and licking and sucking him dry.
“Good girl,” Daryl murmured, massaging your scalp when you gagged again.
“Takin’ me so well,” Rick groaned as he fed you another inch.
Shane continued pumping his cock, grunting out expletives, and watching you all the while.
You pulled off of Rick for a moment. Whether it would piss them off or turn them on, you didn’t really care—but you reached up to Shane and replaced his hand with yours, before dropping a kiss over the head of his cock.
All three men seemed to love it. Especially Daryl.
Though he hadn’t made a move to get his own dick wet just yet, you got the sense the man loved to watch. Loved to see your mouth sliding up and down and swallowing more cock every time, thinking to himself what a nasty, filthy little whore you were and just waiting for the moment it would be his turn to claim your throat and the rest of your holes as his own. In the meantime, you wanted to give him a good show.
You jerked both Rick and Shane in either hand and chanced a look over at Daryl.
Locking eyes with him, you moved down over Rick and sucked half his length in your mouth. Then, just as quick, you took Shane between your lips and gave the tip a wet, spongy kiss before taking him to the back of your throat. The mound in Daryl’s pants grew even more pronounced.
“Hey,” Rick said, grazing your cheek with his knuckles, “Ain’t you gonna say sorry to Detective Dixon, too?”
You moaned against Shane’s throbbing length and made sure Daryl saw your tongue swirl over the tip. Teasing him now.
Presently, Shane pulled out of your mouth and grabbed hold of your hair.
“Gonna make him feel real good with that slutty little mouth’a yours, huh?” he growled.
You nodded and smiled. Wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and started crawling over to Daryl as soon as Shane let you go.
You couldn’t believe he’d waited this long—couldn’t believe you’d been sucking his friends dry all this time and hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse at him. Daryl watched you with a comfortable, lopsided sort of smirk as you made your way over to him, clearly enjoying this view of you on all fours.
Not even a guillotine could take away the head you were about to give this man.
When you finally reached his knees and straightened up enough to reach for the zip of his brown slacks, you felt a hand catch you around the wrist. To your surprise, Daryl held you back and yanked you onto your feet.
“I wan’ my apology someplace else.”
That ‘place,’ you would come to learn, was simply on top of his car. Splayed out on the hood of his cruiser with your pants dragged all the way down to your ankles and kicked off at your feet. Daryl carried you there and stripped you down to your panties, leaving you all but naked and ogling him with keen, hungry eyes. Rick and Shane were quick to follow suit and seemed just as eager as you were to watch this scene unfold.
You reached for his clothed erection once more but found your hand swatted away.
“Nuh-uh,” Daryl shook his head.
You raised an eyebrow in question. You opened your mouth to speak but found yourself moaning instead when Daryl slipped a finger past your panties and between your folds. Somehow finding your clit quicker than you could even dream, he circled that tiny bundle of nerves with his thumb and teased the seal of your entrance with his middle and ring fingers.
You clawed at his wrist.
“But Dar— I-I wanna taste you so bad,” you pleaded.
Daryl grinned and plunged his two fingers deep inside you, holding your hip to the car to keep you from squirming. He nodded to Rick, who took that as his cue to press down on your other side. Together, they had you pinned to the hood and helpless under their touch.
Daryl curled his fingers up and caused you to moan.
“How bad?” he asked.
“So—” your voice broke off in a gasp when the pads of his fingers stroked your G spot, “So bad, Daryl, please.”
You could tell by the look in his eyes that he was savoring every second of this sight: you with your legs spread, begging and pathetic as he and Rick held you down. He probably would’ve liked to keep you there a little longer, maybe teased and fingerfucked you to the point of tears, but he got the sense that his friends weren’t possessed of quite the same patience. He’d just have to save the overstimulation for later.
Before you knew it, Daryl had given Rick another quick nod, released you from his hold, and pulled you off the car—before steadying you back on your feet, facing the vehicle.
Your hands flew out to catch yourself, but, before meeting metal, intercepted Daryl’s broad form instead. He took a seat on the front end of the car and caught you in both of his big, calloused palms.
“How ‘bout that taste, hm?” He was already starting to unbuckle his pants.
Finally. You promptly started to sink to your knees, when a light slap struck your cheek. You peeked up at its source and found Daryl shaking his head once more.
“Stay put,” he instructed as he started to pull his cock out of his boxers, “Rick’s gonna fuck tha’ slutty little cunt while ya suck me off, alright?”
It wasn’t so much a question as it was a signal—and an effective one at that—to get Rick off his ass and hurrying to get behind yours. In the next second, you felt a set of warm, calloused hands on your hips and a tender grip tugging you back to meet someone’s crotch.
Your pussy twitched with the realization of your current predicament: bent over between the two men, with Daryl’s cock mere inches from your face and Rick’s member throbbing above your heat. Never once had an image like this materialized in your mind’s wildest fantasies, but now that you were here, stuck between these two with Shane just then drawing closer, you found yourself turned on to no end.
You parted your lips to allow Daryl entry when Rick teased the head of his cock up your slit. You took just the tip of Daryl, trying to stifle a moan, and the man behind you rubbed the length of himself up and down the seam of your cunt to collect all your juices. Another inch of Daryl in your mouth and you were whimpering with the feeblest look up at him, needing Rick inside you too.
Daryl held your gaze and ran a hand over your head.
“Little slut needs her pussy fucked, does she?”
You nodded, bobbing gently over Daryl’s member. You were just preparing to ease him in another inch or two when all of a sudden, the head of his cock jumped to the back of your throat as Rick thrusted into you.
It was far less gentle than you’d expected, sending you deep down Daryl’s length and causing you to gag. You hardly had time to adjust, or pull off of the man in front of you to catch your breath, when Rick started pounding you from behind. Rutting his hips, grunting in time with his thrusts, and slapping your ass in quick, ruthless hits. Daryl groaned above you as you had no choice but to deepthroat him again and again.
Shane, ever impatient, approached your free hand and guided it toward his erection. He wrapped your fingers around his cock and helped you stroke him quick, all while your mouth and pussy were presently occupied by Daryl and Rick’s sloppy thrusts.
“Ya like gettin’ spitroasted, huh? Like gettin’ fucked in two holes at once?” Shane sneered.
“Fuckin’ loves it,” Rick answered for you with a smirk, “Never seen a pussy this wet in my life.”
You imagined all of them could see and hear the arousal oozing from your freshly-fucked cunt, but you sensed no one liked it better than Daryl. The man was entranced with the sight of your form getting fucked from behind, sucking him deeper, looking up through your wet, tear-stained lashes as you let him fuck your face. That pure euphoric look in his eyes was almost like a drug—you wanted nothing more than to keep it there as long as you could.
Mere minutes later, Rick’s hips were stuttering against your own and his cum was spraying all over your insides. You didn’t stop sucking Daryl.
Shane gladly switched places with Rick and took a greedy handful of your hips before pumping his cock once or twice. You flattened your tongue against Daryl’s member and took him even further down your throat.
The man behind you was panting, right about to breach your folds when a sight below him held him in place.
Rick’s load was just then starting to dribble out of your pussy, leaving a long white trail of milky residue down your slit.
Shane clenched his jaw.
“Still hungry for more, slut?” he said through gritted teeth. To your surprise, you felt his fingertips trace the outline of your cunt and start moving up toward your other hole.
He was coating your asshole with Rick’s cum, grinning when you flinched.
“Think she’s ever been fucked in the ass before?” Shane asked the others. He slipped a digit inside your hole and watched you moan on Daryl’s dick.
Daryl pulled you off his cock and held you by your hair, your mouth saturated with strings of fresh saliva.
“Have you?”
You swallowed and shook your head. Daryl didn’t let his gaze linger on you another second. He signaled to Rick.
“Right there,” he pointed with his chin.
You hardly knew what was going on or where Rick had hastened off to. All you could comprehend was the gruff tone of Daryl’s voice telling you to get up, now, and the feel of Shane’s hands still holding you, guiding you back to your feet. When you didn’t move fast enough for his liking, Shane simply swept you up in his arms bridal-style and started carrying you himself.
Over his shoulder, you spied Daryl and Rick exchanging words and the latter placing the blanket you’d worn earlier on the ground. You almost felt tempted to ask Shane what they were planning to do, just starting to speak, when the man brought you over to the spot and set you right down.
The three of them had you circled in an instant.
Before the question could even form on your lips, you watched Daryl join you on the blanket. His smirk was evident.
He patted his lap for you to come straddle him.
When he started to lie down, your hands followed suit, eager to rest on either side of his chest, but another touch held you back. Behind you, Shane had grabbed hold of your hair and turned your head to face him.
“Spit,” he ordered, holding his hand under your chin.
You did as you were told and watched him rub your spit all over his shaft, before bringing his hand up to your face again and repeating his command.
At the same time, Daryl had lifted his hips and was guiding you closer to his cock. Your gaze moved down, then up, then over at Rick with a look of confusion, only to dart back to Daryl when you felt him split you open with a single thrust.
You had just been impaled on Daryl’s cock, mind reeling at the stretch and sensation, when you felt two fingers slip between your legs from behind. Daryl gripped your face and brought it down to his—wouldn’t let you look over your shoulder as the other man’s hand started to traverse the contour of your ass.
You were pulled in for a kiss as Daryl bottomed out inside you. Tongue hardly able to keep up with his as moans and whimpers went bubbling up in your throat, you just sat there, straddled him, and let him use your pussy any way he pleased. He snapped his hips and groaned your name between your lips, while the hand that was prodding you from behind finally reached its intended destination.
You yelped into Daryl’s mouth the second you felt a full, hefty finger slip inside your ass. Officer Walsh, no doubt.
The two men at your rear all but moaned as your tight little hole contracted around Shane’s finger and Daryl continued to pound you from below. It was odd, that sharp, disparate feeling of Daryl’s cock drilling your pussy while Shane’s digit pumped a much slower pace in your ass. Your senses had kicked into overdrive, and you couldn’t keep from showing your pleasure with every sound that you made.
Shane withdrew just long enough to add another finger, smearing a mixture of cum, spit, and your own juices all over your walls for lubrication. You sensed him moving closer, when Rick grabbed hold of his shoulder.
“Give her a minute,” he muttered.
Shane scoffed, shaking him off.
“Little whore looks plenty ready to me,” he retorted as he eyed your slick, sensitive hole.
Suddenly, your throat was clasped in Shane’s big hand and your head pulled tight against his chest. He had taken his cock in his other hand and was angling his length just right to press the head between your cheeks. Daryl had slowed almost completely.
“C’mere.” Daryl beckoned you closer with a tender look. When you leaned down to lay flat on his chest, he smiled, stroked your hair, “Jus’ hold on ta me, alright?”
Your walls were already squeezing his cock like a vice and your fingernails making white-hot crescents in his shoulders—you couldn’t hold him tighter if you tried—but you nodded. You let him kiss you again, felt a little more fit to take his tongue this time, and eased down along his shaft until you were filled to the brim with nothing but him.
That last part changed as soon as Shane thrust into your ass.
You jolted forward and instinctively tried to pull off his cock, but Daryl held you tight. Brushed a few stray strands of hair from your face and started peppering your skin with kisses the louder you whimpered.
“Doin’ so good for us, baby— takin’ our cocks so well,” he cooed in your ear.
You whined at the fierce burn between your legs as both Daryl and Shane pushed inside you. Rough fucking was one thing, but being penetrated in both holes simultaneously while sandwiched between two men just brought the sensations to entirely new heights. You clawed at Daryl’s shoulders and damn near sunk your teeth straight through your bottom lip.
“Good girl,” the man below you mumbled as he watched your face contort in a medley of pleasure and pain, “Tha’s my good girl.”
“Fuckin’ whore,” Shane spat, shoving his cock even deeper. Clearly not one for tender anal training.
Now it was Daryl going slow and sweet, just barely stirring his cock inside you while Shane slapped your ass and yanked your hips over his own. You saw Rick’s previously-deflated cock grow hard in his hands, and you proceeded to watch him watch you as he stroked himself a few feet away.
You needed another distraction. You caught Rick’s eye and simply licked your lips in silent invitation. He was filling your mouth in a matter of seconds.
With three cocks pumping in and out of you, you felt every bit the fucked-out brat you knew they’d wanted to claim. Your brain had all but melted to mush in their hands, your body manhandled and fucked every which way while your thoughts yielded, in turn, to pure anoesis.
There was something unusually freeing about being a living, breathing fuckdoll for these three King County cops. You couldn’t get enough.
Rick pulled his dick out of your mouth just long enough to slap you with it.
“This what ya needed?” he teased, tapping the head of his cock on your spit-painted cheeks, “A good fucking in all your holes to make you behave?”
You stuck out your tongue and tried to nod, your body still shaking with every thrust from Daryl and Shane. Instead of pushing back in, Rick simply rubbed his cock all over your face and shot you a look that was soaked to the core with condescension. Somewhere below, Daryl began toying with your clit.
You sucked in a breath between broken moans and clenched harder around both men inside you.
“Think she wants a switch,” Rick grinned.
In a minute, you felt yourself hoisted back up—Shane pulling out and Daryl rising swiftly to his feet. Two sets of hands helped maneuver your body to a position you’d never tried, never even seen before as your legs hooked over either one of Daryl’s arms and your ass was thrust back. Then, to your relief, it was Rick at your rear this time, rubbing his tip along your red and stretched out hole while your head came to rest on his shoulder.
You were pressed between the men once more and cradled comfortably in their arms. Daryl took care not to rut into you too hard while Rick was still coating your arousal across the hole Shane had just fucked raw.
“Shh, shh,” Rick’s lips dropped close to your ear while he pressed a wet finger inside, trying to relubricate the area.
You wiggled and squirmed, a bit too sensitive to keep still at this point, so Shane reached in and took you by the throat.
“Hold still,” he snapped. Stroking himself with his free hand.
You watched his eyes drift down to the spot where he’d just been, where Rick was trying to squeeze into, and felt the first real twinge of bliss when you felt the head of his cock tease your entrance. This was softer, even sweet. Paired with Daryl’s extra slow thrusts and the sounds all three were making as you spread your legs even wider, you first became aware of a knot in your tummy.
When the warmth of your ass enveloped just the tip of him, you felt it constrict even tighter.
Rick let out a groan and struggled to keep from thrusting too hard. Shane tightened his grip on your neck.
“C’mon now, sugar tits, don’t act like you ain’t just—”
“Shane,” Daryl growled.
Rick didn’t stop. You squeezed both cocks and moaned.
“I’m just sayin’ if the slut could fit my cock in and—”
“Fuck,” Rick hissed.
You were bouncing in between them now, head lolled back on Rick’s shoulder and hand pressed flush against Daryl’s chest. Steeped in pleasure as they stood and fucked you stupid.
Shane continued to tug his cock and stare you down with hungry, possessive eyes.
Daryl’s moans turned to shallow grunts while Rick’s breath fanned soft across your cheeks in ragged breaths. You writhed and you grinded between their two bodies, too lost in your own ascent to pleasure to sense anything else. Your skin was wet with a sheen of sweat and both holes all but soaked between the two men. Their cocks plunging in and out at a vicious pace until the coil in your stomach was nearly starting to ache.
“Feelin’ good?” Rick hummed in your ear.
“Gettin’ close?” Daryl joined.
Shane’s hand closed around your throat until your lungs could scarcely breathe and your vision blurred with stars. Making one last strangled moan, you rolled your hips and felt something taut and tight and blisteringly hot break loose across your abdomen—and not just the ropes of cum shooting deep inside you.
Alongside that tiny eruption came a blitz of pleasure unlike anything you’d ever felt before. Your body went haywire, every square inch of your skin alight with ecstasy and your mind going numb in a surge of bliss. You moaned and felt the walls of both holes spasm desperately over Daryl and Rick alike, and suddenly, something far beyond your control seemed ready to tear your body in two.
A beat of silence. Your consciousness gradually returned.
When you opened your eyes, the first thing to grace your sight was Daryl’s shining face, grinning ear to ear with the happiest expression.
You blinked and watched him closer.
As your vision adjusted and the world came clearer into view, you caught a glimpse of what seemed to have stretched Daryl’s smile so wide—and what had made his features so unusually luminous in this light.
Your eyes widened.
Daryl glanced to Rick, then Shane.
“Who knew she’d be a squirter?”
Presently, your juices were coating Daryl’s face and chest, having spurted straight from your cunt in the throes of climax and spraying all over his front.
Your pussy still clenched and convulsed as the cum from either man went seeping out of both holes.
Even Shane was left speechless, having just milked the last of his own release and watched you come undone in near-pornographic fashion. His chest was still heaving, blinking in disbelief and exchanging sly looks with Daryl and Rick every now and then. Rick pressed a kiss to your shoulder and smiled.
And, just when it seemed any one of you were liable to break that spell of silence with a laugh, the rattle of radio feedback startled you all.
Somewhere amidst the articles of clothing strewn around you, a walkie talkie clipped to one officer’s belt rang loud with the sound of a voice from a neighboring county’s dispatcher.
“All available units, high-speed pursuit in progress— Linden County units request local assistance. Highway 18 eastbound, GTA, ADW, 2-17, 2-4-3. Advise extreme caution.”
All three men stood to attention. Daryl and Rick lowered you quickly to the ground while Shane went scrambling for his clothes.
“Suspects are two male Caucasians. Be advised they have fired upon police officers. One Linden County officer is wounded.”
“Shit!” Rick hissed.
“Unit 1, unit 3, to eastbound Route 18. Two miles west of Interstate 85. Will patch in Linden County sheriff radio.”
“Is tha’—” Daryl started.
“We need to go,” Shane interrupted.
Another voice broke out over the line,
“Roger that. We’re five minutes south of the Route 18 intersection.”
Daryl tossed you what garments of yours he could find and snatched your arm in a breakneck haste. Before you could so much as slip your shirt over your head, though, you found yourself carted back over to his squad car and pushed toward an open door.
“What’s—”
“I’ll explain on the way.”
For reasons you couldn’t yet understand, you knew this call didn’t bode well for any of you. You took one last look at Officer Grimes and felt a twist in your stomach.
#daryl dixon#daryl dixon smut#daryl dixon one shot#daryl dixon imagine#daryl x reader#the walking dead#twd daryl#twd fanfiction#twd imagine#rick grimes smut#shane walsh smut#rickyl
2K notes
·
View notes
Text
take care of him, sunghoon's sick!
or alt. the pt 2 no one asked for... LOL
pairing: sunghoon x gn!reader headcannons! | wc: 800 | cw: food, sunghoon as a SIMPPP lots of kisses and cuddling
—
sunghoon does his best not to get sick whatsoever
he’s an athlete and a student, if he gets sick he falls behind on a LOT
but when he saw you in his puffer jacket and a smile at his competition, ofc he had to kiss you
you were his one and only and he loves you to death
simphoon!
smiling ear to ear on the drive home as you tell him how cool he always looks on the ice
he gets SHY
wdym his baby is complimenting him profusely
you two make food together, and although you’re still congested, you promise sunghoon you feel much better.
makes soup and noodles
yes he hugs you from behind yes he rests his chin on the top of your head
the man is 5’11 (and i’m 5’4 mmmm how perfect)
one kiss leads to another kiss and suddenly you’re giggling from the ticklish feeling and how he’s annunciating every “mwah!”
kisses all over your face
he snuggles with you on the couch when you eat, and actually cuddles you this time
“Someone’s clingy,” you joke, and he buries his head in your neck. “But it’s okay. I like it.”
hoon is all blush blush
“It’s been a long time, I missed you,” HE’S SO POUTY AND BABIE
You two definitely fall asleep with a light on, his legs tangled with yours, his hand around your waist holding you close.
Uh oh!
Sore throat.
“I think you got me sick.” You apologize like crazy, rushing to make him some egg drop soup and tea
“Shhh, Hoon, go back to bed, let me take care of you”
oh the man is WHIPPED head over HEELS he’s like omg what did I do in my past life to get someone as caring as ____
He’s also whiny, and kind of quiet
he is a thinker and a listener so when he’s sick, he’s even less inclined to talk or be his usual rambunctious self
It makes you feel bad for putting your boyfriend in such a miserable position
But he promised you it’s not your fault (even though it is) and that it’s not as bad as you think it is
no more feeling bad! You have to make sure sunghoon recovers as quick as he can
You separate medicine into little containers and makes sure he always leaves with warm tea, cough drops, gloves, and any medication if he needs
You drive him whenever, 1. because he is ur passenger princess! and 2. because you don’t want him to be stuck in traffic when tired
Always Always getting him layers
and now it’s your turn to refuse his kisses and hugs.
“____ I want to cuddle.”
You shake your head, a smile threatening to break your stoicism. “You’re sick, baby. You don’t want to get me sick again, do you?”
“But I miss you :(“ oh he definitely is following you around the house like a puppy trying to get you to give him forehead kisses and that sweet sweet tlc.
He sends you voicemails when you’re busy telling you “hi baby i’m at home still are you still coming over today?” violent coughing “i mizz u and i wuv u”
AGH so whipped for this boy im…
you come over with more soup and cuddles and love
he falls asleep halfway through his movie and you have to check his forehead to make sure he’s not having a fever
dishes are CLEANED everything is put away and then you go sleep on the couch
now lets say the couch is huge and there is space for two
WELL sunghoon wakes up in the middle of the night and sees you’re not in bed :(( so he goes out to the living space with his blanket and then just falls asleep on you
and you wake up like wtf i cannot breathe???
but oh it’s just hoonie bb its okay
HES SOOOOO CUTEEE
messy hair covering his forehead and eyes as he sleeps on your shoulder, hot breath fanning your neck
you just stay there until the afternoon because you could not try to untangle yourself even if you tried
but he’s better! at least he says so
he feels a lot more energetic, is attending practice for longer periods of time and more frequently, and you see the sparkle in his eyes again
YAYYYY BB HOON IS RECOVEREDDDDDD
you still dote on him until he’s completely better because you truly want to make sure he’s not overworking himself
agh he WILL marry you he will put a ring on your finger and boom you two have a white picket fence and two dogs and a cat.
—
hello it’s me ren again 🤓 mmmwah i love hoon
#enhypen#enha#enhypen au#enhypen fluff#enhypen imagines#enha fluff#enha imagines#enha x reader#sunghoon#park sunghoon x reader#park sunghoon angst#park sunghoon#sunghoon fluff#sunghoon x reader#park sunghoon fluff#enhypen sunghoon#enha scenarios#enhypen scenarios#sunghoon imagines#sunghoon enhypen#sunghoon fanfic#park sunghoon imagine
592 notes
·
View notes
Text
FLOWERS FOR THE 'TOTALLY-A-COUPLE' FRIENDS
oscar piastri x reader
when two friends visit the market and, upon seeing free flowers being given out to couples, they decide to pretend to date for the sake of free flowers. when they end up liking the idea of pretending to be together, they end up wondering why they need to pretend to begin with.
credit to @foreveralbon for the idea!!!! <333
authors note: this was so fun to make!!! i really wanted to make something for oscar and totally stole this idea from liyah (THANK YOU AGAIN!!!) so I finally have an imagine for oscar yay!!!
SOMETIMES IT’S NORMAL FOR FRIENDS TO PRETEND. pretend they’re fighting, pretend while playing games, pretend they’re racing against traffic, pretend they don’t really like each other more than friends.
they pretend they’re dating for the sake of free flowers from a random guy in a market that they visited as friends because they are friends. they are friends. it’s totally normal, totally completely normal for friends to do such things.
it was as simple as that.
at least it was before it all happened because now they didn’t know if they were just pretending anymore or if they had dropped the act hours ago. was it all really that simple now?
it was a clear day in oscar’s hometown and what better way to spend such a beautiful day off than in the company of his good, even best, friend at a market down the street from where he grew up. considering she hadn’t grown up in the area he had, he wanted to show her around all the classic spots that he used to frequent with his mum as a little kid.
well, now he felt like his mum when she used to drag him to all the corner stores or street markets in the blazing sun and smudge sunscreen on his face, except now it’s with her. his best friend, and only his friend and nothing more because his mother was convinced he was smitten. he always denied it.
but everyone could see the way he looked at her whenever he smiled, how she would be the first person he looked to when he laughed at a joke someone else made.
everyone knew except for them, it was painfully obvious that they both felt more for each other than they allowed, and they were painfully oblivious.
the walk on grass, through the bustling market, was relaxing with hands to their sides and their shoulders constantly touching. every so often, they'd look away with red faces and awkward smiles as their hands just barely grazed each other’s skin, but they never closed that gap. it had been happening for months and their friends were clawing at their eyes just waiting for it to happen.
but they weren't here to push them together, just the two friends walking past different stalls of clothes, antiques, accessories, and other various items.
a light breeze blew her hair into her face, causing the constant sputtering of lips as strands stuck to her lip gloss.
of course, in true friend fashion, he laughed every time at her struggles with taming her hair, telling her without fail, “you should really put your hair up, it'll only keep getting in your face.”
she scoffed at him as he pulled strands from her face and futilely attempted to tuck them behind her ears as they blew back into her face.
“i don't think i even have a hair tie,” she whined as she pulled her hair back but couldn't tie it up.
“oh, wait, i do,” he remembered the band on his wrist, years of being friends meant carrying hair ties around for the girl because she wouldn't.
she gasped softly, taking it from his hand that held it flat on his palm, muttering “oh my god, osc, i love you so much, thank you,” she rambled under her breath, “not going to question why you even have it.”
a smile graced his face, completely tuning out her last words at the nickname she had called him. it made his heart flutter every time.
the words ‘i love you’ had been said constantly throughout their friendship that it was second nature at this point. to them, it was just a simple sentence they threw around, though the saying became more and more frequent in the past few months.
maybe it was their way of getting to say their feelings in a disguised, double-meaning phrase that wouldn't confuse what they were.
oh, but it did.
at this point, the words ‘i like you’ held deeper values because it told them how they really felt, but they would never say it. they could've rehearsed it in their heads for days, weeks, or months on end just at the end of the day to say the thing that felt safest. i love you.
he simply muttered back in admiration, “you're welcome.” a smile played on his lips for the longest time, the more he looked at her, the warmer and fuzzier he felt his heart become.
maybe his mum was right.
he shook his head internally. no, she couldn't be. but as he looked at the girl, in such deep admiration like she was the only thing to have ever existed in his life before, he wasn't so sure.
he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly as they continued on walking. the breeze had calmed, and her hair was safely tied up and out of her face. back to grazing hands ever so slightly and arms rubbing against each other caused goosebumps to line their skin.
it was cold, they said to play it off as they looked in opposite directions. the more time passed, the more they hung out, the more excuses they made, and the more awkward it became.
the awkward silence between the pair, birds chirping and other monotonous conversations were the only thing heard until a deep voice called from somewhere up ahead of the crowd.
she stood on the tips of her toes to see over the heads of other people while he made no effort to because he already could.
“guy’s handing out free flowers,” oscar started before pausing and looking at her, “for couples.” he scratched his neck again.
she exhaled sharply, “we could totally pull off being a couple,” she slowed down to the side and stood in front of him. he looked down at her with raised eyebrows and a racing heart.
“you think?” he tilted his head with thought, pursing his lips, “free flowers are free flowers.”
“exactly,” she said in a intellectual tone, holding her hand out for him to grab, “what do you say?”
he thought for a moment. at least he acted like he did because he would've grabbed her hand in a heartbeat, but he couldn't make it obvious.
“alright,” he agreed, hesitantly interlacing their fingers together, “but if you’re uncomfortable at any time, we can stop.”
she rolled her eyes, turning back walking into the crowd, now with his hand interlocked with hers at their sides, “yeah, yeah.”
but he pulled her back before she could slip into the crowd, bumping back against his arm, “promise me, you'd say something.”
she paused, and sighed, “i promise, okay, let's go,” she pulled him along, feeling his slight resistance while dragging him because he thought I'd be fun to see her struggle.
when she gave him a look when she turned her head, only then did he follow alongside her.
the guy handing out the free flowers wasn't too far from them, considering how loud he was when they first heard him.
when they first approached him, they could tell he was skeptical. for some odd reason, they didn't fit the image of a couple. it didn't mean they didn't suit each other, they did by all means look amazing side by side, but he knew. somehow he knew.
maybe it was the way they looked so naïve, how they stood with space still between them, or the nervous energy they put out. either way, he didn't believe them.
“kiss then,” the guy shrugged, causing the ‘couple’ to look at each other confused. she pursed her lips before opening her mouth to say something when he spoke first, “if you're really a couple, just kiss. not that big of a deal.”
it wasn't like they were uncomfortable with what he was asking. oscar was just unsure how she felt about it, meanwhile she didn't care. deep inside, she was nervous because they're just friends, they've never held hands—until now—let alone kiss.
though once she noticed oscar's hesitancy to make a move, she knew she would have to be the one to do so. she didn't give him time to react, hand around the back on his neck to pull him down to her level and his chapped lips met her glossy ones. his hand ravelled its way into her tied hair, messing up the perfectness she had.
she tasted sweet, the gloss on her lips transferring to his before she pulled away less than a second later. his lips were pinker with the blood rushing to his face.
the guy was smug and satisfied, handing them the bouquet they just kissed—as friends—for.
by the time they had walked away, still no words had been exchanged between the pair. their faces still flushed red and their lips left pink and glossy. every glance in the others direction led to them looking the opposite way. they hadn't processed the fact their arms were interlinked now as Oscar held the flowers in his other hand.
he cleared his throat, prompting her looking at him as he held them out to her, “here.”
her lips parted as she stuttered over what words to say, “are you sure?”
he furrowed his brows, “yeah, why wouldn't i be?”
she nodded, “right, yeah.” she took them from his grasp. she looked at then how oscar looked at her, but maybe it was because oscar had given them to her.
she felt fuzzy, she felt a smile creep into her face as she smelled the flowers. her heart was pounding in her chest. she liked the idea of this fake dating thing, but she didnt imagine the length it would go to in such a short amount of time after she proposed the idea.
maybe she only liked the idea of pretending to be together because it was the closest thing she had to actually being with him.
they remained in silence for the whole walk back to his car, she still clutched the flowers with almost both hands. his hand still laced with hers as she held the bouquet against her body. they only separated as they went to their respective sides of the car, carefully getting in before buckling their seat belts.
the drive was silent, even the volume for the radio hadn't been turned up, only the air conditioning could be heard. it was like that for a while as he drove her back to his house because they'd made the plan to hang out afterwards. he thought it would be rude to change routes and drop her back at her house.
when they arrived, they sat in the car, unmoving in silence.
“do you want to talk about it?” his voice was uneven, and he wasn't looking at her when he spoke, not until the silence consumed them again did he turn his head.
“i mean—there's nothing to talk about really,” she shrugged, unsure of what to say as she bit on her lip, “we were just—pretending, right?”
she turned in her seat to look at him, and he nodded, “right, so just friends.”
“right,” she repeated in confirmation, nodding along as they both looked ahead again.
she hesitated. she realized things had already changed between them, their dynamic had shifted and it wasn't going to be the same. it wasn't going back so if she was going to do any more potential damage, she knew now would be the time.
“but—i guess i didn't mind it,” she muttered under her breath, causing him to gaze across at her, “the fake dating, I mean.”
“really?” he questioned, hand gripping the wheel despite the fact they were stationary.
“i mean, it was fun while it lasted,” she finally met eyes with him, fidgeting with her hands as she pursed her lips, “i enjoyed it.”
“the fake dating?”
“the kiss.”
he only nodded, thinking deeply in his head, but on her end, she thought she majorly fucked up whatever they could've salvaged from before. now they couldn't.
truthfully, he just had no words. the kiss had given him a different perspective because now he was longing to kiss her again, to feel and taste the lip gloss on his lips that came from hers.
it was like every feeling he had ever felt for her was pushed to the very forward part of his brain and refused to be put away again.
“i enjoyed it too.” he muttered so quietly, she nearly didn't hear him.
but when she had finally registered the words, a smile cracked her serious face and she looked at oscar, “really?” her voice was high and so unsure.
he only nodded in confirmation as she melted back into the car seat, smiling giddily as if she hadn't been waiting for this.
“hey,” he spoke softly, still gazing at her with eyes of admiration she only saw now, “i guess—it doesn't have to be pretend.” he shrugged.
“are you saying what i think you're saying, piastri?” she leaned back and watched him roll his eyes, only pulled in by oscar's hand on the back of her neck to make her meet him in the middle above the center console. he felt her lips smile against his which caused him to as well. it was infectious.
he cradled her face in his hand, this second kiss lasted much longer than the first, and it marked the end of their long-lived friendship and short-lived pretend dating, but marked the hopefully long-term relationship that had now sparked between the two.
—
taglist (found here): @slut4lrh @taylorslovesswifties13 @sbella13 @kaa212 @nhlfs @poppyflower-22 @thearchieves @beskardroids @lorenica @hiireadstuff @delululeclerc
proofread by @foreveralbon <333
#formula 1#formula 1 drivers#formula one#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1 imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri fanfic#oscar piastri fluff#oscar piastri f1#oscar piastri angst#oscar piastri au#op81#op81 x reader#op81 imagine#op81 fluff#op81 fic#op81 x you#op81 angst#f1#lando norris#lando norris x reader#lando norris fic#lando norris imagine#oscar piastri imagine
859 notes
·
View notes
Text
Secret!
"MS.L/N you know who you'd look good with?" One of your students asked. You were a highschool teacher,and you were 24 so you were on the younger side. "Who?" You asked sitting at your desk preparing for the class to start. "Mr.Yeager." She says. Your eyes widened as you began laughing. The class laughed right along with you as they all agreed.
"Omgggg isn't he like 25?" One of them asked. "Yeah,ms.l/n yall would be so cute together." You shook your head no. "Girl that is my colleague." You said pulling up a PowerPoint on the promethean board. "Okayyy so do this bell ringer and then we gone get into the lesson." You said pulling out your phone to text your husband.
Pookie🤭💕
Whatchu want to eat ma? I'm running
A lil late. So imma get some food.
It don't matter,and why you late?
Cause all of the traffic I'm stuck in.
Mmmhm that's what you get , I told you to wake up when I woke up 😂🫵🏾
Yeah yeah.
"Ms.l/n can you help me with this?" You looked up from your phone and nodded. "Of course boo,what's the question?" She read the question aloud and you nodded. "Okay so, the reactants of photosynthesis is water,sunlight and carbon dioxide,don't let the 6's infront of the equations confuse you." She nodded before there was a knock on the door. Someone stood up and opened the door and eren walked in with food in his hand.
Your face went hot as the class 'ooued' and made noise. "Here you go ms. L/n." He said handing you your food. "Mannnn mr.Yeager yall lying cause ain't no wait hell ain't together." Eren just shook his head and laughed
#ayeyolooo#black y/n#aot x black reader#aot x reader#black reader#aot x black y/n#x black fem reader#eren x black fem!reader
800 notes
·
View notes
Text
HARD TIMES / EVAN BUCKLEY
PAIRING: Evan Buckley x Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: Whilst waiting for his appointment, Evan abstains from sexual encounters. Which is a bit hard whilst simultaneously having a crush on the girl from the coffee shop.
WARNINGS: Fluff, sex mentions, teasing, makeouts & sexual depictions
WORDCOUNT: 2.5K Words
A/N: I’m actually in love with this idea 😂 May or may not have made Buck a whiner 👀 As per usual, @megalony for giving me the inspo to finish this off - check out her Buck fic!!
Gif not mine, credits to the owner!
He was cursed, indefinitely.
Getting rescheduled, running out of gas, random remodels galore. It seems as if someone was against him finally making his donation. But the waiting wasn’t the worst part, the no sex rule was major. Why on Earth had he stuck with it? Evan assumed it wouldn’t be too difficult, which it wasn’t.
Until he met you.
It was the fourth day of waiting and he’d changed his usual coffee place ever since they randomly only served skim milk. And he was happy to make the change, since his new place was actually three minutes closer as well as better. Ever since he saw you, he’d found himself ordering more than needed, adding a muffin or two, or ordering for the crew.
Anything that let him stare at you for a little while longer. You were always on time, every morning you showed up, ordered the same thing with the occasional additional treat. A smile on your face and always equipped with a kind compliment.
But Buck surprisingly couldn’t find it in himself to approach you. Whether he was too scared of embarrassing himself or he just liked staring. He found himself second guessing his actions at every turn. It wasn’t until you came in minus a smile that he worked up the courage to interact with you.
You were currently sitting outside, gazing at the oncoming traffic and people going about their day. The cup in your hands taking the brunt end of your restlessness as you tapped your fingers. The hand waving in your face brought you back, “Oh, I’m so sorry. Did you need something?” The man in front of you grinned, “Uh no, not really. I just- well you were…” He pointed out to the traffic before pointing at you again.
“Would you like to sit? Maybe it’d help you get your words together.” You joked as he laughed before pulling his respective chair, “Thanks, I’m Evan. But people call me Buck, whatever works for you.” You reached your hand out, “Y/n, nice to meet you Evan.”
Evan smiled before revealing the brown bag, “I uhm, well you looked like you were a bit down, so I ordered you a pastry. Thought it’d cheer you up.” Your regular pastry sat inside the bag, waiting for you to eat it, “Oh! You really didn’t have to, that’s so nice of you.” He waved his hand, brushing off your words, “It’s nothing really, just enjoy it.” You wanted to ask how he knew, but figured there was no point in it.
And the two of you talked for almost an hour afterwards, slowly getting to know each other better. The pair of you were quick friends to your surprise. And your relationship only grew afterwards, regularly catching up in the mornings over coffee. Which then turned to lunch together during his off day, and then dinner.
You knew it was quick, but you couldn’t help yourself, you really did like Evan. It was unbelievably easy to talk to him, he was such a warm person. And Evan sure as hell liked you. Every day he found it easier to get out of bed, overly eager to get to see your face and hear your voice. God, he could listen to you for hours.
He’d never really clicked so easily with someone, and he was grateful for it. It’d been a while since Taylor, it was refreshing to talk to someone and not just for a night. He found himself checking his phone every few minutes, hoping for a reply from you.
And everyone else noticed.
“What’s got you so happy Buckley?” Chimney asked from the kitchen, pouring a cup of coffee. Hen glanced over to find Buck smiling down at his phone, “Nothing, just looking at photos.” Hen circled back to him, sitting down across from him as she surveyed his body language. You and Evan had been out last night at a movie, and you’d both posed in the cardboard cutouts.
The photo he was looking at had you as a bodybuilder and him in a dress he looked “absolutely stunning in”, according to you.
“It’s like your face is permanently smiling. Please tell me it’s not frozen.” She poked his cheek before he swatted it away, “Can I not just be happy?” Chimney shrugged before settling down next to Hen, “You can be happy, as long as you tell us what, or who, has you feeling this way.” Bobby came towards the trio, Eddie in tow, “Who’s feeling what?” Hen chuckled, “Seems we’ve got a smitten Buckley in the house. We’re trying to figure out who’s making him happy.”
Buck rolled his eyes before getting up, “It’s really not that big of a deal guys, cmon.” Bobby shook his head, “Yes it is, someone’s in love.” The group laughed as Evan shook his head, “Not you too, I thought you were sensible.” He shrugged his shoulders, “I am extremely sensible, and curious. What’s their name?”
“Her names Y/n, and that’s all you get to know for now. Damn vultures.”
“Don’t make me circle back for you Buckley!” Hen shouted out as Evan made his way down, what he didn’t expect was for you to be waiting for him. “Y/n?” You turned swiftly to meet his eye, “Hey Buck, you called me?” His eyebrows furrowed, “It must’ve been an accident, I’m sorry. But you didn’t have to come here.”
He was thoroughly impressed, did a phone call from him warrant a visit? Not that he was complaining. You looked even more gorgeous than usual, and you smelled—
“Yeah but we were supposed to meet for lunch, and you didn’t reply, I only got a call.” His eyes widened in realisation, he’d forgotten your date. Was it a date? Did you think it was a date? Is that why you were wearing a dress? You said you usually only wear them for special occasions or people. Was he a special person?
“I’m so so sorry, it must’ve slipped my mind. We just came back from a run. We can go now for sure.” Your smile spread as he spoke, “Is something funny? Please tell me I don’t have sauce on my face.” Your laughter filled the air, did you know that your eyes creased when you giggled? Your nose also scrunched, god you were cute.
His eyes trailed up to the balcony, where his entire team stood staring before straightening up, “Mhm, the top of the trucks are so pretty. Probably shiny too.” The random topics of conversation were more than enough to alert Evan to the eavesdropping taking place. “Guess you might as well meet those idiots.” You smiled, “Lead the way Firefighter Buckley.”
“Oh! You are brilliant!” Chimney exclaimed as the rest of the group laughed uncontrollably. Buck sat with his arms crossed, “It’s not even that funny!” You couldn’t help but pat his bicep, “Of course you don’t think it is!” You leaned into him as you giggled, practically pushing your chest into his arm.
Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look.
Evan’s eyes were staring right into Eddies soul, as Eddies laughter died down, “You okay?” He mouthed as the man across him from blinked rapidly before nodding. Eddies eyes trailed to you, and your low cut dress before returning to Buck. Oh, oh! Eddie smiled, “That’s a really lovely dress Y/n/n.” Evan’s eyes narrowed, wishing a few horrible accidents upon Eddie.
Murmurs of agreement broke out from everyone else, “It really is, what do you think Buck?” Evan’s lips drew into a tight line, “Oh, yeah. Definitely, they look good in it. I mean— you look amazing. Really good today. Not that you don’t usually, you always look so good. And smell! Not that I smell you, you smell. Good! You smell good.”
You couldn’t help but laugh as he stumbled his way through his monologue, “Good to know Buck, good to know.” You promptly turned to Bobby, “Yknow Evan never shuts up about your cooking, would I ever be so lucky to experience it for myself?”
Buck zoned out of the current conversation, replaying his epic fail in his head.The tightening of his pants had him shifting around uncomfortably, and Eddies grin aimed his way was getting to him.
He was going to kill Eddie.
Dinner that night was probably amongst one of the best dates he’d ever had. And he had asked you before you went out whether or not it was a date, repeatedly. But it was also a test of strength. You’d decided to wear a gorgeous dress, designed to test his patience.
And as if that wasn’t enough, he’d made the stupid mistake of inviting you back to his apartment.
Which, A) Gave the impression that something was going to happen.
B) Maybe made you think that he thought you were the type of girl to put out easily.
And Evan never wanted you to think that.
With a few glasses of wine, sweet music and amazing company you were bound to end up on his bed. Evan’s hands were soft yet controlling, lifting you up onto his lap to straddle him. “God you’re gorgeous.” He murmured into your neck as you giggled, “Is that so?” He smiled up at you as your arms locked around his neck, “Definitely.”
“Then we should settle in for the night, no?”
Evan wanted to curse his own mind for reminding him, maybe he could make the deposit another time, right? He knew it was wrong to think this way, but how could he stop himself from going all the way with you on top of him? “Dammit, I am so sorry. But I can’t.” Your swiftly lifted yourself off his lap, settling down next to him.
“Hey that’s fine, you’re not being forced into anything Buck.” Evan groaned as he leaned in to capture your lips again, “You are so annoyingly understanding. And I love that about you, it’s one of the many things I love. Including this gorgeous lace.” He joked as he traced the strap of your bra. “Oh hush, what’s going on?”
“Promise you won’t freak out?”
“Promise.” You smiled before grabbing his hands, with wide eyes filled with curiosity staring up at him, he couldn’t help but feel the pressure. “An old friend asked me to be a sperm donor, and before making my donation, I thought it best to uh…” You raised an eyebrow as Evan struggled to find the right words, “To keep my swimmers in the tank, if you catch my drift.”
“I catch your drift, or is it a flow?” Evan rolled his eyes as you raised yourself to kiss his cheek, “I fully understand, you don’t have to be sorry. I think what you’re doing is absolutely amazing Evan, helping to start a family? That’s really sweet of you, but it must’ve been a hard decision.”
And that’s what the loved about you. Your willingness to listen, to wait and understand what you were being told. Most girls Buck had been with had never really seen everything about him, nor understood him. With you felt truly seen, and heard. Never judged. And you were breathtakingly beautiful, which was a nice bonus.
“It was.” He watched as you grabbed the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, “If i’m half naked, so are you. Now let’s sit and talk, when did you decide to help them out?”
For the rest of the night, the two of you simply laid in bed and cuddled, looking up at each other. Whilst you talked, Evan found his eyes trailing down your body. The two of you were in your underwear, and you your bra. With you practically ontop of him he found an intruder settling in.
“What is that?” You whined from underneath the covers, “Uh, maybe it’s my phone?” Evan rationalised as you stared at him, “Unless I stole someone’s phone and put it on charge, I don’t think it’s a phone.” Evan tried to stop you before you raised the covers, “Oh.”
“Well hello there.” The pillow was swept from underneath you as Evan buried his face in it, “Don’t,” Your laughter made his heart beat faster, and your hand which circled his crotch made him buck his hips upwards. “Oh god, please don’t.”
“Don’t… what?” Evan buried his head into your shoulder as you continued to tease him, it was the funniest thing you’d seen all day. And a helpless Buck was a fun one. “I like hearing you beg.” He slammed the pillow down onto his lap, “Y—you can’t say things like that!” His cheeks were turning red, whether it was embarrassment from his stutter or your hands, you liked it.
“Sure I can, just did. And you want to know something Evan?”
“Not really.”
“Indulge me,”
“Okay.” Evan gave in as you leaned into his ear, “I don’t sleep well with anything on.” You quickly kissed him before unclasping your bra, throwing your undergarments onto the floor and settling back in.
“Goodnight baby.” You smiled before turning off the lamp.
It was going to be a long night. Evan sat in the dark for about an hour before his situation calmed down, if he was sure of one thing? You were going to be the death of Evan Buckley.
It was donation day, finally.
Evan was practically bouncing off the walls after his shift, zooming down to the clinic before another mishap ruined his donation day. And luckily for him, he was given a cylinder and a few magazines before being sent on his way. His fingers drummed against the wheel of his jeep, he was having a good day.
The only thing better? His date with you tonight. What he hadn’t expected was to come home to candles, rose petals and his favourite girl happily sleeping in bed.
“Uhh, Y/n?” You sat up straight away in bed, “Evan! You’re back!” He walked up the stairs before setting his phone and keys down, “Whoa, you look…” You were wearing one of your favourite sets, and a new favourite of Evan’s, it didn’t exactly leave a lot to the imagination.
And he’d seen more than enough of you.
“Oh god, you look so good.”
“Well you’re extremely lucky, this is all for you. Almost five weeks, you did so well Evan.”
“I did well?”
“Yes you did, and you know what?” Evan shook his head rapidly, he was itching to touch you, “I cleared the day tomorrow for you and me, we can stay here as long as you’d like.” Evan felt weak in the knees, “Oh I love you. Now can I please throw you into bed?” You giggled before wrapping your arms around his neck.
“You can do whatever you’d like, Firefighter Buckley.”
“Oh, Firefighter Buckley?” Evan pushed you down to the bed before climbing over you, “Mhm.” His hands lifted your gown slowly, stroking the soft skin, “Now I really want to see you in my coat.”
“Oh? What, with your name on the back? All yours aren’t I?”
“That you are. You’re not gonna be walking for a few days.” Evan teased as he planted kisses along your neck, you raked your hands through his soft hair, “I’m definitely not complaining.”
Hard times have good outcomes, or something like that.
#911 fic#911 x reader#911 abc#911 imagine#911 fanfic#evan buckley x fem!reader#evan buckley x you#evan buckley imagine#evan buckley x reader#evan buckley#eddie diaz x fem!reader#eddie diaz x you
819 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
101kittens
decor alt
cowboyjunkiesz
We’re Soul Alone
saddestt
SADDESTT
our-sakura-me
Inspiration
harihb
iTumbled Here