#and hes just like 'no fuck that hes coming back with me to the County'

[bullet-prooflove]

Romantic Shit: Ryan x Reader (Yellowstone)

Tagging: @hatersaremymotivators justsimplyme93 knick3rbock3r anticxrrupt 

Prequel to Summer (NSFW)

Every morning that Ryan wakes up with you is a gift. He’s thought that ever since you decided to take this cowboy to bed. This morning though, this morning is bitter sweet because he’s leaving in a couple of days for Texas and the two of you still haven’t discussed what that means for the relationship.

When he finds you, you’re standing on the porch of your house, watching the sunrise in the distance, a mug of coffee clasped to your chest. You’re clad in nothing but his plaid shirt and cowboy boots. The tattoo of his name stands stark against your upper thigh, a symbol of your love for him, your commitment.

This thing between the two of you was never meant to have a future.

In the beginning he didn’t see how it could work, you were a deputy in the sheriff’s department and he was a land enforcement agent/cowboy who did some goddamn shady shit. The secrets you kept from one another should have strangled the life out of this thing but instead it had flourished, because there has always been a mutual understanding. He’s got shit he can’t tell you and you’ve got shit you can’t tell him.

“We should talk about it.” He says quietly as he comes to lean against the wooden strut that supports the gable.

You set your coffee cup down on the railing before you turn your attention towards him. His jeans are slung low on his hips, the orange light from the sunrise plays over his bare chest, highlighting the brand that’s seared into his skin.

“I guess I just wasn’t ready for this to end just yet.” You say as you lean against the pillar opposite him.

Ryan wants to tell you it doesn’t have to, that he’ll be true to you out there in Texas but he can’t ask you to wait a year for him, no matter how much he may want it. His fingertips trace over your name, the italic scrawl inked into his inner forearm.

Katalina…

The love of his life.

The woman whose about to become Sheriff of this county.

You can’t go with him and he can’t stay…

“I love you.” He says quietly as he looks out across the landscape. “I will always love you, the distance doesn’t change that.”

“I know.” You say softly as you come to stand beside him. “I keep asking myself what’s one year in the space of a lifetime?” 

“And what’s the answer?” He asks you, the back of his hand brushing lightly against yours.

Your fingers capture his, entwining them and for the first time since this conversation started he allows himself to hope.

“Marry you.” You say, squeezing his hand a little. “So you’ll know you’ll always be mine, wherever you go.”

If that isn’t the most romantic shit he doesn’t know what is.

“Are you asking me that honey?” He murmurs, his hands coming to rest on your hips as he backs you up against the strut. He can feel the heat of your body through the shirt, he wants to unbutton it, take it off, fuck you right here on the porch. “Are you asking me to marry you before I head off to Texas?”

Your fingers lace at the base of his neck, fingertips brushing over the light curls. His hair has gotten a little long this season. He’s been meaning to cut it but he likes the way your fingers feel when you tug it just right.

“I guess I am cowboy.” You whisper against his lips. “So is that a yes or a no?”

Love Ryan? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

#ryan yellowstone #ryan x reader #ryan yellowstone x reader #yellow stone #yellowstone #ian bohen

[sunflowercider]

....man, it's kinda fucked up in ch 304(?) that Javier decided he'd force Lloyd back to Lorasia even if Lloyd wanted to stay in Seoul. Javier? Hey bud? Thats kinda fucked up my guy (affectionate)

#for all javier knows lloyd has a whole blossoming life in Seoul! #and hes just like 'no fuck that hes coming back with me to the County' #damn. makes u think #tged #tged spoilers #i think? i dont know where the webtoon is at but i cant imagine theyre anywhere near this

[msgexymunson]

Prettiest Bitch

Description: you and Eddie have a special way of showing each other you care.

A/N: this is a real life fucking story of me and my partner lmao. Please like and reblog if you enjoy it sweetheart. 

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, established relationship, mean Eddie and mean reader but it's just fun and games, reader is AFAB, female oral receiving.

Masterlist

900 words

Laying on Eddie's sofa, you bask in the warm glow of being near him. Your legs were draped over his as you rifled through a book that you were barely paying attention to. Eddie's hand is up your loose pyjama pants, tracing soft circles on the  bare skin of your calf. 

"Eddie?" 

"Yeah sweets?" 

"You've always got to be touching me, don't you." 

"Suppose so."

You smirk, pulling his hand out of your pants. He whines like a child that just got his favourite toy confiscated. 

"Why?" 

"Dunno, I just want your skin."

Laughing loudly, you scoot closer on your knees, just shy of climbing onto his lap. 

"You want my skin? That sounds so fuckin' weird." 

Eddie drops his voice into an odd gravelly gasp, the one he reserves for goblin NPCs when he's DM. 

"Eddie wants it! Give Eddie your skin!" 

Before you can react he's pulling you onto his lap, hands wandering up your top and stroking hard at the exposed flesh. 

"You dumbass that tickles! Stop!" 

"Never!" He doubles down his efforts, lifting your t-shirt and blowing a wet raspberry on your stomach. You try to lean away but he has you trapped. 

Finally wiggling from his grasp in a fit of breathless giggles, your rump bumps heavily on the floor. 

"You're an idiot, Munson." 

"Yeah? Well you like me, so who's the idiot now?" 

"Still you!" You flip him the bird and he pokes his tongue out at you at the same time. 

Now eye level with the coffee table, a leaflet catches your eye. 

"What's this? Hawkins County fair?" 

Leafing through it, you hear Eddie's chuckle. 

"Yeah, just a bunch of farmers showing off the size of their pumpkins and shit, it's so stupid."

"But look!" You wave the ad in his face as he rolls his eyes. 

"Dog show Eddie! Dogs! Look, they've got categories and everything." 

He goes to steal it out of your hands but you hold firmly on, reeling off some of the different categories. 

"Senior dogs… there's one for puppies that's cute… oh haha look, prettiest bitch! I should enter." You nod at him and his gaze softens, sinking down to join you on the floor.

"Oh sweetheart" his thumb brushes your cheek as you melt under his gaze. 

"You're not pretty." 

Gasping, your eyes snap back open to see Eddie rolling on the floor gasping with fits of laughter. 

"Edward James Munson! Gonna make you regret that!" 

You straddle him, fingers digging bruises into his sides, trying desperately to find ticklish spots. 

"It was a joke! Come on sweets, you know I'm not ticklish there." 

Grinning devilishly, you straddle him backwards, clinging onto his legs like a koala.

"Nope, but you are here!" 

Your fingers tickle at his socked feet as he writhes beneath you. 

"Fuck, no fair! Stop!" 

"Never!" Your relentless onslaught continues.

"I will kick you in the head!" 

"Say I'm pretty!" 

"Fine! You're pretty, stop, stop!" 

You finally relinquish your hold and clamber off him still giggling triumphantly. 

"Am I forgiven?" 

"Nope. That was really mean Edward." You huff dramatically, folding your arms over your chest. 

"Kiss it better?" 

You both use that phrase. It started off with kissing your knee when you fell, then you used it to comfort him once when some jocks had been particularly mean to him, then it just melded into your day to day life. 

"OK." 

His smile is wicked as he pushes you to your back, fingers hooking into your pyjama pants. 

"The fuck are you doing?" Gazing down at him, he smiles sinfully as he pulls your pants down in one smooth motion. 

"Didn't say where, sweets." 

His tongue runs the full length of your pussy and runs around your clit in a smooth circle. 

"Fuck, Eddie!" Hands make their way into his unruly curls as he continues his apology, suckling at your clit. 

Thick fingers probe your entrance, gliding in to curl in that spot just like you like it. 

"Sweetheart, you're the prettiest girl in this trailer." 

Not giving in that easily, you pull his hair. 

"I'm the only girl in this trailer!" 

He laughs and sucks your clit again hard, making your back arch off the floor. 

"OK," he practically breathes into your cunt, "the prettiest girl in Hawkins?" 

"Better." 

"Fine, the prettiest girl in the fucking world." 

"OK, oh shit, oh you're forgiven!" Moans replace words as he fucks you hard with his fingers, bringing you closer and closer to release.

"Don't stop, don't stop, I'm gonna come, Eddie!" 

He presses the flat of his tongue against your clit hard as you ride his face into a searing wash of ecstasy. 

Releasing in a broken scream, you melt into a puddle. Moments later, a very smug Eddie hovers over you. 

"You are the prettiest bitch" He says, pressing a soft kiss to your nose. 

Too fucked out to argue, you pull him close and hold him. You'll get him back later. 

@munson-blurbs @roanniom @eddiesprincess86

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie munson fluff #eddie fanfic #eddie fan fic

[inklore]

congratulations again, sweetheart! 🤍🤍 you deserve all the recognition you receive and then some! i’m so so excited to send this one in!

prompt: “wait a minute, are you jealous?“ with our beautiful boy eddie munson!

you’ve got me

pairing: eddie munson x (f)reader  warnings: minors dni, literally just fluff, jealousy, established relationship, a tiny touch of angst maybe, mentions of the towns cruelty towards eddie. etc: first off ilysm and let me smooch you, second this boy was made for fluff and softness ok. idc how many smutty things i write for him, he deserves a soft love!!!

The look on his face could kill any enemy, wound any child, make someone walk on the other side of the sidewalk if they saw it—it’s a look you’ve never seen come across his normally soft features. The grumbling that accompanies the look, the “I know they say ignorance is bliss but, seriously? Him?!”

And then it clicks.

“Wait a minute,” you interrupt his continued protests, grab his wrist pulling his attention back over to your table, to you. The deadly scowl gone as he looks at you. Those soft features back. “Are you jealous?” You have to bite back the smile that wants to spread across your face.

“What?” He pulls his wrist from your hold, eyebrows pulling together in a don't-be-ridiculous-glare. “The day I’m jealous of a Hawkins whistleblower will be the same day I get a lobotomy.” He’s making a face as he picks at the food in front of him. There’s a tint of red on his cheeks and you can feel his leg bouncing underneath the table.

He’s totally jealous.

And it was cute, too fucking cute. Because if it was one thing Eddie didn’t have to worry about was someone stealing you away, let alone some jock swaying you to their corner.

You had simply stated that he, the blonde the whole county loved to watch shoot balls into nets, did look better in the new uniforms the school had finally bought. Your eyes had lingered for too long and Eddie had whipped his head around and sent the table a death glare.

The kids sat behind your table cowering at the abrupt mean look and ranting, and raving, that had been almost shouted out across the cafeteria to the aforementioned blonde.

This was the first time you had seen him jealous and you kind of…loved it.

The way his eyes keep flashing up at yours and then back down to his food nervously as he tries his best to put on that mean poker face he uses when he’s playing Dnd—the most unconvincing thing you’ve ever seen, but still the most adorable.

“Eddie,” you say his name so soft, so sweet that you can see the way he melts from it. How his shoulders relax, how his leg stops bouncing. And when you reach over to wrap your arms around his neck, he’s still not smiling, still has that grumpy look on his brows and it makes you smile. “You make jealousy look hot.” You joke, give him your best teasing look.

And that’s what makes him smile. What finally cracks the veil of torture he’s putting himself through mentaly, thinking you’re going to run into the arms of a jock.

You’re leaning closer and placing a kiss to his cheek, “I’m yours, Munson. Men in tights aren’t really my thing.”

Wrong sport, you know. But it makes you laugh when he says, “I could make them work.”

You sigh dreamily, making a show of looking up as if you’re imagining it. “Yeah, just rip some holes in them, muck them up a bit, so sexy.”

Eddie’s laughing against your lips when you press yours to his in a chaste kiss. It had taken him a whole year, and a couple business days, for him to even allow you to hold his hand in public, let alone kiss him. Public displays of affection were something he couldn’t wrap his head around. But constant belittling might do that to you, make you think no one would want to be seen with you.

Which makes this situation—as adorable as it was—bittersweet.

When a whole town tells you you’re a freak and you’re made to feel like one. Undesirable and looked at under a microscope of cruel words because people were ignorant, it was hard to believe when affections were real or just a joke.

But this was real. Your love for Eddie. It always had been and it always would be.

“I love you,” you whisper. Brush hair away from his cheek to place your palm there. “Y’know that right?”

He nods, lips pressed in a tight affectionate smile.

“Gross. Get a room!” Mike is gagging from down the table.

Before you can send the kid a scowl there's a handful of pretzels being thrown at him by Eddie, making the group of you laugh.

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson fic #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson oneshot #blurb week

[yourfavoritewitchbitch]

Badge Bunny Meet Ugly

Gator Tillman x Fem!Reader

Badge Bunny AU - This can be read as a stand alone. Read more of their series here.

Summary: You're new to town. It's only supposed to be temporary. A handsome Deputy catches your eye, then seemingly ruins his chances as soon as he opens his mouth. This is not your fairytale.

18+ Only! MDNI!

Word Count: 14.5K

Warnings: Slow burn. Porn, with plot. Minimal use of Y/N. Reader is referred to as "Bunny" or "Bun". Toxic relationship (let's be honest here). Oral (m & f receiving). Choking. Semi-public sex. Degradation. Unprotected P in V (wrap it before you tap it!). Creampie.

Telling yourself you needed a fresh start, North Dakota hadn’t been your first choice but it became your last when things seemingly had started spiraling out of your control.

Your car had broken down just inside of Stark County, leaving you stranded in the middle of literal nowhere.

“No, no, no. Please. Come on!” Trying the ignition over and over to no avail. You reached for your phone, thankfully it had a signal, googling the nearest mechanic shop; only showing one in a 20-mile radius.

It’s as if the universe was playing some cruel tricks on you.

The night before, you left the sleazy hotel where you had been staying when you realized someone had taken the last bit of money you had left. Internally cursing yourself for trying to hide it in the toilet tank like a fucking cliche idiot.

It was another 30 minutes before the tow truck and owner of “Frank’s Body Shop” pulled in beside you. An older, gruff looking man with gray hair, a little wiry, sticking up from his head. You suspected you might have woken him when you called.

It was a quiet, awkward drive back to his shop.

Once he’d gotten your car into the bay you’d asked where the nearest motel might be.

“Oh, there’s one about a mile down the road on the right. Can’t miss it.” Frank said without looking up from his paperwork.

“Any chance you could drive me over? I’m new to t….”

“Do I look like a taxi service to you?” He spat. “I already got out of bed to come get ya’.”

“Alright then, at least point me in the right direction?”

“Out the front to the left. Midway Motel. Only one this side of town.” He pointed.

“Yeah, thanks.” You didn’t wait for him to respond as you headed outside. If this was what they considered hospitality in Lehigh, you didn't want to stay here a second longer than what was absolutely necessary.

Your jacket did little to shield you from the blustery cold wind. You wrapped your arms around yourself, heading off in the direction to find somewhere to lay your head for the night, leaving the light of the only streetlamp you could see in the foreseeable distance.

It was dark but the moon was unusually bright, reflecting the glint of the fresh snow fall from earlier in the day.

You hadn't made it very far down the road when you heard a rumble of an engine and headlights cut out ahead of you. You didn't bother looking up, expecting God knows what this hour of night.

The vehicle slowed as it got closer, you held your backpack strap a little tighter to your chest and wrapped your hand around the pocketknife tucked into your jacket, expecting the worst.

You finally turned on your heel to be met with an older model blazer with Stark County Sheriff's Office on the side of the door. Some of the anxiety slipped away but you kept your guard up. You'd never had any good run-ins with cops.

The driver's window slowly rolled down, an older man was behind the wheel, you couldn't make out his features in the low light, but he was wearing a cowboy hat.

“Evening, miss. Little late to be wandering the highway alone. Could be dangerous for a lady such as yourself.” His tone made you feel uneasy.

Great, another smart-ass hick, you thought.

“Evening, Officer…”

“Sheriff Tillman,” he interrupted.

“Right, Sheriff Tillman. My car broke down and I was trying to find the Midway Motel?” It came out to be more of a question than you intended.

“The Midway? It's kind of a rough place, there's a Holiday Inn on the other side of…”

“With all due respect, Sheriff, I'm just looking for somewhere for tonight and I don't exactly have enough cash to be spending it in on something like a Holiday Inn.”

“Fair enough,” he nodded. “Hop in, it's on the way.”

You looked down the highway once more, biting your lip. It was going to be a trek you dreaded, and you were already tired from the events over the last couple of days. You rolled a gravel under your shoe before finally relenting.

“Yeah, okay.” Crossing in front to open the door, removing your backpack and climbing into the passenger seat. “Thanks.”

He didn't say anything or look your way as he threw the vehicle back into drive once the door was shut.

You were able to get a better look at the Sheriff. Older, rough around the edges. An air about him that dripped with arrogance.

Sitting beside him didn't make that uneasy feeling any better, only intensifying it. Something felt off.

You were grateful for the warmth the heater provided. Rubbing your hands together in your lap.

“So, what brings you to Lehigh Miss…?” He asked.

“Uh, Y/N, and just passing through. Like I said, my car broke down, so here I am.”

“Y/N,” he said, as he mulled it over. Letting it sit on his tongue. You didn't like the way your name rolled out of his mouth.

He nodded as he kept his gaze on the road ahead. Nothing else said between the two of you in the short drive.

The Midway was, as expected, a dump. Neons lit Vacancy above you, missing a few letters with a sign out front broadcasting, “$129 weekly rates”.

“Well, this is it.” He shifts into park outside the small office, as the older woman behind the counter straightening up in her chair at the sight of the Sheriff's car.

"Well, thank you Sheriff Till…" As you reached for the door.

"Roy. And I know you're new to town, so I thought I'd extend an invitation to our church. You can come and sit with my family so you wouldn't be by yourself. I've got a son that seems about your age.”

"Uh, thanks, Sheriff. But I'm hoping my car will be done in a day or two. I don't plan on staying that long." Sliding out and gathering your bag over your shoulder. "Thanks again for the ride.”

"Anytime. Enjoy your stay,” tipping his hat, as you closed the door.

You could feel his eyes trail after you as you walked into the office before he finally drove away.

The older lady stood, “Uh hi, I just need a room for the night, I hope.”

“Sure honey, we only got a double bed.” She eyed you warily. “You know the Sheriff?”

“Huh?” Barely registering what she had said as you were digging for your wallet.

“Sheriff Tillman? You know him?”

“No. He just offered me a ride…” you trailed off. “Why?”

“Don't trust that man. That whole family is a den of vipers. Son gaining a reputation just as bad. I'd steer clear if I were you.”

“I'll take that into consideration,” you took the key from her. “Thanks.”

The room was just as inviting. Cramped space with a small double bed and a flowery duvet. An older style TV sits in the corner making it feel like the place was stuck in the 90s.

No coffee maker or mini fridge. The small bathroom at least looked clean upon inspection though you weren't sure it could be trusted.

The bed provided little comfort. The mattress was lumpy, and the pillows were flat.

Well, at least it's for one night. You tried to shut your eyes and get some rest.

“What do you mean, a couple of weeks?” You whined.

“What I just said, I can't get the part right now. Be a couple weeks.” Frank huffed. “I had to order it, so do you want it fixed or not?”

“Of course I want it fixed. Just let me know when it's done.”

Stomping your way out the garage, you shouldn't have expected anything else really. Not with the way your luck had been going.

You’d walked back to the motel, paying another week in advance and asking the lady at the front desk, Maggie, where you might find some decent work as it looked like you might be here for a while longer.

“Pretty girl like you, could always go over to the Tender Trap, you'd be out of this dump in no time,” as she proceeded to tell you the sort of place it was.

“I think I'd prefer to keep my clothes on.”

“Suit yourself,” she shrugged, pulling her cigarette to her lips. Puffs of smoke curled up as she exhaled. “Lucky Lizard across the way might be lookin’ for another waitress. Henry said last week his girl quit.”

“Here,” she pulled out a pad and pen, writing a name and number down for you.

“Thanks Maggie.”

You'd met with Henry the owner and resident bartender that afternoon. You'd been upfront about it only being temporary, but he liked your spunkiness and hired you on the spot.

He tried to warn you what you were getting into with the weekend crowd, but nothing would quite compare to seeing it in person.

Your shift started at 4. It started off easy enough. The early crowd were mostly blue-collared guys, interested in a couple of beers before heading home for the night.

Saturday's host karaoke night. The usual crowd is replaced by the rowdy 20 and 30 somethings of Lehigh looking for a good time when there is nothing else to do in nowhere USA.

Drinks flowing, the crowd loving the various renditions of their favorite songs echoing through the building.

The fight broke out before you realized what was going on.

You hadn't seen the beginning, but you were caught off guard when someone shoved you from behind, knocking the tray you held off balance. Bottles of beer went flying across the floor.

Henry called the Sheriff's department as soon as it got out of control and told you to get behind the bar until they arrived.

He had a shotgun there, pulled it out and told everyone to exit the bar. They eventually did.

“This happen often?” You asked him.

“Not usually,” he gave you a weary half smile.

You were beginning to think bad luck was following you at this point.

It didn't take long for a couple of deputies to walk through the door.

One caught your eye in particular. He waltzed in, dick first, like he owned the place. He rested his hand on the gun that was tucked away in his snug thigh holster, slung tight over his camo pants as your eyes trailed up the rest of his frame.

He was wearing the usual kevlar, adorned with a gold star badge on top of a snug long-sleeved T-shirt. You could tell the way it hugged his arms he was fit.

His head was covered with a hat that read Stark County Sheriff. It was shielding some of your view of his face at this angle, but you could make out his sharp jawline and aquiline nose.

Your eyes drank in every detail that was available as his eyes searched the crowd, turning his head slowly finally landing on you. His deep set, hazel eyes caught yours.

You felt pinned the longer he stared. He gave you a lopsided grin before lifting his hand, tipping his hat toward you. You smiled in return.

Then the moment was over, as he caught Henry's attention and beckoned him over.

You started busying yourself with cleaning up the mess the brawlers had left behind. As soon as they heard the cops were called the stragglers hightailed it out of there, along with a lot of the good paying customers.

With no one to pin it on, the cops weren't going to stay long. Statements and descriptions of the men were all they could get, along with some grainy video footage.

You were cleaning up a high top in the corner when he started to approach. You spotted him from the corner or your eye, because you hadn't stopped watching him since he entered.

Heavy boots made their way closer as you wiped down the sticky tabletop.

He cleared his throat before he spoke, gaining your attention as you were finally able to get a better look at him. He was handsome, clean cut. Not something you were expecting in a small-town Sheriff's department.

“Uh, don't believe we've met. Deputy Tillman, uh Gator.”

So, this was who Maggie had warned you about.

“Gator Tillman, huh? I've heard all about you and your daddy.” You shot back.

He smirked, but his eyebrows knit together with confusion.

“So, how is it you know all about me, but I've never seen you before. And trust me, I'd remember a pretty face like yours.” His eyes trailed slightly downward catching the top of your cleavage before moving back up.

You couldn't contain your eyes from rolling. Men were so easy. All the same. Simple creatures with only one thing on their minds.

You smiled and arched a brow, as his gaze set on your face once more.

“If you don't mind, I've got to get back to work. In case you didn't notice, this place is a mess.” You said, turning back to the table.

“I'm here on official business, need your statement. Miss…?” He paused, grabbing a pen, as if he was actually going to write any of this shit down.

You had him pegged from the moment he walked in here.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He spoke. And as you expected, just stared at you. “You're not from around here, are ya’?”

“Nope and don't plan on sticking around either.”

“Yeah, Henry said you're over at the Midway? That place is rough, ya’ could…”

“Yeah, yeah I've already heard. You Tillmans have a savior complex or something?” you huffed out.

“Scuse me?” He furrowed his brows.

“Look, I don't need some hot shot, knight in shining kevlar to save me. I'm not some damsel in distress. I can take care of myself.” You looked him straight in the eye, not backing down.

“You're cute, y’know that?” he smiled, and let out a small humorless chuckle.

You watched as he produced a vape from his pocket, placing it between his pouty lips before sucking, as his cheeks hollowed just a bit. The fruity scented cloud billowed out, as he blew it hitting you square in the face.

“Seriously?” You coughed, hand waving it quickly away.

“Sorry,” he smirked again, not meaning his apology in the slightest.

“Sorry? For blowing that rancid shit right in my face? Your mama never teach you any fucking manners?” You huffed, grabbing the towel off the table and quickly walking away leaving him to stare after you.

He took another hit from his vape, letting his eyes trail your curves, watching the way your hips swayed with each step before he was knocked from his trance.

“Gator,” Andy, the other deputy, caught his attention. “Let's go.”

He nodded and bid Henry a goodbye.

He was intrigued. He could usually bat his eyes, puff his chest out a little and any girl would fall over him. Not you.

You were a little spitfire who didn't back down. He kind of liked it.

Gator was never the kind to chase tail, it fell in his lap with ease. You were different and something in the back of his mind wanted to see how far he had to push to see you give in.

You'd all but forgotten about Deputy Tillman in the following days. However, he couldn't seem to get you off his mind.

The way you had spoken so blatantly like you didn't care who he was, or what kind of weight the Tillman name carried in this county. He couldn't deny the way it kind of turned him on. Every other girl in this town was either scared of him or immediately fell at his feet.

You were different, not to mention easy on the eyes with curves that seemed to go for days easily getting any man to eat out of the palm of your hand.

He pulled into the bar, telling himself he was just doing a routine check, on the lookout for drunks.

Deep down, he wanted to catch another glimpse to see if you were truly as pretty as he remembers. Maybe he could sweet talk you into a night of fun. Let him take you back to that trashy motel and have his way with you.

He settled back into the seat, checking the time on his watch, a quarter past 2 AM. The bar had just closed for the night, so he suspected you’d be in until at least another 30 minutes tidying up the place and kicking out the stragglers.

He pulled his phone out playing Candy Crush to pass the time. Placing his vape between his lips every few minutes, getting a little more anxious with each passing second.

He jumped at the sound of someone banging on his window, dropping his vape and almost doing the same with his phone.

He looked over to see you standing there, arms crossed giving him a glare that would rival the devil himself.

It had been a long day. You were about to head back to the Midway after picking up a double shift. You headed out the back, surveying the lot.

The first thing you noticed is a black truck parked off to itself. You grumbled as soon as you saw the Stark County Sheriff logo on the side.

Instead of making the trek back to the motel, you decided to have a little fun, suspecting immediately who it might be.

Your boots stomped their way over to the driver's side door as you placed your hands on your hips. He made no attempt to roll the window down. You could see the glow of that stupid vape lit within. You wanted to yank it out of his mouth.

Growing more impatient by the second, you finally gave in using your fist to bang on the window.

You realized he hadn’t even noticed you walk up when his vape went flying out of his hand. You held in your laugh. Instead opting to hold a stern gaze, forcing your lips together and crossing your arms over your chest.

The window finally rolled down as he came into view. He wasn’t wearing a hat like the last time you’d seen him. His hair was slicked back, shorter on the sides revealing his face even more to you. Damnit, he was handsome.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He spat. Oh, this is going to be fun, you thought.

“Deputy Tillman, is that any way to speak to a lady?” You purred. “And what the hell are you doing out here? Besides looking like a creep?”

He scoffed, “My job. What the fuck does it look like?”

“Your job? You skulk around bars for your job?” You smirked. Each insult slowly getting under his skin.

“I'm watching for drunks. But I don't have to explain myself to you.” He sounded like a child. You couldn't tell in the low light but were sure his face was reddened from how strained his voice sounds.

“Right, well, good night Deputy.” You turned away from him, smirking as you went. His eyes trailing after you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he called. “Need a lift?”

“No thanks! You just stay here and watch for those drunks.” Yelling back and laughing out, the sound traveling across the parking lot back to his ears.

He shook his head and watched you go.

“Shit,” he hissed out, his head dropping back onto the headrest with a thud. Why'd he have to open his big mouth like that?

The following week he seemed to be everywhere.

He was at the gas station as you paid for your soda and nachos, trying to take a break from the motel when the walls felt like they were closing in around you.

A couple of days later, he was at the diner grabbing lunch as you were just finishing yours. He stared at you from over the top of the menu as you left some cash on the table and headed out. If he was trying to be discreet about it, he was failing miserably.

The next day, you bumped into him at the grocery store a couple of blocks away from where you were staying.

You turned the corner with your small cart, bumping into someone.

“Oh, I am so sor…” the words died as soon as you looked up to see him standing there. He grinned, pulling a box of cereal from the shelf and putting it into his own cart.

He looked good. Camo thermal under a black leather jacket with matching black cargo pants; thigh holster in place. His hair was slicked back just like you had seen it in the prior days.

You cocked a brow, “Deputy Tillman, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were stalking me.”

“Stalking you? Maybe it's the other way ‘round. Huh, sweet thing?” He moved to lean his elbow on the shelf as he looked you over, missing the edge by only a few centimeters.

He slipped, correcting himself almost immediately, straightening back up and throwing the shelf an accusatory look.

“Woah there, big fella.” You snorted. “You okay there?”

“Fine,” he sniffed, looking down his nose at you once he was back at his full height.

“What are you doing on this side of town anyway? Isn't there a nicer grocery store you could shop at?”

“Well, yeah but I like this one.” Shrugging a shoulder as he spoke.

You eye him suspiciously. So, he did choose to come here. You knew there was another store on the other side of town. It was bigger and newer with all the bells and whistles.

As if he was reading your mind he quickly tacked on, “it's more quiet here. Less crowded.”

You nodded. Slowly moving your cart to finally skirt around him.

“Well, Deputy, enjoy your shopping trip.” Moving past him.

“Hey y/n, how about you let me take you out sometime?” He blurted out before you got too far out of earshot.

“Out?” You turned back around. “Like a date?”

“I mean,” he stepped closer, leaning his elbow on the shelf successfully this time, as he lowered his voice to barely above a whisper.

“Yeah, we can call it a date. I was thinkin’ more along the lines of grabbing a bite to eat then you could invite me back to your room…” his eyes slowly trailed down your body as he spoke.

“How romantic.” You batted your lashes up at him before huffing a laugh. “I guess I should be flattered you actually offered dinner first.”

“So?” He cocked his head expectantly, completely ignoring the words that had just come out of your mouth.

“So, no. I told you I'm not sticking around.”

“Who said it had to be serious? I'm just talkin’ about gettin’ some ass s’all. Havin’ some fun while you're stuck here.” His lips curled up. Maybe he expected you to be taken aback by his bluntness, but you weren't. It just spurred you further.

“Oh, is that all? And how do you know I'm not getting’ dicked down on the daily by someone else? Hmmm?” You smirked when his eyes grew darker. Did you just make him mad? Jealous?

“Oh, sweet thing, I don't believe that for a second.” He chuckled. The air between you seemed to grow a little tense as he shifted on his feet a little.

He stepped a little closer, trying to close the gap between you.

“If that were true, you wouldn't be walkin' ‘round here with that stick up your ass.” He paused, looking you straight in the eye, “I think what ya’ need is someone to fuck this bratty attitude right out of ya’.”

You inched forward, letting your fingers graze his chest as you let them tip toe up.

“And you think you're just the man for the job?”

“Sure am.” He grinned, cocky, thinking he had you.

Your fingers moved up, up until you moved them away, only to boop his nose before completely pulling away and taking a step back.

“You're cute, you know that?” Using his own words that he'd thrown at you that night at the bar.

His mouth hung open slightly, as you turned to leave him there.

“Have a good night, Deputy.”

You faintly heard a “fuck” being muttered as you made your way over to the next aisle.

Two weeks.

Two weeks since your car broke down. Two weeks you’d been sleeping in a roach infested dump. Two weeks of sitting in said dump staring at the same four walls. Two weeks of reluctantly being the newest resident of Stark County.

Frank gave you another half-assed excuse as to why your damn car wasn’t finished this morning. You didn’t know whether he was telling the truth or blowing smoke up your ass for the hell of it. Either way, you were about to tear your hair out.

You volunteered for another double shift just to take your mind off of everything, telling Henry all of your woes for the 100th time, but he listened with a sympathetic ear as usual.

“Hey, not to pile anything on you, but do you think you could close up by yourself tonight? I’ve got to head out early.” He asked, hoping it wouldn’t get your panties even more twisted.

“I don’t mind. It’s not like anything is going on.” You held up your hands, looking around the desolate space. “And I would like to avoid going back to the room for as long as possible.” You felt a shiver run down your spine at the thought of sleeping there another night, though you knew it was inevitable.

He finished up what he was doing and slipped out the back.

It wasn’t unusual to be dead through the week, but this was almost unbearable. The last customer left about 30 minutes before Henry, leaving you alone with your thoughts weighing heavily once more.

It was currently a little past midnight, which meant you had two more hours before clocking out.

Most of the closing duties were done, now it was just you against the clock, hoping no one decided to stumble in here tonight keeping you any longer.

Your back was to the door, wiping down some newly washed glasses. As you put away another on the shelf, the front door flew open, startling you. When you jolted, you nearly dropped the glass but regained your composure.

Heavy footsteps were coming toward the bar as you turned around.

Shocked to see none other than Gator Tillman sliding into the stool directly in front of you. He looked disheveled. His usually perfectly slick hair mussed to the point it was falling in and around his face.

“Gator?” You asked hesitantly.

His eyes darted up to you, big and glossy, a little blood shot at the edges. His cheeks were flushed. Had he already been drinking before he got here?

“Oh, so you do know my name?” He huffed out. “And here I thought I was just Deputy Tillman.” It came out a little slurred.

His usual cheeky demeanor was gone. Replaced with this sarcastic asshole before you now; not an ounce of playfulness to be found. He seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“Are you okay?” It seemed dumb to ask, but you couldn't help yourself.

“I'm fine Y/N. Just came here to blow off a little stream, s’all. Nothin’ to worry your pretty little head over.”

“Um sure… Gator, have you been drinking?”

He laughed out loud, lips curling into an unnatural smile. “I might’ve had a few. Might’ve run out. S’why I'm here, I need some more.”

“No, I think you need a cheeseburger and some water.” Placing a glass before him, sliding it into his view since he was staring at the bar top instead of you.

“Give me a Jack. No ice.” He said, without looking up.

“No. I'm not serving you.” Standing your ground could end up with a very pissed off Gator but at least your conscience would be clear. You were already thinking of how you could get his keys.

“Where's Henry? He'll give me what I ask for with no lip.” Finally cutting his eyes up. They were dark and intense. That usual flicker of light within now dim as if the alcohol had taken every semblance of the guy you’ve come to know.

“Not here. It's only me and I'm not serving you whiskey. I'll go make you a burger. Drink that damn water.”

He stared at the glass before him as if it would somehow magically turn into the Jack he'd asked for. Reluctantly, he finally picked it up and raised it to his lips, chugging the contents down within a few seconds.

He dropped it back to the bar top with a thud, still gripped in his hand.

“There, now give me a damn whiskey.”

“Gator, for the last time I'm not fucking serving you whiskey.” You had an idea. Your eyes flickered with delight at the prospect. And if he would cooperate, you'd both get what you needed.

He made to get up, staggering just a little, taking his keys from his pocket. This was your chance.

He looked away for a split second, he held his keys in his fist as he stood once more and turned slightly toward the door.

There was a key ring your fingers grabbed onto and firmly wanked them from his grasp.

He realized too late what was happening. His movements are slower than normal, trying but failing to reach back out for them.

“What the fuck. Give ‘em back.” He held out his hand expectantly.

“Hell no. You aren't going anywhere like this. You trying to kill yourself?” You raised your voice.

There was some look that passed over his features you couldn't quite read. He looked defeated at this moment.

“Look, just sit down. I'll make us both some burgers. We can, uh, have that meal you asked me to.”

That seemed to pique his interest, as his eyebrows edged upward. He nodded slightly and planted his ass back down on the stool as you breathed a small sigh of relief.

“Ok, just stay there. I'm going to lock the door and I'll make you the best damn burger you've ever had.” He didn't respond but you put another glass of water on the bar. “And drink that. I'll be back.”

You left him to it, locking the front door and clicking off the neon “Open” sign. You were sure no one would bother coming by this late and if Henry found out you'd just tell him the truth.

Henry usually cooked but had taught you the ins and outs of the kitchen as well. As the patties cooked on the grill top, you checked through the swinging door to make sure he was still there.

You panicked just a bit when he wasn't at the bar, but he had just moved across the room to one of the booths instead. And much to your surprise had brought the water with him. He wasn't thinking clearly but at least he could still follow directions.

You placed the plate in front of him as his eyes lit up.

“Don't say I never did anything nice for you.” You laughed and took the seat across from him.

He immediately started shoveling fries into his mouth. He wasn't much for manners, but you didn't fault him. He was eating like a man starved.

He hummed around the first bite of his burger as you smiled. You ate in silence, hoping a decent meal would sober him up for what you were about to suggest.

He finished his meal, wiping his mouth with his exposed sleeve and chugged the remaining water.

“Thanks, I need that.” He mumbled.

“Feel better?” You genuinely asked.

“Mmhmm… yeah actually. I uh…” he started.

“Nope, let's not do this ok. Don't start a sappy apology. I uh… may have had some ulterior motives here anyway.” You grinned as he finally lifted his head, furrowing his brows as his lips were set in a slight pout as if he were trying to decipher what you had just said.

“What? What are you…”

“I'm saying that I got you sober enough that at least I'm not taking advantage of you. I'd like to take you up on your offer.”

The realization hit, as he silently replied, “oh.”

He sat quietly for another moment.

“No. I don't need a goddamn pity fuck.”

You were taken aback by his brashness. Maybe this wasn't a good idea.

“I wasn't trying to give you a pity fuck you jackass. It just seemed like we could both use a distraction. But if you're not interested, never mind.” You started to ease out of the booth.

“Wait, wait.” He grabbed your wrist, halting your movements. His touch setting your skin ablaze.

He looked up at you with pleading, puppy dog eyes that pulled at your chest.

“Look, I am a jackass, ok. But I am interested. You've made it very clear you didn't want anything to do with me. Why the sudden change of heart?”

“What does it matter? We're both obviously dealing with some shit… like I said we could use a distraction.” You shrugged, pulling free from his grasp. Taking both of your plates as you slid from the seat.

He watched you disappear into the back of the bar.

Ok, she's giving me a chance. Don't fuck this up. I'm a winner. Come on. He tried to pump himself up.

It took a few minutes to wash up the dishes and put them away. Emerging from the back, he was still sitting in the booth.

“Listen,” you spoke up. “I've got a few more things to do before I can head out. You wanna just meet me at my room in about an hour?”

He stood, no stagger this time and in a few large strides he crossed the room stopping directly in front of you.

He took you by surprise, grabbing your hips, pulling you completely flush to his.

You let out a little squeak that his lips quickly cut off when they met yours.

He wasn't gentle, fingertips digging in where they met you through your shirt. You didn't need or want gentle. He was doing exactly what you hoped he would.

His lips were slightly chapped but glided against your cherry glossed ones with ease. You wrapped one hand around the base of his neck, nails raking through his hair as your other finds his bicep.

He was guiding you, fingers finding the hem of your shirt, skirting upwards, uncovering the supple flesh beneath.

His touch sent goosebumps across your bare skin. It was then his tongue danced along your bottom lip, begging for entry.

Your lips parted, his tongue immediately finding the opening, moving against yours so naturally.

You suddenly needed more, pulling him even closer, easing yourself upward to meet him on the tips of your toes.

It was suddenly a clash of teeth and tongue. Your hand glided from his bicep to his waist pulling him in.

He broke your kiss with a groan. It gave you both a moment to catch your breath. Pants being shared between you.

You took the opportunity, running your hand lower, palming his now very prominent bulge. You were surprised he was actually backing that cocky attitude.

“Fuck,” he hissed out, breath fanning your cheek.

“You're getting ahead of yourself big boy. I still need to close up.” You nipped at his neck, inching yourself backward.

“No, let me make you feel good. Let me taste you. Fuck, I need to taste you.” His voice raspy, whiny with need.

His words went straight to your core. Not sure what you were expecting, but him offering to go down on you wasn't one of them. Gator seemed very selfish, not someone who would so willingly give.

“Yeah, fuck yeah.” Willing yourself to answer as you nodded. But then it hit you. Where the fuck would you go in here?

As if he already knew what you were thinking, he grabbed your hand leading you over to the pool table.

He let go to shed his jacket into the nearest booth, as you slid up onto the felt lining, easing your ass over the lip.

You'd worn a skirt today, now thanking yourself for the easy access, as you spread your thighs to accommodate his frame.

He turned back to you. Eyes trailing up. You were like prey caught by the big, bad wolf as he licks his lips ready to devour you.

You leaned back, spreading your legs a little further, skirt rucking up, soaked panties on display.

He came to slot himself between your thighs, pulling your hips toward the edge to meet his hard cock coming to rest against your clothed core.

You had no choice but to wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself as you gasped out.

“What's wrong, sweet thing?” He smirked, as he brought his hand up to the back of your head, threading his fingers through your hair tugging the roots making you meet his gaze.

“I…” smug bastard had the audacity to roll his hips when you tried to speak, nudging your clit slightly, pulling a small moan from you.

“Yeah, that's it. Let me hear those pretty sounds, yeah?”

This wasn't you. Letting a man reduce you to putty in his hands. You decided to throw him off, taking your legs and locking them firmly around his waist, and rolling your hips into his.

“Look at you, like a little whore in heat.” He lowered his head, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “I fucking knew you wanted me.”

You gasped out again when he brought his broad palms against your thighs pushing them back against the table. His thumbs rubbing higher, up under the fabric of your skirt making you shudder.

He pulled back slightly to look down at you.

“Now, be a good girl and sit still f’me.”

His fingertips traveled up, hooking into the fabric so he could pull them down, lifting your ass so he could remove them.

Once he had you bare, he tucked them into his pocket for safe keeping.

His eyes darkened, breath hitching slightly once he caught sight of your bare cunt.

You were positively soaked, glistening before him.

Feeling a little brazen, you spoke up “Are you going to put your money where your mouth is or just stare at me all night like you've never seen a pussy before? ” Wiggling your ass closer to the edge as you spoke.

He didn't respond, you watched as he licked at his bottom lip and began lowering himself to the floor. Once he knelt in front of you, face to face with you, he finally spoke.

“Look at that sweet little pussy, already drooling f’me.” He slid his hands under your ass, pulling you closer to the edge, closer to his waiting mouth.

He pushed your left thigh up over his shoulder, scooting closer still, using his arm to force your other leg further open to accommodate him. His hand delicately moves your skirt further up your hips giving him full access.

You jolt when he lightly runs a fingertip up your slit. Not enough to penetrate but shooting embers through your core.

“I bet she tastes so good, huh?” Placing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another and another. Working his way toward where you needed him most.

“Please…” it's as if the word left on its own accord as it hung in the air between you. It was so breathy you'd hoped he'd mistake it for another moan.

“What's that sweet thing?” No such luck.

You look down at him, he's grinning over your mound with this mischievous glint to his eyes. You know what he's about to say before it even tumbles from his lips.

“Please what baby?”

You roll your eyes letting your head thump back against the tabletop.

“Please Gator, quit teasing. I ne… want you to fuck me.” You quickly huffed out.

He chuckled lightly, letting his finger and thumb part your lips, while his breath fanned over your sticky folds.

He hummed as he looked down, catching a glance once more before he brought his tongue down. Flattening it against your core, licking a fat stripe from your leaking entrance as he let the tip finally catch your clit.

“Oh fuck!” You moaned out. Relief. It flooded through your veins and much as it ignited you further.

He didn't stop, moving his tongue down and back up to expertly swirl it against your puffy clit.

Your back arched, pushing your pussy further into his face. His eyes flicked up to you, relishing the way he was already making you come undone.

He moved his hand from around your ass to wrap it around your leg, making sure you couldn't squirm away as his lips came to wrap around your bundle of nerves. Sucking harshly, then soothing it again with a soft lick.

You fisted your hands at your sides, fighting the urge to run your fingers through his hair.

You felt his thick finger tease your entrance as his lips remained sealed to you.

“Mmmm… yes, please. I need more.” You tried to grind your hips, but he had you firmly pinned.

He slowly inserted his finger, pushing into your velvety walls with ease, as another wanton moan left your lips.

He pulled out, only to insert a second upon re-entry. His fingers alone were filling you up in such a way your own never could.

Your cunt pulsed around him, as he hummed into you, the vibrations only adding to your pleasure.

It had been a long time since you'd been touched by anyone but yourself and your orgasm was creeping up at an embarrassingly fast rate.

He curved his digits upward with every drag, as he was hit that sweet, spongy spot within you. You knew you wouldn't last much longer.

“Gator don't stop. Right there!” He was happy to oblige, keeping his current pace but applied more pressure to your clit, working his tongue back and forth.

Your hands finally found purchase, tugging at his hair. He hummed again, filing that mental note away for later.

“It feels so good, don't… mmmm… don't fucking stop!”

Those embers were fully formed flames, licking up your spine, igniting every nerve within your core.

The pressure kept building, as you were teetering along the edge, ready to let go.

Your orgasm hit with blinding force, your legs began to shake around him as sparks soared behind your eyes, with a cry of his name he worked you through your high.

He unattached his lips, “that's it sweet thing, cum on my fingers. Yeah, you look so goddamn pretty like this, and I haven't even fucked you yet.”

Your cunt clenched around him once more with his words, as you tried to pull away from him, starting to feel oversensitive. He pulled his fingers from you, only to wrap his lips around them sucking them clean of any remnants of your arousal.

“Mmmm… so fucking sweet. I knew you'd taste good.”

He watches the way your chest is still heaving, trying to catch your breath. He takes the opportunity to raise himself up, pushing himself back between your thighs.

His cock is fucking aching and rock hard. He'd fuck you right here and now if you'd let him.

He leans slightly back over you, his cock nudging your cunt, as you whimper and finally open your eyes in time to see his shit eating grin, as he wipes the rest of your arousal from his face with the back of his hand.

“You good?” He finally asks.

There was something in his eyes that told you that you were in for a long night.

You nod pathetically, as you attempt to sit up, but your bones feel like jello.

He closes the distance, caging you in, hands splayed out on either side of you, as he speaks close to your ear, breath fanning your cheek.

“Yeah? You want me t’bend you over right here or are we going back t’your room? Your choice sweet thing, but either way I'm fuckin’ ya’ now.”

He pulls back slightly to gauge your response. You look up at him, soft doe eyes and pouty kiss-bitten lips. He's fucked. He knows it right then and there.

“Fuck, Gator. We can't fuck here. Let me grab my purse.” You push at his chest to give you some space.

He takes a few steps back, as you hop down from the pool table on wobbly legs and straighten your skirt back down.

“You aren't closin’ up?” He chuckled.

“Fuck it,” waving your hand dismissively as you walk to the back. “I work morning shift; I'll do it then.”

You quickly gathered your belongings, throwing your coat over your shoulders, shutting off the lights as you head back up front. You knew you'd be kicking yourself in the few hours you'd have to be back in for your shift but at this moment you couldn't find it within yourself to care.

You shot through the double doors, as his hands reached out and grabbed you from behind, pulling you in as he nuzzled his face into your neck.

“I can't keep my hands off of you. You're so fuckin’ hot.”

You giggle, feeling like a horny teen. It was new, exciting and as you reminded yourself just for tonight.

“Gator, come on. Let's go.” He grabbed a handful of your ass before reluctantly letting you go.

He followed you closely out the door, as you turned to lock up, he stayed there, head on a swivel, surveying the parking lot void of any life this time of night.

“Okay.” You said, pushing your hands into your pockets, suddenly realizing you still had his keys.

“Oh shit, here.” You dug them out from your purse and handed them over.

“Thanks, sweet thing, come on.” He went ahead of you and jumped into the driver's seat, turning the ignition just as quickly. You pulled yourself up, taking the opportunity to scoot right in next to him, thigh pressed tightly into his.

He stiffens as you place your hand high on his thigh, sliding it slowly, close to where his cock rests, still straining against his confines just begging to be released.

At the same time, you press your face close to his jaw, placing small kisses up, nibbling his ear lobe. You continued sliding your hand further up, finally rubbing him through his pants, causing his breath to hitch.

“Fuck, ok, ok. Let me just get us across the road.”

You giggled out, as you sat back in the seat. He seemed just as eager as you were.

“Ok big boy, let's go.”

The Midway was almost directly across the road from the Lucky Lizard, making it a quick trip.

“Which room is it?” He asked, eyes cutting to you for a moment.

“203, just up there.” Pointing in the general direction, as he slowed when he got close.

“I'll let you out, I've got to park ‘round back.” He stopped directly in front of the door.

“Yeah, sure.” You understood but it didn't hurt any less. You knew it was a dump, home to more than a couple of drug addicts but you also knew his job. It would be an embarrassment to be seen here.

You let it roll off you, as you swung the door open and stepped inside. It gave you a few minutes to freshen up and spritz a little perfume to your pulse points, as he knocked on the door.

You crossed the small space, opening the door wide, bidding him in quickly.

“I know it's not much,” you began.

“S’fine.” He said, looking around the desolate space. The only hint that you lived here was the large suitcase in the corner overflowing with your clothes and shoes.

He let his jacket fall from his shoulders, placing it on top of the dresser, toeing his boots off there as well. You had already removed your outerwear leaving you in your skirt and short sleeved shirt you'd worn all day.

He didn't look your way as he sat on the end of the bed, letting out a large sigh as the springs groaned under his weight.

For a moment he seemed distracted, with this faraway look in his eye that had you second guessing yourself, as his hand scrubbed down the side of his face.

As if he felt the weight of your stare, he looked up, “C’mere sweet thing,” patting his thighs. In normal circumstances something like that would piss you off but at this point you'd let it slide.

You crossed the small distance between you. As soon as you were close enough, he grabbed your hips once more, but you were ready this time as you steadied yourself.

Your fingertips hooked under his chin lifting lightly so he would have to look at you. His eyes were half lidded, from lust or the late hour you weren't sure, but his gaze was soft, pupils blown wide.

“Hey handsome, how about I return the favor?” You purred, as his hand roamed the expanse of your thighs, finding your ass and pulling you further into him.

You trailed a fingertip across his jaw, nail catching on stubble that was trying to form as you watched his Adam's apple bob.

Trailing it lower, down his broad chest as you began to sink to the floor between his thighs, knees pressing into the rough carpeting.

Your hands came to rest in either of his thighs, as he eagerly undid his belt and unsnapped the button of his pants. That's when you stopped him.

“Let me,” your voice was sticky sweet, as you batted his hands away, replacing them with your own, taking the zipper and slowly lowering it.

You palmed at his still clothed erection, eliciting a soft hiss from him.

He groaned, as your fingers trailed to his waistband, he aided you by lifting his hips letting you pull his pants and boxers down his hairy thighs.

His cock sprang free, the head landing just at his navel. You knew he was big, but you hadn't expected this much. You were staring at a goddamn python.

He was long, but also thick. His fat mushroom tip was flushed, a prominent vein travels down the underside of his shaft. The thought of him between your legs made your thighs involuntary clench.

“Fuck,” it was just a whisper, but he still heard it as he smirked.

“What's the matter, sweet thing? Never seen a cock before?” That teasing tone was back but you rolled your eyes in response, wrapping your hand around as much of his base that you could.

You angled him more toward you, leaning down spitting on the tip, as his hips bucked up slightly.

“Fuck, you're a dirty girl.” He grunted, the women he usually fucks were all to timid to take charge or even offer a blow job.

You ran your hand up his length, reaching the top, smearing the mixture of your saliva and his precum expertly. Taking the time to run your thumb across his slit and ruddy head at an agonizingly slow pace before finally stroking back down, as you began pumping lightly.

His breath hitched as he watched you, you were focused solely on him and the task at hand.

You brought your mouth closer, lips sticky with newly reapplied gloss as you placed a soft kiss to the tip, before flicking your tongue to the same spot. Getting the response you were after when you heard him whimper.

You grinned against him, ready to destroy this man.

You wrapped your lips around him, sucking lightly before flattening your tongue, taking as much of him as your mouth and throat would allow.

“Oh fuck,” he moaned out, as if you’d taken him by surprise. His face screwed up with pleasure as he closed his eyes. You wondered if it had been a while since he'd felt a woman's soft touch, so used to his calloused hands providing his own relief.

As the salty tang of him hit your tongue you moaned around him. The vibrations made him shudder, relaxing your throat to take him further as you continued to stroke his length.

You began to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks applying more pressure to his member.

“Goddamn sweet thing,” he breathed out, daring to glance down. You were a vision with his dick between your lips. When you looked up at him there were unshed tears along your lash line. It was enough to make him cum right then and there.

It was then you decided to pick up your pace, seeing his fucked-out expression spurred you on.

“Fuck,” he hissed out, gripping the back of your hair, tugging you back until you pulled off with a wet pop.

“You keep doing that, I'm gonna cum. I need to fuck you.” You nodded, as those words went straight to your core, pussy clenching around nothing.

“You uh, you got a condom? I didn't really come prepared.”

“Gator, I just had my mouth around your cock, if I was worried about that I wouldn't have gone down on you. I'm on birth control.” You shrugged.

“Fuck, yeah ok.” He nodded.

You quickly rose to your feet, slotting your thighs on either side of his, sinking down as his cock met your bare cunt, gliding easily through your folds bumping your clit on the way.

You moaned out in unison, as he found the hem of your shirt pulling it over your head. His lips immediately finding the tender flesh of your neck, just below your jaw sucking a small bruise there before soothing it with his tongue.

His hands palm your tits through your bra, before quickly finding the clasp at the back. He's undoing it with expertise, as the straps begin to slide down your shoulders.

He wastes no time, he pushes the cups down as his large palms engulf your breasts. His calloused hands are a little rough against your nipples, causing another moan to escape you.

You pull away slightly to capture his lips into a heated kiss. He wraps his arms around you, only to lift you off the bed with him, moving to lay you onto your back.

You let out a small squeak of surprise but he's immediately back between your thighs, gliding his cock between through your soaked folds.

“Mmmm… Gator, please don't tease me anymore.” You huffed out.

He chuckled lightly in response, but sat up to remove his shirt, kicking his pants the rest of the way off his legs. You followed his lead, lifting your hips and sliding your skirt down your plush thighs.

“Fuck, look at you.” He said, lowering himself back down.

He brought two fingers up to your lips, as he barked out “open.” Sliding them in, letting them close around his large digits and letting your tongue swirl against the rough pads.

“Good girl,” he brought them straight to your aching clit, rubbing tight circles against you.

“Mmmm… fuck.” You moaned out, keening into his touch.

He bent down, laving his tongue between your breasts. His mouth was hot, as he sucked your hardened bud between his lips. Your hands flew to his hair, pushing it back from his face tugging harshly at the roots.

He didn't let up, as he moved off your clit to pinch the other between his thumb and finger.

The sensation has you crying out. You weren't in the mood for any more teasing. The ache between your legs was almost unbearable.

You were surprised at his patience this far. Half expecting him to start railing you as soon as he entered the room.

You pulled his face up to yours, giving him no choice but to crawl up your body, meeting you lips once more. You firmly locked your legs around his waist and rolled your hips.

You swallowed each other's moans, as you repeated the motion, his tip catching your clit at just the right angle.

“No more teasing. Let's see if you know how to use that thing or if that cocky attitude is all you have.” Wiggling your hips against him as you spoke.

His eyes darkened, as he looked up at you as if it ignited something within him.

“I know how to use it, just wonderin’ if that tight pussy can handle it.” He reached between you, lining himself up with your entrance as you spread your legs further apart.

His fat tip breaches, as he pushes in slightly with a groan.

“Oh fuck,” throwing your head back, already feeling the stretch.

“Fuck, you are tight,” he hisses, watching himself as he sinks a little deeper.

Your brow starts to scrunch, closing your eyes as your mouth goes slack, a silent moan trying to escape but it feels caught in your throat.

He starts to move again, inch by inch, he slowly splits you open. You're trying not to think about the smug look he's surely got on his face. If you had opened your eyes, you would have seen he was just as fucked out as you were.

Your nails dig crescents where they rest, fingers gripping his shoulders tighter the deeper he goes.

He finally pushes to the hilt, as you let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, coming out as a whimper.

He looks down at you then, the almost pained expression on your face pulls him out of his own stuper.

“Hey, you ok?” The softness of his tone grabbed your attention the most. You looked back up to see his eyes worrying over your features.

You nodded, “mhmm… I just need a minute. It's been a while and, not to inflate your already huge ego, but you're not exactly average.”

His lips curled up into that crooked smile like the first time you'd seen him at the bar. It genuinely made you smile back.

The pinch slowly started to subside, as you asked him to move.

He slowly pulled back, almost removing himself completely, immediately sinking back in. He was taking his time, not at all what you expected. You’d wanted rough, for him to fuck your goddamn brains out.

“Gator, I need more. Harder.” Your heels pressed into his ass to get your point across.

“You sure?”

“Yes, goddamnit! Fuck me!”

He shoved himself back, pulling out of you completely.

“What are you…?”

“Y’want it rough, flip over. Ass up.” When you didn't immediately move, he added “c’mon sweet thing. Up.”

You did as you were told, rolling over and arching your ass up. You looked over your shoulder, as he grabbed onto your hip lining himself up with your dripping entrance.

“You asked for it, whore.” He breathed out as he pushed back in hard enough to punch the air from your lungs.

He wasn't soft this time, didn't bother to ask if you were okay.

You whined out with each pump, as he started to set a brutal pace. He began to pull your hips back in time to meet each thrust.

“That it, huh? This what y’wanted?”

You didn't answer, nodding as best you could with your cheek pressed into the mattress.

His hand came down hard across your ass cheek that sent you lurching forward.

“I asked you a question. This what y'wanted? Huh?”

“Yeah, yes. It's… it's what I… mmmm… wanted.” Panting out as he continued to rail you.

He leaned over, reaching his arm under your chest placing his hand around your throat. Squeezing lightly, as if he were testing the waters.

When your pussy fluttered and another moan fell from your lips when he applied more pressure it gave him all the go ahead he needed.

He hauled you up with him; your back pressed tightly to his sweaty chest with his hand still wrapped around your throat as you gripped his wrist and forearm.

He slowed his motions, only to put his lips close to your ear, “You know what they call whores who like to fuck cops? They're badge bunnies. Y’wanna be my little bunny since y’like bouncing on this cock?”

“Fuck, Gator.” You wailed out.

“I'll take that as a yes.”

He releases your neck, letting you fall forward against the mattress, holding your hip with one hand as he brings the other up between your legs as he quickly finds your clit.

You grip the sheets, as he begins rubbing harsh circles there, his length continuously stimulating that sweet spot within you with every drag against your velvety walls. It had you clenching around him as that coil within you tightened.

“You close bunny?” A little bunny, trapped by the big bad wolf. Ensnared. Nowhere to run.

“Ughhh, fuck, yeah.” All coherent thoughts pushed from your mind.

He was working you toward the edge, tighter and tighter your lower belly wound.

“Please, don't stop! Don't stop!”

He didn't let up, working your clit with the same, unrelenting pace as his cock split you open again and again in the best possible way.

“I'm not sweet thing. Can I… fuck… can I cum in this pussy?” He grunted out, trying to stave off his own. He wanted to feel you cum around his cock.

“Yes! Cum in me!”

“Fuck, I need you to cum all over my dick. C’mon baby. Need to feel you. Give it to me.”

His words only encouraged your orgasm, that coil wound tighter and tighter until it finally snapped.

You came with a shout of his name followed by “oh God, oh God, oh God” as those fireworks flew behind your eyes. It was the best orgasm anyone had ever given you. You were fucking ruined.

He continued to work you through it until you whimpered into the sheets below.

He grabbed your hips with both hands, surely to leave bruises in their wake, pulling you back to meet his punishing thrusts.

Your senses were overwhelmed and your pussy was starting to ache from overuse.

“Gator, please…” you weren't sure what you were begging for.

“Yeah, Bunny? Yeah? I'm gonna fuckin’ ruin this pussy for anyone else. Gonna be all mine from now on.” He started blabbering.

His hips stuttered, thrusts becoming a little erratic, as he started to spill inside of you. He pulled your hips flush to his, as he painted your walls with his thick ropes of cum.

“Fuckfuckfuck… that's it, that's fuckin' it.”

He stilled leaning over your back, as your legs began to give out, releasing the grip on you as he finally pulled out.

He rolled off of you, lying there beside you as you both caught your breath.

“Care if I take a nap here? I'm up in a few hours back on patrol. Don't feel like drivin’ all the way across town.”

It caught you off guard. You hadn't actually had someone sleep beside you after sex in years, but it was just one night. He'd most likely be gone before the sunrise.

“Uh, sure. I'm going to shower.” Getting up without turning back to him, you heard him mumble something under his breath as he made himself more comfortable throwing the covers over his waist.

You showered quickly just to scrub the day from yourself. The hot water heater didn't last more than 10 minutes in this damn place.

When you were finished, Gator was laying on his stomach. Arms stretched under his pillows, hair strewn in his face as soft snores escaped him.

Your eyes drank him in. Curves and plains of his strong back, moles and freckles scattered like a constellation. The sheet just barely covers his ass. You softly roll your eyes when you notice his boxers on the floor by the bed.

Your gaze flicked up, noticing a tattoo on his bicep. Snorting to yourself when you realized what it was. It was hideous but very much on brand. Making a mental note to make sure to give him hell for it later.

The bed was small, but he had scooted as far to the right that he could, giving you room to lay down beside him. Thoughtful, again he surprised you.

You threw on a tank and some clean panties, easing yourself in beside him under the sheets. He shifted just a bit, mumbling to himself before settling back in.

You turned over on your side away from him, making sure to keep a little distance between you before finally drifting off.

Gator woke a couple of hours later, turning slightly to see your sleeping form beside him. It was still dark out, a sliver of light coming in through the slit in the curtains just enough to illuminate you.

He tried to be quiet as he gathered his clothes from around the room easing them back on his body.

He checked his phone. More than a few missed calls and one single text from Roy.

Where the fuck are you?

He knew he'd get more shit as soon as he got home. After their blowout last night he's surprised no one came looking for him but that would actually mean Roy cared about his well-being.

He sat back down on the bed as softly as he could, trying not to disturb you. He watched a cockroach crawl across the toe of his boot as he laced it. His lip curled up in disgust at the thought of you living here.

Maybe he could help you out if you decided to stay but he knew that was wishful thinking. You'd also made it clear last night was a one time thing but maybe he could change your mind.

He used his phone as a light to find a small notepad and pen on your nightstand. Jotting down his number, with a simple just in case scrawled out.

He took one more look at you sleeping peacefully, slowly letting his fingers trace the curve of your cheek, moving the hair from your face.

He finally understood what his dad had always warned him about. He felt weak with this overwhelming urge to protect you. He didn't really understand it. But deep down he was hoping you'd somehow feel the same.

You woke up with a stretch and a groan. You'd slept cramped, pushed to the edge, careful not to touch the man beside you.

You turned over to a cold spot, suddenly wondering when he'd left.

Sitting up, you reached for your water at your bedside, raising it to your lips but stopped, noticing a note left there.

You gingerly picked it up. He'd left his number.

You thought about tossing it but instead grabbed your phone and input the info, quickly moving screens and typing out a text then erasing it.

You chewed the skin on your thumb, as you looked at the blank message, typing it out again.

Thanks. You took my mind off shit for a while.

Hitting send before chickening out, immediately slamming the phone down on the bed.

One time. It was supposed to be a one time thing.

He had responded to your text later that day with:

Sure bunny. you free tonite?

You had thoroughly ignored it for 2 hours before you texted him back, telling him what time he could swing by the motel after a customer had pissed you off.

It had been like that most nights since.

There were also those nights when he'd pick you up from work, always making sure to come in before close.

Taking the same seat at the bar, you'd happily grab him his usual Jack Daniels over ice. It was small talk at first but gradually became a little more.

You would laugh at his stupid jokes or tell him that he should tell his dad off after he had yet another blow out with him. He left out a lot of the details but you had inferred enough to know he was a piece of shit.

And after close, he'd slip his tongue past your lips as soon as you walked out the door, kissing you hard enough to melt the rest of the day away. His hands were all over you until you managed to get him into the truck to make that small drive across the road.

You’d fucked on just about every surface of that motel room, including some sketchy shower sex that almost landed you both in the hospital when you’d lost your footing.

He couldn’t take you back to his dad’s house, so a week later, he’s got you in the cab of his truck bouncing on his cock like your life depended on it.

The windows were fogged up, anyone passing by could easily tell what was currently playing out. He’d parked in a clearing off a gravel road, close to his ranch but far enough away that no one would bother the two of you.

His cock was kissing your cervix each time your hips met his, at this angle it felt like he was in your guts. It was on the verge of being too much but that familiar ache in your lower belly told you to keep going. You were almost to the finish line.

He currently held his hand against your throat, after he'd figured out you liked it, he started taking it a little further each time.

“I feel her gripping me, your close Bunny. Keep fuckin’ goi…” He was interrupted when a banging on the glass startled you both.

Your movements halted, both looking like deer in headlights.

“Gator, c’mon out son. Need a moment.” Roy's voice rang out against the silence.

“Fuck,” he hissed, through gritted teeth, throwing his head back onto the headrest as you quickly moved off of him, pulling down your skirt and straightening your hair sitting up in the passenger seat.

He shoved his now softening cock back into his pants, zipping them up and jumping out of the truck, slamming it shut.

You picked up your panties from the dirty floor, and shoved them into your purse. From this vantage point you couldn't hear much of what was being said, but it was mostly Roy’s muffled voice coming through.

The more you learned about their relationship the more it turned your stomach. It was one-sided, Roy asking him to jump and Gator immediately asking how high.

You had made up your mind about Roy after that first meeting. The way he treated Gator was disgusting.

After a few more agonizing minutes, the truck door finally opened back up to reveal a very crestfallen Gator.

He hopped in without saying a word, turning the ignition and throwing it into drive. He punched the gas, throwing you back into the seat.

“What the fuck, Gator?!” You yelled, gripping the door as he peeled onto the gravel road.

“Daddy really put you in a bad mood, huh?” It slipped out with a patronizing tone.

“Fuck you!” He spat, pulling his vape from his pocket, letting it hit his lips expelling that sickly sweet smelling fruit that you've come to loathe.

“I mean, we tried that before we were so rudely interrupted back there.” You laughed to yourself.

“Goddamnit,” he hit the steering wheel with his fist, “Just shut the fuck up!”

“Fine. Just take me back to the Midway and don't bother texting me later when you get bored. Fuck you, asshole!” You huffed, crossing your arms and sinking a little deeper into the seat before staring out the window.

Regret started to pool within you. It was bound to happen. It always ended like this. You could never hold your tongue, letting insults roll off so easily.

It felt like the longest ride back across town. He'd pulled up to the curb not even bothering to put the truck in park as you hopped out slamming the door behind you.

A few days passed successfully avoiding him all together. You'd contemplated deleting his number, your thumb hovering over the button each time, then slamming your phone back down.

It was just sex. You could cut ties now and let it be. Once that damn car is done, skipping town would be easy.

It was another gloomy, snowy day in Lehigh. And yet another excuse from Frank.

The heat in your room quit working, so you'd spent the morning moving your stuff down to another room that Maggie had gotten ready for you.

You'd hoped a shower might clear your head, relax you for a bit. It seemed to only make things worse. You were tired.

Checking your phone you were met with a text you'd been dreading.

You still in town?

Ignoring it, you laid down hoping a nap would do you some good.

Waking a couple hours later, you had a few missed calls and more texts from Gator.

Can we talk?

I came by the motel. Your room was empty. Did you leave?

Hello?

You groaned, sitting up.

Finally relenting and typing out a reply.

You almost sound worried, big boy. I'm fine. You can kindly fuck off now.

It began to buzz in your hand as you hit ignore. It continued off and on most of the day. A few more missed calls and messages, later that afternoon it finally stopped.

You breathed a small sigh of relief, curling back under the covers shutting the world out. Just how you preferred it.

You dozed in and out of consciousness. The TV provides soothing background noise keeping you snoozing all afternoon.

You were wrenched from your slumber when someone began to pound on the door. Dazed for a few seconds, before the pounding started again.

“Fuck, give me a second!” You yelled across the room, stumbling from the bed uncaring how you looked, sleep shorts and thin tank top with your hair askew.

Immediately jerking the door open, you’re face to face with a very agitated looking Gator. He must have been working today, dressed in his vest and gloves.

“Fuck no.” You said, and started to close the door. He was quicker, placing his boot clad foot in the way preventing you from pushing it shut.

“Move Gator.” You hissed.

“You’ve been ignoring me.”

“No shit. I told you not to bother. I should have blocked your ass. Now, move!” You shoved a little harder to no avail.

“What the fuck are you mad for, huh? You didn't get to cum that day, that it? There's a lot of things you don't understand. A lot of shit I can't talk about.”

You swung the door open, as you locked eyes with his.

“Oh, no I get it. I see it. You let daddy tell you what to do. You've been sneaking around with a whore and finally got caught, right?” He looked away, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. Bingo.

Nodding your head as he finally looked back up to you.

“Yeah, that's what I thought. It's fine.”

“No, it's not fine.” He finally spoke up. “Can I come in? Just for a few minutes.”

“Why, Gator? We both know what this was. Just some fun, nothing serious. Remember? You don't owe me an explanation. You don't owe me anything.” You laughed, but it died out once you noticed the look on his face.

If it was nothing serious, why did he look at you like you'd just knocked the wind out him? Big, glossy puppy dog eyes just like that first night you'd hooked up.

If it was nothing serious, why did your chest ache at the thought of hurting him?

“Gator, I…” You couldn't finish that sentence, he moved so quickly and in your groggy state before you could register what was happening, he placed one hand on your hip as he brought the other up to cradle the back of your head.

He kissed you so deeply, yet it had you yearning for more. You surprised him when you kissed him back, sucking his bottom lip between yours before letting go to look back up at him.

“Fuck, Y/N. I've… I've fuckin' missed you.” It came out quickly. A rushed confession you'd been expecting but to hear him say it out loud, only solidified what you'd been feeling. The reason you'd been so depressed the last couple of days missing his company.

You'd been on your own for so long, you'd forgotten what it actually meant to miss someone. For someone to miss you. It wasn't just about the sex anymore.

“It's only been a couple days.” You grinned, pushing your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck.

“I know, I just thought you'd left and…”

You brought a finger to his lips.

“It's ok. I'm here.” For now.

“Yeah, you are Bunny. And I'm not letting you get away so easily.”

You didn't want to put a label on this or did you? Would that be so bad?

You started moving quickly, helping him out of his jacket, his shirt flying over his head in a flurry. He walked you back, letting your knees hit the edge of the mattress, laying you back slowly.

His lips sealed to yours with a searing kiss. You were needy. Tongue and teeth. Pushing and pulling at each other.

Your hands flew to his buckle, undoing it with ease. Taking him in your palm as he moaned into your mouth.

He palmed your breast through your shirt as his thumb grazed over your nipple. Your body arched into him, already craving more as he began peppering kisses along your jaw.

“I fuck… Gator… I need you. Now.”

“I've got to get you warmed up sweet thing.” He chided.

“No, now. Please.” You whimpered.

He moved his hand lower, sliding your sleep shorts to the side, immediately his fingers trailed to your entrance already dripping arousal.

“Fuck, so wet.”

“I told you, I need you. Don't make me beg.” You pleaded.

He moved his digits up, swirling them around your clit, eliciting those sweet sounds he was looking for.

Removing his hand from you, he lifted himself up so he could push his boxers past his hips. He brought his palm up to your mouth, “Spit. Yeah, good girl.”

Bringing his hand to his cock, smearing a mixture of your spit and his precum down his length.

He slid your sleep shorts back over with one hand and guided himself to your entrance.

You had to will yourself to breathe as his tip began to stretch your inner walls. It was too much and not enough.

He slowly filled your aching pussy, as you wrapped your legs around him, eager to have him pressed into you.

“How are you always so goddamn tight?” He said, as you whimpered out, his cock pushing in to the hilt.

Immediately, he pulls out, only to push back in feeling deeper than before. The force of his hips pushing you further up the mattress with each thrust.

The pretty noises he drew from you only made him double his efforts. Picking up his pace, but rolling his hips a little upward each time. The wiry curls at the base of his cock nudging your clit each time his hips meet yours.

“Gator, I'm… mmmm… I'm close.”

“Yeah, bunny? Gonna strangle my cock? Gonna let me have it?”

You nodded as your eyes rolled back, it was closer than you thought.

Your orgasm hit with a scream of his name, as your pussy clamped down like a vice around him.

“Oh, fuck.” He tried to work you through it, but with your cunt pulsing around him he was done. He spilled his thick ropes inside your velvety walls as you milked everything from him.

“Fuckfuckfuck, filling this pussy full baby.”

He finally stilled, collapsing onto you, nearly crushing you in the best possible way.

He moved his arms up under your back pressing his face into your chest, mumbling something you couldn't quite hear as you brushed the hair from his face.

“What, baby?” You whispered down to him.

Baby. Baby. Baby. The first time you'd called him by a pet name. He grinned from his spot on your chest.

“Nothing, sweet thing. Just talkin’ to myself.”

You hummed absentmindedly, raking your fingers through his hair.

“How'd you know where I was?” Suddenly remembering all of those desperate texts and calls.

He pulled his head up to look at you, resting his chin on your sternum.

“Well, I asked that lady at the front desk. Tough old broad to crack.” You giggled, Maggie would never rat you out. “So, I started bangin’ on all the doors until I found yours.”

“Gator! You're crazy.” You laughed out.

“Crazy for you.” He mumbled pulling you on for a slow kiss.

“Wanna shower and stay the night?” You asked when he pulled away.

“Of course Bunny.” The nickname was unfortunately sticking around but you didn't mind.

You'd showered together, he didn't care that he'd go back home to Roy in the morning smelling like your vanilla body wash or rose scented shampoo. He'd made up his mind you were worth the shit he'd hear from him. That's all it was, shit.

He pulled you into his chest as you curled up into the sheets. Neither of you were very tired so you watched some TV and talked long into the night until your eyes grew heavy.

He'd be there when you woke up this time, groggy smiles and giggles between the sheets as he fucked you slow, taking you to breakfast afterwards.

It was the first time you hadn't felt like you were hidden away.

After that last night, things began to shift between you. The lingering looks, soft touches and post orgasmic bliss of tangling your limbs together while falling asleep wasn't something you shared with someone you didn't care about.

The secrets shared in the dark, confessions from you both crumbling that wall you had built up so high you were sure nothing would bring it down, especially someone like Gator Tillman.

He's arrogant, disgusting and rude. But somehow exactly what you need because he'd do anything to show you he's there for you.

You know it wasn't a coincidence your car was fixed the day after mentioning it to him. Frank had been jerking you around, thinking he could get more money out of you.

He was sporting a newly broken nose and wrist when he handed over the keys with a frown etched to his face.

The car was fixed. The one thing holding you back from leaving Lehigh for good.

As you pulled up to the Midway, he was parked there waiting for you, leaned against the truck, his favorite green cap on backwards with a cloud of smoke exiting his lips, slipping his vape back into his pocket when he spotted you.

You got out, your heart hammering in your chest. Neither of you ever had questioned what might come next.

He shoved his hands into his pockets as you came to stand in front of him.

“So?” He tilted his head, looking down at you.

“So…” You looked at the keys held in your fist. That voice in the back of your head kept warning you. Time to run, little bunny. Make your escape while you still can.

���Your car's fixed. You uh… plannin’ on leavin’?”

“I haven't thought about it.”

He snorted, “Yeah, that's bullshit.”

He moved, as you watched him walk around to the front of the truck.

“Hop in. I wanna show ya’ somethin’.”

He drove you across town, and winding down a few back roads.

“If you wanted to go parking, you could’ve just said so, handsome.” You laughed.

He rolled his eyes, “It's not that. Just trust me.”

Trust. Such a powerful word. Something the two of you built over the last month. You did trust him.

You reached over to intertwine your fingers through his, as he smiles back at you.

He pulled up to a house off to itself, on the smaller side but it was quaint and charming.

“What're we doing?” You asked as he parked.

“You'll see. C'mon.”

You followed behind as he led you to the front door, producing a key and opening it for you.

“Whose house is this?”

“God Bunny, you ask too many damn questions. Get your ass in there.” He nods, leaning on the doorframe as you walk past.

It's a two bedroom, one bath home. Nicely kept. Clean. But you were still confused as to why you were standing here.

“She's yours if you wan’ it.” He finally said, as you whirled back around to face him.

“What're you talking about?” Your brows furrow, confused by the sudden statement.

“Well, I mean, if you wanted to stay here in Lehigh. It's a rental.” He shrugged. “And, no girl of mine is stayin’ in that roach infested dump another day.”

You felt heat creep up your cheeks, but shook your head. “Gator, I can't afford this place.”

“Sure you can sweet thing. It's a steal at $500 a month.” Placing his arm across your shoulders, pulling you into him.

"$500? That's cheaper than the motel.” You squinted up at him, moving from his grasp. “What did you do?”

“Me? I didn’t do anything!” Gesturing to himself. “What makes you think I did somethin’?” He finished the sentence with a not so subtle grin.

"This place is easily worth double that. So, Gator Tillman, I'll ask you again. What did you do?”

"I didn't do anything. Just know someone owes me a favor s'all." You eyed him suspiciously, still wondering if it was a half truth.

"Well, I'm sure I’ll still need the deposit, so it'll be at least another month."

"No Bunny, like I said, someone owes me.”

You mulled it over for a moment, chewing your bottom lip.

“I can't.” You watched his face fall, but you quickly put your arms around his waist, pulling him in. “Not unless you stay here with me.”

He wrapped his arms around you, resting his chin on top of your head.

“So, you stayin’?” He mumbles into your hair.

“For now. Until you piss me off.” You smiled from where your face was pressed into his chest.

No more running, that urge was quelled with him. You finally felt at home.

Home was never a place to you, so it made sense that it ended up being a person.

#gator tillman #🐊 #gator tillman fanfiction #gator tillman smut #gator tillman x fem!reader #gator tillman x reader #gator x fem!reader #gator smut #gator tillman fic #gator tillman fargo s5 #gator x reader #joe keery fargo #fargo season 5 #badge bunny series #gator x badge bunny #gator x bunny #gator x you

[slothspaghettiwrites]

Bestie. Bestie…

The world deserves to know all about Country!BigDaddy!Ari. Bless them. Bless us. Tell us all about his rusty red truck and his bad habits and how he fucks when he’s had cheap Jack Daniels. Tell us, bestie.

Look, I know we were just talking about Daddy and this ask is quite old, but let's talk

Big Daddy

Warnings: country/hillbilly au, female!reader(she/her), heavy daddy kink, pet names, a bit of second chance romance, smoking, drinking, explicit sexual acts, head canons because I doubt I will make this full fic to share with everyone and we were feral and unhinged on discord when this first came about.

Country!Ari is a wild one night stand that turns into so so much more when you finally leave the big city and come back home where you belong.

Ari is very blue collar, works for the county on the highway crew, owns a bit of land and lives in a double wide.

Ari was captain of the football team when you were in high school together, and he is still very popular. Most of the guys from the team still get together and play touch football on the weekends

When you come back to town, he makes it his mission to make you his for keeps. He got one taste of your perfect pussy, heard you moaning his name and calling him Daddy for one night and he was hooked.

Everyone around town teases the fuck out of him the way he follows you around like a big puppy dog. If only they knew what he was whispering in your ear 🫣

"C'mon, sugar, why are you fighting us? Such a stubborn little thing just because of something in high school? I just wanna treat you and that sweet pussy of yours right. Let me be your Daddy."

It is no surprise the first time (really this is the second time), you fuck it's during a Friday night football game. You don't even know why all it took for you to say you'd go was your mama saying "Ari goes to every home game", but you showed up.

The 1st quarter isn't even over yet, but Ari catches you a few spots over on the bleachers eating a soft pretzel with cheese and he's dragging you away to where his truck is parked far out in the field lot. It took everything in him not to lick the little bit of cheese off the corner of your mouth in front of the whole crowd.

Ari's truck is big and red and "old". It's a bit rusted out and really jacked up, but he looks regular sized next to it. The passenger side is missing the foot rail so he always has to help you climb up.

However when the tailgate is dropped, it's the perfect height for him to have you lie back while he eats your pussy like a starved man.

And does he fucking love giving you oral. Loves feeling the weight on you on his face, the muffling of his hearing with your thighs clenched around his head.

He could spend the rest of his life with your clit in his mouth and your pussy juices running down his chin.

The one thing he won't do is finger you.

At least not if he plans on fucking you. If your sweet lips are around his cock he can't stop himself from coming down your throat. He will finger you then if you want something to cum on too.

But when he has every intention of fucking all the thought outta your little baby head, Daddy only uses his mouth to get you ready for his dick.

"Let Daddy in sugar, wanna feel every inch of me in ya, don't you? Gonna treat you just right, baby, fuck you just how you need."

God taking his cock a stretch 😤 it's heavy and thick and long and so fucking pretty just like the rest of him. He loves when you get dumb on it. Loves how all it takes to get the sour outta you is Daddy's cock stuffing you full.

"Only sweet for me, ain't'cha? Only like this for Daddy."

Big Daddy is full daddy mode basically all the time. He is so sweet on you.

Anyhoo 😤😤😤😤😤😤

#sloth asks #howdoyousleep3 #ari levinson smut #ari levinson #ari levinson x fem!reader #ari levinson x reader #this has only been sat in draft for an age and a half #😅😅😅

[powderblueblood]

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER SIX — IN MY ORBIT

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summary: it's escape from new york, if by new york you mean eddie munson's trailer. he knows you need to stay away from him, you know he needs to stay away from you, but honey... who else is gonna tell him there's an 'e' in roane county? content warnings: MINORS DNI obviously, my god. we've got your usual here-- mentions of masturbation, both male and female, white hot motherfucking yearning of the sexual and emotional kind, a surprise nancy wheeler, little women references, sticking it to the teacher we don't need no education style, eddie munson says acab word count: 12.2k

Dear hooker from the Christmas card in Minneapolis, can you shut the fuck up? I need to think!

Dear Bilbdoolpoolp, you nutty sea bitch goddess, do me a solid and send me a diversion– tear the roof off this trailer– I need to think!

Dear Lacy, quit looking at me like I just bit the head off your Virginia Woolf doll. I want to suck face with you so bad, like really goddamn bad, and you seem like you want to do it to me as well, what with your whole, like, big doe eyes and all that shit, but I need.

To think. 

It’s not what Eddie wants to clamp over your mouth, but it’s what you’re getting. His hand, his whole ringed hand, which takes up the better part of your face so all he can see is your eyes flashing from possibly turned on (jury’s still out) to confused to plain angry. 

“Mmmphmph!” you squeal against his hand, and he pulls his most panicked, most pleading expression out of the bag. 

“Lacy! Lacy. Lay-cee,” he hisses, teeth grit and spittle flying,”Do me a favor, do me a favor for once in your life and be. Cool. Be cool.”

His fingers slide from your mouth and your jaw is set all hard. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?!”

Right. Ice princess. Totally. Totally. “When I said be cool, I meant be quiet!”

“Ed.” That gruff rumble is coming from right outside his door. Eddie holds an index finger to his lips, and motions, like a goddamn kindergarten teacher, for you to do the same. Because that’s all you seem to understand. And you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway. And he– fuck, you’re cute. 

“Yee-aah?” he calls back, tone about as even as the Appalachian mountains. 

“Can I–”

“No!” Eddie barks, seeing that door handle twist a fraction of an inch. What would Wayne do, if he caught you in here? Would his brain explode all over the trailer? Would that be the end of the last truly good Munson family member? I mean, probably not, but he’d be all disappointed in Eddie and that would be worse. So much worse. “I’m not… Decent.”

You, still with your finger planted in the indent of your cupid’s bow, do a bad job of suppressing a snort. “Who are you, Rita Hayworth?” you hiss, and Eddie raises his hand to seal your stupid lips up again. Stupid. Lippy. Stupid lips. You bat it away, motioning like, okay, I’ll be cool!

Who the fuck is Rita Hayworth, anyway?!

“Well. Get decent,” Wayne says, a single knuckle rapping on the door–that means get movin’, “Need to talk to you.” 

And far be it from Eddie to keep the man he’s effectively betraying by stowing you away in his bedroom waiting. Up like a shot, he lifts the needle from the skipping record, pausing by the door before he heads out to meet his fate. 

He can tell by the look on your face that he’s blown this. Whatever it is– was. He had a perfect precipice of a moment, and he’d totally shot himself in the foot. But Eddie would sooner see you alive and unkissed than dead of pneumonia in the freezing rain, ‘kay? Call him a hero, whatever. 

“Just–”

“--shut the fuck up,” you whisper, hands drawn up in surrender. Realizing that there’s nothing funny about this situation. “I got it.”

The door whumps closed behind him, shaking the entire trailer in its wake, and you wait all of three seconds before racing to it and pressing your ear up against the paint-chipped wood. 

What’s going on out there? Is it about me?

How could it be about you? Unless Munson’s uncle had some kind of sixth sense, some breach in his cerebrum that alerted him once you crossed the threshold of his precious trailer. Come to think of it, you don’t remember seeing a second bedroom in this thing. 

You’d be lying if that didn’t elicit a little pang of pride– my trailer’s better than your trailer, you jealous? Doesn’t answer the question of where the Munson uncle sleeps, but at least you and your mother had a two-bedder. 

To your flaring frustration, the Munson men have opted to use an indecipherable muttering gravelly man octave with which to discuss this pressing business. That could or could not be about you. Insanely inconsiderate that this is the one time that Eddie Munson isn’t the loudest voice in the room, a ball of fury and sound and action knocking over everything in its wake. When it was the one time you actually wanted to hear what he had to say.

You also regret to inform yourself that that wasn’t all you wanted from him, up until about forty-five seconds ago. 

The white-hot embarrassment of being caught ready to throw a leg over him–the white hot embarrassment of being caught holding onto his wrist in the record store, of him catching you falling out of his van–descends over you in a wave that almost takes you out at the knees. 

But you’d wanted it– you did, in one suspended moment that you couldn’t pawn off on being high or drunk or wildly angry, sobbing soaked out in the rain. You had looked at Eddie Munson, in his dark, bottomless eyes and took in his slope of a Grecian nose and his dumb, effusive mouth with the pink lips and the pretty teeth and you had wanted it. Him. Him and the nebulous it that he would inevitably end up doing to you. 

He wanted you back. You thought. 

When Eddie slips back into his bedroom, you’re peeking through his blinds. Your trailer remains in total darkness, that criminal slip of a key obviously still jammed in the lock. You look over your shoulder at him and his brow is set in such a weird and distant crease that you think– shit. Maybe I hallucinated all that. Maybe that was all me. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, voice flat and near silent. What happened out there?

“My mom,” you start, “She…”

Never came home, is where you were going with it, but you don’t get to finish. “Okay,” he says, all absent. He flicks off the bedroom lamp as he passes it, this unconscious motion that leaves you both stranded in a blue-tinged darkness. 

In the moments it takes your eyes to adjust, he’s sitting next to you on the bed.  

“I’m gonna sleep on the floor,” he tells you. His irises are shiny and hard and serious.

Oh. The kind of tension you want to poke at. 

“Don’t be stu–” 

“I’m not bein’ stupid, Lacy.” 

You blink. Your faces are close. In the dark, the fractals of him would be easier to not remember in the daylight. You could pick out the parts you wanted–his cheekbone, his jutting jawline, the sloping corner of his mouth–and not puzzle them together in the morning. You could separate it. It could be fine. A non-event. 

“It’s cold,” you press, your voice low and solid, “and you don’t have another comforter.”

“How do you know that.”

Lucky guess. “I just do.” Just let me have this without having to ask for it.

I am a little afraid, I don’t know of what, and you’re the last solid thing I can grab onto.

Or lay next to. 

“What side of the bed do you sleep on?” 

“All of it.” God, he’s so obstinate. 

“Pick a favorite.” 

His mouth–his mouth–scrunches up the way a shitting cat’s might. You puncture the silence with a visible shiver. This staredown is horrible. 

“Fuck. Fine.” Point to Lacy. Eddie, arms out, gestures to the side of the bed furthest from the door. “Get comfy.”

In a scramble, you dig yourself under the comforter, pulling it all the way up to your chin. But now the shivering has started, and there’s no sign of stopping it– real, muscle seizing, teeth-chattering shivering. 

Eddie mumbles something like Jesus Christ, or God help me or some other plea for mercy, and slides in beside you, pitching himself at the very edge of the mattress. Arms folded over his chest. 

“You gotta quit shaking!” he hisses.

“I am fuh-reezing!” you seethe back. 

You kick your knees up into your arms, facing away from him and curling yourself in the tightest of balls and really, really working hard on calming down your wracking because, honestly? Little embarrassing.  

The mattress crreeaaaks. A shift in weight.

“Are you really that cold?”

You put that shaking to good use and nod in the affirmative. “Ice princess, right?”

Like you were putting this on for show. God, he’s such an asshole. 

The way he gulps is borderline cartoonish. “Okay.” A shaky breath. “But we have to not make this weird.”

The mattress shifts again and you feel his weight edge closer to you. You relax a little from the fetal position, head craning to peer over your shoulder. He was– hovering, as much as one could hover when lying in a horizontal position. 

“Munson, are you trying to cu–”

“Stop it. Stop making it weird. I’ll throw your ass out that window and it’s a cold snap and you’re already cold blooded so you’ll, like, double fucking freeze to death.”

But he wouldn’t. Of that you were fairly confident. 

Eddie’s hand edges toward your waist, positioning his front side ever closer to your back, which feels… not horrible at all, until–

“No. Nope. That’s not gonna work.”

You have to bite back a smile. Boys. Boys and their stupid, simple penises.

He flops back against the mattress, head angled to the ceiling. Awkwardly, he jigs an arm up, like some puppeteer’s yanking his string. His hand hits you square in the back of the head.

“Ow–”

“Shut up. Get under here.”

Slowly, and almost shyly, you rotate your shivering body a cool one-eighty degrees and find him concentrating resolutely on the ceiling. You glance up. There’s black mold on that ceiling. You wish you had noticed that before, but when up shit creek, et cetera. Inching and inching, you settle in next to him, head nestling into his armpit. 

His arm gingerly curves around you.

You bring your hands up to your mouth, fingers curled in fists like a little kid. 

Your leg brushes against his, accidentally, racking up the leg of his flannel pants. You can feel the hair against your bare calf– strong, ticklish.

And you can hear his heart.

Jackrabbity. Thu-thump-thu-thump-thu-thump.

So’s yours.

He is so warm. 

“Hey,” he whispers, tone a little softer this go around, “Can I ask you something?”

You do a tiny swallow and hope it’s not obvious. “I guess.”

“... Does it stink down there?”

Eddie Munson smells like cigarette and soap and that warm smell from the dryer. You inhale and hope it’s not obvious.

“Yes. You’re ripe. It’s disgusting.”

“Good. ‘night, Lacy.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.”

–

Eddie wakes up with a painful inhale and two of his rings tangled in your hair. 

Shit! Fucking shit! See, he was supposed to stay awake, stay alert, make sure Wayne didn’t like, suddenly develop a tendency to sleepwalk and stumble into his room while you were all… curled up next to him. With your freezing little ice blocks for feet. And your lashes fanned out across your cheeks. And your tiny little kitten snores, you goddamn bitch. 

But for as freaked out as he was–and is, girl in his actual human bed and everything–Eddie started nodding off here and there. And suddenly, here and there became the morning sun beaming directly into his stinking retinas from a crack in the blinds. 

He is now hyper-aware of your hand curled beneath his sternum and your boobs pressing against his side.

The following procedure needs to be handled delicately, like a bomb.

Because the other thing, among all the other other things, is Woody fuckin’ Woodpecker has come calling this morning too. 

Now, blue sky situation, ideal world, you’d just be able to scoot that hand a little lower and help him out with such an issue. But since he blew any shot of you wanting that along with any semblance of dignity he held in your eyes last night, that is a no-go. 

He needs a Bible level miracle to will himself soft and untangle his rings from your hair without you waking up. And he also needs to wake you up and smuggle you the ever-loving fuck out of his trailer. 

Careful, careful, careful– he starts picking strands out from around the silver, wondering how the hell he let himself just… tousle his hand around in your hair without, I’unno, getting turned into a pile of dust.

Then you make this noise– this little mewl, like mmnnrgh?, and Eddie’s entire body skips a beat. He needs to commit it to memory, record it to the ongoing multi-track mixtape he’s unconsciously been creating in his mind. Lacy’s Greatest Hits, featuring dick-in-fist chart toppers such as Who Died and Made You My Parole Officer?, Sorry, I Don’t Teach Remedial, and an eight hour loop of you saying his name. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

He wants to pull you on top of him, rings-in-hair and all, and kiss all the broken little mmnnrgh?s out of you ‘til you don’t have the breath to make any more. ‘til all you’ve got is his name on your tongue, your Siberian cold hands under his shirt. 

And if he keeps thinking thoughts like this, he’s gonna kill himself!

This is not helping. You are not helping. 

With some absolutely saint-worthy maneuvering on his part, Eddie gets his fingers free of your hair, but it’s not the gentle tug that wakes you up–

It’s a certain eardrum-perforating WHOOP-WHOOP.

Eddie Munson never thought he’d see the day where he was thanking whoever down there that’s lookin’ out for him for the sound of a cop car. Instant boner killer.

But also–

“Issat-thefuckin’-cops?” you slur at an almost normal volume, rising from underneath Eddie’s arm. 

He shushes you, all harsh and wiry and you’ve just woken up, bleary-eyed and not yet able to comprehend your surroundings. Which, boy howdy. He darts to the window like an animal alarmed, peering out through the blinds. 

“Oh, you gotta be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“What’s happening?” you whisper-ask, slapping consciousness into yourself with a palm to either cheek.

“Lacy, on a scale from one to ten,” Eddie seethes, scanning his view from the window, “How likely is your mom to report you as a missing person in under 24 hours?”

Your stomach drops with an acidic, awful clunk. Going out and making a fool of us. Your mom, caring only when she absolutely has to. 

“Eleven.” 

Eddie turns his big, siren-eyed stare on you. 

“Then we gotta get you outta here. Like. Yesterday.”

You, now, you’re at a total loss. A total loss that’s made your blood turn bad under your skin, a total loss that has made you want to strangle your own mother, but a total loss where it actually matters. “I can’t believe she’d–!”

“Don’t matter, sweetheart! Does noooot matter– this the first time you ever got the cops called on you or something?”

You blink, remembering red and blue lights outside of your house in Loch Nora. But that wasn’t for you. Technically. Figures why you suddenly feel morning-sick nauseous, though. 

“Well, mazel tov,” Eddie says, misreading the memory and starting toward his door. 

You scramble for him, tugging at him by the bottom of his t-shirt. “Where are you going?!” 

“Running interference. We need a distraction,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Okay, sorry for not being an accomplished criminal.

“Interference. Yeah. You’re good at that.”

He hits you with a sneer. “Not my first rodeo. You post up by that window and watch– when the coast is clear, I’ll give you a signal.” 

“And then what?” 

“And then– and then what?!” Eddie gasps, totally incredulous that you’d even try to ask– to seek his guidance, or whatever, “And then you’re on your own, kid! I’m already about to throw a match into the powder keg of your stupid hot mom, I’m not gonna stick around to watch her blow up!”

A quiver escapes your pinched lips, one that nearly says don’t go. 

You’ve been taking care of yourself for a long time. That’s not the problem. The problem is tasting what it’s like when somebody helps you and realizing you haven’t had your fill. That, and your mother’s wrath which is your father’s wrath if you blow your cover and word gets back that you were hanging out in Al Munson’s boy’s trailer. 

Nuclear fallout. Worse than Eddie’s room. 

Eddie notices that you’ve been quiet a half-beat too long– and not just because you are both pressed for time, he puts his hands on your shoulders. Reassuringly, hurriedly. He shakes you, pump-pump, snap out of it. 

You’re still gripping the hem of his t-shirt. 

“Hey.” His voice is quieter. “This is gonna be fine.” 

“Before you go out there, I– I need to ask you something.” It’s all compulsion. Why are you helping me? Why are you being nice to me? I don’t deserve you being nice to me. 

Do you regret not kissing me last night? Do you regret not doing it right now? What am I supposed to do if I regret it too? 

“Lacy?”

“Did you fuck Cass Finnigan in the ass?” Oh, yeah, there it fucking is.

Complete bafflement. Eddie seems to completely short circuit, powering back to life with a groan. “Wh– how did you know that?”

You huff, because it’s all you can do. 

“I’m the goddamn Oracle of Delphi.” Finally, your vice grip of his shirt loosens. “Well. Go get ‘em, tiger.” 

Okay, insulting.

Eddie stalks out of the room, head reeling on several different strata levels. By someone’s infernal grace, Wayne has already left for the day–it’s 7AM; way to get a headfirst start on inconveniencing the boys in blue, Lacy’s mom–so Eddie has ample space to flail his arms around wildly, frustratedly, cursing himself out before grabbing his uncle’s insulated parka from the coat rack and heading out the front door. 

“Officers,” he says, half-wishing the zip on the jacket would choke him out so he wouldn’t have to put himself in the line of fire like this, and for what. “What’s uuuup?”

“Perfect.” That clipped yap comes from behind a cloud of smoke, teeming out of your mother huffing back a Dunhill. “There’s the little curr himself. Ask him where my daughter is, why don’t you.”

Well, now Eddie sees where you get it from. 

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to school, son?” one of the officers (Callahan, if Eddie’s last speeding-ticket-receiving memory serves) drawls, clearly not all too concerned with the happenings here. But, considering to your mom, who can resist a Blanche DuBois type in a crisis, right? Definitely runs in the family. 

Eddie lets his tongue loll out in an exaggerated hack-cough. “Sick day.” 

“Then you oughta be inside, right?” Cops, man. Our nation’s greatest thinkers.

“I would be,” he says, taking on the haughty tone of– well, of your mother, “was it not for that obnoxious weew-weew of yours rousing me from my sick bed.” He even clutches at the lapels of the coat, shivering for effect. That one’s for you, baby.

“And y’know what, while we’re on the subject of noise…” You weren’t wrong when you said that he’s good at running interference– because he’s good at being a nuisance. “I’ve been meaning to put a call into you guys. You guys, police guys.” Eddie moves to stand in the negative space between your trailers, however many feet it is. 

“See how much distance it is from here–” he points to his trailer where, if you’re not totally fucking this up, you’re watching from the slits in the blinds of his bedroom, “--to here?” Other arm goes up. He’s standing there like Christ the freakin’ Redeemer, and the cops’ attention is pulled right to him because he’s got priors and he might do something weird and they’re idiots. Your mom is all about Eddie too, forgetting to be concerned and distraught for half a moment. 

Munsons have that effect on people. 

“... yeah?” Callahan says, prompting a wild-eyed Eddie to go on. 

“I should not be there,” again, a nod to his own trailer, “and be able to hear Englebert Humperdinck from in here.” He waves a wild arm toward your trailer, edging a couple steps closer to it. Big ol’ brown eyes here locks his gaze on your momma. “Lady, that’s crazy. What are you doing playing ballads that loud?!” 

Lacy Sr goldfishes back at him, mouth bobbing, presumably-last-night’s lipstick bleeding. Still so very hot. 

“I mean, look, I get it, you’re writing a letter to daddy in jail–and that sucks, and if you need company, you know where to find me–but can’t you do it a little quieter?” Eddie says, a wholly believable impression of a flabbergasted man. The cops almost seem to buy it. 

“I am not in there playing records–” “Right, you’re too busy letting your daughter go missing under your nose. Listen, ma’am, this might not be Loch Nora, but around here, we got respect for our neighbors!” Oh, he is a honey-glazed Christmas ham. 

A honey-glazed Christmas ham that is advancing towards your trailer door and dragging the attention of the attending adults with him, indicating you with a subtle two-finger salute that you better get out of his. 

You snap the blinds back into place. Motherfucking go time. Until you realize that you have no shoes to speak of, just your book bag and whatever’s left of your steely reserve. You’d tossed your sneakers into that bag with your sodden cheerleader get-up– where the hell was that now? 

You shove on the sizes-too-big work boots by the door and make it happen. 

Eddie’s out there just pantomiming like his life depends on it and you take the steps in front of his trailer two at a time, as silently as is humanly possible– and fuck, it’s cold out here, but the cold helps! The cold makes you faster, more decisive, more agile simply down to the fact that you need to get out of the fucking cold. Adrenaline is sparking off at the base of your throat, making you a little dizzy but a lot determined. 

You catch Eddie’s eye as you sneak, sneak, sneak around the back of your trailer. He gives you a not entirely subtle thumbs up and yells, “Yes! Yes, I think it’s an issue pressing enough for the law, I am a goddamned high school senior! I can’t study if the dulcet tones of Paul Anka are breaking my focus every five minutes!” 

“Thought it was Englebert Humperdinck?”

“She’s got a catalog of records on her like you wouldn’t believe!” 

Then it’s just hands on the outside of the trailer, feeling around for like, a trap door, some loose paneling, anything. 

“Oh, so we couldn’t have sprung for a model with a freaking back door?!” But a window is kind of like a back door, you realize, and you’re a goddamn cheerleader. You’ve got a core of steel.

A lot of elbow grease is required to slide open the window of your tiny living room, but by god do you crank that thing. Army rolling onto the couch and into a bunch of boxes of breakables–living mausoleum, great to see you again–you freeze. That’s a lot of clattering. 

“Did you hear that?” Your mother’s voice. 

“I’m shocked you can hear anything at the volume you’re playing those Rat Pack records, duchess.” Eddie. You choke out a silent laugh as you dash to your bedroom.’

Alright. Alright. I gotta make it look like I was up to something… First word that comes to mind? Slutty. Because that’ll make the police no longer give a shit what you were doing (she brought it on herself) and effectively redirect your mother’s rage. 

Hands tear off the borrowed boxers and Stooges shirt and grab the first thing in your mess of half-unpacked clothes. A form-fitting jersey dress in dark blue, which you throw on without thinking of underwear. A calf-length pea coat on top of that. The nearest pair of loafers to go with. You’re not formulating this outfit, okay, but one cursory look in the mirror and it sure does scream walk of shame. 

But at least it doesn’t scream walk of shame from trailer across the way. 

Then, your front door creaks. “No, I know I heard something in here…”

Fuck! Fucking fucker! As delicately as humanly possible–so, not very–you ease yourself out of your own bedroom window, book bag in tow. 

I’ve gotta make this look believable.

You land on the ground with a soft thump, mere feet from your front door. There, Eddie is holding up the rear of the party walking into your trailer. You, not a goddamned second to lose, break into a soft jog and do a fucking make-believe loop around Eddie’s place, heart hammering in your ears. 

You, a professional in willing your own reality, call out a super convincing, “Mom?” as you approach your trailer from the opposite side. 

As if you just got here. 

“Lacy?!” she squawks, darting right back out from whence she came. She barrels past Eddie, the two Hawkins police officers following close behind. 

“What is… going on?” you ask. Lying– you come by it natural. 

“Where the hell have you been?!” your mom shrieks, and she would slap the shit out of you if she could. You see that much in her fiery eyes. “You know, I came home this morning to a key broken off in the lock of our door and you were nowhere to be found! Nowhere!”

You cannot help yourself, unable to stomach her self-righteous display of motherly concern. “So where the hell have you been ‘til this morning, Mom?”

Her mouth hardens into a line. Comin’ real close to getting backhanded in front of the cops. 

“I came back after cheerleading last night,” you explain, eyes going all earnest and wide as you include the cops in your little spin– paying special attention to Callahan, because he’s not not a little cute, okay? “It was raining like crazy, and I was trying to unlock the door and–you know how that lock sticks, Mom–my key just broke off! In the door! I was like, gee, what do I do? And you weren’t home, Mom. And I had no idea how I could reach you. Mom.” The second she gets you alone, she’s going to strangle you. Worth it, for the look on her face. “So I went to a friend’s.”

Callahan seems to drink in your disheveled appearance. “A friend’s, huh?”

“Just a friend’s, Officer,” you simper, batting your eyelashes, trying to steam up the little piggy’s horn-rimmed glasses. “Promise.”

In the near background, Eddie Munson silently gags. You have to force the corners of your mouth down to keep from smiling.

“I’m so sorry to have wasted your time, gentlemen.” Your mom’s chipped manicure tightens around your bicep. “Get inside that house. Now.” 

“Hardly a house. Doesn’t even have a goddamn back door.” 

The cops give a good ol’ salute and get to getting, their quota for community service just about totalled for the day. Passing by Eddie on your way to the front door, your mom rolls her eyes. “Typical.”

Over your shoulder, you throw him a twisty little grimace. A mouthed thank you. Seriously.

“You ladies keep that racket down, now,” he calls and watches your mom muscle you past the doorway. 

Slam goes the door, the trailer seeming to shudder with it. And then it’s quiet. Still. Eddie sighs out a big, cold lungful, his eyes trained on your front door. Without the immediate distraction of you, the memory of last night’s hushed and furrowed conversation with Wayne gathers over him like a stormcloud, heavy with thunder, pregnant with rain. 

Your dad called.

Al Munson never calls. He just shows up. He never calls, unless he’s trying to take the temperature of a place. A place that’s recently been occupied by a family he had a significant part in completely blowing up– yours.

Eddie has… no idea what he’s supposed to do about that. 

Because Eddie Munson deals in absolutes. 

And he, unfortunately, evidently, obviously, absolutely cannot stay away from you now. 

–

So following the events of that fateful Friday, you had no good goddamn idea how to behave. You spend the weekend without a single sighting of Eddie Munson, much to your confusing chagrin, and you really did try your very best to behave normally about this. 

But for the first time in a long time, you were completely alone. 

No chittering friends to distract you. No stilted lunches with your mother. No conversations into rusted handsets through shatterproof glass. 

You drifted around town, retreading haunts that really should have elicited some kind of feeling in you. They used to, y’know, when you escaped the neon of Starcourt (before it burned down) for the mothball-scented stacks of the bookstore.

Which, fittingly enough, was just called The Bookstore. Way to establish a town-wide monopoly. 

Toeing around the shelves, chipped nails clutching a Simone de Beauvoir book you’d already read but lost and didn’t exactly intend to buy, you willed yourself to give into the curse of familiarity. To woo yourself with recognizable surroundings. To pretend like your whole worldview wasn’t skewed by a Stooges t-shirt still lying under your pillow. 

The boots, you’d left in an inconspicuous position by the front door. 

The rest of it, though… 

Consciously, you’re reaching into the shelves of the philosophy section, reorganizing the whole thing because they’ve completely blended the Eastern and Western flavors (and even have a little theology thrown in there, for Chrissake). Unconsciously, you’re thinking about how you’ve been wearing that Stooges shirt in some respect since Thursday. How Friday night found it rucked up around your breasts as you squirmed under the covers, two fingers in radial motion in your panties, muffling gasps into your shoulder. Thinking about him gripping you by the shoulders, leaning into you in the half-light, his hair fanned out on his pillow as his arm sloped around you. How Saturday found you with such white-hot shame that you couldn’t even think about him grinning at you without cringing. How Sunday, today, in the bookstore, finds you wearing it under your bottle green sweater. 

You’ve lost your mind. Your entire mind. The Woman Destroyed, indeed.

So, maybe it’s better that you’re spending the weekend solo. But of course, the moment that thought occurs and you yank a copy of Fear and Trembling off the shelf, you’re looking down the barrel of something just awful.

Red-rimmed eyes, bucketing tears and sniffling, there’s goddamn Nancy Wheeler. Full on weeping, in your bookstore. What’s worse is, there’s no passing this off– there’s no pretending you never saw it, like you normally would, because she makes direct eye contact with you. 

“Ohgh–!” is the noise she makes, a kind of snotted-up exclamation, a congested gasp of surprise at your own dissociative gaze intruding on her private moment. 

God, you’re so tempted to just slam the Kierkegaard book back in place and high tail it out of the place. 

But you don’t. 

From your confessional box-esque view, you can see that weeping Wheeler is clutching a copy of Little Women.   

“Don’t worry,” you murmur, the bookstore always making you take on a library-hush tone of voice “They don’t all die of scarlet fever.”

It catches Nancy off-guard; she lets loose a little heh-heh, despite her crumpled expression. “I know,” she says, voice all uneven from her tearfulness, “I’ve read it a million times.”

“Which part got you this go around?” you ask. “The book burning? Meg and that pitiful violet silk debacle? Jo’s sham marriage?”

“Jo doesn’t end up in a sham marriage,” Nancy spikes, wiping under her eyes with a delicate knuckle. You wish to god this girl would turn ugly just once. It’s sickening. 

But you were right on this one, and you knew it. “Does so. She spends her whole life refuting the idea of getting all shacked up like Meg, only to settle down with a man, what, twice her age?”

“She loves him.”

“Does she? I mean, she loved Laurie too, in a way.”

“You think she should have ended up with Laurie.” Nancy says this to you in a way that’s almost condescending. A tear drips off the tip of her perfect nose. Fucking joke.

“Don’t be so goddamned simplistic, Wheeler,” you sigh, rounding the sagging bookcase so you can meet her in her aisle. Because you’re right, and you’d like to be face-to-face when you tell her so. “Jo shouldn’t have ended up with anybody.” 

Her brow crinkles. “That’s way too sad.”

“Really?” you scoff. You’d have expected Nancy Wheeler to cop to a narrative undertone a little better than that. “All Jo wants is freedom– to live as she pleases and write as she pleases. It’s totally diminutive to just marry her off in the end. Jo deserves to be alone. Make her life completely her own. She doesn’t need Friedrich, or Laurie. She’s enough– she’s Jo March, for Jesus’ sake.”

A seed in this triggers something in Nancy and lets out a big old yelping sob– one that makes Ivana, the take-no-shit owner of The Bookstore, lean over the counter and glower at them. Library hush, remember? You take a couple of steps forward, shielding Nancy from view. 

“Okay, what did I do? What’s going on here?” you ask– you kind of hiss, actually. 

“I’m sor– no, it’s nothing, it’s stupid!” she blubbers. “Just… God, they all get to be a lot sometimes, don’t they?”

And immediately, you know exactly what she’s talking about. Your friends. Your friends loved to shit on Nancy Wheeler, both to her face and behind her back– though it was more of the latter on this on-again phase of her and Steve’s rocky romance. Steve had shared some not-stern-enough (as far as you’re concerned) words with you guys, basically asking you to lay off Nance. Yes, she’s a nerd. Yes, she kind of thinks she’s better than you guys. Yes, she kind of can’t hang. But she’s Steve’s girl, and that’s what matters. 

To her credit, she’s made an effort with you all this time, despite all the ribbing. Despite your pointed coldness toward her. 

She doesn’t see kindness as a weakness. You do. 

It occurs to you that you’re wrong. 

“Tell me about it, sister,” you mutter, hugging de Beauvoir and Kierkegaard to your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” she sniffs, meeting your achingly dry eyes with her big, sparkling wet ones. You hate a pretty crier. She looks like a fucking woodland creature. “For how they all treated you, I’m sorry. I should have said something.”

Ah, because you were victim to some not-so-sly digs too. Nancy was probably relieved the heat was off her for once. 

“I believe that,” you say, and you do. She’s got no real good reason to lie to you, especially being that you’ve been such a pill the entire time you’ve known her. “But what did we expect, y’know. Lie down with dogs and all that shit.” 

“Right,” she nods. Peers at the books in your hands. “That’s pretty… heavy stuff.” 

“What, this?” you flash her the Kierkegaard, “Wait, shit, this isn’t Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas!” 

Nancy laughs as high and clear as a bell, and you feel kind of… good about it. Proud of yourself. The sound dies between you, a touch of awkwardness coloring the moment. 

“Listen. Nancy.” Your tone takes on a seriousness; this is advice you usually save for yourself, but… you don’t know. You’re feeling charitable. Inspired by recent events, maybe. “All of these people are bottoming out in the middle, okay? You don’t need to worry about them. Their relevance in your life is… fleeting, at best.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Yes,” you tell her, and mean it, “Always have.”

“Didn’t always seem that way,” she says, a tilt to her head. Her bloodshot eyes are studying you. “You seemed pretty wrapped up in them, from what I saw.”

“I’m a chameleon, girl. I adapt to survive.”

“Is that how you feel about… all of them?” There’s weight behind that question. “Bottoming out in the middle?” 

She means Steve. You can tell she’s also afraid that she thinks the same thing. Sweet, devastatingly handsome, unambitious Steve. Lionhearted, driven, stratospheric Nancy. She’s going places. He’s going to his shift at Family Video.

“You’re not ready to hear my thoughts on that,” you say, reaching for the book in her hand. Out comes your fountain pen and you’re scribbling in the inside cover. “But you should call me, when you are.”

“Okay, but— you know this means I have to buy this now,” Nancy chuckles.

Amateur.

“Not necessarily,” you say, taking a step closer and slyly slipping the book into the open tote she’s carrying. You pat the wide-eyed Wheeler on the shoulder. 

“Sometimes the five finger discount chooses you.”

–

Monday morning finds Eddie Munson not just on time, but early for first period. He’s here before you are, sinking further and further into his seat as he anticipates your arrival. Of all the freakish things he’s done in his whole entire life, this behavior is the freakiest. 

But he couldn’t help it. It was a weekend of strategically watching through the blinds so he could avoid you if you left the trailer, and sometimes catching you watching him back. Though, your blinds still aren’t fixed, so it’s not like there was some vice-versa catching going on. What? Shut up. It’s been a confusing forty-eight hours. 

He’s slept so poorly that he’s actually hallucinated you in that cursed Stooges t-shirt a couple of times, pacing past your bedroom window. 

These visions have led him to have quite the cramp in his dominant hand. 

Which is not great, because he’s probably going to have to re-take this pop quiz that Kaminsky is apparently handing back today. 

And a cherry on top of this weirdo shit cake is Ronnie Ecker is sitting diagonally across from him at the top of the classroom, looking all concerned and stuff. 

He hasn’t told her anything. Not about you and your impromptu sleepover at the trailer, not about his dad’s looming and uncertain return, nothing. 

He’d gone over to her place on Saturday to work out some kinks in some Hellfire stuff, but he’d spent most of the time standing in the middle of the living room, zoning out at the TV as an episode of Murder, She Wrote rolled on. 

“Dude, what’s the fucking matter with you?”

“Wh– nothing! Angela Lansbury, man, she’s really. Uh. Magnetic.”

But as much as Ronnie had pressed, and she had pressed because she’s a presser, no juice was coming out of this little orange! No siree fuck. Eddie had done such a good and painful job of saying nothing that Ronnie had completely sold herself on the theory that the black mold in his bedroom had finally entered his brain. 

Which, I mean, eventually it will, right. 

Point is, Eddie is now shitting himself because he knows that the second you walk through that classroom door, it’s gonna be written all over his face. Maybe not in such excruciating detail as I helped her out of the rain and she put her head on my chest and she smoked a cigarette so pretty I almost died and we listened to my–our?!–favorite Tom Waits record and we almost kissed but I did technically sleep with her if you want to be super nit-picky about it, but. Ronnie’ll know something. 

And Eddie has an idea how Ronnie will react– and it matters to him how Ronnie will react. Always has, always will. And she is going to beat him to death with her Trapper Keeper, probably, screaming bloody murder about what a moron he is for letting this happen. 

But also, she might not. Because she’s always kind of admired you from a distance, too. She would kind of be all shy whenever she came out of a Biology class that you two shared. It was super weird, because Ronnie doesn’t do the crush thing. 

Is this just the deadly nightshade effect you have on people, or what?

Fuckshit. Shitfuck. As if he willed your arrival into existence, there you are. Breezing through the door in some belted velvet getup, with your shiny little shoes. They’ve got ribbons attached, winding around your ankles like you’re a ballerina or some bullshit, a terrible, sultry ballerina with daggers for eyeballs that are aiming right at Eddie. 

He diverts his interest to his textbook for the first time in his academic career. 

And he prays, prays, that you still don’t want to acknowledge him in public– that you’ll just sit down in front of him and ignore him. 

Somebody down there likes him.

You take your seat, leaning back further than you need to and flicking your hair all over his desk. It’s almost like every other Monday, but this time it feels pointed. 

“Well,” Mr Kaminsky sighs, following you in the door and looking as bedraggled as ever. “You should all be ashamed of yourselves.” 

He clicks open his briefcase, clearly imagining the silence in the classroom to be worth much more than it is. “Some of the worst quiz answers I’ve seen on record.” 

Your hair smells familiar, Eddie thinks. Like a mixture of your rich, smoky floral perfume and his shampoo. 

“That’s what you get for pulling a shittily written paragraph-answer pop quiz on a half-taught section, dumbass,” Eddie hears you mutter. 

Kaminsky calls your name. “Something you wanna share with us?”

Eddie watches your shoulders stiffen. “We’re not even halfway through the section, Mr. K. How are we supposed to answer questions on something we haven’t been taught?” 

“Hilarious, coming from you,” Kaminsky says, stabbing a finger in your direction, “because you’re one of the only aces.” 

“Just because I passed doesn’t mean I agree with the way I was taught,” you level, and Eddie can see by the way your shoulder blades shift that you’re folding your arms. “I read ahead, anyway.” 

“Great. You can continue that independent learning streak,” Kaminsky smirks, “in detention.”

“Oh, that is bullshit!” 

Christ, Eddie wants to kiss you between those tense little shoulderblades. All the way down your spine.

“Yeah? Be my guest–Lacy? They call you Lacy, right?–and take two. Now, if there’s no more objections to my teaching methods? No?”  

Thunk. A stack of papers lands on Ronnie Ecker’s desk. “As the only other person who scored a hundred and hasn’t given me any lip, go ahead and pass those back, Miss Ecker.” 

Ronnie, god love her, does as she’s told. But not before doing a little rifling through the stack and scribbling something on one of the tests. The papers sail back through the classroom in a whirlwind of white, take one, pass it along. 

You’ve got Eddie’s, and you hold it over your shoulder without so much as turning to look at him. Which is what he wanted, what he needs, sure, but what he actually wants is for you to accidentally graze his hand so he has an excuse to hold it and maybe eat it.

He snatches the test back, all nerves. Unsurprisingly, a big fat D for duuuuhhhh plants itself in red like an ugly lipstick kiss at the top of the page. Eh, at least it wasn’t an F. You take the victories where you can get ‘em these d–

All of a sudden, you’re snapping back around, grabbing Eddie’s paper back from his desk. 

“Hey–!” he hisses, almost knocked unconscious by another bloom of your perfume. “What’re you doing!” 

You, again, do not even deign to look back. You just stretch a single index finger back in his general direction– a Lacy-coded sign to fuck off, I’m busy. You hunch over the paper for the remainder of class, seemingly checking and re-checking and going at it with your precious fountain pen. 

He spends the next forty minutes in a cold sweat, mind racing, until the bell finally rings. 

Then it’s a dash, with Eddie trying to grab you and you heading straight for Kaminsky and the both of you just slamming into his desk. 

What in the everloving fuck could she be doing now? 

“This is a C grade,” you state, plain and simple. Kaminsky just flops his khaki-wearing ass into his chair. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Eddie’s test. You mis-graded him.” Wait, this is– is she helping me? “You docked him points here, here and here when the answers were perfectly fine.” 

“I think I know how to grade a test, Lacy. I’ve been doing this, for a job mind you, since before you were even a twinkle in your convict father’s eye.” Woah, Kaminsky. Straight for the jugular. 

But then Eddie notices you seize in the tiniest of flinches and decides he kind of wants to punch out this teacher. “Look, hold up, we don’t–”

“Fine. Compare it with mine.” You smack your test paper, with its circled red A, on the desk next to Eddie’s. He squints, and he recognizes it, because he’d recognize Ronnie Ecker’s handwriting anywhere– up top of your sheet, scribbled, HARD AGREE– TOTAL BULLSHIT. “They’re basically the same answers. I mean, same content, same major point– the sentence structure leaves a little to be desired, but he’s got the right idea.” 

Snared.

“Wait, really?” Eddie’s eyebrows raise. Okay, even he didn’t know that. He barely remembers even taking this test. He can’t be sure he didn’t cheat, but he’s not about to mention that now… 

You look at him, right at him, for the first time today. And shrug, with your one little shoulder, like you love to do when you’re too cool to speak. 

“And you give a shit… why?” Kaminsky says, asking the question we’re all pondering. 

“Peer tutoring,” you tell him, enunciating those words like you’ve taken elocution lessons. You could’ve. You’re, apparently, full of surprises. “I’m rehabilitating my image.”

Kaminsky is going red, red, and redder under that collar. 

“Which is why I won’t be able to make it to detention. Either of ‘em.” 

“Now, you listen to me, you little hoity-toity madam–” the older man says, shooting out of his chair to lean almost nose-to-nose with you. Eddie reaches a hand out, to either pull you back or slap this dude, but you sense it coming. Push it away. Ow. 

“Mr Kaminsky,” you say, all mock gasp, “What is Ms Kelley gonna say when I tell her that you’re getting in the way of me enriching my fellow students’ academic experience? Is that really the kind of environment we want to foster here at Hawkins High?”

You hit the teacher with a sneer of a pout, boxing him right down to size. And Kaminsky actually retreats, like physically backs off. 

“Fine. Fine.” The teacher grabs a red marker from the cup on his desk, harshly scribbling on the ‘D’ on Eddie’s test and marking up the whole paper with a massive fuck-you ‘C’. “Best of luck with that rehabilitation, Lacy. If this is the company you’re keeping, you’re gonna need it.” 

“Neato threat, real original!” you chirp, and it’s all venom in those vowels as you gather the tests back, “Knew you’d see the light, Mr K.” 

Eddie, of course, follows your hard little steps out of the room like a loyal mutt. But not before he turns and aims a whaddaya gonna do! flavored shrug at Kaminsky. “Go Tigers?”

“What?” In the hallway, he struggles to keep up with you in a sea of jostling students. “And how?” Dodging a backpack. “And–” Marry me? Tripping a freshman. “Gareth! Watch where you’re going, man!”

“Kaminsky wants to play hide the klobása with Kelley.”

“The what?”

“Czech sausage. He’s Czech– Christ. He wants to bang her.” 

“Oh.” Get in line, my man. He watches you twist your combination lock with a grace that’s frankly unnecessary. He’s fidgeting where he stands. So much for avoiding you, but he was doomed from the start in that regard. “That was– woah, back there. Like, I think you might have just single handedly raised my GPA.”

“Good. So we’re square. Indy County Tech Center, here you come.” You deposit your books, grab some more, and flick his newly-graded test at him so that he has to catch it in midair. Then, a slam! of your locker door and you’re gone, making tracks down the hallway in your little ballerina shoes. 

“Lacy– Lacy, wait up.” Eddie finally falls in step with you, following wherever you’re going. “I’m feeling some hostility here.”

“Wow, point to Munson. How perceptive,” you snit, not meeting his eyes.

“Are you mad at me?”

“How could I be mad at you? I don’t even know you.”

“Lacy, don’t be a bi–”

That makes you stop dead, stabbing a finger in the air near his chest.

“Do not fucking call me a bitch.” You mean it. God, but you mean it, and he can see it; you’re about to boil over, just about holding it together. Your big eyes flutter at him and he feels like he doesn’t have kneecaps. You suck in a jagged breath, hard expression faltering. “I feel like an idiot. If you really wanna know. I thought–...”

“You thought what?” he asks, and he kind of knows, but he also thinks that might be blowing shit way out of proportion. You look down, tugging a piece of lint from your sleeve. Eddie verbally nudges at you, because if he touches you, he might a) crumble or b) be on the receiving end of some blunt-force trauma. That binder you’re holding is huge. “Lacy. You thought what?”

“I just–... You ignored me all weekend,” you say in this little mouse voice he was not expecting to come from you. Except, he had heard it before. I’m cold.

But so what? She’s– she’s always cold.

“And? You’ve ignored me, like, my whole life.”

“I know that, but…” This is difficult for you to choke out. Bodies pass into classrooms behind you and soon enough, you two are alone in the hallway. Again. But there’s no sniping, no snarling, no cur-like behavior with your teeth exposed. “I didn’t hate being in your trailer.” Oh my god. Oh my god. “Hanging… out with you, I didn’t–” Holy shit. Eddie does not know where to look, what to feel, what to think, what to do. And he shows it as much, kind of just gap-mouthed staring at you, willing himself to say something smooth– or at least nice. But when you glance back up at him, finally, it’s a look of defeat. 

“Look, whatever. Congrats on your C. We’re even. So you can forget it.” And you move around him, ducking through the door of AP French. 

Not you can forget it, like in your dreams, Munson, but you can forget it like it was right there and you blew it, buddy.

The classroom door clicks closed and Eddie bends at the midriff, feeling like he’s been stabbed. 

–

You felt like you were trying to digest a rock until the final bell rang– though, c’mon, you didn’t know what you could have possibly expected. Eddie Munson is Eddie Munson, and you’re you. And you’d thought it yourself, it was an instance of temporary insanity. Dawn broke, the harsh light of day illuminating all the reasons why you two being anything less than contentious semi-strangers was a logical impossibility. 

So what if you wanted to kiss him. You’ve wanted to kiss a lot of people and haven't done it. It hadn’t killed you. 

However, it hadn’t gnawed at you like this either. 

Nancy Wheeler called, by the way, which means she stole that book off the back of your advice–that, or paid for it once you left the store, a flurry of charming apologies fluttering around her head like Snow White’s attendant birds. Typical. But she’d called, and you two had had an awkward forty five second conversation where she asked you if you’d mind awfully if you looked over her latest piece for the Streak. 

Something about spotlighting female business owners in Hawkins. 

“Coffee’s on me!” she’d said brightly, so super-duper keen. You all-of-a-sudden hated to put a damper on her, so you said sure. 

“But I’ll be uncompromising. I want you to know that.”

“Of course. That’s why I asked you.”

It occurred to you then that Nancy Wheeler, in her way, might actually look up to you. 

How fucking weird.

And sure enough, there she was, waiting for you in the parking lot once you gathered all your stuff from your locker. She leans against her car, wearing a corduroy skirt and a sweater that you don’t even really hate, and throws you a casual wave. The thing about Nancy and her consistent commitment to kindness toward you was she wasn’t even asinine about it– she never chased you around the playground, begging you to put on her friendship bracelet. If she did, you could actually hate her. Hate her for being cloying and desperate. You could call her all the shitty words for saccharine in the book and feel justified. 

But that is, regrettably, not the case. 

You almost say something like, Thank god your car is out of the shop, I’m sick to death of walking in these shoes, before you remember you made up that thing about Nancy’s car being in the shop. In order to skip class with Eddie Munson. 

And just as you’re crossing the lot to her wood-paneled station wagon (family car, you’re guessing?), that very same Eddie Munson skids directly into your path. Like, gasping for breath. 

“You di–huhh, you didn’t hear me calling you?” he says, straining against his lung capacity. 

“Jesus!” you jump, “No!” 

You really didn’t. You must have rage-tuned him out. 

“Oh, right. Oh, fuck, you walk so fast. Gimme a second here,” Eddie wheezes, hands on his knees. “You– you want a ride home?”

You look over his shoulder to a very perplexed looking Nancy Wheeler and find yourself fighting a smile. Motioning for her to wait a sec, you turn back to Eddie. “I’m good. I got a thing with Wheeler.” 

“Wheeler the priss?”

“And Lacy the bitch,” you remind him of that epithet he’d pinned on you like a corsage. 

He clocks it and grins. Eddie’s grin lands like a dollop of cream in your otherwise shitty coffee. You do not like this about him. At least, not right now.

“The dynamic duo.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna go solve crimes,” you roll your eyes, kind of over the whole bit already, “You’re making us late. What do you want, Munson?”

Eddie holds up a ringed finger, uno momento por favor, and digs around in his pockets. Candy and gum wrappers and an old, crushed cigarette soft pack all fall out during his cavity search until finally, he produces a crumpled piece of bright yellow paper and thrusts it toward you. 

“It’s no Harrington kegger, but you are cordially invited.”

It’s a flyer. Corroded Coffin, Live at– Oh. Oh. It’s been painstakingly hand-doodled and photocopied, the pencil marks where mistakes have been erased still visible on the print. 

This is his band.  

You, in only the way you can, study it with a quirked brow– a look of dismissal, one might even say. Your eyes slowly raise to meet Eddie’s, who looks as if he’s about to start hopping from foot to foot, there’s so much nervous energy thrumming under his leather jacket. 

Fwump. You palm the flyer into his chest. You nearly feel the physical sensation of his heart sinking. 

Then, you pluck your fountain pen from thin air, uncapping it with your teeth. 

“There’s an ‘e’ in Roane County, dumbass.” 

With the delicate nib, you scratch the letter onto the misspelled place name, using his chest as an upright writing desk. You can actually feel his breathing becoming all uneven. His grin rounds out its corners and becomes a smile, and you can tell the difference between those two expressions now, apparently. 

“Does that mean you’ll come?”

“That means I know where it is,” you say, capping your pen and leaving him clutching the flyer to his chest. 

“Friday! Ten PM!” Eddie yells after you, hand cupped around his mouth. “Roane County Quarry! With an ‘e’!” 

Nancy meets you with a look of total bemusement as you finally tug open the passenger door of your car. She watches Eddie watch you, almost tripping over his Reeboks as he walks backwards toward his beat up van. And you read every inch of the look she’s giving you. 

“He is my neighbor, Wheeler.”

“Yeah! He seems like a… super nice neighbor. Really friendly.”

“So not ready to talk about that yet,” you mutter, beating back a blush that’s threatening to color your cheeks. 

Nancy giggles– bubbly like phosphate, friendly-teasing, not pointed, not mean. Weird feeling. She turns her keys in the ignition. “But when you are, will you call me?”

–

You’d swear Corroded Coffin were about to be on the cover of Circus, the way Eddie has been… well, Eddie-ing out at rehearsal all week. He’s thrown not one, but two temper tantrums about the boys not sounding tight enough (“We need this clown car tight, you clowns!”) and has received not one, not two, but three perfectly aimed drumsticks to the head, courtesy of Ronnie Ecker. 

The third one was just target practice, but he earned the other two. 

“What has crawled up your ass, dude?” Jeff, a sophomore that can admittedly out play every single one of them in bass and every other instrument, demands. 

“I bet I know what crawled up his ass,” Ronnie glowers from behind her snares, “Or should I say who.”

Now, Ronnie hadn’t witnessed Eddie giving you that flyer, or your copyediting work on it, but she had that preternatural thing where she could feel it when Eddie was out and about doing some dumb stupid dumbass bullshit. Like those dogs that can detect earthquakes. She’s full time on the beat detecting earthquakes. 

“Cool it, Jessica Fletcher.” Maybe Angela Lansbury really did do a number on him. “I quite simply want us to sound good, for once. Not Hideout good– good-good. The Quarry is a big deal! Like, a literal big cavernous deal. You want a dry run for the Garden? This is our shot, maestros.” 

“Are you seriously comparing Roane County Quarry to Madison Square Garden?” Cyrus, their second guitarist and first-rate vocalist, says with narrowed eyes. “Something did crawl up your ass.”

“And die,” Ronnie agrees.

“And now the death stench is in your brain,” Cyrus adds.

“And the stench has turned toxic.”

“And the toxicity is killing off your brain cells one by one by one.”

“And we’re gonna get on stage at the Quarry, and your head is gonna explode–”

“Just like Scanners,” Cyrus and Ronnie finish in such an eerie unison that it actually raises goosebumps on Eddie’s arms. 

“Fuck, are they serious?” sweet, gentle, naive Jeff asks, brown eyes flared in alarm. Something about being a child prodigy in one arena makes you so desperately gullible in everything else.

“No!” Eddie barks. “We just– we’ve gotta be good.” 

Because what would Lacy say about what Robert Christgau would say about us?

Something cutting like a scythe, brilliant like a diamond. 

But for your part, you don’t know much about metal. 

I mean, you’ve got a vague familiarity with the genre– you’ve got a subscription to Rolling Stone and Creem (RIP), for god’s sake. The roots were far more accessible to you as a whole; ‘Smoke on the Water’ by Deep Purple has the kind of intro you can paint your nails to, for example, and ‘Immigrant Song’ by Led Zeppelin feels like hotwiring Billy Hargrove’s car and driving it over a cliff (in a good way).

The absolute thrash of it all, though? Your one musical blindspot. And you weren’t quite sure how keen you were to lift the veil on it 

Regardless, you decided you were going. You were going to show up at Roane County Quarry, ‘e’ included, and dip your toe into the kind of lawfully insouciant scene you’d always fantasized about, ever since you read your first Kerouac.

Granted, the metalhead-and-allied contingent of Hawkins weren’t exactly the Beat poetry set, but you doubted they’d be boring. You imagined a lot of leather incorporated into the outfits. At least one of them would have a switchblade. Maybe there’d be a Hells Angel there. 

The only way to know is to go. 

Something Eddie possibly failed to consider, being that he has molten lava in place of a bloodstream, is that it is positively arctic on this fateful Friday night. So sub-polar is the goddamned weather that you have to dig out your warmest coat. 

Your warmest coat isn’t exactly the desired attire for a thrash rock show happening in a quarry. 

“What the hell is she wearing?” come the murmurs as you slip your way through the modest (but gathering?) crowd, all finding heat around fires set in trashcans and mouthfuls sunk from bottles in brown paper bags. Girls with hair so gelled and spiked and backcombed that it looks sharp and flammable give you dirty looks, and the looks their boyfriends give you are even dirtier– and not even in that way! Misogyny in rock and roll, alive and fucking well!

You spot Eddie Munson in the near distance and bend down, grab a pebble, and pelt it at his denim-and-leather clad back. He spins, alarmed, on alert, and does a bad job of dimming how he lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree when he sees who’s launching projectiles at him. You. He’s all lit up, looking at you. 

You glance away. Like, yes. The miracle has arrived. Calm down.

Then his face falls a teensy bit.

“What–” 

“If you ask me what I’m wearing, I’m going to scream,” you say, crossing your fuzzy arms over your fuzzy chest. “And we’re in a quarry. Sound carries.” 

Eddie reaches out, hand all gnarled like Dracula or something, and pets you on the arm of your coat. 

“Guys, get over here.”

“No–” you start, but all of a sudden, all four members of Corroded Coffin are taking turns stroking the arm of your fur coat. “Stop that. It bites.” 

“Eddie, can you confirm or deny that it bites?” Ronnie Ecker says in a tone you’ve never heard Ronnie Ecker use before– knowing, biting, a little nasty. You’re not sure whether or not to be offended by that, but… you like this look on her. 

Or maybe you just like when anyone gives Eddie Munson shit. 

“He’s never had the privilege,” you say and shoot Ronnie a sly look. Just to test the waters. She blushes. Point to Lacy.

“Alright, let me go ahead and nip this in the bud before it begins,” Eddie cuts in, manually removing Ronnie’s petting hand from your upper arm. He flourishes a hand out in front of you, a half-bow, a consummate dork. “We’re almost on. May I escort you to your seat, m’lady?”

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, committed to the contrarian bit for the time being, but let him lead you all the same. “They reserve seating in this ditch?”

“Not for everybody!”

“Why am I getting special treatment?” You don’t know what answer you’re expecting to that question. 

“Lacy,” Eddie levels, stopping dead at his van and looking you dead in your face, “you wore a mink coat to a metal show. You’re not a VIP, you’re a liability.” 

“What, dead animals aren’t hardcore enough for you people anymore?” you drawl as he props open the passenger door of the van. You take his hand, as you’ve taken his hand a handful of times now, in a way where it’s almost ordinary. But then, halfway in and halfway out of the van, you pause. 

“Oh, no. This just won’t do.”

“Whaddaya mean?” Eddie mumbles. 

“Well, I’m not gonna be able to see shit from here.” 

“Where do you–”

“I’m getting on the roof, asshole.” 

You slam the door on him, rolling down the passenger window. All hands and swinging limbs, careful not to snag your tights on the peeling paintwork, you clamber out the window and up onto the roof of his van. Settling your ass down, crossing your legs over his windshield, you flash him one of those winning smiles. He smiles back.

There’s a buzzing in your stomach. It’s not from the flask of whiskey you’ve been sipping from, but you’re willing to lie. 

“Cheerleader,” he teases. 

“Break a leg, Munson,” you say, cheersing that aforementioned flask to him. “Snap it clean off for me.” 

There’s not a whole lot of pre-show faffing about (you didn’t time your entrance to hang around) before Corroded Coffin takes the stage. And god, the sound is horrendous. You can barely hear the banter up top (winning, you’re sure) from the band’s frontman– which, to your shock and awe, is not Eddie. It’s a fellow senior named Cyrus Painter (great name, by the way), who you vaguely recognize from Math and from the Hellfire table you crashed that one time. He doesn’t seem to hold much of a stage presence beyond glowering and muttering darkly into a microphone that’s barely picking up his voice, but all importance of that seems to go right out the window as soon as they hit the opening chords of their first song. You think it might be called ‘Whiplash’. 

And it’s good. 

It’s almost perverse, how technically accomplished it is– like, high school bands should not be this technically accomplished, but then you twig that Ronnie is in band. Like, the marching band. And so is that other kid on the bass, the one who they featured in the Streak for winning a bunch of teen virtuoso awards. Cyrus carries the song with the beautiful grace of a wrecking ball, but–and you might be biased–the one that’s putting the texture on this whole operation is the lead guitarist. 

Eddie’s not in band. Eddie’s not technically perfect. But it’s Eddie that’s throwing shots of gasoline down the hatch of this fire-breathing dragon. This would be way too neat of an outfit if it wasn’t for him, fingers flying so fast over his fretboard that he barely touches it, scuzzing up the surrounds of the thrash metal with an almost bluesy warmth. 

Warmth. Of course it’s warmth. Of course it’s searing fingers and sweat you can almost see teeming from underneath his bandana, even in the sub-zero temperatures. It’s Eddie, throwing his whole self into this. 

A shot of pure admiration followed by a twinge of envy. 

You wonder how he does that. 

The song concludes, barely leaving time for whoops and applause before they launch into another. They’re laser-focused, locked in like Chrissy Cunningham in that goddamn basket toss, and you kind of get it. It’s not for you, but you kind of get it. This is sword swinging fucking music, slay the monster fucking music. 

Dungeons and Dragons fucking music. 

It’s all build, all fantasy, all story, all rage and rush and ravenousness. And before you know it, it’s all over, and you’re applauding– applauding more reservedly than you feel you want to. 

“I’m comin’ up there!” There is Eddie, who’s apparently made a beeline from the milkcrate stage to his van, under the pretense of loading equipment. Which he’s managed to do in what seems like thirty seconds flat. 

A gas lamp of eagerness and pure energy, he’s blazing bright and clumsily hoisting his way onto the roof to sit with you– he doesn’t have your muscular strength, so he has to kind of swing a leg and roll his way up there, almost knocking you over. 

“Woah!” you giggle as he collides with you, reaching for your flask with a gimme that. He hoists himself up next to you, tugging off his bandana and running a hand through the flattened waves to give them a little oomph again. But Eddie right now, he’s all oomph. 

“So,” he nudges you, eyes gleaming, “Don’t leave me in suspense, Lester Bangs. Whatdja think?”

You screw your lips up, sigh hard through your nose. “I don’t know how to tell you this, Munson…” 

“Hmm?”

“...but it didn’t suck.”

“Really?” Eddie’s eyes gleam, like you just scored him that ‘C’ grade all over again. 

“Re–ally,” you nod, pulling the flask from him, “I mean, Ronnie? She’s fucking John Bonham.”

“I keep telling her that.”

“And that kid on the bass–?”

“Jeff.”

“Jeeeeff. Him and Cyrus, right? Dead set on a Pulitzer.” 

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You let the trepidation hang between you for a beat or two, letting Eddie’s eyes search your face with a big fat uuummm? Hello? as you take an achingly long pull of that whiskey. 

“Am I forgetting somebody?” you murmur. 

“Oh, fuck you!” he barks through a laugh. You’re both shoulder to shoulder, his breath blowing warmth onto your cheek because of how far his voice projects. “C’mon, Lacy. I can take it.” 

“Can you?”

“Don’t tease me, ice princess.”

“‘Don’t freeze me’, you mean.”

“Dammit.” 

“Gotta be quick on that trigger.” 

“I know.”

“Like you are on that fretboard,” you finally hand it to him. “I mean, shit, Munson.” 

“Really?” he says again; he is beaming, glowing from the inside out. He’s radioactive, this kid. You cannot, cannot, cannot stop looking at him. “Really shit, Munson?”

“Really shit Munson!” you exclaim, a little louder than intended–blame the whiskey. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

“Who, me?” Eddie shrugs, stretching his arms over his head. “I’m a self-made man, baby.” You think, for a second that he might try and pull that corny movie theater move where the boy stretches only to drape his arm over the girl’s shoulder– and you’re half-relieved, half-disappointed when he doesn’t. 

“Incredible,” you say, when you could’ve said bullshit.

That makes him… almost shy. He glances away from you for the first time since he’s sat up here. “Yeah, well. Gotta while away the hours somehow.” 

“Can I ask you something?” It flies out of your mouth before you have a chance to stop it. 

“If it’s about what I was doing out at that crossroads with my guitar, then no.” 

“Can we be friends?” It’s nearly medical, the way you ask him. Like you’re verifying symptoms. And he’s taken aback– maybe it’s how straightforward you are about it, or maybe it’s the weird, tender lilt to your tone. Eddie blinks.

“... do you mean right here right now friends or actually acknowledge each other in the hallway friends.”

“I mean full time at your lunch table friends,” you say. Suddenly, your throat is very dry. “You can even carry my books if you want to.”

Eddie’s eyes narrow, and his voice seems to narrow with them. “I don’t know. Sitting with us sorta requires that you join Hellfire…”

“Friends need boundaries, Eddie.” 

“Price of admission, babydoll.” The way he rolls his head over his shoulder is… shut up.

You pause, honestly kind of mulling it over. 

Eddie hitches himself a little upright, a lightning flash of concern dashing across his face. “I”m fucking with you. Yes, we can be friends…” he breathes out a laugh, washing you over with that studying look again, ”What a weird way to ask.”

“But weird good, no?” you say, and you say it all bright and searching– like you’re looking for his approval. 

Eddie, with his hand braced against the roof of the van, directly behind your back, leans in so that his chin is resting on your mink-covered shoulder. He looks up at you, revved up on post-show adrenaline and a little of your whiskey. It is now, you realize, a little hard to breathe. Eddie Munson smells like cigarettes and soap and garbage can fire and sweat and rock and roll.

“Weird like you’re a weirdo, Lacy,” he hums, “And I aaalways knew it.” 

Bangbangbang! The sound of Ronnie Ecker’s balled up fist on the side of the van makes you both nearly jump out of your skin, two skeletons too close for comfort. 

“Guys, I hate to break up–whatever the hell, but I’ve still got a curfew!” she yells. “And my Granny’s got a gun!” 

You and Eddie, you and your friend Eddie, look at each other and burst into nose-first laughter, snorting away. Giddy, giggly, stupid. And the funniest part is, you really think you’ve killed it. 

By saying let’s be buddies!, you think you’ve put a stake right into the pitter-pattering heart of the nebulous other feelings you find yourself feeling when you look in Eddie’s eyes, at his lashes, at his hands, at his neck. 

For a clever girl, you are so, so stupid.

author's notes: here we here we here we fucking go! i'll admit i'm a little delirious writing this because it's REDACTED past REDACTED but i needed to get this up and outta me. and also because y'all deserve it, being so supportive and nice to me AGAIN. i can't get over youse. dyou wanna get married - bildoolpoolp, a real goddess from dnd! her areas of control are darkness, insanity and revenge to which i say: lacy that u? - virginia woolf doll came to me in a dream and then i found this article about a virginia woolf doll. all i want for christmas? virginia woolf doll. stones in pockets not included - rita hayworth, always decent - got me feeling like miss tayla the way i'm burying meaning in eddie's dialogue! - the oracle of delphi, one of our baddest bitches on record - calling lacy's mom a blanche dubois type was admittedly shady of me but... if the shoe fits. - i'm zeroing in on officer callahan based almost solely on how much joy i get from watching him in search party, a show about terrible awful millennials that takes a turn you'd never see coming! THIS IS A FORMAL REQUEST FOR YOU TO WATCH SEARCH PARTY - in case you wanted a visual for the stooges t-shirt eddie gave lacy - LITTLE WOMEN ALIGNMENTS AS I SEE THEM: nancy is a stone cold jo march with a touch of beth around the ears, lacy is amy sun amy moon jo rising, EDDIE IS AN AMY, steve is a meg sun amy moon - also jo march is a lesbian and if you really want to talk about it, trans. i'm not citing a source for this i don't need to - jessica fletcher you beautiful bitch - y'all remember ms kelley, the hot guidance counsellor? right???? - nancy the priss and lacy the bitch-- make us solve crimes! - the missing 'e' in the corroded coffin flyer is a real fucking thing from that hawkins memories box you can buy. i love that boy and he can't spell and i want it framed. - circus, a rock magazine that was neck and neck in notoriety with rolling stone. here's ozzy on the cover in a tutu! - scanners is a perfect film from 1981 by my baby daddy david cronenberg! (cw for head explosion in the trailer) - listened to smoke on the water or immigrant song lately? no? well, we were all raised by school of rock so fix that - alright so the corroded coffin lineup of it all. i've long held the belief that eddie is in fact not the vocalist but is, on charisma alone, the de facto frontman (think russell hammond in almost famous). cyrus is named for the mountain goats song the best ever death metal band in denton which makes me cry if i think about the freaks in corroded coffin being the best ever death metal band out of hawkins! when you punish a person for dreaming his dream, don't expect him to thank or forgive you! they will both outpace and outlive you! - lester bangs! i did another almost famous/real life reference :( which is also a deep cut lacy reference that may or may not be explained - john bonham died! thaaaaaat's all for this round, folks. thanks again for sticking with me, likes and reblogs and comments are always so appreciated and who knows if i'll write even more next time! COZ I SURE FUCKING DON'T!!!! okay love u hellcats x

#published by powder #hellfire & ice #in progress #e. munson by powder #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #eddie munson smut #do not come for me if this is not fully proofread okay..... even saints are fallible bitch....

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

READ 70 PAGES OF THE GOOD OMENS BOOK WITH WHICH I HAVE HOMOEROTIC TENSION AS WE KNOW

WE ALL KNOW ABOUT THE HOMOEROTIC RIVALRY BETWEEN ME AND MY COPY OF THE GOOD OMENS BOOK. WE KNOW. IT STARES AT ME, I STARE BACK, IT DARES ME TO READ IT AND FALL IN LOVE WITH CROWLEY MORE, I REFUSE. WE PUT THE UST IN LUST ETC.

BUT TODAY/YESTERDAY (RIP SLEEP SCHEDULE) SINCE I WASNT ON TUMBLR, I READ TILL PAGE 70 OF THE BOOK (TILL THE PART CALLED WEDNESDAY) AND GOD FUCKING DAMN. I READ IT LISTENING TO AN AZIRAPHALE BOOKSHOP AMBIENCE AND WITH CHOPIN PLAYING AND CANDLES LIT. ANYWAY. THINGS THAT HAVE STUCK OUT TO ME:

Crowley. Just everything about Crowley. God I love him. I fucking love him. This is why I avoid reading the book. I'm such a slut for Crowley. It's manageable on the show when I know it's an actor. But WORDS CROWLEY? WORDS CROWLEY IS REAL. I AM SO IN LOVE.

Aziraphale has perfectly manicured hands. I'm pretty sure this has been mentioned three times in the first 70 pages. Three times at minimum. I forget how twink he is in the show (idk how) but man the book does NOT let you forget and I love that.

Crowley absent-mindedly sank a duck. Aziraphale called him my dear (fanfic authors everywhere: write that down write that motherfucking shit down it's better than porn). Crowley un-sunk the duck. The duck was cross.

CROWLEY DID I MENTIONED CROWLEY OH MY BABY FANCIED THE JAMES BOND DECALS HE WANTED TO LISTEN TO VIVALDI COZ THEY WERE SO STRESSED AFTER RECEIVING THE ANTICHRIST THEY LOVE GOLDEN GIRLS (I LOOKED IT UP AND OH CROWLEY) THEY DRANK FOR A WEEK AFTER SEEING THE SPANISH INQUISITION THEY OMG.

THE DRUNK SCENE. I FINALLY UNDERSTOOD THE DOLPHINS CONVERSATION. OMG THESE TWO FUCKING FOOLS I ADORE THEM.

Crowley IN THAT SCENE AND AZIRAPHALE IN THAT SCENE HOLY SHIT. CROWLEY JUST LISTING OFF ALL THE THINGS SHE KNOWS AZIRAPHALE LOVES.

AND OMG. The CONVOLUTED FUCKING METAPHOR CROWLEY COMES UP WITH INVOLVING A LITTLE BIRD FLYING TO THE ENDS OF THE UNIVERSE AND PECKING A MOUNTAIN AND COMING BACK AND DOING IT ON LOOP. FOR WHAT? JUST TO SAY THAT WHEN THE MOUNTAIN WAS GONE, HEAVEN WOULD STILL BE PLAYING THE SOUND OF MUSIC.

As usual just like me Crowley shot himself in the foot with that metaphor. Because AZIRAPHALE, THE LEGEND, STARTS SAYING THE BIRD MUST BE IMMORTAL FOR THAT, AND THEN SAYS NO ACTUALLY THE BIRD IS BEING CARRIED IN A SPACESHIP AND THE DESCENDANTS EMERGE FROM THE SPACESHIP and poor crowley is saying SO THE BIRD REACHES THE MOUNTAIN and azi excitedly says IN THE SPACESHIP and AAAAAAAAA-

Anyway right yes sorry what were we doing oh right the book.

Anathema is so adorable as a kid what a little brat holy shit I love her. I want to see all her homework written in Middle English. I want to know which teacher finally summoned the balls to correct it.

NEWT MON CHERI HE'S SO EXCITED ABOUT ONLY DESTROYING THE HOUSE'S POWER CIRCUIT WITH HIS EXPERIMENT. Because apparently last time he fucking caused a power outage in the whole block. Or county. We stan an optimist (no one talk to me about Crowley being an optimist I will go feral and rip your larynx out).

THE THIRD BABY DID NOT WIN PRIZES FOR TROPICAL FISH. THIS IS LIKE THE ENDING OF VILETTE WHEN CHARLOTTE BRONTE GOT GUILTTRIPPED BY HER DAD INTO WRITING IT AS AN OPEN ENDING BUT WE ALL KNOW IT'S A TRAGEDY FUCK ME.

CROWLEY THE PRAY THAT HE DOESN'T IT SOUNDS SO SUAVE IN THE SHOW BUT IN THE BOOK IT LITERALLY SAYS "AND FLEES". THE CHAOTIC ANXIOUS MOTHERFUCKER MAKES A RUN FOR IT.

AZIRAPHALE FUCKING GLOWERING AT CUSTOMERS AND SCARING THEM AWAY USING EVERY MEANS SHORT OF PHYSICAL VIOLENCE IM DEAD THAT LITTLE BASTARD PEAK CROSS INTROVERT ELDRITCH MONSTER ENERGY.

I CAN'T WAIT FOR ADAM TO ENTER (WELL AS A NOT BABY) AHAH.

I HOPE WARLOCK IS OKAY.

CROWLEY BEING DESCRIBED AS A YOUNG MAN DOES THINGS TO ME. AS DO THE DARK HAIR AND GOOD CHEEKBONES. DON'T EVEN TALK ABOUT DOING WEIRD THINGS WITH HIS TONGUE. I AM A SLUT FOR HER. IT'S TIMES LIKE THIS I REMEMBER WHY IM GREYACE AND NOT ENTIRELY ASEXUAL. IT'S CROWLEY.

I LOVE THE SUBTLE JOKES LIKE I DON'T EVEN GET SOME BUT THE DRY TONE IS HILARIOUS. LIKE HOW BOTH WARLOCK'S HEAVENLY AND HELLISH TUTORS READ FROM THE BOOK OF REVELATION. AND THE CUTTING COMMENTARY LIKE HOW THE DOWLINGS' SECRET AGENTS WERE TRAINED TO REACT TO WOMEN IN LONG ROBES. OR THE POLITICAL COMEDY WITH ALL THE CULTURAL ATTACHES AT ST JAMES. IT MAKES ME AMUSED EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NO CONTEXT. I WISH I UNDERSTOOD THEM MORE.

SORRY WHY AM I YELLING ABOUT THIS BEFORE 6 IN THE MORNING FUCK I FORGOT MY SLEEP MEDS NO WONDER IM STILL AWAKE AND HYPER ALSO CROWLEY ALSO AZI ALSO ADAM I HOPE MY LITTLE PLANTS MAKE IT.

WHEN IM DONE READING THE BOOK I WANNA REREAD IT OUT LOUD TO MY THREE LITTLE PLANTS TO MAKE THEM GROW HAPPY AND KNOW WHOM THEY WERE NAMED AFTER.

#good omens mascot #weirdly specific but ok #asmi #maggots #good omens #good omens fandom #crowley #aziraphale #neil gaiman #terry pratchett #newton pulsifer #anathema device #adam young #book omens #good omens book #lgbtqia #the nice and accurate prophecies of agnes nutter

[morgandoesstuffsig]

Idk if ur requests are open, but hear me out XD. A creator!reader who descends on Teyvat meets all the Archons and such. Then up and leaves by changing their appearance in order to explore their creation and how it has changed. Every once in a while Creator will make themselves obvious by performing acts only the Creator could. Once they are found out they just up and leave again only to resurface after another Divine act. TLDR: Creator playing cat and mouse with Teyvat

oh my GOD creator is just TORTURING then atp

small ramble because i still have massive writers block [cries] also ignore how late this is pls ok mwamwa thnx

c.w // yan. chars

song : Best Friend - Rex Orange County

SAGAU INCOMING : YAN CHARS.

okay so you decided 'hey man, what if i wasn't worshipped the moment i stepped outside'

so you just said fuck it and shifted

(it's been a while since you've done so, it kind of felt weird and hurt a tiny bit)

walking around teyvat in an odd, different form. completely different hair, height, clothes, you get the gist

the only things you couldnt change however were three things:

your blood (still gold, but you didn't plan on bleeding infront of anyone)

your aura (still comforting, caring, and even alluring)

your voice (why? zero clue.)

escaping the throne room you've oh so sadly been bound to!! having fun while doing it!!

(the only real reason you managed to escape is bc you managed to get the archons out and actually tend to their nations, as per your request order)

messing around while escaping fr!! people passing by wondering why this random person they've never seen is (not very) sneakily running away from the creator's palace/temple

but eventually shrugging it off, albeit reluctantly

messing around in mondstat, playing with the npc children more than you could usually, giving them the time of their life!!

this is where you use your first creator powers >:3

some poor kid scraped his knee real hard on the bridge, let's say timmie (hes so sweet he just wants to defend his birds pls b nice to him!!)

you, being the belovent god you are, use your divine powers to heal him

whether you do it with the hc of having to use your own gold blood or just having special healing powers only creator has, you do it

however, your dumbass mind hadn't thought of the fact that Venti may have been watching this

new outlander person with a mysterious aura

and now he quickly learns its you :0!!

the archons had no clue you could shapeshift!! why wasnt this in the ancient scrolls??? did they just lose the ones that mentioned it???

venti immediately finds some weird wind way to tell the other archons

fucking loud mouth

speaking of which, ei is freaking. out.

she came back to just check on you in your throne room and youre just.

not there??

panics, almost goes to zhongli before she gets venti's message and calms down slightly

atp you've realize you've outed yourself

so after making sure timmie is find you quickly run off into the forest before venti can come after you and smother you (both physically and with questions)

forest reached, new mission : new form needed

this basically keeps happening, and it's a needed breath of fresh air for you

running to liyue looking like a normal person until you magically form a special medicine that was unheard of from your hand for an elder, sickly lady

running from liyue to sumeru and shifting into!! an animal!! a fox!! cat!! tiger!! dog!! bird!! any of the sort!!

only getting outed from sumeru after you accidentally spoke while in animal form and having to go over to inazuma as an unknown, traveling sailor!!

getting outed after that for your extremely familiar aura and voice (inazuma people are scarily observant towards strangers) and eventually getting shoved escorted back to your palace/temple

funny stories to tell

however, the archons wont be leaving your room for quite a while..

oh well, who says you don't have other stunts to pull?

#morgan.died : writes #x reader #genshin impact #requests open #genshin cult au #sagau #sagau x reader #genshin #self aware genshin #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin rambles #rambles #various x reader

[chrollohearttags]

containment • e. jaeger

synopsis: you’re the newest female guard at an all male prison. No one said it’d be easy but you were prepared for anything..except the new inmate on your cell block.

themes: forbidden romance/relationship, prisoner eren, modern au, correctional officer reader (black and fem coded) power play, lots of fantasizing and masturbation, consensual sex, he’s also a heavy switch and minors do not and i cannot stress this e-fucking-nough..interact!

cw:3.5K

📝: I’m up at 3am, letting my insane thoughts win again so please don’t hold this against me if it’s too long or just wild in general but this is just some notes/imagines to what will be a full, multi-part fic eventually, just wanted to mainly focus on the spicy stuff for now.

you were one of the only three female guards to ever work at the state’s all male maximum security prison. A facility notorious for housing some of the county’s most terrifying criminals..naturally, it was said to be no place for a woman and you were subjected to harassment, heckling and sometimes violence but you didn’t allow it to stop your goals. As physically strong as you were stubborn, you didn’t fear them in the slightest.

it was only six months after your assignment to the close containment unit that he was put onto your floor and things began to shift..an inmate by the name of eren jaeger; he was most certainly different from the other convicts you made contact with on a daily basis…

never gives you a hard time, always complied and is always in his cell either drawing or reading. If they didn’t give him time off for good behavior, you didn’t know who would get it. Also was super intelligent.

sort of intimidated the other guards and prisoners because of his eerie silence. They didn’t know why he’d been on a floor like this but act so well behaved. no one ever got on his bad side though..they knew better because he’d remind them why he was locked up in the first place.

has a slick ass mouth and every time you asked what he was there for, his response was “whatever they say I did.”

you didn’t make it your mission to be chummy with the prisoners, but he made the job a bit more tolerable. “good morning, officer (l/n)..” it was how he always greeted you..in addition to a little faint smile and telling you how pretty you were that day, whether barefaced or with some light makeup on and oddly enough, he always knew the scent of your perfume. “I can compliment my favorite guard, can’t I? Is that allowed?” the sarcasm and sweet gestures were something you had grown accustomed to. “You’re as cute as you are dangerous, Jaeger. Too bad for you, they don’t reduce sentences for adorable one liners.” although those words should have meant nothing come from a criminal…

it’s one day, however..when you were seeing him off to library cleanup duty that it went from harmless flirtation to a heated, forbidden love affair. “Not to be gross or anything but I gotta go take a piss, officer. I’ve been holding it since we left the cell.” he had been working diligently without a break for two hours so you’d allow it.

never had to worry about him trying anything as he had seen you take down men twice his size by yourself and even had subdued him once after a fight was incited by somebody else but he didn’t back down. (an ass whooping from you he’d soon never forget).

during that little bathroom break, you accidentally caught a glimpse of what he was working with…down south! You’d try to look away but really couldn’t help yourself. The man was hung like a horse. As a guard, you were to remain professional so the thoughts had to subside.

it was all but inevitable when you’d take him to the rec yard for exercise and you’d watch him do curl ups on the metal bars. His entire muscular back and arms riddled in tattoos; some professional pieces and others by the tip of an ink pen etched in prison. It’d be a huge violation if you’d ever acted on them and to you, that’s what made the fantasy all the more hotter.

on the trip back to finish up his last bit of library work, he utters something to you that made you freeze… “I know you were watching me earlier, officer..in the bathroom. I could feel those pretty little eyes of yours staring. Such a pervert.” Muttering sarcastically because his nasty ass loved the thought! To which you’d call his bluff and ask him so what if you were and he’d double down on it. “Then next time I’ll let you come help.” He always had a witty, smart mouthed comeback for everything.

it was getting harder to deny the sexual tension that was brewing though and as it were only the two of you left, the banter would become more and more risqué. Completely inappropriate and wrong but it felt so right..

“Can I get a good night kiss?” asks it every night when you take him back to his cell, to which you’d only ignore and instead, shove a stick of gum between his lips as a reward for his hard work..it was as close it were going to get for now.

it was when you got home that those disgusting desires could run rampant. In the solitude of your shower or bedroom, you were free to fantasize about this man and all of the things you wanted him to do you. Touching yourself, wishing it were him…a filthy criminal. From pinning your legs back and pumping you full of dick. Slapping, choking and tugging on your hair. Riding his pretty little face as you came all over his tongue. unbeknownst, he felt the same.

truthfully, it couldn’t be helped..watching the plump curvature of your ass sway in those black uniform cargos and your big supple tits tightly stuffed into that grey polo with the prison’s insignia on the left breast pocket every day drove him crazy. Those plump, juicy lips always covered in gloss that he wouldn’t mind shoving his cock between. Holding your head still while he throat fucks you into oblivion. And he just knew that pussy was fat with a mean grip. Many of nights had he lied in this cell, quietly stroking himself to the thought of his favorite guard bouncing on his dick, riding him before he’d take over and fuck up into you..smacking that round ass as he covers it in baby oil.

hearing you cry out his name..telling him how big it is as he forces all nine of those thick inches in you until it fits..just a few of the dozens of scenarios he’d play in his dirty, perverted mind. It had been years since he’d felt the touch of a woman so it was hard to restrain himself. He’d end up biting his sheets a way to gag his moans as his enclosed fist pumped until he’d splatter a giant nut all over his knuckles. Luckily he was alone in here.

when you returned to work a couple days later, that steamy tension had reached its boiling point and during day duty, you couldn’t take anymore. You needed him now! Favor was in your corner because he happened to be caught with cigarettes he smuggled from another inmate, which would have been a big infraction.

but instead, you snuck him off to a nearby closet where he’d become your personal fuck toy for the afternoon in exchange for your silence. It was his own damn fault..violating the rules and looking so damn good all the time. And he didn’t hesitate!

“You can keep a secret, can’t you, officer? I promise I won’t tell if you won’t.” taunting as he forced you back on his thick cock with his shackled hands. He’s made you squirt more times than any man ever has and it had been so long since he’d been in some pussy and especially one this tight so you had to keep him quiet because he was losing his shit. Didn’t hold it against him when he came too quick and..inside of you because you had been waiting a long time for it.

now, it’s become a regular occurrence. You can’t leave him alone and vice versa. Makes sure that no one else give you a hard time ever again and would handle it personally if they did. Guards included..in return you make sure he gets a little more on his commissary or drops him in a few cigarettes or snacks when it’s permitted. Even letting him get extra time outside, just so you could have him to yourself.

Can’t exactly communicate via cell phones so he writes you love letters that he hides in areas around the prisons for you to read when you get home. Full of filthy detail of how he’d be fucking you if he were a free man, how much he adores you and of course, all the trouble the two of you will get into the next time his beloved CO comes into work.

#black fem reader #black fanfic writer #smut fanfiction #black fanfiction #black reader smut #aot x black reader #eren imagines #eren fanfiction #eren jaeger x black reader #eren jaeger imagines #aot eren #prison au #black reader #shingeki no kyoujin fanfiction #eren jaeger smut #eren smut #eren x black reader #aot boys #attack on titan smut #aot x y/n #attack on titan #anime smut

[bunnylovesani]

Miss Congeniality

Chapter 1

Content warnings: suggestive and derogative language, reader being humiliated, mentions of panties and arousal

WC: 2.4k

You stared at the clock and huffed, it was 10 minutes past midnight. Your older brother Jaden and his best friend Anakin should’ve come home by now.

“Good night honey, don’t stay up too late, you need your beauty sleep for the pageant tomorrow!” your mother cooed as she walked past your door, peering into your admittedly childishly decorated bedroom.

You had turned 19 last month but still hadn’t gotten over your fixation for all things pink and frilly, your walls adored with posters of your favourite singers and your bedsheets decorated with petite lace bows on every corner. You wrapped your satin bedrobe tight around yourself as you got up and headed downstairs to the lounge, where you’d spent many nights staring at the door waiting for your favourite boys to come home from their escapades.

Your gaze settled on a large framed photo of you resting on the mantlepiece, wearing a pageant crown and smiling gracefully. Sure, you were mommy and daddy’s pride and joy, the most beautiful girl in the county and latest winner of the teen Miss Naboo competition, but you were bored. A whole lifetime of always being the good girl had taken its toll and left you with a feeling of discontenment and envy. You saw the way other girls had fun, sneaking out at night and going to parties with handsome boys- Anakin always had a crowd of women swarming him and you hated that you felt jealous at the attention he gave them.

You knew ultimately you were above all that, you knew that you were saving yourself for a worthy man, one who would appreciate the efforts you made to keep yourself pure. But sometimes, when you saw the veins snaking their way down Ani’s arms, with his black band tees rolled up to his muscular elbows and his plump lips playing with his tongue piercing, you feared you might not be able to hold back much longer. As if your thoughts summoned him, the door swung open and the raucous laughter of the boys filled the stately family home.

“Did you see the way that chick was giving me fuck-me eyes? She totally wants it, I’ve got half a mind to - oh. Sis, what are you doing still up?” Jaden’s face fell as he hung his coat up.

“I was just making myself a cup of cocoa, trying to soothe my nerves for the competition tomorrow.” You lied. You couldn’t care less about the pageant and you didn’t even really like cocoa. You just wanted to be there to catch a glimpse of your favourite emo boy.

“Oh yeah, forgot that shit was tomorrow. Do I still have to drive you?” Jaden rolled his eyes, he never did understand the appeal of being paraded around like a prized pig.

“No, I presumed you’d be too inebriated from the night before so I asked daddy already.” You happily chittered, unconsciously raising your nightie just a little so that your brother’s friend might catch a better glimpse of your freshly moisturised, strawberry scented thighs. He didn’t pay it any notice as per usual, not that it stopped you from trying.

“Ah you know me too well.” Jaden chuckled “Good luck with that, let’s go Anakin.”

“Wait, wait! How was your night? Did you guys have fun?” You pouted, big doe eyes staring at them in disappointment to have not been filled in on their nighttime adventures.

“Oh you don’t wanna hear about that sweetheart” Ani finally spoke, smirking. “Your brother is quite the Cassanova.”

“That’s enough of that, off to bed with you” Jaden interrupted him, motioning for you to leave before slipping into the kitchen to help himself to the pot of fresh cocoa you’d made.

“You know, you look really creepy when you’re sat there like that right in front of the door. At least turn on a lamp or some shit.” Anakin uttered harshly, making your cheeks burn up with embarassment.

“Um, I, I’m sorry? I’ll make sure the place is lit up like a christmas tree next time.” You muttered, staring at the ground and silently cursing your obedient nature. God, he had a way of making you feel small. The slight smirk that creeped up on his face made you suspect that he liked that.

“Now that I think about it, why is it that you happen to be in the living room every time I come through the door? Do you wanna hang out with us that bad?” Anakin sniggered in that signature cocky way only he knows how.

“Oh shut up, I have better things to do than to sit around smoking joints with 2 college dropouts.” You rolled your eyes, was it that obvious? Clearly you would have to find a better cover than drinking hot chocolate.

“Goddamn, this cocoa tastes like shit. Are you sure you didn’t make it with mud?!” Jaden emerged from the kitchen sipping from his mug and scowling, eliciting a cackle from Anakin. “Don’t ever try cooking sis, stick to looking pretty in dresses.” he tousled your hair as he walked past you and up the stairs to his room. Anakin gave you one last look, subtly dropping his glare down to your legs before smiling ever so slightly as he followed his friend. The second of eye contact made your heart pound with a worrying intensity and you had to calm your racing mind before the inappropriate thoughts started forming again.

It had been a week since the last time the boys hung out, and in this moment you wished it’d been longer as you sat in bed, enveloped in your pink fluffy blanket - huffing at the sounds of Anakin and Jaden howling with laughter next door. What could possibly be so funny that it induces such animalistic noise? Once the guffawing was so loud that you could no longer hear your movie over it, you resolutely climbed out of bed, slid your slippers on and marched over to your brother’s room across the hallway. As soon as you opened the door, the pungent smell of their sweet, earthy joint hit you.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re laughing so hard.” You cross your arms at the sight of them convulsing with giggles. “Can you cretins keep it down?”

“Apologies, are we disturbing your Barbie movie marathon?” A very dishevelled looking Jaden grinned. “Or are you watching Enchanted again? How many times have I told you, stop dreaming about Prince Charming, he’s not coming.” You furrow your brows, about to launch a tirade on your brother when Anakin interjects.

“Oh my God, what are those?” he points at your slippers. “Are you wearing fluffy pink bunnies on your feet? Seriously?” He covers his mouth with his hand to stop the giggles that threaten to burst through. You stare down at the dopey faces of the little bunnies sticking out of your shoes.

“No! I mean yes but these are old, mom bought them for me, they were just lying around and I’m kinda cold.” The excuses started flowing out as Anakin glared at you endearingly.

“Oh my God, why are you lying? They’re her favourite ones, she wears them every day.” Jaden sniggers and you wonder why you even tried to lie with your brother there.

“Aw, you don’t have to lie sweetie, I think it’s cute. Pretty little pageant princess in her pink slippers.” Anakin smiles and you’re unsure whether he’s mocking you.

Feeling mortified, you run out and slam your bedroom door closed- a resounding bang being heard as the bedrobe and nightie that hung on the back fell off the hook and spilled onto the floor. For their information, you were watching a documentary. You know he dismissed you as nothing other than his friend’s childish little sister, just a brat who couldn’t ever keep up with him- he was 4 years older than you after all.

But you’re not a little girl anymore. Sure, your favourite colour was pink and you pranced around on stage in ballgowns, but you were a woman now. You had come into your own this year and you saw the whole world differently. You had never usually paid any mind to the boys that circulated around the house with your brother- but now they piqued your interest immensely, one in particular. You’ll never forget the first day you really noticed him.

It was last winter, you had gone to support your big brother at one of his hockey matches as you often loved doing. It was the semi-finals and he had led his team to a resounding victory as captain, rushing the barricades towards you and your parents, arms raised and fists curled in a triumphant dance that you mirrored. He engulfed you in a callous bear hug, easily enveloping you before clambering over to your parents. Over the broad shoulders of the players, you caught a glimpse of him.

His dark hair swooped messily over his forehead, thick eyebrows furrowed over his piercing blue eyes as he hung back from the rest of the team, choosing to avoid the adoring crowd and slip away into the changing rooms. You experienced a visceral response to seeing him in that oversized hockey jersey, so much so that you saw it in your dreams for the next month.

Suddenly, the unobtrusive guy who hung around your brother and occasionally teased you for the way you dressed became so much more than that. You felt on edge every time he came over, rushing over to your room to put on some lipgloss or change into a cuter dress before casually walking past the hallway a suspicious amount of times, hoping he would get a glimpse of you through the open crack in Jaden’s door. Luckily for you, your oaf of a brother never caught on, and if Anakin did, he never made it known.

Whilst reminiscing, you heard a knock on the door.

“Hey, it’s just me.” Ani’s sweet voice sounded. “I didn’t mean to upset you, we were just playing around.” You got up from your wallowing position in bed and straightened up like an arrow.

“Oh no, it’s fine, I wasn’t upset. I’m used to it.” You smiled sheepishly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “But thanks anyway.”

“I meant what I said. It’s good you have a strong identity, it’s what makes you you. You shouldn’t pay any mind to what others say, least of all me. I mean I’ve had plenty of choice comments about my look but I wouldn’t be Anakin without the piercings or the headphones or the bad attitude now, would I?” He leans on the doorframe and looks at you curiously. You have to take a deep breath to suppress a full body shiver, you don’t think you can take much longer of him staring at you like you’re his next meal.

“What’s all this- oh my“ he spots your nightie on the floor and picks it up. “Who are you trying to impress wearing this missy?” he closely inspects the white satin dress adorned with a lace trim, rubbing the rough pads of his fingers over the smooth fabric.

“And this?” He picks up the scandalous red panties sprawled out next to his feet and observes them as they dangle off his finger.

“Anakin! Put those down!” You jolt up towards him in an attempt to frantically snatch them out of his hand but he simply holds them up in the air so that you can’t reach. You weren’t a short girl by any means but you felt like one next to Ani’s staggering height.

“Oh this is priceless, are you telling me you actually wear these around the house? Or is it to your pageants, do you have some kind of boyfriend we don’t know about?” He laughs, clearly enjoying this abuse of power.

“No I don’t, not that it’s any of your business!” You huffed, slapping his chest in indignant frustration. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting to look pretty for yourself.”

“Oh sweetheart, I don’t believe you. Because these aren’t pretty panties, this is a very slutty thong. One that someone would only wear if they were expecting to get laid.” His raspy voice dropped in tone, like he was saying something he didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Are you trying to get laid?”

A whimper almost escaped your lips at the unexpected question. Suddenly you were aware of how close your face was to his and that both your hands were resting on his chest.

“I won’t even dignify that with a response.” You muttered quietly, maintaining eye contact.

“Ah, who would’ve thought Jaden’s little sister would be such a slut. I bet daddy wouldn’t be happy to find out his little girl wears these.” He wraps his hand around the panties and subtly pockets them into his baggy black jeans.

“If I were really a slut then you’d be the first to know about it.” The words slipped out as you turned away from him.

“What?” He grabbed you by the wrist and turned you back around. “What do you mean by that?”

“I’ve never even been with one guy, let alone enough to make me a slut.” You admitted coyly, regretting the words as soon as they came out.

“You really are a good girl, aren’t you?” His gaze is so intense you worry your knees might buckle. “Something’s gonna have to be done about that.”

His fingers trace your collarbone as he takes one last look into your helpless eyes before turning around, smirking to himself as he leaves the room. You sigh a breath of relief at his absence, trying not to pay too much attention to the growing wetness between your thighs. This was not going to bode well for your vow of chastity.

Wait a minute, did he take your panties?

Next Chapter

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin fanfiction #star wars anakin #sw anakin #Hayden Christensen smut #sam monroe #life as a house #star wars smut #star wars fanfiction #sam monroe x reader #Hayden Christensen x reader #anakin fluff #anakin Skywalker fluff #Hayden Christensen fluff

[outerbankspov]

Forbidden love.

- warning: fluff, supportive best friends, jealous kie..

Requested by- @giannadrichardson-blog 💋

.. When you hear “kook and pogue” all you think is the rivalry between the two groups who live on the opposite side of one island, dating one another is FORBIDDEN. So why is y/n bailing JJ Maybank out of the county jail. “J you can’t keep doing this baby” you tell him as he leads you to the side of the station and kisses your neck. “Come on, I’m sure it turns you on when you bail me out of jail.” He mumbled. “Not my bank account. Come on” you kiss him And quickly went inside your car. Getting situated you look at him. You secretly love bailing him out.

“Take me to yours?” He says. You smile and agreed. God you love him so much and it’s so bad that you do because he’s a kook. Everyone wants you to date the kook king Rafe Cameron but he is your beloved best friend since diapers and surprisingly he’s okay with you and JJ because he wants you happy and he quoted. “No one is better than me on this island so go for it”. You would Just role your eyes at his self centered self.

Once you get home JJ’s eyes lighten when he sees his dirt bike sitting in her driveway. “Baby…. How in the hell?” You look at him and gives him a kiss to distract his mind. “Come on” you say as you get out the car and drags him with you. “Stay the night” you begin as you give him the best puppy dog eyes. “Baby….” He groans already knowing he’ll say yes because he loves you too much. “Okay deal.” He walks up close to you and starts kissing your soft lips and groans when they finally touch.

JJ lays on your bed and pulls you with him, chin resting on his chest. “Do you ever think about how different our life’s would be if everyone knew about us?” You ask as he massages your head, relaxing you. He hums And looks up onto the ceiling. “I do, and baby believe me when I say I want to go public more then ever.” He begins as he moves and places you onto his lap, pushing your long hair behind your ear and pulling your lip out from underneath your top one. “I wish we can-”

“DUDE COME ON!” Pope yells as John b takes his blunt while driving. “What?” He laughs while smiling at pope. “Guys?” Kiara begins. They all look to their left to see JJ’s dirk bike in a kook’s drive way. Y/N DRIVE WAY. “No fucking way. That can’t be” Kiara says almost sounding jealous. John B And pope look at one another and immediately knew what to say. 

“Maybe it’s not even his. A lot of these kooks like to copy us yuh know?”

“Maybe it’s someone else’s!” Pope joins along for what John B has said. Trying to not get her worked up. “Let’s just go to the wreck, I’m starving” John B says And drives away fast.

-

“So, how about you take me outside And watch me catch a sun tan ?” You smirk knowing JJ loves to see u in your bathing suits and sundresses. “Say no more” he grins and you smile. A little later JJ was chasing you because you had his hat. Bare feet on the fresh cut grass. “JJ wait-” he picks you up and spins you around. “Did I ever tell you how hot your hands are” you smile as he wraps his arms around your waist. John B And pope decided to circle back after dropping Kiara home and see JJ and Y/N almost acting…. In love?

“No fucking way” pope says looking in shocked.

“He did it! That pussy. John B laughs as he watches His best friend look incredibly happy with Y/N. He knows how it feels, he has a Y/N and that’s Sarah for him. He knows how it feels to fall in love with someone who’s forbidden to be with.

#outer banks #obx #rudy pankow #rudy pankow smut #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank x smut #jj maybank

[redwolf17]

Hozier and romanticizing Ireland, or why the “bog man” shtick should be dropped back into the bog from whence it came

So after a slapdash, frustrated post about the politics of Hozier's music went batshit yesterday, I wanna do a quick follow up about the whole bog man thing, which multiple people mentioned in the reblogs and tags.

Artists are usually known by their names, either the one they got at birth or the one they picked for their career. Beyoncé Knowles Carter goes by Beyoncé, Stefani Germanotta goes by Lady Gaga, Taylor Swift goes by Taylor Swift, etc.

Andrew Hozier-Byrne goes by the stage name Hozier. When talking about him online, most people just call him Hozier, or sometimes Andrew for emphasis or to be silly. Then you have the people who call him stuff like this:

Yeahhhhhhhh, that's just some of what I found in like a 5 minute search. If you search tumblr for "bog man" or "forest daddy" it's almost all posts about Hozier; there's a lot more (and weirder) if you go look on TikTok.

People from other countries romanticizing Ireland isn't new, but that doesn't make it acceptable. Ireland is very much a modern country with modern problems, despite media (mostly American) which prefers to focus on Ireland as an exotic, idealized land, a postcard from the past where everyone lives in cottages and dresses in green and only speaks in mysterious rhyming couplets. Heck, only 3 in 10 Irish people live in rural areas. The other 7 in 10 live in urban or suburban areas, including Hozier. He lives in County Wicklow, which is quite close to Dublin, a city of over 500,000 people and also Ireland's capital.

Like, I'm not saying anyone is The Devil for making a couple "bog man" cracks. God knows I made a few of them back in 2019; one of my old posts makes me cringe because I joked about Hozier and fairy mounds. And you can find old examples of Hozier humoring the gag here and there, whether because he found it funny at the time or because he was just playing along.

Lately, though? When the bogfather/fae king stuff comes up in interviews, Hozier seems uncomfortable with it, even though he stays polite:

Like. Hozier is just a guy. A dude named Andrew who sings and plays guitar and writes songs and is a fallible human being. Artists can't completely control their image, but if you're a fan of someone's music, you should try to treat them as a person, not a mythical creature or a bundle of stereotypes about their country or a flawless statue to be stuck up on a pedestal.

All of us (including me!) fuck up sometimes. But once we know better, we should choose to do better.

#hozier #andrew hozier byrne #unreal unearth #bog man #forest daddy #I did NOT expect my prior post to blow up #rip my notifications

[theficshop]

Rafe Cameron x !Pouge Reader

Synopsis:

you’ve just moved to Kildare island what happens when the king of the Kooks takes a liking to you?

Warnings:

Under age drinking, swearing

It had been a couple weeks since your family had moved to the island finding a small house on the cut. You went to Kildare county high school, and it didn’t take you long before you made friends with the Pouges. Finishing the last lesson of the day and it also being Friday, you wanted to finally relax. A brown haired girl makes her way over to you.

“Hey Kie!” You say giving her a one armed hug

“Hi, how’s your first week at school been?” She asked reciprocating the hug

“Surprisingly it hasn’t been as bad as I expected, but Mr Lawson is a dick head for giving me homework on my first week here” she groans

“Speaking of your first week, you need a proper Kildare welcome, we’re having a bond fire as a welcome party, practically the whole island is coming and Sarah insisted on inviting some Kooks” she rolls her eyes

“Really? You didn’t have to do that” you smile as you leave school

“It’s a tradition, and we need to get some guys on your radar” she grins

Going back to your place you get ready for the bonfire. In your bedroom you put an outfit together.

“Mum, dad ’m going out!” You shout coming out of the room

Your mum steps in-front of you

“Where are you going? Who are you going with? and What time will you get home?” She questions

“Mum I’m just going down to the beach for a welcome bonfire with some friends, I won’t be out to long”

“Let her go, it’s good she’s making friends so quickly” her dad shouts from the kitchen

“I’ll be responsible mum don’t worry” You quickly kiss your mum's cheek before walking out of the front door.

Going down the front steps you see the twinky pull in front of the house beeping the horn. Jj rolls down the window.

“Y/N get in!” He pokes his head out

Kiara opens the van door and you get in.

“Y/N! tonight’s going to be all about you” she smiles

“I hate all the attention being on me” you laugh

Sarah hugs her “my brothers going to be there to just ignore him if he tries anything”

“Hey Y/N” John B hugs her

“Hi Y/N” Pope and Y/N do their handshake that they’ve made up

“This is gonna be dope” Jj yells out of the window and he starts the car

Eventually, they get to the beach and they all get out. Jj and John B carry the huge firewood logs onto the open sand of the beach, drenching them in lighter fluid and setting the pile alight. From the back of the van Pope pulls out a foldable table and loads the drinks onto it. Kiarra and Sarah lift the two speakers out and connect their phones to them so they can play music. The three guys pull even bigger logs from the sand and place them around the fire for everyone to sit on.

"Now we wait" John B sighs

it didn't take long for everyone to arrive, you were sure at least half the island was on the beach. The music practically shook the ground as you went over to the drinks table. Grabbing a can of mai tai you look up to see three guys standing next to each other. Two of them seem in deep conversation but one of them seems fairly uninterested as he looks up from a beer to make eye contact with you. Holding eye contact he sends a quick wink.Your cheeks turn slightly pink and you look away. Taking her drink you go back over to her friends.

“Who’s that guy over there?” You say discreetly pointing to Rafe when he turns around

Kie’s eyes widen as she follows the direction of her finger.

“That’s Rafe Cameron Sarah’s brother, why?”

“Oh no reason” you say while breaking eye contact. Making it obvious there was something you weren’t telling Kie.

“Listen, Rafe is like the definition of fuck boy he might look hot but he’s the biggest man whore” Kie states turning to face you directly

“He could be good for something temporary” you shrug

“Do you think Sarah would care?”

“I don’t think she’s very interested in her brothers sex life but, if my friend hooked up with my brother I’d kinda want to know?”

“You should just ask her now, avoid keeping it from her if something does happen”

“Kie this is just a hypothetical remember, I haven’t even talked to him yet” you let out a small laugh

“I’m just gonna… talk to him ya know? Get to know him”

"yeah man I'm not stopping you, just know I warned you"

you look over and, Rafe seems to be by himself finally left alone by the two boys who seemed to be annoying him.

once again he makes eye contact with you.

mustering up the courage you think to yourself "If I stay sitting here nothing will happen and I'll waste the opportunity that's practically been handed to me"

you walk over to him, your heart beating out of your chest

"Hey, Sarah's brother? I've heard a lot about you" You smile at him

"All good things i hope" his mouth slants into a smirk

"That depends" you giggle slightly

"I could uh, show you around sometime I doubt those pouges have enough money to get you into the good spots in town"

"What about Sarah she hangs out with them all the time" you raise an eyebrow

"She's not a pouge really, I reckon you'd be one of us if you lived on figure eight"

"you don't know that" you look away from him

"ill bring you around Tannyhill, that'll change your mind"

"you say that to all the girls that talk to you?" you joke

"only the gorgeous ones" he chuckles

"you're too sweet" she blushes

she looks over and Sarah is talking to Kie she tilts her head to the right in a "what are doing with my brother" way

"Truth or Dare everyone!" Topper calls out

"come around, come around"

soon a group of people circles around the fire including you and Rafe.

"I think Y/N should do the honours" Kie smiles

"Truth or dare?"

suddenly all eyes are on you

deciding to be outgoing you choose dare.

"Kiss Rafe " she dares with a smug undertone

you turn to Rafe standing next to you, "You don't have to" you whisper

He shakes his head placing his hand on the side of your head, then pulling you in to lock his lips onto yours. Only pulling away for a split second he places his lips into yours again.

Rafe Cameron just made out with you in front of the whole island

what have you gotten yourself into?

An: do you guys like it?

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe imagine #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #outer banks #obx fanfiction #obx #drew starkey

[kisskiss-slashslash]

Ooo ooo! I got a good one:D

Slashers finding and reacting to their s/o in the brink of death because of another slasher!

Angst to fluff pls:D

That really IS a good one.

Slashers finding their s/o close to death thanks to another slasher

Warnings: Blood

Jason Voorhees

He notices your sleep getting more and more restless lately. You complain about frequent nightmares, and often wake up with cuts and bruises that weren't there the night before. Jason tries so hard to dismiss it as coincidence. Hell, you are living in a forest; there are a myriad of ways to injure yourself here without noticing. Against his better judgement, he goes out to deal with the recently arrived campers.

When he returns, he immediately notices you thrashing around in your sleep, and the red stains spreading from your skin to your sleep clothes and finally to the bedsheets. Jason panicks, and tries to shake you awake. This isn't good, you're losing so much blood... No, he can't lose you. Not like this, not in any other way either. By the time you finally wake up, you are already dangerously weak from the blood loss. Jason patches you up with the first aid kits from the cabins, praying that it is enough. Then he gets ready to sleep.

Seems like that pesky old man didn't learn his lesson last time. But Jason gladly repeats it, hoping it will stick this time, and returns to your side. Your hand is warm in his, and your face is slowly gaining a bit more color. He sighs with relief.

You'll be okay.

Vincent Sinclair

You just wanted to take a walk in the sorrounding woods. Nothing to be worried about, right?

Well, wrong. You hear the chainsaw from far away, but you play it off as just a trick of your imagination, or maybe just some workers from the county. What you did not expect was the huge man in a leather mask breaking out of the woodwork and coming right for you. The saw digs into your side, but you somehow manage to get away.

Vincent is looking for you. You left on your walk an hour ago and have yet to return. You're never gone for that long. Everything within him freezes when he sees you stumbling out of the forest, clutching the gaping, bleeding wound.

He takes you into his arms and lets out loud gasps and whines, his unuseable vocal cords straining to form words he cannot speak. He drags you back home, where Bo and Lester are watching TV. Bo drops his can of beer when he sees you. "Shit!"

"That looks bad. Vinnie, we need to take them to the hospital..." Lester takes over carrying you. From far away, the whole family hears the chainsaw roar.

Vincent stares at Bo head on. And he signs. "Let me borrow your shotgun."

He did not end up killing your assailants, but a very pissed off Vincent coming after them with Bo's shotgun taught them not to bother the Sinclairs again. After they are dealt with, Vincent has Bo drive him to the hospital, where you are. You open your eyes and find yourself sorrounded by your family.

"Sorry I made you guys worry", you mutter.

Vincent squeezes your hand and shushes you. You need to focus on getting back on your feet.

Freddy Krueger

When you come stumbling into his dream realm, he immediately notices that something is wrong. You are *bleeding* and pale as a ghost, and can barely stand. You're not sleeping... *you've fainted*!

"Shit shit shit..." He props you up. "Hey, who did this?!"

"Hock...." You sputter. "Hockey mask..."

His eyes widen and he gnashes his teeth. "Jason? That fucking hockey puck?!"

You nod weakly. "I... I'm hiding... Don't know how long... Must have passed out..."

Freddy grabs your shoulders a bit tighter. "Listen to me. I need you to wake up, right now. I'll show that fucking mama's boy what happens when he fucks with you. So go on! Wake up! Wa-..."

He finds himself stuffed into a closet with you, and reminds himself to teach you better hiding spots once this is over. You pass out again almost immediately, and while Freddy hates to leave you like this, he has a disobedient *dog* he has to deal with, first.

Once Jason has been sent back to where he belongs, Freddy returns to the closet, where he finds you slowly coming to.

"Did you have a nice nap?", he asks cordially. He is glad to see you awake again. That means the injuries may not have been as bad as they seemed at first. But still... "You should probably get to a hospital..."

"Yeah... Probably..." You fumble your cellphone out of your pocket and dial 911.

Later, once you're sleeping peacefully in your hospital bed, Freddy pops back into your dreams.

"That'll teach that bastard not to show his ugly mug here again", Freddy sneers. "Are you okay now?"

"Couldn't be better", you reply with a smile.

Freddy is pretty rough around the edges. But during moments like this, he shows that he really cares.

Bubba Sawyer

Maybe Drayton was right when he said that nothing good would come out of this road trip. But you love wax museums and Bubba had heard about this really famous one in Ambrose... He would have never guessed that it would end like this.

You have been separated from the rest of the Sawyers, and now everyone is frantically looking for you. Most of all Bubba, who blames himself for not taking better care of you.

They track you to the Sinclair house, where Bubba hears a pained howl from the basement. And when he finally reaches the secret workshop, he sees the masked man dig his ornate carving knives into your flesh. The man himself has a pretty nasty bite wound on his hand; a display of you fighting back when he tried to inject you with the paralytic.

The chainsaw roars to life, and the man with the carving knives only barely manages to dodge it. He seems to know well enough that he and his little butter knives have little chance against the chainsaw, so he retreats, while Bubba cuts you lose from the operating table and carries you upstairs.

Bubba isn't the only one who would have loved to make these rotten brothers pay for hurting you, but your health was more important right now. He *somehow* managed to talk Drayton into taking you to the hospital, despite the eldest's protest about the cost.

Bubba hates that Drayton won't allow him to visit you, but when you come back, the first thing he does is hug you as tightly as a drowning man clinging to a lifesaver.

Don't ever scare him like that again, please.

#slasher x reader #jason voorhees x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #freddy krueger x reader #bubba sawyer x reader

[roosterforme]

A Love You Don't Find Everyday Part 16 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You unfortunately let Phoenix talk you into going to the Hard Deck on a night when it was swarming with sailors. And there's only so much that can be done to keep both Bradley and Jake safe during their special mission. 

Warnings: Angst, fluff, and swearing

Length: 3500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

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You knew from Bradley's emails that he was flying his mission today, you just weren't sure what time. You only seemed to be able to think about him and Jake, wondering what they were doing and if they were staying safe. 

Your wedding was less than two weeks away now, and you were leaving work early to drop off your permits with the county office. That was the last thing you had to do. Your plan was to finish writing your vows and making the photo collage this weekend. Then you'd truly be all set for the wedding, and one of Bradley's gifts would be complete. 

Now he just needed to make it back in time so you could pull off the most spectacular surprise of all time, with a little help from Mav.

When you got home, you played with Tramp and argued with Phoenix over text about whether or not you should go to the Hard Deck tonight. It just wasn't the same without Bradley there, but it was even worse now. You knew you were a little antsy, but you wouldn't even be able to tell anyone that it was because your wedding was coming up!

But she got you to agree to go if she picked you up on her way there. So now you were scrambling to get changed into some cutoff shorts, a cute top and your boat shoes before she arrived. You were still eating the sandwich you made and feeding Tramp his dinner when she let herself in the front door.

"You look cute," she said, giving you a look. "That looks like something you'd wear out with Bradley."

"I know," you said between bites of food. "I need to do laundry tomorrow."

Phoenix just sighed. "You sure you don't want to throw on a sweatshirt or one of his massive tees? There's a carrier docking like right now. The bar is going to be swarming with guys."

You just rolled your eyes at her. "This is hardly inappropriate, and it's like a million degrees outside." But now you understood why she was wearing jeans and a baggy shirt. The guys could be a bit relentless when there was a ship in port. "Hey, maybe I can get a free drink," you said with a shrug. 

But five minutes into your night, you realized you had made a mistake. 

"Why did you bring me here?" you growled at Phoenix as you waited in a massive crowd of people to get a beer. "I could be sitting in my backyard with a drink that I didn't have to physically fight someone for!"

But she just shrugged. "It's not as crowded by the pool table."

After a few more minutes, you groaned and told her, "I just want one fucking beer!"

The guy in front of you turned around and smiled at you, and then you heard him add another beer to his order with Penny. 

Your cheeks felt a little warm as he turned around and held a bottle out in your direction. "Here you go, gorgeous. One fucking beer."

You were flustered, not quite sure what to do. So you reached for it, and he pulled it back with a grin. "Just tell me your name first."

"I'm engaged," you responded with an eye roll.

"Wow, that's such a pretty name," he said with a laugh, and you had to keep yourself from laughing at how ridiculous this was becoming. 

"I can buy my own beer, but thanks anyway," you told him, trying to push past him to the bar while Nat shoved you from behind.

"You can have it. I don't even mind if you're engaged. I'm only off the carrier for the night," he told you with a smirk. Now that Nat was ordering her drink, you decided to take the free beer from this guy because he was being such an asshole. 

"Oh? You don't mind?" you asked with your best attempt at a charming smile. 

"Not at all. And my name's Will. You don't need to tell me yours, but I just wanted you to have something to scream later."

You just grimaced at him before putting the bottle to your lips and chugging the entire thing in front of him. He watched with interest as you wiped your lips with the back of your hand and leaned past him to slam the empty down on the bartop. 

"Well, thanks a lot, Will. The beer was delish. I'll just be going now," you told him, grabbing his hand and holding it up so you could give him an awkward high five. 

"I'll be at the pool table," you told Phoenix before turning on your heel and squeezing your way back through the crowd. But you realized Will was following you.

"Hey, wait up! Let's go outside!"

"Seriously?" you mumbled, not sure what else you needed to do to turn this man off to the idea of you. But that's when you spotted the guys playing pool. 

"Hey, come on," Fanboy called to you across the table to you. "I need a partner."

But you reached Coyote first and wrapped your arms around his waist right as he was saying hi to you. "Oh, hey," he said with a laugh, patting you on the back. "It's nice to see you, too."

"There's a guy," you mumbled, glancing over your shoulder. "He bought me a beer and I accepted it when I really shouldn't have. Oh shit, he's still coming! I thought he'd leave when he saw me with you."

"What guy?" Payback asked, tossing his pool cue down on the table and turning to look. 

Will stopped short when he saw you with Coyote, Payback, Fanboy and Bob. 

"I thought you were joking about being engaged," he said, holding his hands up. "Since you took the drink."

"She's not joking, man," Coyote said, keeping his arm around your shoulders. 

Will just shrugged and said, "Your girl's a tease," before he started to turn away.

But now Payback was starting to look like he wanted to punch the guy, and you felt terrible for letting this happen. 

"You want me to pay you for the beer? Fine," you said, digging in your pocket for some cash.

But Payback set down his glass and said in a very calm voice, "We'll consider the drink you bought her a peace offering. Now apologize for calling her a tease, and you can be on your way."

Will looked at him for a minute before turning to you and Coyote. "Sorry." And then he walked back into the crowd. 

Just then, Nat strolled up with four beer bottles in her hands. "You guys missed the funniest thing! She got a free drink from some guy who told her he wanted to fuck her even though she said she's engaged!"

You just cradled your head in your hands. "That's what he said to you?" Bob asked, going pink in the face. 

"Where the fuck did he go?" Payback snarled, cracking his knuckles. 

"Everyone calm down!" you said, pushing away the bottle Phoenix tried to give you and grabbing Payback's hand. "I'm never coming here when there's a carrier making a port of call ever again! And next time we go out, I'm wearing a trash bag."

But soon everyone went about their business again. And you were happy you didn't feel alone when Bradley and Jake were both gone. Fanboy handed you a pool cue, and you joined the game. 

-----------------------

Bradley and Jake woke up and did the exact same thing as each other all day long. They showered, ate breakfast, got some fresh air, went over their final flight briefings, ate lunch, and then dressed in their flight suits.

If you had told Bradley then that the day would change so dramatically for just one of them, he would have found it hard to believe. But that's that way things always seemed to go. 

"You ready?" he asked Jake who was still getting his helmet bag packed up. "What do you have in there anyway?"

"Mosty snacks," Jake said. "Maybe someday I'll have something a little bit more special inside. What's in yours?"

"Mostly snacks,' Bradley said with a laugh. "And a picture or two." He pulled out a printout of a selfie he had taken of you and him holding Tramp between the two of you in your backyard. Jake looked at it and shook his head with a grin. 

"You two thinking about having kids?" he asked, putting his helmet on. 

Bradley laughed. "If I had it my way, she would already be pregnant."

"Yeah," Jake replied, shaking his head. "I don't know why I even asked you that. Angel already told me you want kids right away."

Bradley put his helmet on as well, and they both started walking out to the airstrip. "I find it really disturbing that the two of you have 'girl talk' sessions."

Jake scoffed. "You don't seem to mind it when you put your foot in your mouth and I'm there to bail you out, Bradshaw."

Bradley really couldn't argue with that. He loaded into his F/A-18 and started on his safety checks, missing the days from last year when you were on the other end of his radio communications. But he checked in with some faceless voice in the tower, and he listened to Jake do the same. And soon they were airborne, launching off of catapults one and two with Bradley taking the lead position. 

Bradley checked in with the Comanche for a radar update, and then soon he and Jake were entering enemy airspace for a mission that should have been a quick in and out again. They would need to conserve all four of their missiles for the mission to be a success, so just knowing a dogfight scenario would come down to guns and flares had Bradley a little wary. 

"You all good?" he asked Jake, turning to see him over his right wing.

"All good."

And then it was time to attack, and Bradley fell back into the comfortable way that his mind seemed to take over and keep him calm without the rest of his emotions fighting for dominance. Was he thinking about you? Of course he was, but you were always at the back of his mind. Was he still focusing on what needed to be done with almost exact precision? Yes, because he wanted to stay alive. 

"Attack," he informed Jake at just the right moment, and then Jake split off to the right, behind a mountain range and out of sight. 

They were in constant radio communication as they each eliminated two perimeter targets, and then Bradley flew along a river while Jake flew parallel to the mountain range. This would put Bradley at the coastline first, but Jake should have been close enough for Bradley to see him. 

"Hey Hangman, how far?" 

"About twenty miles."

He had no idea how Jake had managed to fall so far behind, but he would make up twenty miles in less than two minutes. However, now Bradley couldn't see him, and he had to make a decision about lingering for his wingman or conserving his fuel. 

Bradley punched back on the throttle, easing his speed back. He kept checking his mirrors and turning around to look for the telltale glimmer of the dying sunlight on the canopy of Jake's aircraft. It wasn't easy to catch unless you were looking for it. 

But he waited, checking in with the carrier a few times, when finally, he saw what he hoped was Hangman.

"Out over the water," Jake told him. "Coming in hot."

"Copy," Bradley replied, throttling back up to his previous speed. He made sure both he and Jake were cleared for landing and then went down first, hooking the tow line, and waiting for the deck crew team to pull his aircraft safely to the side, making room for Jake to land. 

Bradley was just opening his canopy when he saw Jake buzz the tower, which was very unlike him. Then he heard Jake say, "Complete engine failure," through the radio in his helmet before it cut out. 

"What the fuck is going on?" Bradley asked the ground crew as he scrambled down the ladder. But everyone was frozen in place, awaiting instructions. The intercom started blaring over the deck, and Bradley ripped his helmet off just as Jake brought his jet around again.

It was too late to get the barricades ready if he was truly in full engine failure, and it was also impossible for Jake to get enough altitude to eject. 

"Fuck," Bradley whispered as Jake came down at a strange angle that made him cringe and cover his mouth. It sounded like he had lost both engines, and trying to get onto the deck was the only option. 

Bradley stood back with the deck crew as they raised an additional cable to try to catch the tail hook. But he knew the angle was too extreme, and Bradley watched in horror as Jake hit the deck a little too hard before skidding over both of the cable lines. Since he had no means to lift off and try for a second landing without his engines, everyone had to watch Jake's aircraft skid the length of the runway and then go careening into the Pacific Ocean. 

It felt like someone had sucker punched him, and Bradley sputtered for a few seconds before he started to make a run for the end of the carrier deck. There were crew members everywhere, and even more flooding out of the tower. The closer Bradley got to the end, he was finally able to see Jake's Super Hornet, half sunk in the water sideways. But it was too far away for Bradley to make out where exactly Jake was.

He turned around, trying to find someone who could make sense of what was happening, but it felt like everyone was moving in slow motion. Nobody was moving fast enough to get Jake out of the water before he drowned as the cockpit started taking on water. 

Bradley could hear himself screaming out questions that didn't quite make sense even to himself. But nobody was answering him. Before giving it too much thought, he started yanking at the laces of his boots and pulling them off one at a time. Then he was ripping off his gear and unzipping his flight suit, stripping down to just his compression shorts. 

The deck was about sixty feet above the water, which should only be marginally painful for Bradley, as long as he jumped straight. Otherwise he would just be creating more problems. But now Jake's aircraft was starting to sink, and he hadn't opened the canopy yet. 

So Bradley took a running jump into the freezing cold water to try to save his teammate, only partly because he knew you'd probably never forgive him if there was something he could have done but decided not to.

The water was ice cold, and all of Bradley's skin was burning from the impact as he was sloshed around by the waves as he tried to kick to resurface. He was gasping for air as soon as he broke the surface, and then he was off and swimming as fast as he could toward the F/A-18 that was mostly underwater. 

When he reached the cockpit, he could tell it was still sealed. But then he saw that Jake was fighting against the water pressure to get the canopy open. The further underwater the plane sank, the harder it would be to open it. Bradley took a deep breath and went under, pounding on the canopy until he had Jake's attention. He needed Jake to open all the latches, and then he could try to help him pull it open. 

Jake was scrambling with the last latch, and Bradley went back up for another breath of air. This time, when he went under, he planted his feet against the metal panel and pulled as Jake pushed. The cockpit immediately took on water as soon as they opened it just a few inches. He watched Jake get soaked and hit in the face with a wave of salt water, but then it became a little easier to pry the canopy open a few feet. 

As Jake started to squeeze through the opening, the Super Hornet started sinking in earnest. Bradley knew getting Jake to the surface in his gear would be the hardest part of this entire disaster, so he pushed himself up to the surface for one more good breath of air.

This time his lungs were burning as he dove down deeper, his hands connecting with some part of Jake's flight suit before he pushed off of the metal with both feet. He was kicking for everything he was worth, trying to keep a good hold on Jake's arm or leg. But Bradley's lungs were on fire. He could barely stand the pain. He was starting to lose his vision as he kicked harder and harder. He hoisted Jake over his head and pushed him to the surface, letting himself float up as his limbs gave out.

When Bradley felt the cold air hit his face, he opened his eyes, suddenly alert again. Jake's body was refusing to float from the weight of the soaking wet flight suit, and his eyes were closed. Bradley got his fingers on Jake's neck to find his pulse and made sure he still had a strong heartbeat, then he grabbed him under both armpits and kicked relentlessly to keep him above water. 

And thank god there was finally a diving crew jumping in now. Bradley kicked until he heard a woman telling him to stop, and that she had him while another diver had a hold on Jake. Bradley sank back into her grip, letting himself go boneless. And eventually they were all being raised back up to the deck where Bradley finally realized exactly how fucking freezing cold he was. 

Someone bundled him in blankets while he watched Jake's flight suit being cut off of him. "Oh, fuck," Bradley whispered, dropping to his knees on the airstrip and staring at the surreal scene in front of him. Jake's forehead was bleeding profusely and his lips were blue from the temperature of the water. But at least his eyes were open, and then he rolled onto his side and started coughing up water. 

Bradley sat quietly on the deck for a moment, but when a smile broke out on Jake's face, he couldn't help but smile too.

"Well, that fucking sucked," Jake sputtered as he rolled onto his back again. 

Bradley laughed. "You scared the shit out of me, man."

"You're insane," Jake said quietly. "Angel is going to be so mad."

-------------------------

You were exhausted and irritable by the time Phoenix dropped you back off at home. Your night had been terrible right off the bat. You shouldn't have accepted the beer from that guy just to try to get under his skin. You really hated guys like that, the ones who couldn't take the hint when a girl wasn't interested in them. 

You brushed your teeth and got changed for bed, leaving your glasses on your nightstand before lifting Tramp up into bed with you. Should you start a new pill pack? You had been looking at it sitting next to the bed for the past few days. If you didn't take it now, your cycle would be a mess if you changed your mind in a few days. But if you didn't take a pill and also didn't change your mind... well, you were ready now. 

You tossed your unopened birth control pills into your nightstand drawer, next to your new necklace charm and a stack of paper airplanes. Bradley had been telling you for months, ever since you thought you might have gotten pregnant in La Jolla, that he was ready when you were. That it was up to you. 

You took a few deep breaths to calm your nerves. Sometimes the pain you felt from missing Bradley was as much physical as mental, and right now, your body was aching. It almost felt like you'd been out in the sun too long after getting bashed by ocean waves. You felt stiff and achy and uncomfortable. You were trying not to think about the fact that you had no idea what was going on with Bradley and Jake's mission. But you supposed no news was good news, at least as far as a deployment special mission was concerned. 

So you turned off your lamp and snuggled up with Tramp, spinning your engagement ring on your finger and reminding yourself that Bradley would be back soon with Jake in tow. Hopefully just in time for your perfect, surprise wedding. 

----------------------

Too much excitement! Holy shit. And how's Bradley going to feel about Baby Girl discreetly going off birth control?

PART 17

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