#Helping Hands Cook County | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fluentmoviequoter · 1 month

Text

Devastation

Requested Here by @newobsessionweekly!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!cop!reader

Summary: You leave Tim because he takes out his frustration about a long day on you. The next day, everyone in the station can tell you're both miserable. A surprise calls sends Tim into a devastated spiral as he wonders if what he said was worth it.

Warnings: ANGST, arguments, break up, death, mentions of execution, brief fluff at the end bc Tim deserves a break

Word Count: 3.4k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

“Los Angeles is seeing an intense spike in crime rates.”

“The Los Angeles Police Department has received more calls today than in the last two months combined.”

“A new, temporary emergency line has been announced. In case of emergency and busy 9-1-1 lines, please call…”

“Nearly 5,000 police officers are on the streets of Los Angeles city limits, with more dispatched throughout the county.”

As residents lock themselves into their homes in an attempt to be protected by the crime spike, you respond to call after call with no break in between. Some of the stops you’ve made were false alarms, but you’ve also been shot at, yelled at, and engaged in two fights between those pointless stops. Though overtime was approved, you’re nearing the end of your sixteenth hour in the shop and need a break. Grey called the officers from this morning to return to the station before heading home. You only get eight hours off before you have to come back, but you’ll take what you can get.

Tim’s place is closer to the station, so you plan to go there rather than your home on the other side of the city. The more time you can find to sleep, the better. You’re sure everyone is just as tired and in need of rest, so you would like to do something special for them in the morning. If you can wake up in time, that is.

“Hi,” you greet when Tim opens his door.

He is obviously surprised to see you but invites you in any way. You thank him as you walk toward the couch.

“Can I crash here tonight? It’s closer and I’m exhausted.”

Tim scoffs before he nods. He returns to the kitchen and continues cooking as you set your bag down.

“How was your day?” you ask. “I had endless calls, so I can’t imagine how hectic it was for you.”

“Of course you can’t,” Tim replies without looking up. “Considering you’re just a glorified meter maid.”

Tim is tired and stressed, you remind yourself, but the words still cut through you like the knife in his hand. You were in dangerous situations for most of the day, and though you haven’t been a cop as long as Tim, your job is still important. And you’re good at it.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you ask after a tense moment of silence.

“What I said. I do more than you, but if you’re so exhausted that you can’t even drive home-“

“Tim, that’s-”

Tim finally looks up as he cuts you off to say, “You barely passed your rookie exam, you haven’t made a decent-sized arrest in months, and you think they attached you to any decent calls? This city is ripping at the seams right now and trust me when I say you are chasing garden fluff because no one trusts you to do any more. You’re lucky they were desperate enough to bring you up from writing traffic tickets. We just needed help and you were there.”

Tim’s jaw clenches as he steps toward you, and you try to remember that he is just emotional from a long day. You are, too, but you’re not taking it out on him.

“I don’t want to fight with you about this,” you offer.

“Well, sure. Because it can’t be your fault, right?” Tim asks.

His voice is rising, and only the couch separates you. His eyes are dark, and though you don’t want to give him an excuse to keep going, you refuse to be treated like this.

“Why does everything have to be about who is at fault with you?” you demand. “Are you aware that things just happen sometimes?”

“Not to you, though.”

“If you think my life is so perfect, why do you insist on worrying about me so often? No one asked you to do any of this! You could have just asked me to go home if you were this upset about a bad day.”

“You don’t even know what a bad day is! What did you do today? Respond to all of the scared housewives in gated communities?”

You could tell him the truth, that you were inches away from a bullet intended to kill you, but you think he’d somehow find a way to blame you. Your heartbeat pounds in your ears, and though you want to stop fighting, you also need to remind Tim that you’re not a rookie he can walk all over you and blame for every little thing that goes wrong in his life.

“If that’s what you think I do, I can’t change your mind,” you reply.

“Well, those of us who actually acted like cops today went through more than you’ve seen in your career. You’re a bad cop, which makes it harder on the rest of us, to carry your weight, but no one admits it after they see your pretty smile,” Tim snaps loudly.

“I’m done, Tim!” you yell.

You’re surprised by the volume of your statement, but it gets Tim to fall silent, if only for a moment.

“With what?” he asks.

“This! I am done coming back to you every day just for you to pick fights over nothing!”

“Oh, so now it’s nothing? You can complain about your day, but I can’t?”

“That’s the difference, Tim! You’re not complaining about a long day to share something and ask for comfort. You’re tearing me apart because you can’t handle your own emotions. I love you, but these fights aren’t worth it.”

“You love me but I’m not worth it,” Tim says with a sarcastic shrug and set jaw.

“That’s not what I said, and you know it.”

“Well maybe I’m just as stupid about emotions and relationships as you are about police work.”

You pick up your bag and pull it onto your shoulder quickly. As you brush past Tim, you murmur, “I’m not doing this anymore.” The door slams behind you as you leave and severs the connection you and Tim had.

After you leave, Tim sits in his anger for a while. He blames you, picks apart everything you said, and misremembers your words to make you seem like the bad guy. Suddenly, though, Tim hears your genuine I love you, but these fights aren’t worth it. He remembers the look in your eyes as he yelled at you. You never wanted to fight; you asked to stop because you just wanted to relax before returning to work. Yet Tim treated you as an emotional punching bag, something he promised himself he would never do.

Tim drops his head into his hands and sighs. He needs to apologize but can’t take back a word he said. You said you weren’t doing it – your relationship, he presumes – anymore, so Tim gives you room. The clock ticks slowly as he thinks about you, but his next shift grows nearer quickly. He texts you an apology, knowing it’s less than the least he can do. You deserve a grand gesture, a middle-of-the-night, in-person apology from the heart. But with an early morning shift, Tim knows you and he both need the break Wade sent you home to take. So, he sends a few simple words before sitting back in his misery.

In your room, you sit alone to wallow. Your phone buzzes, and you read Tim’s apology before you toss your phone to the side. It’s not enough to forgive or forget everything he said, and you can’t return to that environment yet. So, you don’t answer.

You fall asleep at the same time as Tim, though far away from the comfort you craved, with only a few hours before you’ll be forced to see each other again. Maybe another seemingly endless shift will distract you from your sadness.

Walking into the Mid-Wilshire station the morning after your fight with Tim, your injured pride and broken heart go nearly undetected. You attribute this in part to the specialty donuts you brought in; you couldn’t sleep anyway, so you left before your alarm went off to try to make everyone else’s day better than yours. Lucy talks to you in the locker room like it’s just another morning, even though you are heartbroken. Tim, however, is the talk of the station. His visible devastation and misery draw the attention of every officer in the building. When you step out and unintentionally make eye contact with him, the people closest to you can see what you’re hiding a little better.

“I should have seen it before,” Lucy tells Angela. “She was acting a little different, but I thought she was just tired.”

“I’ve never seen Tim like this before. He is miserable,” Angela says. “And he will take it out on you.”

“That’s fine. But… will they be okay?”

Angela shrugs. “I wish I could say yes, Lucy.”

Wade notices you and Tim sitting on opposite sides of the room during roll call, and he’s the last of them to be pulled into your shared misery. Now that you have seen Tim, your misery is just as obvious, and even the people who don’t know you or Tim well can see the difference.

“Nolan,” Wade calls before he instructs John to ride with you for the day. You’re unsure if it’s because of you and Tim or something else you don’t know about. Regardless, it’s because your emotions play a role in your ability to be a good cop… but maybe you were never one of those, to begin with, like Tim said.

At least I won’t have to talk. Nolan can carry the conversation for both of us, you think.

“What’s up with Tim today?” Nolan asks.

“We’re not talking about Officer Bradford,” you reply quickly.

“Okay. Then what’s up with you? The donuts were nice, but I assume you had the time to get them for a reason.”

“Nolan, we’re not having this conversation,” you snap. “We’re cops, not friends.”

“Sounds like I’m with Bradford,” Nolan mumbles.

“You have no idea,” you reply.

Meanwhile, Tim and Lucy are stuck at the station doing paperwork. Today is slower, and there’s a lot to catch up on from the chaos yesterday. Lucy knows better than to pry after spending so much time with Tim, but she can see that something is weighing on him. More than whatever invisible burden he’s carrying, Tim is devastated. She has seen it before, briefly when one of Tim’s former partners passed away, but this is different.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Lucy offers.

“No,” Tim replies immediately.

Lucy nods before her phone chimes. It only makes noise when another cop contacts her, and she rushes to read the message.

“Tim, Nolan said he needs us to meet them. He just said they’re trapped and it’s really dangerous,” she relays.

“Let’s go.”

Tim runs through the station to reach his shop, and his mind races with every step. Tim lost you last night, but he refuses to lose you forever. If – when you both get to the other side of this, Tim will give you the apology you deserve, he tells himself. And he will never be in this position again.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?” Nolan asks over the nearby gunfire.

You’re a bad cop, Tim says in your mind.

“I- I don’t know what to do, Nolan,” you admit. “I can’t do this.”

Nolan’s eyes widen. He knew you were acting differently, but your sudden and complete lack of confidence shocks him. Both of you are pinned in the corner of a warehouse, in danger of being tortured, executed, or some sick combination of worse things. You know you need to act, but your pride and your abilities are shot, thanks to Tim. You’ll be lucky if you don’t get shot, too.

“You can do this,” Nolan assures you. “You have to. Whoever said-“

“Move!” you demand.

Nolan ducks, and you fire through a nearby doorway. It draws attention to you and Nolan, and your confidence takes another hit as three men aim rifles at your chest. The red dots form a perfect triangle around your heart. Things could have been so different if you had just gone home last night instead of giving into your never-ending craving for Tim’s comfort.

“Tim,” Angela calls when he and Lucy arrive. “You don’t want to go in there.”

“Yes, I do,” he replies.

She pushes a hand against his chest and shakes her head. Despite Tim’s grumbling, he trusts Angela as a friend and a fellow cop.

“What happened?” he asks softly.

Angela looks to her right, and Tim follows her line of sight. Your shop is standing wide open as CSU combs through it. The windshield is shattered, and the interior is riddled with bullet holes. Tim’s attention catches on the blood coating everything. No one could have survived that blood loss.

“Where is she?” Tim demands.

“We don’t know,” Angela admits. “She wasn’t here when we arrived. Neither was Nolan.”

“Let me help.”

Angela looks around before she whispers, “You’re too emotional.”

“She left me last night, Angela. It was all my fault, and I didn’t even get to apologize! So, I am helping, whether you want it or not.”

Angela nods as Lucy returns to Tim’s side. He looks back to your shop and knows. He knows he is too late. That realization changes everything.

“You’re right,” he tells Angela. “I’m too close; I shouldn’t help.”

“Timothy,” she begins.

“No, I- she’s gone. We both know that. And I can’t do this, not knowing that she died out here thinking that I didn’t love her. That I didn’t fight for her.”

“Let me know if that changes, Tim.”

Angela walks away to continue investigating the scene. Lucy lays her hand on Tim’s back to provide some comfort, but he shakes her hand off before he moves toward the shop. Crime doesn’t stop just because Tim’s world ends, and if throwing himself into his work will distract him, he’ll let it. But being busy and tired will never get between you and him again.

“Snipers,” Lucy whispers as she reads something on her phone.

“What about them?” Tim inquires.

“Oh, uh, just something Angela sent me.”

“About her?”

“Yeah.”

Tim nods, and his knuckles grow white as he grips the steering wheel. “There were snipers?”

“Three of them, from what they can tell. A gun left behind matched the ballistics of the bullets in her shop. It seems like… like someone was executed in her shop.”

“Let’s take another call, Chen.”

Lucy nods and requests dispatch to begin sending them calls again. The first is a bank robbery in process, and Tim only hopes that adrenaline and devastation mix well.

“Gun!” Lucy yells before ducking behind the armored personnel carrier outside the bank.

Tim doesn’t hesitate to raise his arms and shoot. The sniper falls backward, and Tim wills his mind not to wonder how different things would be if he’d been with you instead of Nolan. Snipers took you from him, but this taste of retribution doesn’t help Tim. He walks away as soon as the bank is cleared. He wants to punch something, yell, cry, and maybe do it all at once, but it won’t bring you back. Nothing short of an apology that he can’t give will.

Tim sits on his couch in the dark because it’s as close to peace as he can get. If he closes his eyes too long, he sees you standing on the other side of the room, defending yourself from his emotional outburst. The argument was pointless, and you wanted to stop it, but Tim kept pushing. The more he thinks about it, the more he starts to turn his sadness into self-hatred because he acted like his father. He drops his head into his hands and asks himself why he allowed himself to be driven so far. Despite how he treated you and the horrible, untrue things he said, you told Tim you loved him. He loves you more than anything but didn’t return the sentiment in the heat of the moment. And now he never can.

“I love you,” Tim whispers now. “I’m so sorry.”

Someone knocks on his door, fast raps with no break between them. Tim rubs his face as he stands and walks around the couch-turned-fighting ring to answer it.

“Tim,” Angela says quickly. “We found something. We know where they were an hour ago.”

Tim looks over his shoulder to the cruiser at the end of his driveway. The lights are on, and Nyla is inside, ready to go.

“I wanted to extend the invite,” Angela adds.

Tim nods as he yanks his keys from the table by his door. He doesn’t bother to check if the door locks behind him as he races toward the car, toward you. Nyla drives quickly and parks outside an abandoned house less than fifteen minutes later. While Tim looks at the house, he sees someone move in the window.

“Somebody’s inside,” he alerts.

Nyla nods and instructs Tim to wait while she and Angela approach the house. Before they exit the car, the person walks out of the front door with their hands up. Tim throws the door open and sprints across the yard before anyone says anything.

“Nolan,” he calls.

“What happened here?” Nyla asks.

Her tone makes Tim look around, and he counts at least eight bodies in the front yard. Most are covered, and the desperation, dread, misery, and heartbreak churn in his stomach as he wonders if any of them are you.

“We walked into an ambush. She got one of them down, but we were cornered, surrounded. They dragged their ‘failure’ to the shop and finished him off before they brought us here.” After he explains, Nolan turns to Tim and says, “She asked me to give you this.”

He pulls a bloody piece of paper from his pocket and passes it to Tim, who accepts it wordlessly.

“Where…” is she? Tim wants to say, but he can’t finish the question.

“Uh, she’s inside,” Nolan answers.

Tim hears confirmation that you’re here and runs through the carnage-covered yard and house to find you. He grips the letter tightly as he navigates through the dark house. Tim stops when he sees your badge lying in a corner, and squats to retrieve it. It’s scuffed and bloody, but Tim can’t leave any piece of you behind. He tucks your letter into his pocket to hold your badge.

“Officer Bradford?”

Tim turns quickly and nearly trips over a bloody hammer. He would recognize that voice anywhere. When his eyes finish adjusting in the darkness, and he sees you slumped in the opposite corner, propped up behind the door, he crosses the room in the time it takes you to blink. Tim’s hands cup your face gently as he leans closer to you.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Save it,” you reply. “This isn’t over yet. He said he was coming back.”

“Where’d he go?” Tim asks, effortlessly switching back to cop mode.

You smile, and Tim swallows harshly as your injured lip splits and produces a fresh bead of blood. “To rob a bank. As if you weren’t busy enough, right?”

The sniper at the bank, Tim remembers. “He’s gone,” he says quickly. “We got him.”

“You got him?” you clarify.

Tim shakes his head, and you raise your hands to his sides as you lean toward him.

“I could never do this alone. I can’t do any of this without you.”

“Did you read my letter?”

Tim pulls the paper from his back pocket and shakes his head as he reads the two short sentences.

“I forgive you. I love you,” you say as Tim reads the same words.

“It won’t happen again,” Tim promises.

“It might. We have hard jobs, but we can get through it. Right?”

Tim’s reply is a careful kiss to your forehead before he yells for a paramedic. Nolan leads Angela and Nyla inside a moment later, and they enter the door beside you.

“You could’ve mentioned she was alive,” Tim tells Nolan.

“You ran in before I said, ‘she’d like to see your face first, considering she almost died and you were the only thing she talked about,’” Nolan answers.

“Shut up,” you and Tim say together.

“This is the thanks,” Nolan mumbles.

“Can I crash at your place?” you ask Tim. “Without the argument?”

“Wouldn’t let you go anywhere else. The best cop I know deserves some comfort.”

“I thought I was the best cop you knew,” Angela teases.

“I love you,” you tell Tim.

“I love you,” he answers. After he looks into your eyes and smiles, he yells, “Where is the ambulance?”

#hanna writes✯#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford fic #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford angst #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie x reader #the rookie abc #fem!reader #requests

237 notes · View notes

pathetichimbos · 7 months

Text

First Meeting - Part Six

((part five here))

Thomas Hewitt/GN!Reader

tagslist: @goodiesinthecloset21 @shykoolade @strawb3rry-gal @ktssstuff @theclownbaby0 @leah-halliwell92 @lost-in-the-fiction-like-ur-mom @aleracrovn @dreamybxnny @dij-ology @todorokitantrum

---

You've run away from home, hitchhiking around Texas as you come up with your next plan, only to find that life has plans of its own when a simple ride with a group of friends lands you at a lone gas station in Travis County, drawn to a mysterious man most seem to avoid.

---

There isn't much left to do, considering you got most of the prep done earlier in the day, so the only real thing left to do is cook the meat and make the broth.

She takes the lead, putting the meat on to cook and having you grind it down and stir it as she adds several seasonings and the onions to the much too large pot.

It's obvious she's comfortable in the kitchen, confident in her choices with no second guesses, each ingredient she adds done with a precision and assuredness that tells you she's spent most of her life in the kitchen.

She cooks the meat down to a simmer before she begins to add in the broth, carefully working the stew together as you lean on the counter next to the big bowl of vegetables you previously cut.

"...Where'd you learn this recipe?" You ask, watching her work and waiting for your next task to be given.

"My grandmama taught me long time ago, when I was much younger than you." She explains, stirring the broth as she gestures for the bowl of vegetables, "She taught me most of everythin' I know."

You hand her the bowl, "Sounds like a nice lady."

"She was." Luda Mae sighs, adding the vegetables into the pot, "Grab me the cornstartch from that cabinet there."

You go to the cabinet she points to and grab the cornstarch, handing it to her. She drops some in a bowl, adding a bit of water to it, mixing it until it's thick.

"...My Mama never taught me much of anything." You confess, though you're not entirely sure why, "I never knew my grandmama either..."

"My Mama didn't teach me nothin' either." Luda Mae shakes her head, adding a bit of the slurry to the pot, "Didn't care much to."

"I'm guessing she wasn't as nice as your grandmama?"

"She was meaner than a junkyard dog, ran off one day when I was a teenager and I never saw her again. My grandmama always told me she drowned, but I was never too sure if that was literal or not."

"What do you mean?"

Luda Mae sighs again, stirring the large pot, "I can't remember a time she loved her children more than her liqour. She was sooner to have a bottle of whiskey in hand than touch a bottle of milk."

You cross your arms, eyes focused on the pot, "...I can understand what that's like."

You don't say much else after that, idly standing by and helping when she needed it, watching her work and making small comments every now and again.

It doesn't take long for the sound of a car pulling in the driveway to drive you upstairs, back in the solitude of the barren bedroom.

You can hear Hoyt come in hollering for help with carrying the groceries in, the previously quiet house now filled with noise and life.

You sit on the floor again, sighing in relief at the feeling of clean clothes on clean skin, your hair still damp from your shower earlier.

There wasn't a feeling quite like it, and you forgot how amazing it was after going almost two months with one or two half washes in lakes and creeks.

You stand up after a moment, brushing off your legs and shorts, before pulling the covers back on the bed. You cringe, seeing the dirt and grime you left the previous night, not wanting to sleep in it now that you were finally clean. You look around for a moment, spotting the extra blanket Thomas had left on the dresser.

You pull the blanket off completely now, tossing it to the bedroom door, letting it pile against the floor. You grab the fresh blanket, hesitating when you see how dirty the sheets still were.

You hang the blanket on the bedframe, deciding to search the closet to see if Thomas had any extra sheets in his closet.

It wasn't a big closet by any means, with a few clean, never before stained clothes hanging up. You spot the clean, light blue sheets on the top shelf, just barely out of reach.

You stand on your toes, reaching as high as you can, grabbing the edge and pulling. The sheets come tumbling down, knocking against the clothes as you barely catch them.

You hesitate, wondering if you made too much noise, but quickly realize Hoyt was being much too loud below you to notice any noise you made.

You shut the closet door, setting the now messily folded sheets on the dresser before pulling the old ones off the bed. You set them beside the bedroom door with the blanket, opting just to flip your pillowcase inside out since you didn't find any of those.

You spend way too long trying to make the bed, each corner of the fitted sheet fighting against you as you try not to let the bedframe bang against any of the walls.

You drop on the bed when you finish, groaning into the pillow out of pure frustration. Sure, being homeless you could handle, but making a bed? That was apparently out of your skill set.

After a few moments of self pity, you shut off the main light in favor of the floor lamp beside the bed, crawling under the covers and curling into your corner of the bed, continuing to read your book.

It's a couple hours before Thomas comes up, the sun just starting to set as he makes his way in.

You look up from your book, seeing he's already taken the liberty to change into his pajamas.

"Hi." You watch as he sits on the bed, taking notice of the new sheets, "I hope you don't mind, I found them in the closet."

He shakes his head, rubbing his hand over the cotton fabric before climbing under the covers nexts to you.

He looks over, seeing you have the same, old book sitting open in your lap, your hand resting on one of the pages to hold your place.

He reaches over, tapping against the side with a questioning look.

"My book?" You ask, blinking a couple of times before closing it and handing it over to him, "Go ahead, I've read it a million times."

He hesitates, carefully looking over the faded cover, running his calloused fingers over the worn spine in such a gentle manner you'd think he was handling something meaningful.

You rest your head on your knees, watching as he nervously opens the book with the same cautiousness one might treat a wild animal.

His eyebrows furrow as starts to read, finger slowly running under each word slowly and carefully, and you can see the confusion in his brown eyes as he struggles.

You watch him try and reread the same sentence three times before reaching a hand out, gently resting on his wrist, "...Are you having trouble reading?"

He sighs, setting the book down with a shameful nod, too embarrassed to meet your gaze.

"Hey, that's okay. A lot of people can't read all that well, no worries," You carefully pull the book from his grasp, moving closer to his side, "Here, I'll read it to you."

He's caught off guard by your sudden offer, but makes no move to stop you.

You open the book, setting it down so half rests on his leg and the other on yours, your finger tracing under the words as you begin to read.

His eyes follow along carefully, sometimes stopping you to tap at a word when he doesn't know it's meaning, your voice calming as he listens carefully.

By the end of the first chapter, he's relaxed against your side, head resting on your shoulder as you read each word carefully, doing your best to bring the story to life.

You're not sure how long the two of you stay awake, reading the book with the company of the crickets and the moonlight, but the silence of the first floor slowly creeping through the floorboards tells you everyone has gone to bed, and the height of the moon warns you the late hours will soon become early.

You fail to hold back another yawn, blinking wearily as you continue reading, the words beginning to blend together on the worn pages.

You don't particulary remember falling asleep, but the next thing you're consiously aware of is the soft light of the rising sun peaking through the window.

You can feel the bed shift as you groan, curling in on yourself and burying yourself deeper into the warmth of the bed, not ready to face the world quite yet.

You feel yourself begin to drift this time, your mind swirling with the chaotic nonsense of a half-asleep brain trying to dream.

The images dart around, blurry and fast as you try to balance yourself in an unreal situation.

It's dizzying, the heat of your lungs burning a hole through your chest, choking on the air you needed to breathe.

The humidity cages you in, the space around you closing in, your own skin too tight against your body as all too familiar, blood curdling screams swallow any sense of sanity you're supposed to have.

“No, no, please, let us go!”

“God, why me? Why us, God, why–”

“Please, please, let me go, please-”

The bed is hot when you wake, choking on your own air as you sit up, covering your mouth to quiet your coughs.

Your eyes are wide as you stare ahead, keeping your mouth covered through the deep breaths you're taking.

A buzz rests deep in your bones, your mind vibrating with a dissociative tune, and it takes you a few minutes to remember you're actually real.

You let out a shaky sigh, rubbing your face as you regain control of yourself, the nightmare already mostly forgotten as your mind continues waking up.

The sun rests high in the sky, beating down on you through the dusty glass of the window, letting the feeling of the suffocating heat sting your skin.

You take another deep breath, finally registering the sound of voices carrying through the house as you let your head hang in your hands.

The faint smell of an already cooked breakfast tells you it's still morning, but the height of the sun gives way that it's later, perhaps almost noon.

You crawl to the edge of the bed, taking a seat as the hazy fog in your mind begins to clear.

Hoyt's voice still carries through the house, telling you that you'd be stuck in the bedroom for a while longer.

It's strange, hiding from a man in his own home, but Thomas keeps you hidden from him for a reason, and that's enough to keep your footsteps quiet as you stand to make the bed, the shake in your limbs slowly fading away as the panic subsides.

You're not sure if it's the remanents of the forgotten nightmare or the anxiety of being almost trapped in this home, but you can't seem to stop your mind from running wild as you pull the blanket back.

What happens when Hoyt finds out?

That question leads nothing but more anxiety and contemplation, making your head spin.

How long do you plan to stay here? How long do they plan to let you? How long do you have before you're thrown back out to the streets with nothing more than a bag of dirty clothes and an old book to your name?

Your head begins pounding with the migraine you're giving yourself as you pull the sheet taunt against the bed you've slept in for the last two nights.

You swallow, mind drifting back to the first night you stayed here.

"S-T-A-Y."

The memory of Thomas' words tingle against your palm, and it presents you with a new question.

Would they ever let you leave?

#first meeting #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt x s/o #slashers #slasher fandom #slasher x reader #slasher x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x s/o

169 notes · View notes

justjams2003 · 6 months

Text

Fast Pace- 12

Before we start, I'd just like to wish you all a very happy New Year! Know that there is plenty more to come from me in the coming year. And also thank you all for 420 followers (haha nice), I'm still in shock that people keep coming back and wants more. Believe it or not, this is the most active community and website I have ever written for and I'm so glad to have found Tumblr. Anyways enjoy xoxo

Summary: You're a hard-working Chef in Paris and after a freak accident run-in with Carlos Sainz, your life makes a 180. Let's just say with a certain agreement, you get your bills paid and in return stand in as Carlos' girlfriend for the press. But will you be able to handle the pressure and ensure the lines don't blur?

Pairing: Sugar Daddy!Carlos Sainz x Sugar Baby!Reader

Warnings: I've aged up Carlos, he is 33 in this fic. Smoking, smut, sexual themes, age difference, manipulation, control, slight obsession, the word 'daddy', nudity, a garbage family, family trauma, disowning, tell me if I missed any

Taglist: @httpjeonlicious, @f1lov3r, @messersandmesses, @hollie911, @oriconde08 @thehufflepuffavenger1 @fanboyluvr @thatgirlmj @whyamireadingthis @oriconde08 @depressedriches @roseseraj @skepvids @sain55wifey @distinguishedvoidlady @amatswimming @sachaa-ff @lightdragonrayne @lazybot @formula1mount @fangirl-dot-com @saintslewis @carlossainzwho @lordpercevalcharles @topguncultleader @kitixie @serp3ns0rtiae @hangmandruigandmav @therealone4r @keii134 @dark-night-sky-99 @jax-the-oregonian @hachrinnen

Word count: 3,1k

Masterlist

Part 11~Part 13 (coming soon)

“Echanté de voi rencontre, Monsur.” Carlos is trying his best, but at the moment he is butchering your home-tongue. You can’t but be nervous, he however seems as calm as a cucumber about meeting your parents. He’s got the sunglasses on that you gave him. You can see from where your sitting, your initials carved into the side. “No, no, mon cher. Good try, but it’s Enchanté de vous rencontrer, Monsieur.”

He sighs, rubbing his face in his hands. He looks so much more relaxed already. He’s got short khaki’s on and a casual button up shirt. You’ve hired a more practical car for the week, one with a big trunk. You got your family lots of presents and might have overpacked a bit. Still not used to having such a big amount of money. But even still, you have the sunroof open, enjoying the county side air.

“I’m sorry, mi querida,” he shakes his head and rakes his fingers through his hair. You can’t help yourself, tucking the stray hairs that fray in the wind behind his ears. “I should’ve gotten a haircut before we came.” He sighs, but you can see that he enjoys your touch. “No, it is the perfect length, don’t change a thing about it.” He gives a side-eye but you can only laugh. “No, it’s in the way.”

You pout, “No, your hair is just long enough to...grab...” you mutter, taking a handful of hair and pulling on it ever so slightly. Surprisingly, a growl escapes his throat. The noise causes a warmth to spread through your body.

The sunlight hits his skin just beautifully, he looks like hot caramel. Something you want to drizzle into your mouth. You’re sure you could cook a steak on his sizzling skin.

“This is your home then?” He asks, while caring the bags. He refuses to let you carry a single one. You nod and then knock on the door. “It is a small house for 7 people, no?” He’s not wrong. “Oui, us three girls had to share a room and the boys shared a room.” He grimaces at your words, “Then one day we will have a big house.” You blush at his words and wrap your arms around his, all while subtly taking a photo.

The door opens, you only now realise how short your mom has gotten. Or maybe it really has been so long. “Ah, ma fille, tu viens enfin rendre visite à ta vieille mère. Cela fait si longtemps et enfin tu ramènes un homme à la maison!” She instantly starts rambling and then opens up her arms and gives Carlos a big hug. “N'es-tu pas si beau? Quel est votre nom et pourquoi êtes-vous avec ma fille?”

Carlos looks like a fish out of water. His face is entirly blank and he just seems to be nodding along. “Enchanté de vous rencontrer, Mademoiselle,” he stutters through the French, his Spanish accent still blatantly obvious. Your mother just frowns at his bad French. “He doesn’t speak French.” Her wide smile turns sour, “Pourquoi faire venir un homme inutile qui ne parle pas français?”

You sigh and then nudge him, “the presents,” you whisper. “Il s'appelle Carlos et il a apporté des cadeaux.” Now she really does smile as he holds up the presents. “Oui, come in, come in.” Like always, he allows you to walk in first.

“What did she say?” He asks to you in a whisper. You sigh and shake your head. “Nothing that you need to worry yourself about.” You give him a kiss on the cheek, trying to soothe his usually worry.

“Apportez-lui quelque chose à boire, je suis sûr qu'il est fatigué après son très long voyage.” You sigh, of course she asks that of you. As if you and him didn’t have the same trip. You turn to Carlos after he sat down along with your mother to open her present, that you picked out.

“Carlos, what would you like to drink?” He frowns and then stands up. He takes your arm and then leads you to the couch. “You must be tired, mi querido, it was a four-hour trip, I’m sure you are tired.” He leads you to sit down next to him, he pulls you into his side. Everything in you wants to cuddle into his side, but you can feel your mother’s judgemental eyes on you.

Instead, you shake your head, “My mother insists that I get you something to drink. You did drive after all.” You can see the tick in his jaw, clearly not happy with this. He smiles, forced clearly, “Please tell your mother I don’t need anything to drink.” You sigh and do just so and she replies with some comment insisting you do just that. Yes, you are exhausted but even still you stand and pour him a drink.

“Je vais lui montrer la chambre.” You grab him by the arm and pull him up towards your old bedroom. Quite ungracefully you fall on your childhood bed. He smirks, but his smile is quick to fall. “Mi dulce niña, does she always make you feel like this?” Carlos asks you give and exhausted laugh. “You don’t even know what she said,” you peak at him, and he pulls you into his lap.

He kisses your forehead, “Tell me," You sigh and rest you head on his shoulder. “When she met you, she went, ‘you’re so handsome why are you dating my daughter?’ And then she went, ‘you’re so stupid bringing a man that doesn’t even speak French.’ Then after that it was, ‘poor thing he’s so tired bring him something to drink.’ As if I wasn’t on the exact same trip as you!”

His jaw locks and his arms wrap tighter around you, “Does she always speak to you like that,” you sigh and sink deeper into his arms. “Why do you think I brought you with. Call you my armour,” you laugh, actually hiding behind his arms. He laughs, but it’s the same type of awkward type, “Where is your dad, is he any better?”

You hum and then walk down the stairs again after taking your breather and then ask your Maman where your father is. “He is outside with your brother, working hard as always,” she says, still in French.

“Really, which one?” You ask, opening the back door, only to see your oldest brother chopping wood while your father carves the same wood right next to him. “Bér!” You call out and once he sees you, he smiles.

You walk into the back fields, Carlos trailing behind you and when you do finally meet your brother, he gives you a warm hug. “Finally, back in your own country,” he comments, and you can’t help but furrow your brows. “What do you mean?” You ask, you haven’t told anyone about anything. “You think I haven’t noticed? I am not like Mama and Papa who do not own a phone and use the library’s computer to email you.”

You frown and watch his eyes. They’re train on Carlos who seems to be struggling with the mud and his very expensive shoes. “Traveling the world with mister Armani,” he teases you like always, and you can’t help but step on his shoes. “Enchanté, Monsieur.” Carlos holds out his hand and it makes you and your brother laugh out loud. “Don’t worry, race-man... I am not her father.” You jab your brother in the stomach.

“But he’s even worse.” He groans and then begins complaining in French but you’re quick to stop him. “Connard, you know Carlos doesn’t speak French, clearly, you’ve been stalking him. So don’t be an ass,” Bérenger sighs at your words and then translates for Carlos.

“I was just saying that I you see in your fancy Ferrari and your expensive shoes, no one in the family can understand someone like you being with a dull girl like her.” He shrugs and you both laugh, it’s the way you talk as siblings.

Even so, Carlos’ expression turns sour. “He much more than that Bérenger, now, play nice.” Before you turn to leave to say hello to your father, you ask your brother one last thing. This time in French, because you’d rather not have Carlos know just yet. “How is Papa today?” You brother hesitates, knowing exactly what you’re talking about. “He’s there, like before, no confusion yet today.”

You nod and make your way over. “Bonjour Papa, I’ve come to visit.” Your father looks up to you, his eyes clear. Not that his personality has changed much, he replies in a gruff tone. “Who’s the boy?” His eyes are like daggers on Carlos.

“He’s my boyfriend,” your dad rolls his eyes. “Yeah, sure. And for how long is he going to put up with you?” You laugh, like always keeping the peace. “I’m not some terrible burden. At least, not in his eyes.”

Like always he just replies with a scoff.

Before long, you’re washing dishes after dinner. “Mi paloma, please tell your mother the dinner was delicious.” You can feel his big strong arms wrap around your waist. You’re sure he's feeling a bit alone. It’s only been you and your brother here who can even speak English.

You smile, “Thank you, Carlos, but she didn’t make it.” It’s the truth, the whole evening Bérenger and Carlos chopped wood, all while you have to take care of your mother’s ever whim, like always.

It doesn’t bother you; it’s always been like this. But you can tell it’s getting to Carlos. “No wonder I liked it so much, it’s your cooking. But, mi dulce niña, you barely ate, aren’t you hungry?” He caresses yours even as you continue washing. “Thank you, Carlos, it’s nice hearing some positive words after that dinner.” He sighs, burrowing his face on the crook of your neck.

“You’re avoiding my question.” He places small kisses here and there. “It’s not in the diet plan,” it’s an excuse, your mother had been commenting on your weight all evening. Yes, it’s true you’d gained weight, but you’d been working out and most of it is muscle. But her words are sharp, and the thoughts are springing up. If it makes her happy, better so. He does his usual noise when he’s unhappy when something.

“Tomorrow I’ll cook dinner,” you gasp, turning to him, his words have caused delight in you. “I’d like to see that,” his brows furrow but a smug look is on his face. “What? You don’t think I can?” In your mind, yes, he has a difficult life, but that’s just stress. He has personal chefs and personal trainers and likely his father had too. Not way did he ever learn to cook. “No, not at all.”

You cross your arms, and he just laughs. “Fine then, I'll show you. You can even post it on your Instagram.” This sparks joy, you love seeing people’s reactions to you and him.

So far, they’ve been nothing but positive. In these short three weeks you’ve gotten 50k new followers. If they’re there for you or Carlos, doesn’t matter to you. You’ll give them what they want either way.

“You mean it?” Your hands reach up and take hold of his shirt. “Only if you eat,” and with that you bite your lip and nod. “Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal.” He sighs, takes a drying rag and begins helping you by putting away the dishes. “Oh Carlos! Ne perdez pas votre temps avec la vaisselle, Y/N la fera. Laisse-moi te montrer ses photos de bébé.”

You sigh, leaning your head against his chest. “Oh no,” his brows furrow pulling you away to see what the matter is. “She wants to show you my baby pictures.” A deep laugh escapes his chest. “Mi querida, I’d love to help you finish this, but I can’t miss that.” You laugh but do allow him to see little you.

“What colour are you choosing?” You ask your mother, watching as she scans through the different nail polishes. Like expect she chooses a toned-down pink, she rarely does her nails but when she does, it’s always that same colour. “Why don’t you choose something different? Look I’m going with this black with gold shimmer. We’re somewhere nice, don’t you want to use the opportunity?”

Your mother just looks at you over her glasses. “And why is that?” It’s already Thursday, the week had been going by slower than you expected it would and only made you realise why you visit so little.

The only good thing so far has been your father’s awareness, he’s had a few moments of unclarity these past few months. Even so, just like growing up, he doesn’t exactly stand up for you against your mother’s badgering.

Like always, it's just the usual gruff short replies and relative quietness. Carlos, however, has been nothing but kind. The dinner he cooked was amazing, the fans swooned in your comments. At night he’d hold you tight and whisper sweet nothings. All about how beautiful you are and how you’re perfect as is. It helps, yes, but nothing compares to motherly love. You do everything you can, but still don’t feel like enough.

“Ah, Mama, don’t be like that.” After that, she continues about the gossip of the town and the lives of your siblings. That is of course until you’re sitting at the dinner table again. Enjoying the food Carlos has crafted to fit both of your diets, showing him your nails. He loves them and makes sure to kiss your knuckles.

That is, until your mother interrupts your bliss. “Y/N, what did you say Carlos does?” You bite the inside of your cheek. “He is a Formula one driver.” You mutter, trying to hide yourself behind her sharp glare. “And are you still a chef?” You swallow your food; you’ve been avoiding this question for as long as possible. You shake your head, “No, Mama,” her bitter stare grows stronger.

“So, what is it that you do?” She raises her voice, now your father seems interested. “I am working on my modelling career.” Both your parents groan and gasp in raised tones. “This again,” your brother mutters, he too has been harsh with you. “Why do you keep going on and on about this modelling. Ever since you were small. My daughter, you know I love you, but you aren’t like those pretty girls.”

Her words are like knifes; knifes reopening wounds you’d been working so hard to heal. Carlos takes your hand under the table. This whole time he’d been encouraging you to stand up for yourself. Convincing you that what they’re saying aren’t normal and that you shouldn’t tolerate it. You’ve tried persuading him or more yourself that she’s your mother and she does it out of love.

But she’s been ungrateful all week. As if she hasn’t been begging you to come home and talk to her. She comments on everything, your weight, your hair even your laugh. Saying you squeal like a pig, you tried to laugh less after that one. She hates her nails and all the presents you brought home. More than all, you’ve been dreading this happening. Hoping that it never would.

“No, Mama, I do not know that you love me,” she gasps and begins screaming even more. “How could you not know? I raised you. I fed you, clothed you, gave you the deposit to get your degree. Which you don’t even use now!” The anger over comes you and you rise from your chair. “Carlos will gladly pay back all that money if I was such a burden on you!”

The whole table goes eerily quiet. Soon it is interrupted by a scoff from your brother. “So what? He’s like your Sugar Daddy, right?” You take a moment to calm down, trying to decide if you’re going to say the truth. But they're your family. You should never lie to your family, right? “Yes,” you take his hand back into yours. You can see that he’s picked up his name and knows he’s being discussed.

“What is that, Bérenger?” Your mother asks, switching between you and your brother. “She fucks him for money. A glorified prostitute!” His words are harsh and spit flies as he screams. You know for a fact that if Carlos understood French, he’d be raging.

“Unbelievable!” Your mother gasps out and another raging fire starts in you. “What? Is it so unbelievable that someone could actually love me so much that they’d pay to see me?”

Years and years or anger and trauma, built up due to constant belittlement finally breaks through. “Why does it shock you all so much that he thinks I’m beautiful. That he thinks I’m more worth than all the riches in the world. You hate it that someone actually respects me, because you can’t knock me down anymore.”

Again, the table goes quiet before your brother speaks again. This time in English, clearly wanting Carlos to understand what he’s saying.

“He doesn’t respect you. He doesn’t care for you. And he most certainly doesn’t love you. He just wants to fuck you. And once he’s bored of you, he’ll take what he’s given and leave you with nothing.” Before you can curse out your brother, a sharp crack is heard. Your brother is on the floor, nursing a bloody nose. “Don’t you ever, ever talk to her like that ever again.”

You can hear your mother rambling on about her poor son and can only scoff at her reaction. “I’m not some city boy who doesn’t know how to throw a punch. You won’t believe how strong 6G’s of force make you.” Through all the commotion, there is a muttering that can be heard. Listening carefully, it is your father. “Get out, get out,” he repeats over and over.

You bow your head down low, right by his ear but just shake off his words. This irritates him and he too raises his voice. “Get out, you’re no daughter of mine.” You laugh at his words, “Don’t be silly, Papa, you must be having one of your episodes.” You go to rub his back, in your mind to soothe him but he grabs your wrist before he can.

“Hear me when I say this girl, because I am clear of mind when I do. While you are still whoring yourself out to this man, you are no daughter of mine.” The realisation hits you like a truck. So much so, that you stagger back, Carlos catching you as your head becomes dizzy. “Mi pequeña, what is the matter?” All you can do is shake your head.

“Come, Carlos, it seems that we are not welcome here.”

Just so p.s. me not translating the French and Spanish is for a reason. I'm not just being spiteful, it is part of the storytelling. If you want to get a good grade in fanfic reading (which is totally possible and a very normal thing to want) feel welcome to translate it 😉

Tag list is open, just ask!

#Fast Pace #carlos sainz #carlos sainz jr #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz smut #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x sugar baby!reader #sugar daddy!carlos sainz #sugar daddy!carlos sainz x reader #formula one #formula 1 #f1 #f 1 x reader

119 notes · View notes

violet-harmon2011 · 1 month

Text

the evans ideal date

a/n: i know some of these are not totally canon - just let me live out my fantasies in peace lol

p.s. i love you all, thank you for reading!! pls lmk if any of these seem incorrect, i haven't revisted some seasons in a while. also please send me requests or just any evan peters related thoughts lol 🤗😚

all photos are from pinterest <3

evan peters

i have a feeling he would love going to the movies

or building a pillow fort and watching one in your living room

he has mentioned in an interview that he would watch anything just to eat buttered popcorn and candy and drink soda lol

if it were up to him, he’d prob pick a rom com but he’s also up for a good horror film every once in a while

if you went to the theater, he would definitely wanna sit in the back and make out

if you're at home, he would wanna cuddle and would let you lay your head on his chest until you eventually fall asleep together

tate langdon

i feel like he would wanna take a walk around the neighborhood after dark, you know, escape the house for a bit

he'd def wanna hold your hand

shares an earbud with you

listening to your shared playlist on your ipod

would give you his sweater if you got cold

would walk on the side closest to the road to protect you

kit walker

most days the he's too tired after work & you just wanna stay in

would wanna bake with you!!!

and would it turn into a steamy makeout sesh on the countertop? ...and potentially something more? 100%

but seriously, he just loves spending time with you after a long day at work

cooking with you, holding you, kissing you, cuddling you

when he's able to save up to take you somewhere special, he'll ask you out to the movies or a nice restaurant or even the county fair

overall just a lovesick puppy who is head over heels for you

kyle spencer

would want you with him at any parties he has to attend

but would much rather prefer spending time alone with you

would wanna take the bus out of town to escape for a little while

loooves picnic dates with you

would get the maid's help to make a bunch of food to bring

could relax under a tree with you for hours

jimmy darling

would take you to a diner in town

would wear gloves and try to pretend he was normal for you

but you would take none of that, holding his hands with nothing but a proud smile on your face

he would definitely feel 100x more confident after that

your reward would be waiting for you in his trailer that night ;)

james patrick march

would settle for having a nice dinner with you in his room and taking you to bed afterward

but would also be open to doing wtv you want

would ask you if you wanna get a drink at the hotel bar or have dinner at a nice restaurant if you’re tired of the hotel

kai anderson

going out with kai is a rare occasion

most of the time, you’re lucky if he lets you sit in his lap while he’s doing cult work late at night

but every once in a while (especially on nights he wants to try for his messiah baby) he’ll ask you out

god forbid you make a big deal about it or even tell anyone other than winter

“get changed, i’m taking you out in five”

is really the kai equivalent of “do you wanna go out tonight, my gorgeous princess?”

peter maximoff

shows up to your house, hiding behind a bouquet he picked for you

would wanna go to an arcade

beats you at every game

then he feels bad so he wins you a teddy from the claw machine that is absolutely impossible to win at

would take you out to eat after

nothin fancy probably just a diner or somewhere cozy

he cannot afford it but you don’t need to know that

would split a milkshake with you <3

afterwards, he has the zoomies so he gives you superfast piggyback rides

made you matching goggles in your fav color for protection :)

would wanna run around target at 1am pushing each other in shopping carts until you’re both kicked out lol

makes you playlists and loves sharing his music with you

warren lipka

would wanna drive around, get drunk, do it over again

no but seriously, he'd just be content driving nowhere, windows down, screaming some song that makes him feel "alive"

would take you to the gas station or some cheap diner

would love taking random road trips together & finding adventure

alex (adult world)

would love to take you to a museum if you're down

if you're a writer, he would come to poetry readings & book signings with you

loves going to the art store/bookstore

would also be down to just rent a film from adult world & chill at home if yk what i mean 😉

76 notes · View notes

the-book-gnome · 1 year

Text

Play With Fire

Word count: 4k

Pairings: König x fem!reader

Warnings: Fem!reader, Sub!könig, dom!reader, fire play, pain implied, multiple orgasms, wax play, handjob, smut, (Kö, meine liebe(my love), baby)

18+ only ! minors do not interact !

He’s been with you for 3 years now, and you’ve had him wrapped around your pretty little finger for twice that. König would do anything for you no matter how unsure he was, if it made you happy or excited then that was good enough for him. He worshiped the ground you walked on. So when you suggested spicing things up Of Course he agreed, though he was confused, he didn’t know how much more you could put into your sex lives since the two of you have tried so many things. Of Course, you find something new to try. But why should he complain, König’s always loved every second of attention he gets from you.

——————

3 days ago

——————

“Heyyy Kö, I have a question for you.” You skipped into the living room, jumping up on the back of the couch where König sat. You wrapped your legs around his neck, his head falling back into your lap as he looked up at you. You dug your hands into his fluffy hair, a bright smile on your lips.

“And what would that be, meine Liebe?” His thick accent graced your ears. You always loved the sound of his voice.

“So I was thinking perhaps we could try playing with a little fire?” Your voice was unsure, you didn’t want to spook him or make him think he had to.

“Like in bed?” König’s eyebrows were furrowed, and you hummed in agreement. “Won’t that be painful?”

“Only a little and I promise I’ll make you feel good during.” Your hands went to rest on his pink cheeks when he nodded in agreement your smile grew even bigger, you leaned down and kissed his forehead, in return, he turned his head to the side and kissed your palm.

—————

Present

—————

The day had been extremely stressful, not only did you have to run a bunch of errands you also had to go to base for a few hours. They tended to call you in a lot, that’s what happened to all of the medics, never enough to go around but luckily for you, they didn’t make you leave the county. The second you opened the door to your shared house, a delicious smell hit your nose. You smiled as the thought of your boyfriend came to mind. He was a wonderful cook, much better than you.

You set your bag down by the couch and walked into the kitchen. His back was facing you, he was stirring something in a pot on the stove. The long sleeve shirt he wore stretched across his back, his thick muscles showing through. You snuck up behind him wrapping your arms around his trimmed waist. You felt him flinch slightly before realizing it was you. “What are you making?”

“Dinner, go sit, I'll be done in a moment.” König pushed you away with one of his arms as he finished making dinner. When you rounded the corner to the dining room you saw the table was already set and there was a beautiful bouquet sitting in a vase by your spot.

You grinned as you sat, placing your napkin in your lap as König placed food on your plate. Once he was sitting down you leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for this Kö.” All of your previous stress disappeared as you began to eat.

“Thought I’d do something nice for you.” König rested his free hand on your knee.

“You are always doing something nice for me, basically every night.” You rolled your eyes at him.

“You deserve it, meine liebe.” He kissed your cheek and went back to eating. The rest of dinner was filled with small talk about each other's day and plans. You helped him clean up before going into the bedroom to shower.

König sat on the bed, his back resting against the headboard with a book in his hand. He was sure to put two towels in the bathroom for you once you were done.

While you were in the shower, you remembered the conversation you had with König from a few days ago. An idea popped into your mind as you turned the faucet off. After drying off you wrapped a towel around your body and walked into your bedroom. König didn’t look up from his book as you went over to his nightstand. You opened one of the drawers and pulled out a lighter, then you lit the candle on the nightstand. You watched it burn for a moment before pulling the book out of his hands, he looked at you confused, you placed the book down and then crawled into his lap, your towel falling off in the process.

König’s eyes stared at your body, his hands coming to rest on your hips, “Remember the conversation we had a few days ago?” You tilted his chin up, forcing the man to meet your eyes. His brows furrowed until you looked over at the candle, his eyes following. You felt his hand twitch, he seemed to be hesitant about this whole idea. “We’ll just start with the wax, okay? That way it’s not too much for you.” When he nodded you gave him a quick kiss before laying him on his back.

“It won’t hurt too much?” König had never done something like this before. Of Course, he’s experimented with you and there was that one time where you had a whip but that was a while ago. He trusted you and knew you wouldn’t go too far.

“Nope it’ll only hurt for a second before the wax hardens and you’ll be pretty distracted anyway.” Once his pants and boxers were off you laid on top of him, chest to chest. You moved a loose strand of his hair out of the way before bringing your mouth to his. He whimpered as you parted his mouth with your tongue, always so desperate to have you. You moved your hand up his body cupping his cheek. His hands moving to the curve of your ass. He pushed you down onto him, his breath hitching as your thigh pressed against his hard cock.

König whined again as you pulled away from him, sitting yourself up, your hands pushing against his chest to support yourself. His lips were red and puffy, and his gaze was filled with lust. He thrust his hips up, urging you to start. “Be patient sweet boy.” You leaned down again to kiss his cheek before lifting your hips. He aligned himself up with your entrance. Before you could get the chance to sink onto him he pushed his hips up, the tip of his dick sliding into you before you pushed him back down. “If you're not patient then I’ll leave.”

He wiped the glare he had on his face away. “I'm sorry, I'm just nervous. I won't do it again I promise.” Deciding to believe him you continued your teasing. You slowly slid onto him, your walls clenching around his thick cock. Your eyes fluttered closed as you were fully seated on him. Königs breaths were airy and you could tell he was getting impatient again. When you opened your eyes you found him staring at where the two of you were connected. “Ready?” You tilted your head as you waited for an answer. Your cunt throbbing around him desperate for any kind of movement.

Once he gave you a nod you leaned over to the nightstand blowing the candle out. You brought the candle to your chest, the heat radiating off of it. You had Königs full attention now. His eyes haven't left the glass jar since you picked it up. His chest was moving rapidly, you ran a hand down it to relax him a little, “Just say the word and we’ll stop okay?” You gave him a little smile before tilting the candle to the side. Wax slowly tricked out onto his skin.

He took a sharp breath as it met his chest. König had expected it to hurt more but it wasn't that bad. The pain was only there for a second before the wax cooled. He let out a long whine as you circled your hips. Pleasure shoots into his spine. His brows were furrowed, the pain made him more sensitive, and he wanted to feel more.

You gripped the candle as you raised your hips, slamming them back down. The pleasure caused you to let out a loud moan. Königs hands made their way to your hips, holding onto you tightly. “I can do the work just focus on that,” He nodded toward the candle. You smiled at the thought of him enjoying this as much as you were. He planted his feet onto the bed before slightly raising your hips. Another loud moan came from your lips as he thrusts up into you. He always hit the perfect angles. You had to squeeze your eyes shut to focus. This wasn't about you, with that thought you continued to pour more wax onto him. You watched as his eyes rolled and his hips stuttered. Once he came back around he fucked you harder. His hips pistoning into you at a desperate pace.

The candle dropped to the bed as the pleasure became too much for you. Both of your hands were placed on his chest, the warm wax making you all the needier. When you looked at König there was a feral look in his eyes. One you had never seen before. He gripped tighter as he got closer to finishing. One particular thrust sent you over the edge, your arms bucking and you fell into his chest as you came on his cock. Your walls are pulsing around him pushing him over the edge as well. After one last thrust, he lodged his dick in you as he came, his release locked inside of you.

— — — — — — —

“Can we try actual fire this time?” König whispered into the crook of your neck before he continued to kiss right below your ear.

“Of Course we can, we would need a lighter though.” Your voice was a little raspy, his touches taking away most of your brain cells. A second later König placed a lighter in your hand, one of those refillable ones. “You've been planning this haven't you?” There was a sly smile that formed on your lips as he raised his head.

“You're the one who came up with the idea, I'm simply entertaining it.” He flipped the both of you over. He rested his back against the headboard as you settled onto his lap. He helped you take his boxers off, his dick is already rock hard from your previous activities.

You flicked the lighter on, “You sure about this baby?” You gave him one more chance to back down but instead of answering you, he moved your free hand down to his cock. Wrapping his hand around yours and slowly pumping himself. You took a breath before bringing the lighter closer to him, he watched your every move. The last thing you wanted was to actually hurt him so you were careful with how long you let the fire touch him, only for a second at a time before moving it. You focused on giving him pleasure as well. Your hand moves quickly up and down his shaft. His hand had fallen to your thighs squeezing every time he felt the pain and pleasure together.

You lived for the beautiful sounds he was making, each moan and whimper made you want to hear more. You noticed the ach in your wrist but ignored it. You moved the lighter around his chest leaving a trail of pink skin in the wake. His face was flushed, his cheeks pink and lips red from him biting them. “Please, i-im so close,” his hips bucked into your hand as he started losing his control. You crashed your lips against his, throwing the lighter to the side, you were desperate to taste him. You swallowed his moans as he released into your hand, his hands squeezing hard enough to leave a bruise.

Once he came down from the high he rested his forehead against yours, eyes locked on you. “Next time I want to do it to you.”

— — — — — — —

You hadn't expected him to actually go through with what he said. Perhaps a part of you was hoping he wouldn't. You hadn't done something like this before, you were always the one in charge not him. It took 3 orgasms before you could finally let go. You could hear König speaking but everything he said went through one ear and straight out the other. It had been a very long time since you weren't in control of everything and you felt wonderful. Your entire body was buzzing. Your cunt throbbing around his cock, begging to be fucked more.

You flinched as he snapped his fingers next to your ears, your eyes locking on him. “Stay with me sweet, are you ready?” You gave him an unsure nod, your eyes flickering to the lighter in his hand. “It'll feel good, I promise.” König gave you a reassuring smile. He slowly slid halfway out of you, flicking the lighter on, he brought it close to your skin. Your breath hitched as you felt the heat getting closer to you. Right as the fire started to burn your skin he thrust into you. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head as the pleasure shot straight through your spine.

The pleasure made it hard to notice the pain. You gasped as it burned you, your brows furrowed and your brain not being able to pick between pleasure and pain. It felt overwhelming. König went more light with the fire, instead focusing on fucking you. The pain was moved to the back of your mind as he hit that specific spot inside of you. You grabbed onto his neck, your nails digging into his soft skin. Your back arched off the bed as your release hit you. Every inch of you felt like it was on fire, your legs shook around Königs waist. You felt him come inside of you, a whimper left your lips as he filled you.

You opened your eyes as Kö pulled out of you, he set the lighter on the nightstand and brushed a loose strand of hair out of your face. He laid back down next to you, pulling you into his chest. “How are you feeling meine liebe?” He placed gentle kisses on the top of your head.

You mumble something, too tired to speak. He chuckled at that and let you rest. His hand rubbed circles on your back.

#könig call of duty #könig smut #könig mw2 #könig x reader #könig cod #könig modern warfare #könig x you #könig imagine #könig x fem reader #reader smut #sub!könig #call of duty #mw2 x reader #mwii #cod mwii #konig mw2

490 notes · View notes

ghouljams · 1 year

Text

In which Cowboy!Soap is seized by the fatal American need to have a pretty good time. Or, Soap is really pretty and the nuns remember they haven't taken any vows against looking.

"County executioner, you book 'em we cook 'em." You sound so bored when you say it, Soap can't help the way he laughs, big and boisterous. You frown at your cell and hang up, setting it to the side as you stare at the numbers for the month. A half second later it rings again. You sigh and pick it up, "Big Bill's Car-B-Q, you road kill it, we road grill it."

"How many of those you got, bonnie?" He sounds like he's smiling, just barely tamping the laughter down. You glance at the unknown number on your screen.

"Who is this?"

"John MacTavish, Goose gave me yer number."

"How can I help you Johnny?" Oh, he loves the way you say his name. You could call him whatever you wanted and he'd come running.

"I hear you've got fireworks." You hum, and he wonders if that was the wrong way to ask.

“What are you looking for?” You ask finally.

“Biggest you got.”

“I’ve got some flour and gas, you want that?” He can’t tell if your inflection is flat because of the conversation or if that’s just how you talk. You’re clearly not interested in him, which means you’re smart. Which really makes him want you all the more.

“Why’d I want that?”

“Redneck C- Y’know what nevermind.” He can hear you tapping at something through the phone, both of you silent as you think. “Why don’t you come down to the house,” You tell him.

“The nunnery?”

“If you want to call it that.” You smile a little despite yourself, his accent is cute. “Lemme text you the directions, come by any time.”

A smart and reasonable man would wait a few minutes after receiving directions to leave. Soap grabs his keys as soon as you hang up. He doesn’t even wait to see if you text him before he’s in the truck.

You blink up at the man in your doorway as he smiles down at you. You weren’t expecting him so soon, it’s not even noon yet doesn’t he have anything better to do?

“You must really want fireworks,” You say, because you truly can’t think of anything but the way his eyes sparkle.

“Something like that,” he says, "can I come in?" You nod and stand to the side to let him shoulder past you, inhaling deeply as he does. He smells good, not that you… notice(clean linen and something cinnamon you think) and fills the whole doorway even as you press back against the jam to let him in.

"So what are you in the market for?" You ask, leading him through the house, "We've got a little bit of everything."

"Anythin' big, loud, and sparkly," Soap says, sliding up to walk next to you. You nod, thinking through your current inventory of less than legal goods. You glance up at your guest, he's got his head on a swivel, peaking in the various rooms of the old farmhouse. He glances down at you and you look away, conscious you've been staring too long.

"Um, they're out back. Can't keep them in the house or-" you mumble, trying to think of anything but his fucking pretty this guy is.

"Never seen a nun's hair before," he cuts you off, fingers petting over your head. You smack your hand against his touch, and he pulls it away quickly. You forgot your habit. You're not even a real nun pointing it out should make you duck your gaze away from him and blush.

"Goose called you Soap," you change the topic with the grace of a tap dancing elephant.

"Ach, she's nae but haverin'." He shakes his head, you aren't going to try and parse that. "It's a nickname." That you understand.

"I'm guessing you clean up nice?" You unlatch the back door, swinging the screen open.

"Something like that," he hums, reaching past you to hold the door open as you walk through. "You can call me Johnny."

You sort of like the way he says that, like it's a name just for you. Though you're sure he must have plenty of people calling him that. Much more reasonable than "Soap."

Soap isn't really sure what he's expecting when you unlatch a little white storage shed behind the house. You open it with such little fanfare that he would think it was just a tool shed except for the neat shelves of colorful explosives. He gives a low whistle, looking around. He hasn’t seen this much fire power since he left special forces. The fact that half of these things are proudly boasting names like “the mother in law” and “alligator rodeo” only adds to the absolute absurdity of nuns selling this stuff.

You lean against the doorway watching Johnny pick up cakes and mortars like a kid in a candy store. His distraction is your gain. You let your eyes roam over his back as he reaches for the bombette on the top shelf, almost envious of the explosives he’s holding to his chest. He’s got a good walk. You rest your head against the door, arms crossed to keep from getting fidgety. Yeah, that’s what it is, his walk. Confident, assured, military you think. It would explain the hair.

You snap your eyes from his thighs to his face in time for him to turn to you with an expensive amount of firecrackers. You’re probably going to have to limit his purchase. Goose’ll come after you if his fireworks catch on something.

You pull the fold-away table down from the door for him to set his goodies on. Tallying everything mentally as he pats his pockets for his wallet. He groans loudly.

“Left ma cash at the farm,” Johnny drags a hand down his face, glancing past you before starting to walk, “I’ll be back.” You grab his arm, and try not to marvel at- wow actually how much can this guy lift, that is one firm bicep.

“We could use some help in the garden,” You say quickly, “if you can spare some time, I’d trade you.”

It is hot as the devil out, and he is sweating like a sinner in church.

When you'd said garden Soap had thought you meant flowers, maybe some weeding, maybe a few little veggies. This is a whole farm. You're not even helping.

There are a few other nuns out in the "garden" collecting fruits and vegetables from the neatly laid crop rows. He's gotta admit, they all seem a little young to be nuns, far flung from the mean old women he'd expect. Also he's pretty sure he's caught all of them staring more often than is proper for a woman of faith. There was even the loud snap of a phone camera lens when he stripped his shirt off. If that's not an ego boost he doesn't know what is.

You stop at the edge of the vegetable patch, and join the obvious stares the rest of your roommates are fixing on John MacTavish. He is absolutely glowing with sweat, and you are transfixed by the way his muscles move as he works. You're not the pious woman you pretend to be by any stretch of the imagination, but he almost makes you believe in God. Hell if he was in church every sunday you might find yourself on your knees. You notice your tray slipping before everything falls to the ground and try to get your head on enough to tell him it's break time.

Johnny notices you first, his smile as bright as the sun as he sits back on his heels. He scrubs his face with his discarded shirt and loops it over his shoulders as he stands. Does he have to look at you like that? Like he's just so pleased to see you. It's almost pornographic, you think he might be doing it on purpose.

"What's this?" He asks, leaning to inspect your tray. You're sure he's just asking for something to say. You're… not really in a position to say anything right now, your tongue feels like it's stuck in place trying to make sure you're not drooling over him.

"Tea," you say dumbly, he raises a brow at you, "And I've got lunch inside, if you're hungry, but hydrate first."

Soap shrugs, his fingers wrapping around the tall iced glass. There's dirt under his nails, clinging to the sweat on his hands, you think he's more than paid for the fireworks by now. You're not sure the rest of your roommates are willing to give up their eye candy just yet.

He tips his head back for a drink and you try to focus on something boring like this month's budget, or taxes. Anything but the way his throat moves when he swallows, or the way he tips his head to the side to press the cool glass against his neck. You turn back to the house quickly and stalk towards the door just as fast as you can without looking like you're rushing. You cannot be around this man anymore.

You can already tell he is going to be very, very, bad for business.

#cowboy!Soap #wow i could not stop writing for him so this is a big one #i simply love the way he and his darling interact #the nuns are just roommates who are trapped in an extended bit #its great cover for all the illegal shit and cash businesses they run #johnny mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john mactavish #soap x reader #soap x you #soap cod #soap mw2

360 notes · View notes

dirtytransmasc · 10 months

Text

Modern (platonic) Alicole/Stepdad Criston hc's

Alicent and Criston became close friends as a means to cope with past traumas at the hands of Viserys and his family. they were the only ones who understood what happened to them and how they were trapped.

Criston being absolutely enamoured by her first two kids, who were still so little and helpless. forming a tight bond with the two, stepping up as their father when Viserys couldn't have cared less about them.

Criston claimed those kids as his own in his heart the day he met them.

Criston helping take care of the two through Alicent's last two pregnancies. being found more often than not with a kid on his hip, snuggles up against his chest, and another leading him through her favorite spot in the garden.

Criston being by her side, helping her with everything, from buying groceries, cooking dinner, cleaning, volunteering to watch the kids during the day, helping with bath time and putting them down for naps/the night. he becomes a second parent just cause he wants to.

Alicent demands that he be allowed in the room with her when she's delivering her last two kids. She wants to hold the hand of the only person she trusts when she's going through actual agony. Criston almost causes a scene when they take her away for a c section due to Aemond's labor being too difficult, and not being allowed to follow. being right back by her side the very second he's allowed.

Alicent letting him hold Aemond first, as she was too weak and tired to do it herself, and Criston swearing himself to the boy before he can even fully take him from the nurse.

Cristons support rising tenfold with the newest addition.

Criston starts sleeping on her couch so he can help with the nightshift. more often than not he's got at least one of the two elder children tucked in his side or sleeping on his chest.

Alicent suggesting he just moves in at that point and clearing out an old room for him to stay in. she secretly feels safer and saner when he's around, though she'll say its for his and the kids' sake.

Alicent making sure its in her birth plan that Criston stays with her no matter what happens with her delivery of Daeron so she won't be alone again.

the pair fleeing with the kids the second Viserys dies, moving at least a few counties over, away from the memories. Criston tries to live on his own, to give her and the kids space, but Alicent is not having that and almost demands that they stay together, they're family now and the kids need him, she needs him. it doesn't take much convincing, and they end up in a spacious suburban home with a yard and good school district.

Criston being called dad by the youngest 3 kids, but not by Aegon, who has a negative association with the titles, as he's never met a good father figure in his life. Criston making sure the boy doesn't feel bad about it and that he feels equally loved.

Criston staying up all night with sick kids, rubbing their backs and kiss their foreheads to check their temperatures. running out in the middle of the night for cough syrup and gatorade.

Criston sitting at the dinner table doing math homework, glasses, scrunchy face, and all.

Criston taking Helaena to her schools daddy daughter dances, only to sit on the floor in a back corner and talk about bugs. he knows she doesn't want to go to the dance itself, just likes what it represents. she likes going with her dad.

Criston going to all of Aemond's fencing tournaments and all of Daeron's sports events, coaching little league, being the loudest guy in the stands.

pushing Aegon to tap into his potential, getting him into all sorts of little hobbies and activities, not letting him give up on himself.

has to answer the "well are you the dad?" question all the time. he claims those kids as his every time, saying that not being their legal father or the fact that Aegon doesn't call him dad, won't ever change that.

after a couple years of staying together, Alicet and Criston join a civil union, not wanting the weight of marriage or all the questions that people who don't know better will ask, and they have the kids with them. Aemond tucked behind his mum's leg, Helaena holding onto her dress with one hand and Criston's finger in her other, Aegon's standing behind her, shifting between seeking his mom's affection and Cristons, resting his head on their shoulders, with Daeron on Criston's hip. everyone's tearing up just a bit. Criston's looking at his soulmate and at her children with such adoration. Alicent's feels truly secure for the first time in her life. all is well.

the topic of adoption came up time and time again, a complicated and touchy subject. its not necessarily that any party was against it, it just felt like something Criston could not ask of Alicent, to claim her children as his own in a literal, legal, weight-bearing sense. he also felt it was something he couldn't ask of the children, to officially accept him as their father and legal guardian. but on Aegon's 17th birthday, it comes up again, and its Aegon who asks him to; his eldest boy, with all of his issues with being open and vulnerable, reaching out into uncharted territory, asking him to adopt him? how could he even think of refusing?

he fights to adopt those kids as quickly as possible, while also making sure all of them, especially Aegon, see their therapists about the whole thing (both Alicent and Criston are acting as cycle breakers for both themselves and their kids, they're all in therapy).

held Aegon's hand all throughout rehab, holding him accountable where he needed to be and made sure he put the work in, but he was a very supportive person for him through the whole thing. especially cause Aegon was worried about hurting his mom more than he already had, and hated seeing her worry about him. probably the only reason he got through it all.

Helps Helaena with her studies and coping with school and the idea of life away from home and at college. cheered her on all through her studies as she studied in different fields to find her true passion.

when Aemond loses his eye (get creative, I don't feel like figuring out a how in this situation) he's there for occupational therapy, every time, doesn't matter what he had to call out of or miss out on. didn't let him feel like he was odd or behind, he was his perfect boy through and through.

dog dad, got each of the kids there own dog. Aegon for his recovery (some shaggy retriever mix Aegon fell in love with while doing community service at the pound), Helaena for something to take to college (a majestic Weimaraner), Aemond to help cope with his eyes (a big old Irish wolfhound tha practically mothers him, Daeron got one so he had a running partner that might actually keep up with him (a Dalmation). Criston helps take care of all of them and loves them just as much as his human children. lets just say that house is chaos and full of hair. Alicent is very happy with her cat, who loves her and tolerates everyone else. [for the dogs I picked a breed I felt best fit both their dragons but also their personality and reason for getting a dog. Aemonds was the hardest to decide on and I'm iffy on it I like it but oh well]

takes the kids out on daddy daughter/father son dates on the regular. normally Aegon just wants to watch a movie, but he has asked to go to a stripclub more times than criston can count (and vetoed). he's tired. he loves his son he swears. Helaena will ask to go to a museam or garden. Aemond and Daeron will settle for any sort of physical activity (so long as its followed by a sweet of some sort, ice cream is a personal favorite for the three).

the kids and Criston make sure to spoil their mom on mother's day. flowers, breakfast in bed, lots of cuddles, a day to do whatever she pleases.

he gets the kids to to church for their mother, makes sure they're polite and well mannered, especially when they were younger. its possibly the only time he is strict with them.

still tucks the kids in every night. Aegon's 19.

198 notes · View notes

sadhours · 3 months

Text

scumbag blues • battery acid

gator tillman x f!original character

previous chapter • masterlist

cw: 18+minors dni, unsolicited dick pics/videos, mean texts, drinking, kind of smut??? Gator tries

Daisy’s depressed. She’s been turning away clients left and right. The money from Roy keeps the bills paid but it’s tighter than before and her pops has noticed. Says something about it when Daisy’s cooking him lunch.

“I don’t know why things have taken such a turn, Daisy,” he sounds stressed. “We haven’t had a single guest in two weeks.”

“It’ll turn back around,” she assures him, “always does.”

Her mothers voice rings in her ears. Same mantra about how women have to take care of things. How women have a magic money maker between their legs and they’d be fools not to take advantage.

Her phone vibrates in her pocket, she pulls it out and looks down at the notification. Gator. Hasn’t had the guts to block him like she should. She slides it open and is met with a photo of his cock. Hard as hell. He’s on his bed, she can see his cargos bunched up around his ankles and his combat boots. He’s sent You can’t quit me, baby along with the photo and she hates the way it ignites a flame in her stomach. She locks her phone and shoves it back in her pocket, resuming the can of tomato soup she’d been heating up. She wishes Gator would just give it up. There’s plenty of other women for sale in this county. But she knows he likes her. Their sexual chemistry is undeniable. And she’s certain Gator hasn’t been with any other woman. Yet, she doesn’t even know how many men she’s been with. It’s unfair. She can’t quit this. And that’s what Gator deserves, so she’ll have to quit him.

She butters up the bread for grilled cheeses, determined to get out of this funk and start taking clients again. Her mother would tell her she’s pathetic. Gator’s always been a client, he started out as such and it’d be laughable to think they could be more. It’s a god damn pipe dream and they both know it.

—

When Daisy reads his message but doesn’t respond, Gator gets furious but his cock is still hard. The arousal mixed with the anger facilitates in a bit of harassment on his end. He records himself jacking off, mumbles about how he knows she wants him. How she’s gonna watch it later and play with her pretty pussy. Which he fully believes. Records himself cumming, muttering, “Wish I was cumming in your tight hole, baby.”

Again, Daisy opens the messages and doesn’t respond. And now that Gator’s cock is softening, the anger takes over and he sends a handful of messages.

Whatever, bitch. Ur not even pretty. Just fucking easy.

Ur used up.

Probably should get tested. God knows ur fckn infected. Nasty slut.

Fuck u bitch

Then, Gator realizes these won’t help his case in any way so he sends another.

I’m sorry. Just miss u and I ain’t good at controlling my temper

The last message never delivers and Gator’s feeling like a pathetic loser with his cum drying on his stomach. Cleans himself up and grabs his keys. He needs to get as drunk as humanly possible. Fuck, he doesn’t care that it’s only noon. This pit of dread filling him needs to be released and alcohol can dull it. The Esquire Club opens at 10 am. He’ll be with like minded company. And well, if it’s two blocks from the Inn, that’s just a coincidence. He isn’t hoping that Daisy’ll wander in desperate for money. Definitely not.

The place is dead when he gets there aside from a couple of dudes rambling about sports. Gator doesn’t keep up with football anymore. Too bitter about high school. He would’ve been scouted, out of this shithole and never would’ve touched Daisy Way if that prick hadn’t busted his ankle. Swears if he ever sees that fucker again, he’ll kill him.

The hours drone on, Gator filling his belly with cheap whiskey and countless beers. Is absolutely stumbling around when the sun goes down. There’s girls in here tonight. Ones that know Gator’s the sheriff’s son, girls that touch his biceps and ask if he’s ever had to shoot anyone. He tells grandiose stories, fibbing on the extremities. Yeah, he sees a ton of action. Yeah, Gator’s a fucking badass. He’s a fucking winner.

He gets one of the girls in the bathroom, a brunette with heavy makeup and a short skirt. Has her leg propped up on the graffitied toilet. Limp dick in his hand as he tugs it, pleading internally for it to fill out but it just fucking won’t. He knows it’s the whiskey, his whole body is fucking numb. But he can’t help but think that if this were Daisy bent over for him, he’d be hard as a rock. It’s pathetic and it’s weird, but he grabs hold of the girl's hair and tugs her head back so he can grunt into her ear.

“You want me to fuck you, Daisy? Huh?” he laughs, “Want me to stretch you out so bad?”

“My names not Daisy?” the girl replies, confusion dripping in her voice.

“Shh,” he hisses, pulling on his cock and focusing on the fantasy, trying to will his dick to life. Nothing. He balls his fist up and slams it against the stall, “Fuck!”

He shoves his flaccid length back into his cargos and barrels out of there. Leaving the girl stunned and exposed. He’s a fucking loser. If he goes by the Inn, it’ll be pummeled into his head what a fucking loser he is. Somehow, he winds up at Faye’s apartment building. Hits the buzzer. Over and over until he hears her sleepy voice.

“Who is it?”

“Faye, it’s me— er,” he hiccups, “Gator. Can I come up?”

“Gator, it’s the middle of the night,” she sighs, “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“Please,” he whines, hates how pathetic he sounds, “I have nowhere else to go. I won’t be fucking weird. Okay? I just… please, Faye.”

A beat of silence. Then the buzz and a green light. Gator tugs the door open and stumbles inside, looking down the hall until a door opens. Faye steps outside, rubbing her eyes and she’s wearing a long, flowy nightgown. She lets him inside and because of his intoxicated state, he clings onto her and fucking cries. Like the pathetic loser he is. But she wraps her arms around him.

“Gator, what happened?”

“I’m… I’m such a fucking loser,” he sobs, “I ruin everything.”

Faye squeezes him tighter, rubs his back soothingly. “Oh, Gator…”

She pulls back and puts her hands on his face, “I’m gonna make some tea. Sit on the couch and we’ll talk about it. Okay?”

She’s so good. So pure. So sweet. Gator hiccups and nods, moving to rub his fists against his teary eyes. Then he trudges to her living room, waiting for her to return.

#gator tillman #gator tillman smut #gator x daisy #gator tillman x original character

51 notes · View notes

joannaliceevans-fanficblog · 5 months

Text

Evermore: Prologue

A/N: Hi everyone! So this is a first for me. I've written pretty much all genres. But never a like this. It's been a hot minute since I've written anything! So I hope you all enjoy this one!

Summary: Y/N is a mother of a Five-month-old, a preschool teacher, and an army wife to Captain Ari Levinson. Married when they were young, friends since childhood.

Until...

Since childhood, Andy Barber, Ari's best friend, shows up at the Levinson home.

Captain Ari Levinson x Reader

then

Lieutenant General Andy Barber x Reader x Reader

Before I shut up, I would like to thank my dear friend @hollybee8917

for making this beautiful moodboard and editing! love you!

It’s a snowy Saturday, and you are home in your cozy county home on the outskirts of Concord, Massachusetts. Your five-month-old daughter, Chloe, napped in her bassinet in the living room. You had lunch cooking on the stove, a ravioli Soup for this cold, snowy day.

While you stirred the soup, your phone rang, and you knew who it was. Every day, around this time, he would call. You quickly picked up your phone from the counter. A smile formed but this time, it was a video call. You accepted the invite and his beautiful, scruffy face appeared.

Hi beautiful.

You felt yourself blushing with excitement. For being with a man for over a decade, he still gives you butterflies. You looked at his background and noticed he was in a warehouse.

What are you doing in a warehouse, Ari?

Ari sighed.

I’m about to head out. We need to clear an area and free some hostages.

You knew that was a high-stakes mission. Before you could answer, Chloe woke up. You then turned off the stove.

Honey, want to see your daughter?

He smiled as you took the phone and walked over to her bassinet in the living room. You angled the phone so Ari could better view his wife and daughter. You picked her up and smiled, kissing her chubby cheek.

Oh my god, look at her. She’s getting so big! Hi Chloe, it’s Daddy.

Chloe then turned her head towards the phone and attempted to grab it. But you knew better and stopped her from doing so.

Look, Chloe, it’s daddy!

Both of you were in awe when Chloe showed her gummy smile and famous giggle.

Honey, I have to go. I know it’s a short call, but I promise to call you back.

You never liked having him to go. But it is what it is. Ari can see the disappointment in his wife.

I know, angel, but I promise, okay?

Ari knew you too well.

Okay. I love you, Ari Levinson.

And I love you too, Mrs. Levinson.

And with that, the video ended.

It’s been a long day for Andy Barber. He had case files on his desk and just finished a month-long trial, in which he had won successfully. His colleagues had urged him to come to have a celebratory drink as a tradition for any case they won. But just for today, he politely declined and headed to his office, so here he is. Before he turned on his laptop, Andy noticed a picture frame, and he picked it up. A smile formed, and a small memory came flowing through his mind.

The photo had Ari, his wife, and him both in their uniforms. That was the day that his best friend was married.

“It's been a long time, my friend,” Andy said, placing the frame back on his desk. He made a mental note to call Ari when he returned from his tour.

A knock was heard before his hand could even turn on his laptop.

“Enter,”

The door opened, and his secretary came in.

“Sir, you have a phone call on line 3. They didn’t give me a name, but it’s urgent.” She said and left his office. Frowning, Andy picked up his phone and pressed line 4.

Lieutenant Barber, how can I help you?

Lieutenant Barber, this is Major Sam Navon.

Hello, sir; how can I help you?

The drive into the countryside of Concord was beautiful. Even with the snow, it reminded Andy of being in a snow globe. It’s been a good five months since he’s been in this town, even if he lived 20 minutes away. But he was quickly reminded as to why he was here. His heart couldn’t take it, but it would be better if it came from him.

Entering that familiar long driveway, Andy entered the Levinson home. He parked his car and sat there momentarily, trying to collect his thoughts. After taking a few breaths, he opened the door to his cat and got out. Walking towards the home's front porch, he approached the front door. With another breath, he pressed the doorbell and stepped back.

The door opened, and he came face to face with Y/N.

“Andy?”

#ari levinson angst #ari levinson x reader #ari levinson x you #andy barber fanfiction #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #ari levinson

122 notes · View notes

wheredidhiseyebrowsgo · 8 months

Note

Heya guys! ya'll are awesome by the way :) I'm pretty sure this hasn't been asked yet, but could you find some Sterek fics where either Stiles or Derek wear glasses and the other finds it really attractive, please? :D

Sure!

A Bite by FairyNiamh

(1/1 I 408 I Teen)

It was only a cake, how bad could a bite be?

Eye of the Beholder by TricksterShi

(1/1 I 3,941 I Teen)

"When was the last time you had an eye exam?"

A simple question leads to some lingering body issues Stiles has to wrestle with but, in the end, Derek proves Stiles has nothing to worry about when it comes to what he looks like through Derek's eyes.

First Date (Queer Your Coffee, Part Two) by alisvolatpropiis

(1/1 I 4,791 I Explicit)

“Holy fuck,” Derek whispers when finally sees Stiles’ cock. It’s gorgeous, long and thick with a big head, which is pierced, the tip shiny and wet. He should have expected it really, the piercing, a prince albert he thinks it’s called, not sure because he’s never seen one, never knew how fucking hot it could be. There are two balls just like the ones in Stiles’ tongue, one nestled in his pretty little slit, the other tucked under the crown of his head, joined by a slightly curved bar under the skin. Derek swallows hard and his mouth fills with hot saliva, one hand going to his own cock, shoving his boxer briefs down his thighs in a rush. He wants to stroke himself, but the thought of that piercing on his tongue, against his throat, fuck, in his ass, has him dangerously close to coming untouched, so he grips the base hard instead, staving it off.

Stiles purrs. “See something you like, big guy?”

Stiles Stilinski, Boyfriend Extraordinaire by MereLoup

(4/4 I 14,429 I General)

“Beacon County Sheriff's Department, this is deputy Mahealani speaking.”

“Oh thank god!”

“Stiles?”

“I, uh, I need some advice.”

“Advice?”

“Yeah. So, hypothetically, say you met your boyfriend’s mother and sister for the first time ever. Completely by accident. In the grocery store. And they convinced you to help them make a dinner to surprise aforementioned boyfriend when he got home after work. What would you do?”

Danny paused, and then, “Stiles, you don’t have a boyfriend.”

“That’s not the point! And I said hypothetically.”

“Stiles...what are you doing right now?”

***

Stiles never imagined he’d be in Derek’s kitchen cooking a surprise dinner with Derek’s family while they waited for Derek to get home from work.

Partly because their visit was a complete surprise.

But mostly because Stiles didn’t have a boyfriend.

Or even know who Derek was.

But he’d already come this far and Papa didn’t raise no quitter!

no aphrodisiac like loneliness by thepsychicclam

(1/1 I 19,705 I Explicit)

Stiles is 27 now, with a master’s degree and a career and a house and a serious boyfriend and a life in San Francisco that doesn't include Derek. But then Stiles unexpectedly shows back up in Beacon Hills, and Derek would recognize that scent anywhere.

Falling down like dominoes by allofspace

(7/7 I 21,666 I Teen)

Stiles has just started a new job, uprooting his life (new city, new apartment) to finally put his degree to good use. Aside from the hot brooding guy who refuses to smile at him, and his creepy cubicle-mate, the people are great, especially his new BFF Allison. Scott may or may not be taking their separation horribly.

10 Things I Hate (love) About You by catsteww

(1/1 I 31,153 I Teen)

When Kate Argent hires Stiles to date Derek and get paid for it, Stiles obviously agrees and sets out to win his heart. Except Stiles wasn't expecting Derek to actually have layers underneath his tough exterior, and he certainly wasn't expecting to develop pesky little feelings for him. And everything gets a little messed up along the way.

Lightly based on the movie.

If You Wanna Be My Roomie (Lover) by orphan_account

(23/23 I 65,056 I Explicit)

Realistically, Stiles knew that the local University's popularity and commonality meant that many members of his graduating high school class would be starting the Fall 2016 semester alongside him, but he never expected his longtime crush to be one of them. Even more so, he never expected said crush to be assigned as his roommate...oh boy.

I Wish He Was Mine, He's Really Divine by yodasyoyo

(24/24 I 87,706 I Teen)

Derek has been pining for Stiles Stilinski for years. He never thought he'd actually be in with a chance, but all that's about to change.

OR: Very slow build Sterek, with nerd!Derek, sort of badboy!Stiles, plenty of pining and a Kira/Derek friendship for the ages.

#teen wolf #sterek #stiles stilinski #derek hale #hogwarts au #college au

144 notes · View notes

an-au-blog · 7 months

Text

In the fastfood zosan au, Sanji only works there because Zeff thinks he should get some work experience before he makes him a cook at hos restaurant.

Zoro knows first hand how amazing his cooking is but the girls don't. Still, they decided to humour him one time while he was flirting with them, and accepted the invitation to dinner. Nami brought her girlfriend Vivi and Robin brought Franky.

They all say on the table, waiting for Sanji to finish up his dishes. They chat for a bit and Zoro mentions that he hadn't eaten lunch so he can have more room for Sanji's cooking. Nami is surprised because in her mind his cooking would be like in the fast food place - bland, basic and uninspired. But when she said that, both Zoro and Franky looked at her with such offence she was shocked.

Sanji finally came out of the kitchen and with three swift back and forth's he set the table. It was the single most delicious meal Nami had tasted in her life. She wanted to compliment him on his cooking but it seemed every time she looked at him he was occupied with his boyfriend.

First he was nagging on him about his table manners. Then he was wiping his face with a napkin. After that it was him just straight up feeding Zoro as if he couldn't do it himself. She was scared how much it could escalate so she decided not to bother trying.

Something she couldn't help but notice was that at some point a black haired kid who's name she thinks is Luffy came over. He started eating everything as of someone would take it from him. And then little by little the rest came.

A short child named Chopper joined. Everyone seemed so happy to see him, it was almost contagious. Then a ridiculously tall skinny man, who looked way too much like The King of Soul - Brook. Turned out he was also a musician... odd coincidence... A guy Nami had seen around a lot - Usopp joined a bit before another oddly familiar face came along. Someone who looked a bit like a politician from the neighboring county that retired a while ago, Junbe she thinks was his name.

Suddenly, with all these people cramped into the small appointment, it made sense to why Sanji made this absurdly large amount of food. And of course, Zoro used the excuse of not having enough place to sit to pull Sanji into his lap. It was an obvious and unoriginal trick but it worked...

During the loud dinner, Nami found out a couple of things. For one - Sanji was actually the foster child of the thrice Michelin star awarded cheff Zeff. Luffy had to pay bail for Ace after he destroyed some guy's car for disrespecting his parental figure. Zoro had asked Zeff for Sanji's hand the very first time they met and he refused to give his blessings ten times before agreeing on conditions that Zoro promised to keep secret. She also found out that the kid in question - Chopper had skipped three grades and wants to go to med school.

Most of all, she was amazed at how homie and welcoming these people were, even though she met half of them for the first time that same night.

#zosan #it's past midnight forgive my typos as per usual #one piece zosan #zoro x sanji #sanji x zoro #fastfood restaurant au #fast food au #frobin #but just a little bit #op

138 notes · View notes

anjelicawrites · 8 months

Text

One step from you

Paring: modern!prosecutor!Aemond Targaryen x commissioner!reader

Synopsis: a surprise dinner invitation, forces closed off prosecutor Aemond Targaryen to start rethink his life.

Warnings: Aemond's social anxiety, dumbass to (maybe) lovers, reader's overbearing family.

What brings Aemond to dinner with your whole family is the botulinum outbreak in the county.

He means no disrespect, when he elects to interrogate your mum you, obviously, can’t; he would have never expected the woman in front of him to explain him, lengthy and with extreme precision, how to prepare: marinated vegetables, tomato puree and many complicated, traditional dishes.

After he was done with her, he had felt full, not unlike after a wedding feast and he had only had one espresso for breakfast!

You found him still at the precinct late that same night, you obviously working on other cases, him drinking that terrible, horrible, no good coffee from the vending machines in the corridor.

You’ve been meaning to talk to him, to say how sorry you were that your mother had dumped centuries of culinary history on him, while not answering the questions, but you were on the cusp of discovering the heads of a big drug ring, and had managed to come back to your office just half and hour ago.

Despite having worked with him countless times, you find prosecutor Aemond Targaryen to be aloof and difficult to talk to, even when it concerned work matters; not that he’s ever been rude with you, just that you find yourself unconsciously checking your posture and don’t really know how friendly you can be with him, even after years of working together. It doesn’t help that you have a crush on the man that forces you to act more distant with him, that you’d be with anyone else: you can’t risk rumors to spread.

Surprisingly enough, it’s him who starts the conversation.

“Commissioner, I thought I was alone with the night shift.”

“I’ve just returned, sir.” You stared at the vending machine for a second. “I’m sorry about my mother, she told me you interrogated her”

“She was more offended that I believed her a bad cook, than the botulinum outbreak accusations.”

“Sir, my mother is the best chef in the county.”

“I haven’t disputed that”

“By implying that her food might be contaminated, you basically did, sir.”

The way he stared at you made a smile break on your face. It’s safe, no one is around to see it.

“I’ve never said that. We have no idea where the botulinum comes from, let alone which hotel is the, metaphorical, patient zero” he said, stiff

“My mother has her own set of priorities, sir. She might not know much about accounting and how to run that side of the business, but in the kitchen? She’d be able to run the place blindfolded and with her right hand behind her back” you couldn’t stop smiling.

Despite how at odds you and your mother are, sometimes, you are proud of her and of the way she had carved her space in a male dominated world.

“I am merely doing my job” he answered, his face set

“I know sir” you tried to school your expression, but the smile didn’t want to go away (danger! Danger!). “And I will tell her how hard you are working to clean everyone’s name”.

After that the conversation abated, you tried not to gag while drinking your coffee, he stared at you, puzzled as to why you find what he’s just told you so funny.

Despite what Aegon tells him, Aemond is keenly aware of the complicated dance of social interactions, he just finds himself with two left feet, in a world where everyone else is a mix between Rudol'f Nureev and Carla Fracci. Take this moment with you: you two were chatting, you are being friendly and he couldn’t respond in tune, even if he wanted to because he had no idea how joke about your mother info dumping on him, who barely knows how to fry an egg.

“Oh, Gods be good!” You said. “I need some shut eye before we start interrogating the detainees.”

Someone else, anyone else, would have found a witty way to ask you how the investigation was going, what escaped his lips was a dry

“Do you think you will close it soon?”

“I hope so, sir,” the smile on your face less prominent. “We all want to see the results.” You answered feeling the easiness of your conversation abating

“Then good luck”

“Thank you sir,” You answered. “Good luck to you too.”

You bid him goodnight and left him to stare at your retracting back, telling himself what an idiot he’s been in being so awkward with you.

You don’t really see him, too overwhelmed with your drug ring case to go look for him and ask how the botulinum outbreak is going; you know that the people at the hospital are getting better, it’s the rest of the story that you are missing. You make a point of not asking your mother, whenever she calls you, not even when she mentions Aemond: it’s a slippery slope to mix work and family life together.

You stumble upon Aemond, again, late at night. You had foregone the celebrations with your team, after closing the drug ring investigation, to spend some time alone in your office to relax, since both your brain and body are still running high on adrenaline, and you’d rather not crash where your subordinates might see you.

The police station is eerily quiet, the echo of the steps of the night shift barely reaches your floor and the sky is dark outside, the moon hidden by a thick blanket of clouds: it might finally rain.

You jump out of your skin the second Aemond calls you from the shadows, you are positive your heart will explode with fear and adrenaline.

“Sir!” You shout, one hand going to your chest

“Commissioner.” He says, eyeing you

“What are you doing here? It’s late!” Comes out with too much emphasis and he winces inwardly

“I could ask you the same question.” He answers, tone clipped as usual

“Jesus weep!”.

Aemond feels sorry at having scared you so. He knows he is light on his feet, but he thought you’d be able to hear him coming: you’re a cop, after all!

In his heart Aemond knows he should leave before the silence becomes too awkward, he might have a handful of seconds before your breathing goes back to normal and he is forced to perform, badly, some sort of small talk.

Sometimes he hates this divide between him and the rest of the world.

He is getting ready to retreat, when you surprise him

“Have you already eaten dinner?”

He doesn’t know what to respond and why do you care?

“I have some food mother sent me and I don’t feel like eating alone.” You say with a brilliant smile on your face.

Aemond hesitates. You mother’s hotel has been cleared of any responsibility, still he has investigated her: it’s not proper to eat the food of a former suspect, he should politely say no and go home.

The idea of returning to the hotel room he occupies, even since he had to relocate for his first assignment, dampens his volition: the room service has already closed and he doesn’t have any food in the small fridge; on top of that, the idea of eating take out again depresses him when he knows homemade food is within his reach.

Before he can’t stop himself he accepts your invitation. You’re glad he’s answered immediately, or you would have lost courage yourself.

The walk towards your office is short.

Aemond misses the old location of the precinct: a Renaissance building, dusty and a bit moldy, but with character and beautiful frescoes on the ceilings. The new place is depressingly anonymous, all metal and white walls.

He appreciates what you’ve tried to do with you office: the plants and the frames on your desk give the room a spark of personality, whilst maintaining a professional atmosphere; the couch near the window looks comfy and, he suspects with a twinge of tenderness, that you might have taken more than one nap there.

There’s an exaggerated number of Tupperwares and jars on the desk you use for the meetings with your men, all the containers neatly wrapped, the contents written on the paper with a flowery handwriting.

“I told you, sir. Mother exaggerated, as usual.” You tell him with mirth in your voice. “Do you mind moving everything on my desk? I need to set the table.”

With that you head towards one the filing cabinets, open one of the drawers and extract a colorful tablecloth, plastic plates and cutlery, to his immense surprise. Gently you put everything on the top of the cabinet, in order to rummage so more, to produce a tube of plastic glasses.

Again, the divide he feels stops him from saying anything funny when you turn towards him with your arms full and stare quizzically at him. He elects to keep silent as he moves everything on your desk, while you set the table for two.

You two work in silence to unwrap everything and he marvels again at the sheer amount of food that’s on the table: various preserved vegetables, bread, savory pies and desserts.

He sits after you and waits until you’ve served yourself, before trying a bit of everything.

He suppresses a moan of appreciation at the way the flavors explode in his mouth; the food he buys doesn’t taste this good, even what the cook at home used to prepare can’t compare, the various ingredients and textures meld perfectly on his tongue.

“Do you like it?” You ask, after a while, to break the silence.

“It’s excellent” he answers.

“Do you understand why mother was so pissed that you thought she isn’t a good chef?”

Aemond stares at you, eye fixed into yours.

“I’ve never said that. Even the best professional might make a mistake which results in people developing food poisoning.”

“Not mother, sir. I’ve been raised by her side, in the kitchen. I know how precise she is with every preparation, the conserves mostly. She knows the dangers of food going bad. She’d rather throw everything out, than risk hurting someone. She’s so strict, that she only uses the food that she grows in the garden; everything she serves, she knows the origin. Even the juices are home pressed”

“You know how to prepare all of this?”.

He hopes his incredulity doesn’t seep in his words. You don’t look like the kind of person who would slave in a garden and in a kitchen to prepare traditional meals.

“I do, sir, and I would make my own food, if only I weren’t always here. It takes time and energy to organize your work and then prepare everything. Have you ever participated in making tomato sauce? You need a lot of people, time and space, it takes days!”.

Aemond focuses on your face: he’s never seen you this animated. When you are with him you are always serious and controlled, now there’s a spark in your eyes he’s never seen, the air around you vibrates with an energy he’s never experienced when you relate him the results of your inquest. You look alive in ways, he thinks, no one has ever seen here.

“I can’t say I have.” He answers, putting the fork neatly beside the plate. “My family doesn’t hold these kind of traditions”.

He grimaces inwardly, like every time he shares tidbits of himself with the outside world, waiting for his interlocutor to use the information against him.

“It’s fun, sir. You are absolutely destroyed afterwards, but seeing the fruits of your labor on the shelves, makes for it.”

You say with a smile that covers for no judgment, he realizes. You are merely chatting with him and he can’t detect any ill intention on your part; he’s not used at doing this, talking with people with the only intent to pass the time and get to know them.

“Will you tell your mother that I have appreciated everything she’s prepared?”

“I will, sir. Be mindful, though, she might start sending you food as well.”

“Why would she do such a thing? She doesn’t know me.” He is honestly surprised.

“Because she’s a feeder. She’s told me at least trice that you look too thin and she fears you are living off supermarket food. Unfortunately she comes from a generation where stating opinions on someone’s body is the norm, but she means well.”

“You can assure your mother I am eating healthy food. Not homemade, because I don’t have a garden, yet it’s not frozen meals.” he finds himself saying with a smile.

It’s not a lie, not the complete truth either, he hopes the cook at the hotel chooses the best ingredients, but he doesn’t have that kind of back knowledge to know.

“I’ll try my best, sir. Despite you having to investigate her and her hotel, she likes you. She’s told me what a gentleman you have been throughout the questioning, calling her ‘Mrs’ and listening attentively. She’s added something I shouldn’t say out loud, though.” You say, evading his eye.

“Commissioner, I don’t think anything your mother said about me warrants you keeping the secret. I don’t think she insulted me.”

He is intrigued now, and this is better than asking himself why he feels so at ease with you.

You play with the food on your plate, trying to find the right words.

“She said you reminded her of her grandfather. He was a farmer, but he had studied in a seminary, until his own dad had passed away and he was forced to quit to help feeding his mum and siblings. He was known to be well mannered, even when plowing the land, and well spoken. People noticed how lord like he was, they didn’t see the mud on his boots.” You take a sip of water. “I have never met him, of course, but all the tales about him focus on his bright intelligence and gentleness. He was wasted potential, but back in those times his family couldn’t do anything about it. All his neighbors used to come to him to solve their problems with borders, cattle and the like, because he was always capable of finding a solution that was good for all parties.”

Your eyes bore into his lonely one, your hands pick at the bread on the table with nervousness.

“I’m sorry if I have offended you, sir.”

“You haven’t.” He answers. “He sounds like the kind of man anyone should aspire to be. It is a great compliment to be compared to him.”

“Oh thank God!” You say, the breath you’ve been holding escapes your lips in a huff.

You didn’t know how he would have taken being compared to a simple farmer, when you know well enough how old and important his family is.

“Is there anything else your mother said?”

“No, that’s it”.

It’s not entirely the truth. She’s repeated you how handsome Aemond is and that you should find out if he has someone in his life, because he looks like the kind of man who is just perfect for you. He doesn’t need to know that and how much you agree with you mother.

“Would it be awfully impolite if we don’t finish everything?”

“Oh no sir! Those are my rations for at least a week. It is physically impossible to eat all!”

“You shouldn’t have shared it with me, if it was supposed to last you for so long!”

“Nonsense, sir. I offered because I was happy for you to have a meal with me. And I have other food at home, not homemade, but you will not tell mother, right?” The smile is bright on your lips.

He stares at you fondly. This is the first time in a long while, that he’s felt not so detached from the world around him, almost at ease with you.

“On my honor, commissioner” he smiles, without even realizing it.

He helps you put the food in the containers and throw out the trash.

You two argue on your way to the exit, because he wants to carry everything for you, it looks heavy and he is gentleman, after all, to which you answer that you are used to carry and lift more than this bag.

Outside, the first summer storm is raging, fat drops of water falling almost horizontally on the pavement.

“Is your car nearby, commissioner?” He asks, voice raised to make himself heard.

“It’s that one!” You answer, pointing at the beaten out Cinquecento parked on the corner of the street.

“Are you sure it will withstand the storm?” He has to ask, the thing looks ancient.

“It will. It’s more patches than everything else, but it still runs strong!”

With a huff you don your raincoat and fit the hood on your head.

“How are you going home, sir?”

“With that.” He answers, pointing to a car that costs like your annual wage. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you home?”

“I’ll be fine. I’ve driven that through worse conditions.” You stop for a second, unsure of how you should say goodbye. “Well, goodnight sir.”

“Good night commissioner.” He answers.

He stays on the door until you are safely in your car and the thing, miraculously, starts.

Few days pass; he has so much work he might drown in it, yet he has the time to focus on you every single time you two pass the halls of the precinct and of the courthouse. He doesn’t realize what he’s doing, at first, you’re there and he greets you, because his mother has taught him good manners, it’s when he is consciously looking for you, that he realizes what he’s been doing.

It’s strange for him to look out for someone who is not his immediate family: keeping and eye on his siblings has always been a sort of second nature, even though he’s not the first born, because they are his blood and he’s supposed to. You are a nobody, a subordinate, yet he realizes, as he’s pouring over some documents, that his subconscious has been focusing on you for a very long time, the change now being, that he wishes to see more of that spark you showed him during your improvised dinner, at least when you stumble upon him.

For your part, you try not to think about the dinner too much. It had been lovely to see a more human side to your colleague, the downside being that whatever interest you had been developing for him, now has more energy to grow. Your mother is of no help either, she keeps asking about Aemond, as if you were in any position to know any personal information and no, you don’t want to know if he’s single or not, it’s not like you have any chance with him, who has shown zero interest towards you, beside work.

You should have known better.

You mother has a tradition: Friday night family dinner, when she gives the reins of the hotel kitchen to her second in command so she can cook for her family only, and spend time with you all.

She’s been particularly pressing this week, you simply thought she wanted you relax with the people who love you, after the grueling months spent chasing the drug ring. You were wrong.

The first bell should have rang when the space in front of the family home is full of cars. The second when you spotted a car that looked suspiciously similar to Aemond’s posh one. The third the second your mother bear hugged you and then dragged you to the kitchen, chatting like a car salesman to stop your questioning.

“Mom, what the hell?”

You finally manage to interrupt her when you see your colleagues, and their families, helping setting the tables in the back garden.

“What?” She stares at you with fake innocence in her eyes.

“Why is my team here?”

“Oh dear. Didn’t I tell you? I wanted to celebrate your hard work!”

Your mum is many things, a good actress she’s not.

“No, you didn’t.” You say exasperated. “And you called me constantly the past week!”

“Oh, I am getting old and forgetful. I’m sorry dearest.”

You know she isn’t and you are certain she hasn’t forgotten about telling you. You almost start grilling her with questions, when she chirps amiably.

“Oh, look who’s managed to come!”

With horror you see Aemond with a casserole in his hand, your older sister directing him on where to put the thing.

“Mom!”

You think you are going to have a heart attack. You are positive it’s going to happen now, because your heart is beating too fast and you feel like fainting with embarrassment. If you die you don’t have to talk to him, to justify your family probably berating him.

If you’re fast enough you can run to your car before Aemond spots you.

You haven’t considered your mother’s grip on your arm, and your nephews’ sudden influx of love towards you, the three little monster screaming your name and hugging your legs: you are positively struck where you are.

If only the ground were to swallow you.

“Mom, do you have the slightest idea of the family he comes from?”

“Yes, of course I do. They all look dashing, but him? Absolutely breathtaking”.

God please take me now, you think, anything but this!

But God is nowhere to be found and is deafer than ever to your prayers when you see your sister talking to Aemond, who then turns and spots you.

You can’t run away now. Maybe a stray thunderbolt might hit you?

“Good evening commissioner”

“Good evening sir”.

You try to look dignified, pretty difficult when there’s a gaggle of children holding on to your legs and you want to die.

“Children, will you please let me go?” You ask.

“Are you going to run away?” Says nephew number one.

“Mum said to get you, so you would stay!” Adds nephew number two.

“She said you’d try to bolt!” The third one nails the last nail on your coffin.

If you longed for death before, now you wish to burst into flames.

“Why would you leave, commissioner?” Aemond looks sincerely curious.

“I will not. Children, please!”.

The three little monster seem to be happy with the damage they have caused and run away, to play.

“You know how kids are, sir. Minds full of wonder. God only knows what they’ve heard!”

��I think we can use our first names tonight, we are not at work, after all.”

Engrossed as you are in your embarrassment, you don’t hear the insecurity in Aemond’s voice

“Yes sir.” You catch yourself .“Aemond. I hope my family wasn’t too berating.”

“They aren’t. A bit loud, but it calls for the occasion.”

Inwardly he lets go of the breath he was holding. He knows it’s stupid but, like every time he takes a step out of his comfort zone, he feels himself preparing for the worse, for his little attempt to be crushed by the outside world.

“Are you two going to stand there and look pretty, or are you going to help?” Screams your brother in law from where he’s minding the barbecue.

“You do your thing.” You shout back. “And I’ll do mine!”

“He is right. I think there’s more that needs to be set on the table.”

You agree and desperately try not to notice how good Aemond looks.

At work he wears conservative suits, tonight his slacks look comfy and soft, the neckline of his white shirt deeper than the ones you are used to see him wear. His gorgeous hair is in a complicated braid that enhance his beautiful face.

Yes, you need to busy yourself.

Your mum has overdone herself. For the usual Friday dinner, she just sets the table, tonight the whole area is illuminated by strings of light and there’s flowers and plants everywhere. The tablecloths are the finest she owns, the ones she uses only for important occasions. You are moved by the hard work you see here, knowing full well how demanding the hotel is, yet you are pissed that both your mother and sister have ambushed you so; you wouldn’t have refused to come, if you’d known that Aemond would be here!

“What were you two thinking?”

You have managed to snag your sister and drag her in a hidden corner of the garden.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”

“I am going to throttle you”

“You are worse at lying than mom is! You have any idea of who Aemond is?”

“I perfectly know who he is. He’s the man who’s making me regret I am married and loyal. He’s so dreamy.”

“What for? You work with him!”

“It’s not the same. We don’t have that kind of relationship!”

“But you’ve eaten with him.”

“How do you know that?”

Whatever high ground you thought you had, disappears from under your feet.

“He thanked mum for the food and complimented her, when she called him to invite him tonight.” Your sister says nonchalantly

“How, in the name of God, does she have his phone number?”

At this point you are beyond flabbergasted

“You should ask her! Now come, it’s time to eat!”

Your sister grabs your arm and your nephews appear out of nowhere to help her drag you to your chair which is, lo and behold, next to Aemond’s.

“I’m going to kill you!” You manage to whisper in your sister’s ear

“Enjoy your dinner!” She says with so much saccharine in her voice, you are afraid her teeth will fall off.

Aemond had to prepare himself for tonight, telling himself that being social for one night would be fine, even fun. He knows your men, his consideration of them is almost positive, considering they are cops. Compared to most of their colleagues, they are bearable and not corrupt, which is a first. On top of that, he has already had dinner with you and the experience had been lovely, you were lovely and he couldn’t say no to a mum, his own mother would kill him, but his heart had beaten a tad too fast while he was driving here, the idea of having to deal with so many people, in an unknown context, scared him.

At the courthouse or the precinct, he has a script in his head he can follow, here? He’s left to his own devices and that rarely ends well.

Surprisingly enough, for him, the welcome he received from you family was warm and made him feel like he had always known all of them. Even being, gently, bossed around by your older sister, felt right, not like she was overstepping.

But he can still feel the glass divide between himself and the rest of the world.

It is a strange feeling, to be somewhere, with nice people, and knowing that there’s this distance he can’t overcome. That he can talk with people, break bread with them and yet know that he’s seeing the whole scene from the outside, instead of being part of it, as if he’s the spectator to a play.

Even you, sitting by his side, chatting and laughing, the delicate scent of your perfume in his nostrils, barely manage to breach the gap that had always distanced him from the rest of the world.

Your mum, for her part, tries to make him participate in the conversation, as if she’s aware of the way he’s feeling. But she can’t know, he tells himself, no one has ever been able to, why could she?

And she seems to be intent to feed him like a pig. Aemond can’t say no to her, not when she puts food on his plate and tells him to try this dish, which she had made especially for him; Alicent would kill him if she’d ever knew he had caused grief to a fellow mother, who has worked hard just for him.

“Do you want to get a breath of fresh air?” You ask him during a lull between courses.

“I wouldn’t mind it.” He answers, hoping the relief is not too noticeable.

You hope no one notices you two slipping away to go to the roof of the house. On your way there, you stop in front of an ancient daguerreotype.

“That’s him.” You say.

Aemond behind you hums, his eye admiring the old face staring back at him.

The man looks nothing like him, the huge mustaches occupy his face, giving him a serious look, but that’s not why he understands your mother’s reasoning: it’s the aura he can feel exuding from the daguerreotype, the power that only knowledge gives you, the one Aemond had always felt during his studies, what truly made him feel strong and capable, against a world he rarely understood.

“Thank you for showing me his picture.” Aemond says, meaning it from the bottom of his heart: our family, our roots, it’s all we have, when everything is said and done.

“And this one is my granddad, his son. He’s the one who started the hotel, from his literal home”.

The photo he looks at is yellow with age, a man staring at something just over Aemond’s shoulder, the typical pose for pictures of that time; you look a lot like him, he realizes, in the shape of your eyes and mouth.

“Let’s go, before my sister sends her minions from hell!” You laugh, making your way up the staircase.

The night is warm but a gentle breeze moves your hair, as soon as you and Aemond arrive on the roof.

Like many houses in this region, it is flat and had been used for centuries to store rain water and hang the drying clothes; Aemond notices your family has comfortable garden furniture here and a closed beach umbrella.

Ignoring everything, you head for the edge of the roof, where you can feel the breeze more; Aemond follows you, taking the time to observe you.

You look like summer in your pretty dress and wedge heels, your hair styled and not up in the conservative bun you wear at work. Yes, you are pretty, not that you aren't in your usual clothing, it's just that these illuminate you, make you look happier and livelier. He understands your fashion choices at work. He once heard another female police officer saying that she would have dressed more feminine, but then, where keep her gun? And the field is still so male dominated that showing any other kind of traits, would immediately mean becoming laughing stock.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” A tinge of anxiety marks your voice

“I am. It is different than my usual Friday night, but a good change”

“I’m glad. My family can be hard to handle, even for me.” You say, shielding your face with your hair

“They are a peculiar bunch indeed, but nice and welcoming.”

Silence falls between you two again, broken only by the music coming from downstairs; it’s not heavy, though, Aemond muses, he doesn’t feel the need to either leave or try to awkwardly fill it with words, before the other person decides it has been weird enough. In his life, he only felt like this with his beloved sister Helaena: she never minded sitting by his side, just quietly enjoying life.

“This is my family’s ancestral home. It had been expanded and changed, but my family has been living here since centuries. My grandfather used to rent out all the rooms he could, that’s how the hotel started.”

“It must have been hard.”

“Yes. Many sacrifices were made, but he didn’t want his daughter to slave in the fields all her life.”

“She still decided on physical labor, instead of a managerial position, though.”

“The key is that it was her choice. She wakes up every morning and still wants to do it. It is a luck not everyone has.”

“Do you still have it?”

Aemond doesn’t know where the question comes from, he’s usually mindful of someone else privacy, but with you that invisible, glass divide with the world, seems to become thinner and thinner and he deludes himself with thinking he might truly reach through it and touch you.

“I do, and I don’t sometimes.” You admit, eyes not meeting his. “I love my team and what we do, I just miss how exciting my life was undercover, and after, at the internal affairs.”

“Do you want to go back to that?”

You don’t answer immediately, you let the wind blow through your hair and the lights from downstairs dance in your eyes.

“No, I don’t think I want to. It’s just that this job sucks the life out of you, sometimes. All the violence and the filth and having to shield the people I love from that makes me feel. I think I miss more the person I was, the way I used to look at this work, like a source of a better change for this world. Now that I am older and wiser, I realize that, at best, we try to empty the ocean with a spoon, at worse, we are protecting those who have reduced the world into what it is.”

If he were another person, Aemond would have reached for your hand, to give you comfort, but he is who he is and doesn’t know what to do.

He doesn’t expect your question.

“What about you, Aemond? Do you still wake up with the same drive you used to have?”

“I do.” He is surprised by how fast he answers, but this had been a surprising night, it’s OK. “I see all of it and it makes me what to double down on my work. But I understand: you are supposed to protect, but whom, truly? The poor person who steals out of hunger, or the company they steal from?”

“You’re lucky then.” You say with a sad smile on your lips

“I probably am.” What you don’t know, it’s that it’s the glass divide he sometimes despises, that helps him keep a distance between himself and the ugly parts of his job.

“I feel like my mind is always there. I cook and clean, play with my nephews and chat with my mum, and a part of me is always pouring over the files. It’s never ending.”

“I have a bike.” He blurts out “We can go on a trip, take you away from your routine.”

He truly doesn’t know where the invitation comes from. Not that he wouldn’t like to go on a spin with you, but when did his brain decide to unlock like this?

“You don’t look like the kind of person who owns a bike.” You are so surprised that you’ve forgotten the sadness of the conversation.

“It belonged to my family for years. It even has a name: Vhagar.”

And I lost my eye for it, he thinks, but doesn’t say.

“I very much would like to.” Your mouth says before the silly embarrassment caused by your crush can stop you.

“It is lovely plan, then!”

Your sister’s voice makes you and Aemond jump in surprise. How long was she listening? You suspect long enough, judging by the way she puts her arm over your shoulder to hug you sideways.

“I hope you have space for the desserts!” She says, dragging you towards the stairs.

“Desserts?” Comes, a bit strangled, from Aemond

“Oh, mum has overdone herself tonight!” She gleefully answers.

By the time the food is finished, Aemond feels like he could easily roll home: he is full like he had never been before. He jumps up and offers his help, when it’s time to clear the table, maybe a bit of exercise might help him and clear his head as on why it’s so easy to reach to you, of all the people in the world.

Aemond finds himself with a carton of food, near the trunk of his car. He had tried to, politely, refuse, but your mother simply ignored him and put even more food in it.

Aemond is closing the trunk, when your mum arrives with a bag of conserves and trusts it in his hands.

“I cannot accept. It is too much!” He says.

“Oh, nonsense.” She answers. “I am happy to give these to you.”

“But you’ll need those for the hotel.”

“I have more than enough stored in the kitchen there. These are the ones I use at home.”

“I can’t!”

“Yes you can.” She gently puts her hands over his. “I know how hard it is, accept a stranger’s kindness and reach out of what comforts you. But it’s worth trying.”

Aemond doesn’t believe in coincidences, but you appear in his line of sight and make a beeline for him.

“Mum? You are needed. I’ll help here.”

Your mother bids Aemond goodbye, who answers with a strange expression on his face that makes the alarm bells explode in your head.

"Aemond?" It is so strange to use his given name so freely. "Is everything all right? Or were we too much?"

His eye focuses on you, he doesn't look like a deer caught in the headlights anymore, yet his face is more animated than what you're used to see.

"Everything is fine." He says, your name follows, his voice pensive. "Your mother possesses far more insight than I thought."

You don't really understand what he's implying, it feels like he's talking more to himself than to you.

"She is an extraordinary woman."

And she truly is, to see him, for who he is, without making him feel naked and defenseless.

"Yeah-." You answer without really understanding the topic.

In silence you help him put the food in the trunk of the car, making sure nothing will be broken.

The air feel pregnant, of what you don't know, but you feel like he's going to say something and he's looking for the right words.

"About that little trip." He finally says.

"Yeah?"

"Do you still want to go?"

You don't know it, but his heart is beating so fast he's afraid it might explode.

"I can't wait. I've never ridden a bike in my entire life."

Another man would have probably said something crass about first times, he simply closes the hood of the car.

"It is the closest thing to flying you'll ever experience. You'll have fun, I promise."

"Good." There's a smile on your face. "I love fun!"

Aemond is driving home. He feels emptied by all the social interactions, yet happy, like he's not going to need to recharge, and it's a first.

His mind drifts off to Helaena and the cryptic words she's told him when he moved here, about strange twists and turns that lend to where one least expects it.

Was she talking about you? Only time will tell and, this uncertainty, doesn't scare him, for the first time in his life.

Everythig taglist: @hightowhxre

Aemond taglist: @phantoms-main-blog @fan-goddess

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen

93 notes · View notes

echo-goes-mmm · 1 month

Text

Juno (Oneshot)

Masterpost

Warnings: lightly BBU adjacent

“And that’s about it,” finished Jack, leading the new volunteer back to the front desk. “Any questions?”

Daniel shrugged. “It seems simple enough. Feed the pets, give out meds, play time is two hours a day,” he rattled off.

Jack smiled. “Just about, yeah. Although some pets have dietary restrictions, so be careful with that. It’s all in their charts.”

“Right. Oh, do employees get to adopt from the shelter? Just curious.”

“Yup! There’s a waiting period of six months, though. In fact, I'll have officially adopted a kitty tomorrow. I’m really excited.” Jack beamed, proud.

“Kitty?”

“Oh,” waved off Jack, “it’s a term we use to describe personalities. ‘Kitties’ are shyer, quiet, more independent. ‘Pups’ are more energetic, playful, outgoing. You know the type.”

“Makes sense,” said Daniel. “I guess I’m more of a dog person, but, like, real dogs.”

“Fair,” nodded Jack. “Most people don’t want human pets, hence their rarity. I think there’s only one store in the county, and we’re the only shelter. Hey, since we have a couple hours, you want to meet my kitty?”

Jack pulled out a set of keys from the front desk drawer. “I’m thinking of calling him Juno. He’s really great, and I already love him.”

“Sure, why not?”

The two men turned back down the hall, passed the ‘employee only’ doors.

“So how come Juno didn’t get adopted yet? I hear pets get adopted really quickly here.”

“Well… he’s got some medical stuff a lot of people don’t want to deal with.”

“Like what?”

Jack swung the keys around his finger.

“For one thing, he’s trans.”

Daniel shot him a look.

“I know, I know,” Jack said, “but the reality is, that turns a lot of people off, in a manner of speaking. I don’t think it should matter, but it does. And although lots of pets like having sex, Juno has a severe aversion to anyone or anything near his vulva that isn’t himself and his menstrual cup.”

They reached another door at the end of the hall, and Jack flipped through the keys trying to find the right one.

“Usually that isn’t an issue; most people don’t care. Unfortunately, Juno also has an expensive diet. It’s either buy the pricey pet food, or cook for him. I don’t mind the cooking- I like cooking- but the combination of everything makes him pretty unlucky in the adoption department.”

Jack fit a key into the lock of a second door, which opened into a smaller hall with fewer stalls.

An acidic smell hit them as soon as the door opened.

“Shit,” muttered Jack.

“That can’t be good,” agreed Daniel.

Jack jogged through the hall, and came to stop at a stall. A whine sounded from the poor pet inside.

“Hey, buddy,” cooed Jack, crouching down.

Daniel peered over his shoulder.

A pet was curled up in a far corner, stale vomit in a puddle on the opposite side.

The pet had dark brown hair, and his eyes were screwed shut. He looked feverish, and he was trembling. His breathing was quick and shallow, and he had top surgery scars on his chest.

Daniel glanced at the sign on the wall.

Juno, it read. Owner: Pending.

“Did somebody give you the wrong food, honey?” Jack asked quietly as he unlocked the stall.

Juno whined again.

“Okay buddy, don’t worry.” Jack pulled out his phone and snapped a picture of the stall, pet and vomit and all. “I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

Jack approached the shivering pet. “Take a look in his food bowl, would you?” he called over his shoulder.

Daniel looked inside. “It’s halfway empty.”

“Fuck,” muttered Jack. The pet whimpered. “Not you, sweetheart. You’re doing so good; making sure you didn’t get messy. There’s a good boy. You didn’t eat it all cause you figured it out, yeah? Such a smart kitty.” Jack pet the boy’s hair, and Juno leaned into his hand.

“Can you sit up for me?”

Jack helped the pet lean against the wall, his face tacky with tear tracks. “I know your tummy hurts, sweetheart, but just stay right there, okay?”

Jack pulled away and turned to Daniel. “Dump out the food in the trash,” he ordered. “Get a new bowl from storage, and fill it with the gluten-free bag. Make sure it’s a new bowl, or he’ll get sick again.”

“What about the water? Won’t that be contaminated?”

“Go ahead and take that to the sink. I’ll take care of getting him some liquid,” Jack said. “I need to brush his teeth anyway.”

They left the stall. “Not going to lock it?”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Jack said with a grim face. “He can’t move much when he has a reaction.”

Jack pulled out his phone, dialing a number as he went to the med cabinet.

He opened the cabinet, looking for the stock paste he kept on hand and the shelter-supplied disposable toothbrushes as the phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hey boss, it’s Jack. One of the pets got fed an allergen again. Sent you some photos.”

“Dammit. Which one?”

Jack found the brushes. They were on the wrong shelf.

“Guess.”

His boss sighed. “And you’re sure it’s Ethan doing it?”

Jack switched his phone to the other shoulder as he filled a bottle with hot water.

“He hates me,” he complained, scooping a tablespoon of the stock paste into the bottle. “And he really wanted Juno. He was on food duty earlier. He’s trying to sabotage the adoption. You know, make him sick so he has to do a round of isolation.”

His boss sighed. “I’ll check the tapes.”

“Thanks. See you tomorrow.”

Jack shook the bottle until it was a dark brown and the paste had dissolved.

“Hey, Juno,” he said quietly, pulling open the door. “I’m back.”

Juno looked up at him with teary blue eyes. Poor thing.

“I got you a toothbrush, and that soup you like.” Jack set the bottle off the side, kneeling in front of him.

Juno opened his mouth, still weak and miserable, and Jack scrubbed the stomach acid off his teeth.

“You get to come home with me tomorrow,” he said, cupping the back of Juno’s head for support. “Won’t that be nice?”

Juno made an ‘mhm’ as soon as Jack was finished.

Jack picked up the bottle. “Do you think you can hold it for me?”

Juno didn’t look very sure.

“Alright, that’s fine.” Jack unscrewed the cap, and held the soup to Juno’s mouth.

Juno took a couple of sips, and turned his head away. His stomach probably couldn’t handle much more.

“That’s okay. You're doing great.” He brushed Juno’s sweaty bangs away from his forehead. He wanted to give him a bath, get all that sweat off, but Juno probably wouldn’t appreciate that right now. “You wanna go to sleep?”

The pet nodded, clearly exhausted. He must have been vomiting for hours.

Jack helped him lay down on his cot as Daniel came back.

“What's that?” he nodded towards the bottle.

“Stock,” Jack explained. “The salt and fluid is good for nausea and he needs the calories.”

Jack stroked Juno’s hair.

“He’ll be okay, right?”

“Yeah. He just needs to rest.”

___________________

Jack stirred the fried rice in the pan. It smelled great, and it was a new recipe. His aunt had recommended it, and she had Celiac disease just like Juno.

Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to switch everything over to be gluten free. And it was worth it to keep his pet healthy.

Juno pressed himself against Jack’s back, his arms wrapping around Jack’s waist. He laid his head on Jack’s shoulder.

“Hey, bud. Ready to eat?”

“Mhm.”

Jack spooned two portions into bowls, and sat on the couch to eat.

Juno ate from his bowl with gusto, and Jack smiled as he watched. His kitty had put on a lot more weight, and the doctor was really pleased with his progress.

Juno finished before he did, and got up onto the couch, shoving his head onto Jack’s lap.

Jack absent-mindedly carded a hand through his hair. It was so soft and wavy now that he had proper conditioner.

He focused on the nape of Juno’s neck, just where he liked it, and Juno nuzzled into his thigh.

If Juno could purr like real cats, Jack knew he would.

He looked so much better: well-rested, well-fed, and with a handsome leather collar.

Adopting him was the best decision Jack had ever made.

taglist: @paintedpigeon1

#in which I am juno #yeah this is a self insert fuck you <3 #pet whump #whump #my writing #allergy whump #not really cause celiac is an auto immune disorder #but you get the idea

30 notes · View notes