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hyunjilicious · 3 years

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onlyfans #2 [ransom drysdale x reader x lee bodecker]

A/n: !!!! part two is here and I’m literally so excited lmao. It was supposed to be twice as long, but stick around because I’ll start writing part 3 asap!! I love this concept!! Come talk to me about it!!

Summary: Ransom decides that what his onlyfans account needed to get more traction is a threesome. So here he is, Sheriff Lee Bodecker in all his glory. (SMUT) 8.9k

Warnings: unprotected sex, double penetration, oral (both receiving), humiliation, degradation, dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics, domestic submission, daddy kink, slapping, spanking, dubcon/noncon, filming sexual acts... they’re both assholes, you have been warned! Absolutely DO NOT READ if any of these upset you or make you uncomfortable in any way! Also, 18+ in case that wasn’t clear lol. That being said... ENJOY!!

You can read part 1 here, although this works as a standalone too!

Despite your fingers nervously trembling around the small brush in your hand, your makeup turned out just about perfect. And now, you were just standing there, in front of the mirror, studying every inch of your face, searching for any small detail that had yet to be fixed. There wasn't one. Just like always, you now looked perfect too.

Still, the will to stand up and leave was absent. It was perfectly silent around the room, creating the perfect environment for you to get lost in thoughts. Your stomach was buzzing with enthusiasm and your palms were sweaty, yet you wanted to delay the moment for as long as you could - maybe the eyeliner wing on your right eye was a bit too thick - maybe you needed to start over. And you were just about to do so, to grab the makeup remover inches away from your hand, and undo the work you've put so much patience in. But you didn't get to.

The door opened and Ransom walked inside.

You didn't turn around, as his frame showed up in the mirror, right behind you.

"You look beautiful, love" he said softly, his fingers dancing through your recently styled hair.

"Thank you"

"Look at me" he cooed, tilting your chin.

You fell back against his hard abdomen, smiling deeply as you searched for his stern eyes. They were cold, you knew he had something in mind.

It was one of those days when he wouldn't allow anything to go wrong. Although always a control freak, throughout your relationship, you learned when it was absolutely necessary to not piss him off - and it was more than easy to tell that this was one of those times.

"I love you" Ransom smiled, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

His touch warmed you up from the inside. Slowly, his hands descended from your shoulders, caging your chest into a sweet embrace, before grabbing your breasts into his palms. You moaned lightly, your eyes falling closed.

"Such a good girl" he chuckled, squeezing harder until you squirmed under his touch. "Does it hurt?" he asked, his grip not loosening up.

You nodded, eyes still closed and your smile just as wide. "But I like it," you confessed.

"Of course you do, baby" he laughed, "I know exactly what my baby needs"

Cheeks on fire, you spun around in your chair, and wrapped your arms around his middle. Ransom rubbed your back a few times, before harshly pulling you up to face him, "How are you feeling? You feeling good? Excited?"

"Yes" you nodded eagerly.

He took a deep breath, kissing the top of your head before returning to look at you with a serious glare in his eyes, "Lee's gonna be here real soon, and I need you to be real good for me, ok? I know you can, but you can also be a pain in the ass, sometimes. Now is not the time, Y/n, ok?"

"Yes, I know" you nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck, "I'll make you proud, you'll see. I wanna do this right, Ransom, I won't let you down, I promise."

Hearing your words, the corners of his mouth tilted into a devious grin, "Why aren't you always like this?" Despite his words being somewhat cold and condescending, there was awe in his eyes. It didn't always look like it, but he loved you more than he could ever put into words - he did it in his own fucked up way, but he did, and you knew it.

"I try" you giggled, "You know I always try to be good, it's just that sometimes it's hard with you"

"I wouldn't be so hard on you, baby girl, if you didn't ask for it"

"Ok" you sighed, smiling as you spoke inches away from his lips, "You know I never actually mean to upset you, right?"

"Of course, angel, you're not that stupid"

"Oh my god" you rolled your eyes.

Laughing at his antics and at his ways of making everything that came out of his mouth sound demeaning, you turned around to give yourself another look in the mirror.

"I'm not finished, baby" he sighed, grabbing your elbow to spin you around. "Now, I know you're not dumb enough to say no to me, but it's not gonna be just us two today-"

"I know" you cut him off, stomping your foot, already growing annoyed with what looked like his lack of trust in you, "I won't do anything to piss him-"

"No," Ransom said harshly, grabbing your chin. Your blood ran cold as his demeanor changed. "Why do you have to go and make assumptions, hm? Told you to be a good girl and listen to me. He's not even here yet, and there you are, interrupting me when I'm speaking to you. You know how much I hate that. Are you capable of shutting that mouth and listening?"

You nodded against his grip, eyes wide with regret.

"Good" he cleared his throat, "What I wanted to say, you dumb slut, is that if he does anything you don't like - and by anything, I mean so much as breathes the wrong way, you tell me, and he's out, got it?"

"Yes" you whimpered, taken aback. You did not see that coming.

"You'll be a good girl, listen to him and do whatever he says, yeah? If you don't like him, you come to tell me. If you don't come and tell me, I'll assume everything goes, understood?"

"Yes"

"Use your words, full sentences, come on, Y/n, I know it's hard for you, but you can do it," he growled, shaking your entire frame to get your attention.

"If- if I don't like him-" you mumbled, "I'll tell you. Otherwise, I'll do everything he says"

Instantly, his face contorted into a sick smile, letting go of your chin, "Was that so hard?"

You weakly shook your head, "No"

Ransom opened his mouth to say something else, but the sound of the door bell ringing beat him to it. A wave of anxiety washed over you, but he never looked more excited. Ransom hurried towards the door of the bedroom, stopping just before waking out, "Is that blow job proof?" he asked, pointing to your lips.

"Yeah" you nodded.

"Good, I like a challenge" he grinned, "Come downstairs whenever you're ready"

"Wait-" you hurried to stop him, "You never told me what to wear"

Ransom frowned, looking you up and down. You had a violet bralette on, and a pair of shorts. This wasn't right.

"Wear whoever you want, love" he said confused, "You won't be in them long anyway"

"Ok" you whispered, head buzzing with a million possibilities, "I'll be right there"

"Take your time, baby"

And with that, he left. 'Fuck' you thought, rushing over to your closet. Nervous sweat coated your entire body as your eyes scanned over the multitude of clothing options laying before you, yet none of them seemed to fit the occasion. You knew better than to wear something unnecessarily skimpy that would make every one of your movements uncomfortable, but at the same time, you knew sweats wouldn't cut it. After a moment's worth of careful consideration, you took off your bra and instead put on a black cashmere shirt, with the top buttons undone to the point where your cleavage was nothing more than suggestive, and tucked it into a pair of high waisted shorts. For a second you considered adding heels to your outfit, but figured none of the two men patiently waiting downstairs would think twice before asking you to put them on in case that was what they wanted. So, you hooked your fingers around the heel of the shoes, and left the bedroom.

As you tiptoed your way down the circular staircase, Ransom's familiar tone became audible. When you rounded the corner, his voice came to a halt, and instantly, his eyes met yours.

"Babe!" he called, his proud smile lighting up the room. He raised one hand to wave you over as he sent a knowing grin to his guest.

From where you were standing, you could only see the back of Lee's head. Now, you had seen pictures of him, yet a buzz of anticipation coursed through your body. As you walked across the living room, Ransom's eyes never left your frame, but Lee took his time. He had only turned to look at you when you reached them, deep, hungry blue eyes scanning your frame.

You knew he was a sheriff two towns over, so that was why you found yourself just slightly disappointed with the fact that he seemed to have left his uniform at home. It made sense, but you still wished he had brought at least the hat.

His attire resembled a police uniform, however these were regular clothes. Nothing more than a black shirt tucked into some worn out pair jeans, and a leather jacket to top off the look. At a first glance, he wasn't the type to take your breath away, but still, your eyes remained trained on him.

He looked about a few years older than Ransom, which made him maybe 15 years older than you, only the thought tugging the corners of your lips into a frenzied grin. You did your best not to stare, but you found yourself somewhat drawn to him. He wasn't your type, not even by far, especially considering the way his belly pushed down on the belt of his jeans, but the circumstances allowed, and you couldn't deny the pang you felt between your legs when you remember what he was here for.

"Baby?" Ransom called. With a small jump, you came back to reality, and turned to your boyfriend, a polite smile on your lips. "Sheriff Lee Bodecker, Y/n. Y/n, this is Lee"

Before he even finished making the introductions, you had already tiptoed your way over. "Nice to meet you"

Up close, there was something different about him. He didn't bother standing up, instead just spread his knees a little wider, taking your hand into his and kissing your knuckles, "Nice to meet ya, sweetheart"

Tingles went up your arm from where he had just pressed his lips to your skin, and as your mind was busy processing the situation, you failed to say anything else.

Ransom saved you the embarrassment, cutting off the silence, "Love, grab us something to drink, ok?"

"Yes, of course!" you jumped, eager to change the tone. "What would you like?"

"I'm a whiskey man myself-" Lee snickered, "I'll take whatever you guys have, though. Just make it cold. Ice, if ya got any"

You turned to Ransom. "That Toussaint no.05 bottle, baby, you know which one?" he asked.

You nodded.

"Good, now hurry"

And you did - you almost stormed out of the room, rushing into the kitchen. Being out of their presence felt like you could finally breathe again. Planting your hands on the cold, marble counter, you leaned forward, taking in breath after breath. 'Calm the fuck down' you thought to yourself. 'The fuck is wrong with me? He's not good looking-' you cringed, squeezing your eyes shut, 'Then why am I-'

You stopped yourself before even articulating the thoughts. You were afraid of what it meant. That was not something for you to process right now. So, forcing yourself to not make any wrong move, you took out the good glasses stashed on the top shelf of the kitchen counter, added a couple of ice cubes, and watched the whiskey linger along them.

Cringing at the thought of announcing the drinks were ready, you decided to walk back inside without another word, and placed the glasses on the small coffee table between them.

"Where's your glass, puppet, ya gonna drink straight from the bottle?" Lee asked, not even hesitating before attacking his whiskey.

"Oh, I don't really drink"

"Why not?" he asked, cringing from the sourness of the drink.

"I-" you stammered, turning to look at Ransom.

"Have a sip" he laughed at your innocence, pointing to his glass, "See if you like it"

"Come on, angel, you'll love it." Lee chuckled, patting the spot next to him on the couch, "Pour yourself a drink and come sit down with me"

Against your better judgement, you did as told. You went and fixed yourself a glass, but when you returned, it was as if the alcohol had already gotten to them. You knew they couldn't have been drunk yet, but it sure looked at if it was what they needed to get the vibe going. Ransom gestured for you with a simple nod to join Lee, and on shaky knees, you did so.

In your mind, you were going to walk over there and sit at least 10 inches away from him, but he had other ideas. When you reached him, Lee spread his legs, tapping his thigh, "Come 'ere, doll"

You gulped and sat down in his lap, his hands instantly finding your hips. "You good?" he asked, rubbing his big, calloused hand up and down your bare thigh, "Seem a little tense"

"I'm good" you smiled shyly.

"Ya sure?" he asked tauntingly, throwing you a wicked smile that exposed his teeth. It sent shivers down your spine, but you nodded obediently. Wanting to release some of the tension, and due to a lack of a better answer, you turned to Ransom, who much to your dismay, had his nose buried into his phone - his attention nowhere near to whatever was going on in the room.

Lee was quick to cry for your attention, not too shy to grab your chin and get you to face him again. "Don't you think you and I should get to know each other a bit?" he taunted, "Or do you not have any kind of problem fucking a random stranger?"

"I-" you muttered, eyes widening with surprise, "Yeah. You're right, yeah. We should"

It was as if he could feel the tension in your veins. And it was if he feasted on the uneasiness that enveloped you. His proud stare showed just how much he was enjoying the moment.

"Let me see you, then, doll" he hummed, rubbing the back of his fingers up your side, tracing the curve of your breast. "Got no reason to be shy" he added, tugging at your collar.

"I- I'm not shy" you sighed, shaking your head.

"Told ya to drink some of that whiskey, doll, would've made things easier." Lee grabbed the highest button that was still done on your shirt, playing with it between his fingers, "Wanna see your tits, baby"

Determined to at least start on the right foot, you didn't hesitate to open a few more buttons and then pull the shirt over your head. Never in your life had you felt more exposed, and the pain between your legs reflected that perfectly.

"Sorry to interrupt-" Ransom laughed, standing up from his spot.

His voice nearly startled you. Embarrassment took over you when you put all the pieces together, and your palms got sweaty just thinking about what he was about to say.

"I'll give you two some alone time-" he continued, "Gotta set up the room anyway. But I need to post a picture before, a little hype never hurt nobody, right?"

"Right" you nodded, waiting for further instructions.

However, they didn't come from Ransom. Lee grabbed your waist and spun you around, your back now facing him. Straddling his right leg, you pushed your ass back against his crotch and brought your chest forward, tilting your head to the side, as you waited for Ransom to take the picture.

He was chuckling as he did, shaking his head with an expression on his face that you failed to read. Instantly, he shoved his phone back in his pocket and walked over to you. He laced his fingers through your hair, looking down into your eyes.

"You gonna be a good little girl for Mr. Bodecker?"

"Yes"

"You'll do anything he asks, ok?"

"Yes, I will" you nodded.

"Promise me?"

"Yes, I promise" you smiled up at him.

"Don’t piss him off, Y/n, you'll regret it later" Ransom threatened, but he did so with an eager grin on his lips.

"I won't" you giggled, "I promise"

"She can't piss me off" Lee butted in, his whole frame shaking with laughter under your weight, "Look at her"

"I see her" Ransom smirked, walking towards the bedroom, "I fucking see her but you'll be surprised how big of a fucking pain in the ass she can be when she wants to"

"You look a fucking gem to me, doll" he grinned.

You turned around in his hold and settled back on his thigh, but this time facing him. "Thank you" you smiled.

"Can't lie," Lee chuckled, "Curious what you could do to piss your daddy off"

"Nothing on purpose"

"Course not" he agreed, every now and then his glare slipping down to your exposed chest. "Can tell you're a good girl, and you know your place. Wouldn’t be standing here if you weren't, would you?"

"I guess not"

He took a deep breath, "I tell you what-" Lee sighed, grabbing your glass and shoving it into your hands, "Drink this. All of it, like the good girl you said you are, and maybe then I won't have to force the words out of you, hm?"

"I'm sorry-" you tried to excuse yourself, "I'm just-"

"Drink!"

His tone made the temperature in the room drop, and you didn't hesitate. The alcohol burned its way down your throat, upsetting your stomach before you even finished the drink. The bitterness became too much, and feeling your gag reflex threaten to stop you from ingesting any more of the whiskey, you straightened your back and pulled the glass away from your lips.

"What did I say?" he raised an eyebrow, "Finish it"

And he helped you with it, guiding your hand back up to your lips, forcing the remaining liquid to pour down your throat. A few stray drops escaped and dribbled down your chin, giving him the perfect excuse to gather them with his thumb and then shove his digit into your mouth.

You gathered your lips around his finger, your eyes shakily looking for his.

"See it wasn't that hard?" he laughed, and you nodded no, without breaking the eye contact.

"God damnit, girl, got my cock all hard already"

You watched him carefully, unable to answer with his thumb still knuckles deep into your mouth. It was clear you were driving him insane, his cock bulging against the material of his pants.

"Come 'ere" he eventually said, moving his hand to grip your chin, roughly pulling you towards him.

You leaned into his touch and followed his lead. Slowly, you found yourself bent over him, your chest pressed to his, as he welcomed your lips into a greedy kiss. It took you aback, but you gave in completely. He took the lead, one hand on the back of your head and the other on your waist, his tongue exploring your mouth with nonchalance. For better support, you planted your palms against his shoulders, hoping you could pull yourself up and straddle his hips.

"Like this" the sheriff grunted against your lips, effortlessly guiding you higher up his thigh. You settled with a small huff, holding onto his chest for better balance. The hunger on his lips was consuming you as he kissed down your neck. His hands reached behind your back, pressing you down into his leg. Unconsciously, you started to rock back and forth, slowly and subtly, not wanting things to escalate, all you needed was a bit of release.

But Lee caught onto it, snaking his fingers under the hem of your way too revealing shorts, "Wanna get yourself off on my leg, doll?" he whispered against your jaw, tightening his hold on your ass.

You whined lowly, not giving him any kind of answer.

"Is your cunt wet?" he asked, his hands not leaving your ass.

"Yes-" you cringed, pressing yourself harder down against his thigh.

"Then fucking strip, and get yourself off"

"Now?" you gasped.

"No, tomorrow" Lee rolled his eyes, slapping your cheek hard enough to get you to realise just how serious he was.

For the first time, you felt actual fear in your veins, but at the same time, your fingertips buzzed with determination to please him. So you scrambled off his lap and undressed, your jeans sliding off your legs with ease, followed by your panties, drenched and already slick with your juices. His glare burned your skin but you returned to your place against his leg.

The feeling of your bare core against the material of his jeans drove you insane. It was rough and slightly painful, but once you started to move, rolling your hips along his muscles, the pain started to fade into pleasure. With your hands gripping the sides of his shirt under his jacket, you worked on getting yourself off.

"Look at me" the sheriff commanded, slapping your ass, "What goes through that head of yours now, hm? Tell me"

"You" you panted, slowly looking up at him with shame in your eyes, "Now- what I'm doing now-"

"Makes you feel like a slut?"

You hesitated, but answered, "Yes"

"And you love that, don't you?"

"Yes.. I do"

"Should've figured that out sooner" Lee shook his head, his hands lewdly gripping your breasts, "You whore yourself out for money everyday, don't know why I thought I should go easy on you. You don't want that, do you? For me to go easy on you? You wanna be roughed up real good. Saw what your daddy does to you everyday, you can take it"

"Yes, I can take it" you whined, doing your best to work with what you got. No matter what you did, you wanted more. More pressure against your clit, needed something to enter you, needed Mr. Bodecker to push your buttons just a bit more.

"Were you always like this?" he taunted, guiding your hips towards a more profound release, his nails deep in your skin as he spoke through his gritted teeth, "Whiny, and with no fuckin' shame? Eager to please whatever man touches you?"

"...no"

"No?" he questioned surprised, "Ransom turned into into his fuck doll, didn't he?"

You nodded, feeling your walls start to clench as you were getting closer and closer to an orgasm.

"I bet you like it better now, don't you?" Lee pushed, "Bet the fuckin' is so much better now that you got yourself a man that knows how to treat a whore like you"

At this point your core was numb as you sweated through every pore, your high moments away. "Never- I- I never had anyone else" you confessed in a shaky tone.

"What?" Lee exploded, perverse enthusiasm threatening to burst out of him. He smiled like you've never seen him before, his pupils dilated as a rush of jealousy washed over him. "That fucker, shoulda known" he shook his head.

"He loves me” you tried to articulate, your words coming out all whiny and muffled.

“Show me how much you love your daddy-” Lee growled, grabbing your chin into his hand. He immobilized you so that you couldn’t look away, his eyes so vile and crude that you felt violated to your bones, “Cum for me if you love him, you know that’s what he wants”

“Yes” you cried.

“He wouldn’t have you in this position if he didn’t love you, baby” he huffed, his lips wet with spit as the anger in his words took over, “He trusts you to be good, don’t let him down”

“I don’t want to let him down”

“Then be a good fucking slut and cum”

You felt pleasure roll up your spine, your eyes squeezing shut as tears broke away at the corners. You bit down hard into your lips, coming undone into the hands of the stranger Ransom chose, and you didn’t have anything against it. As wave after wave of liquid ecstasy surged through your frame, you moaned out loud, profanity after profanity, until your body reached its limits and you fell into his hold, body limb in Mr. Bodecker’s lap.

“Knew you had it in ya” he commented, rubbing your back, before rolling you off of him. With minimal effort you settled by his side on the couch, naked and sweaty, your thighs sticky together as you waited for his next move.

“I know sluts like you think better after their pussies get some attention, so now you can listen to me” Lee taunted, his hand exploring your body.

With big, doe eyes, you remained silent.

“Got a few rules for you, doll” he grinned, slipping his fingers along your sensitive folds, “Think you can keep up?"

“I can” you responded, just his condescending tone making your clit buzz all over again.

“Once that camera is on, I’m not a fucking sheriff and my name isn’t Lee, got that? I’m Sir to you, or whatever that brain of yours manages to muster. Don’t care what you have to say anyway, so you can go ahead and call me whatever you deem appropriate. If you choose anything stupid, you’ll regret it, so I’m counting on the fact that you won’t”

“I won’t” you shook your head, finally slipping in the right mood for what was to come, “I’ll call you Sir”

“Good,” he slowly nodded, his eyes scanning your body. His hand still between your legs, was teasing your opening, making you crave more, but you knew better.

“What are the other rules?” you asked innocently.

“Had a couple more” Lee admitted, standing up from the couch and motioning for you to follow suit, “But won’t it be so much more fun if you figure them out as we go?”

“I don’t want to do anything wrong” you pouted, scrambling to your feet.

“Sweet-” he grinned, slapping your ass and pointing towards the bedrooms, “I’m sure you will though, and I can’t wait”

“I won’t” you beamed, turning around and walking backwards up the stairs, “You’ll see!”

“Wanna make me real proud?”

“Yes!”

“Figure out what the other two rules were, and maybe then I won’t think you’re just a dumb fuck toy”

“You’ll see, Mr. Bodecker” you giggled, rushing up the remaining steps before reaching the bedroom, “I’m more than meets the eye”

He shook his head, amused with how eager you turned. Your whole attitude changed, you turned from a sweet girl, shy but still determined to do right by her daddy, into this completely other version of yourself, walking naked around the house, smiling proudly when a stranger decided to openly degrade you. Did you care? Not in the slightest.

It only came to you as a sudden realisation that you had no clothes on when you walked into the bedroom, and saw Ransom chuckling under his breath after his eyes landed on you.

“Is that how you get to know people?” he shook his head, opening his closet and fishing out a Tshirt for you, “You fuck ‘em?”

“Jesus-” you scoffed, turning the shirt around in your hands and then pulling it over your head, “We didn’t fuck”

“So you’re just naked and flushed for no reason”

Before you got the chance to say anything you might soon regret, you heard the floorboards creak, as Lee entered the room and walked around you towards the bed. His cock was threatening to rip away through the hard material of his pants, and it wasn’t only you who noticed.

“On your knees, Y/n” Ransom commanded, still on the other side of the room, playing with the camera set-up.

Without questioning his words, you dropped to the floor, only to have to crawl all the way over to Lee. He looked satisfied, his cheeks red and he seemed on the edge, but he had controlled himself enough. He toyed with your hair as you leaned against his knees, smiling up at him.

“Ok” Ransom said, coming up behind you to face Lee, “Record with this-” he added, handing him his phone, “It doesn’t really matter how good it turns out, the main camera is the one over there-” he said, nodding to the side, “But still, you got the best point of view”

“Yeah, yeah, got it” Lee nodded, taking the phone into his hand.

When no command came for you, you looked up at Ransom confused.

“What?” he asked, “Want me to teach you how to suck a dick?”

You almost said no. You almost answered probably the most rhetorical question Ransom had ever spoken, and couldn’t help but giggle to yourself. The moment was cut short however, as Lee stood up and undid his pants. Your palms watered as you listened to his belt being unbuckled, and then you didn’t find the will to look away as he started to lower his jeans down his thighs.

You didn’t quite know what you were expecting, but your breathing became unregulated as soon as his enlarged member came into view. More thick than long and with dark veins protruding at its sides, you watched precum leak out of the inflamed head of his cock.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of hands, Ransom’s, grab your cheeks from where he was standing behind you, and pull you back with force so that he could look into your eyes. He bent down until his breath fanned against your skin, “Don’t hold back, baby, yeah. Suck his cock as good as you suck mine. Don’t fucking disappoint me. You take it down your throat, you swallow and you say thanks, got it?”

When he received your answer in the form of a nod, Ransom pushed you back. He easily guided you forward until you were standing between Mr. Bodecker’s legs. Placing your elbows on his thighs, you picked up his cock, and lowered yourself as deep as you could, planting your tongue as the base of his shaft. You licked your way up until you reached the tip, expertly twirling your tongue along his slit, delighted by the grunts he tried so hard to conceal.

Pumping him in your hand a few times, you prepared to take him down your throat. You knew he couldn’t last much longer, every sign pointed to him being already close to his release. Wrapping your lips around his tip, you sucked mercilessly from between hollowed cheeks.

"Love-" Ransom sighed, fisting your hair into his hand and harshly pulling you back. He spoke into your ear, in a grave tone that shook you to the core, "I know you can do better than that”

Hyperventilating, your eyes shot up to meet Lee’s, his expression coated in a crude, hazardous shade of darkness. He brought his hand up to rub his thumb across your bottom lip as he, much to your surprise, guided you back, “Come on, doll”

You obliged, and resumed your work as Ransom’s hold on you loosened up.

You bopped your head up and down against the tip of his cock, chest tightening with the anxiety of going further. It was the fear of the unknown that took hold of you, but it was short lived, your suspicion based dread soon being replaced with a fear that was solely rooted in the acts of the two men around you.

Lee curled his fingers around the roots of your hair, forcing your mouth to slip all the way down his cock. He stopped when it was no longer your will resizing him, but the fact that he couldn’t physically push you any further.

You slumped under his grip, your knees falling weak as your back resumed its curved position, trying - hoping to make some way - any kind of way for air to still pass to your lungs. But it was in vain, as your throat convulsed around his bulbous head, your eyes wet with still unshed tears. Deep down, you knew you could keep going, but your instincts begged for a release.

Slowly, you curled your fingers into the flesh of his thighs, pressing down hard as your legs squirmed under your weight. You tried to move away, but were only met with the pain of your hair being pulled, as Lee continued to keep you in place.

“Stop fighting it, you little slut. You know that's what you're here for” Ransom called, bending down behind you.

His right hand snaked up your shirt, his greedy touch exploring the skin of your sides and then he went further up your chest. It was suffocating and exhausting, a wave of shame rushing up your spine as the first row of tears rushed down your cheeks.

A loud sob tried to escape your throat but it was muffled by the way Lee’s cock filled your mouth. That didn’t stop you however from continuing to choke back pitiful wails as your air supply was running dangerously low.

No matter how hard you fought him, it seemed in vain. He enjoyed his moment of pleasure too much, his chest shaking with every grunt that passed his dry lips.

“Fuck, yes” he eventually cried out, throwing his head back as he released you from his furious grip.

You stumbled backwards, gasping for air, right against Ransom’s chest. He brushed the hair out of your eyes, looking down at you. His breathing was calm and regulated, almost a mockery compared to the heaving way your chest struggled to make up for the time you spent without air.

“See?” he laughed, kissing your temple, “Told you you could do it”

It took a few seconds for your vision to focus again, your eyes instantly capturing Lee’s frame. His eyes squeezed shut as he worked himself into his hand. You knew you’d regret it if you let him finish by himself, so you pushed your limits, and despite every muscle of your body trembling out of control, you resumed your position ready to get it over with.

“So eager, you slut” Lee shook his head, gripping your chin. Ransom helped guide you, shoving you back between the sheriff's legs, but this time you didn’t need any assistance in taking him all the way down inside your mouth.

You ignored the pang in your chest when his tip brushed against the back of your throat. Your eyes already wet and lungs close to their breaking point, this time you had no chance in lasting as long as you did the first time. Ransom took it upon himself though, squatting down behind you. His muscled thighs caged your shivering frame, as he pinned you down.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he laughed against the shell of your ear, “The way he’s fucking your mouth? And you just sit and take it, cause you’re a smart girl, right?”

A joke - he amused himself, as if there was any way for you to actually answer.

“You like having your whore mouth filled with a fat cock? Especially when it belongs to a man you met about an hour ago, don’t you?”

This time, you blinked uncontrollably. His devious tone and rude words made your body respond in a jerk like fashion, your pussy starting to throb, all while accelerating the rate at which your body was starting to run out of oxygen. You curled your fingers into the thick material of Ransom’s sweater, your gesture begging him to stop. But he didn’t, not yet.

“Don’t be rude, slut” he taunted, and you heard Lee chuckle, deep and raspy as his hips bucked into your mouth, “I know your limits and you know how fun it is for me when I ignore them”

At this point, tears streamed down your cheeks, ruining your makeup, your glittery eyeshadow now coating half your face. You coughed harshly, your throat closing up against his cock as your gag reflex settled for maybe what was the final warning.

And as it turns out, Ransom did now your limits, as just when you thought you literally couldn’t take any more, not even just one second longer, he grabbed your hair, pulling you back. His action was met with a loud, pleasure infused moan from Lee’s part, all while you broke down. You clawed away at Ransom’s chest, gathering yourself into a ball between his outstretched arms, as you waited for your body to get accustomed to air again.

“Shh, baby-” he cooed, stroking your hair, “You’re ok, look up at me”

And you did, eyes watery and searching for any kind of warmth or understanding. There were traces of what you knew and called love, but they were hidden behind a perverse satisfaction rooted in seeing you at his mercy.

"Do you want to make daddy angry?" he asked, in such a sweet tone it made it feel like a crime to give any answer other than what he wanted to hear.

"No" you nodded sincerely.

"Then finish him off, pet, don't waste my time" he urged you, pointing to Lee.

Without even bothering to wipe your tears, you spun around and faced Mr. Bodecker again. He was far away from you, head tilted back as he chased his release by himself.

"Open" he commanded, rubbing his thumb across his slit.

As it turned out, you were not fast enough to comply, as he broke out of his daze, his palm connecting to your cheek, "Fucking open that whore mouth!"

In a matter of seconds, your lips parted, tongue poking out as you waited. And it wasn't a long wait, his hot cum shooting out of his cock and directly into your mouth in an instant.

You swallowed with every chance you got, licking your lips in search for any drops you may have missed. He cursed his way through the earth shattering orgasm, the chain of profanities that come out of his mouth managing to make all the hairs on your body stand up.

He finished with a low grunt, "Yeah.. yeah.. fuck.." milking his cock until there was nothing left for you to take.

"Good fucking job, you slut" he chuckled along with a shake of his head, almost looking surprised, "Had plenty of practice, didn't you?"

"A bit" you mumbled coyly.

"Oh, so then you're a natural" he laughed, "Makes sense. A whore mouth of yours should always be stuffed"

Due to the lack of a better response, you looked up and muttered a shy "Thank you"

The rollercoaster of emotions and thoughts that stormed through your head at this particular moment made it absolutely impossible for you to keep up with them, but judging by the way he grinned down at you, it should be safe to assume they were not expecting anything more.

With each moment that passed, you found yourself slipping deeper and deeper into a vicious and twisted state of mind, and you let yourself get carried away - both mentally and physically.

In a haze, Ransom grabbed you and threw you on the bed, not even giving you a chance to settle properly before ruthlessly tugging at the shirt you still had on, ripping it off your body with one excruciating screech. His action accentuated the pain between your legs, and you ended up rubbing your thighs together as you sat naked on the bed while the two men looked at you like prey; 3 cameras still pointed at you, still recording.

You licked your lips as Ransom shuffled out of his clothes, your heart rate fibrillating with anticipation. “On your back, pet” your boyfriend commanded.

Following his orders, you let yourself fall back against the plump pillows, your hands around your chest and knees innocently pressed together. Ransom rounded the bed, coming up behind you. He leaned down above you, coming into your line of sight. Even upside down and with his features mostly hidden away by the shadows of the room, his eyes still shone that familiar shade of darkness that brought you to submission in an instant.

As he bent down all the way to press his lips to yours, you felt your legs being pulled apart. Just because you couldn’t see what was going on aroused you to no end, making you moan into the kiss. Ransom’s hands traveled down your body, caressing your breasts with that amount of pressure he knew would have you squirming. And it did, it worked, as you arched your back, whining against his tongue as he tortured your nipples between his experienced fingers.

He almost monopolized your full attention, your mind concentrating solely on the feel of Ransom’s touches, and this too, again, worked in their favour. Out of nowhere, while you were still enjoying the calm moment, a painful slap echoed around the room, the pain only propagating across your body after you processed what happened.

That was Lee’s way of demanding your attention, or maybe his way of reminding you that this day wasn’t about you and your pleasure. The slap he delivered against your exposed and sensitive pussy had you whimpering out in pain as you pulled away from Ransom’s lips and gathered yourself into a ball.

“Come back here, darling. Where do you think you’re going?” he laughed, pinning your shoulders down against the mattress, as Bodecker aggressively straightened your legs again. “Wanna make this hard?” Ransom questioned.

“No” you shook your head, “No, no, please”

“Then fucking behave!” he yelled, his instant mood swing taking you aback.

“I’m sorry”

“Fucking pull away like that again and you will be, you dumb slut” he scoffed, slapping your face again.

In the meantime, Lee crawled between your legs, his sordid nature shining bright as he decided you weren’t worth even a warning, before he rammed two fingers inside your pussy, knuckles deep.

“Fuck!” you screamed, fighting against your instinct, and resisting the urge to close your legs together.

Your reaction won you another slap, this one more tame from Ransom, who towered over you, “Who the fuck do you think you are talking to like that?”

“I’m sorry” you whined, breathing heavily as Lee picked up his pace, his fingers fucking your pussy in a way that was neither painful, nor pleasurable. He worked on driving you close to the edge, tormenting you in the slowest way possible.

“Full sentences from now on, sweetheart” Ransom chuckled, gripping your hair into his fist and forcing your head up to look at Lee, “He’s fucking your cunt, what do you say?”

The look in Bodecker’s eyes cut your breath away, as you’ve never in your life felt more humiliated, but you pushed through, “... thank you?”

Ransom pulled on your hair, “Full sentences, you dumb slut”

“Thank you for fucking my pussy” you said barely above a whisper.

Lee grinned wickedly at your words, “Haven’t even started yet, darlin'” he shook his head, lowering himself between your legs. He licked his way up your folds, his tongue brushing against your sensitive clit a few times before he pushed himself up.

“Just messin’ with ya, doll” he mentioned, lowering himself again.

His words confused you as he resumed his position, his lips finding your clit again, sucking profusely. Your hips bucked under him, the pressure of his teeth brushing against your bundle of nerves, starting to be too much for you to bear. When you moaned out loud, eyes squeezed shut and back arched to the extreme, he pushed himself up, and slapped your pussy again.

“You cum on my cock” he grunted, moving further up the bed.

He leaned on his back, Ransom effortlessly guiding you on top of him. With your body like jelly in his strong arms, you settled with a soft huff, knees on either side of Lee’s hips.

He groaned in pleasure, your thigh brushing against his cock, which much to your surprise was already hardening again. Arching your back in search of some pressure for your clit, you felt the bed dip on your side as Ransom climbed in behind you, his hands coming up to grip your hips.

He lifted you up, sinking his fingers into your pussy. You moaned in pleasure, only to have your heart stop when you felt him caress his way higher up.

“Ransom?” you called with a shaky tone, as you tried to look at him over your shoulder, “What are you-”

“What?” he laughed, slapping your ass hard enough to bruise, “Didn’t think I was gonna stay and watch the whole time?”

“No, no-” you mumbled, shaking your head, eyes meeting Lee’s in the process, “But I don’t-”

“Don’t like it? Don’t want it? What were you about to say?” Ransom taunted, spitting on his fingers as if that would help with the pain in any way. This pathetic excuse for lube made the hairs on your body stand up.

“I-”

“I dare you” Ransom threatened, “Tell me ‘no’”. As he waited for your answer, he teased your asshole, his fingers aggressively pushing in to stretch your muscles.

“Please-” you whined, afraid the actual wording would send you down a road you didn’t ever wish to explore.

“Please, what?” he asked, “Please Daddy fuck my ass?”

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, as you felt legitimately lost. Uselessly trying to find a way to delay the inevitable, you felt the tip of Lee’s cock toy between your fold before his warm breath hit your skin as he spoke.

“Fuckin’ get on with it already” he huffed annoyed, “Whatcha listening to her for?”. A sob rushed past your lips, making Lee slap your cheek, “Stop fucking crying, take it up your ass like the good slut your daddy said you were, before I lose my patience”

His words stung, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of Ransom’s cock stretching your ass beyond what you ever thought would ever be pleasurable. You screamed out in pain as tears lingered on your chin before falling against Lee’s chest.

Ransom grunted out, his fingers digging into your hips as he felt himself reach another level of ecstasy after watching you mess around all afternoon. The depth his cock reached knocked the wind out of you, your mouth falling agape with absolutely no sounds coming out.

You settled on suffering in silence, hoping it would all end soon. Realisation painfully hit you when you felt the second cock start to penetrate you. Lee spread your folds with his massive cock, stretching your walls.

“So fucking tight” he shook his head, breathing heavily against your face as he forced himself in, “Never thought a whore like you’d be so tight”

And it was all bearable, a pain you considered yourself able to stand. However that all changed when they started to move, their cocks pumping in and out of your in tandem.

With every thrust another cry escaped your lips, the feeling of absolute no control over the abuse inflicted on your body being something you never thought you’d ever dread to this extent.

“Why did we use lube before?” Ransom laughed, letting go of your hips so that he could spank your ass, hard slaps against already inflamed skin, hate in his touch and anger in his tone.

Whenever he pulled out of you, you felt yourself come undone, but when he rammed himself back in, the air was punched out of your lungs, throat closing up with the torment that was getting too much.

Your continuous string of cries was muffled by Lee slamming his lips against yours, his tongue barging in with no warning. He dominated the kiss, not bothered in the slightest by your whimpers or by the fact that you remained motionless against him. He continued to thrust his hips up into you, his hands holding onto your chest, as if you’d ever dare try and pull away.

Despite how wet and needy you already were before he both entered you, you still cursed yourself when you realised just how close you were to another orgasm.

With each thrust, you were pushed closer and closer to your limit. You arched your back, falling down against Lee’s chest with a cry, “God- it hurts…”

“You lying whore, think I didn’t feel your pussy clench around my cock?” he taunted, tilting your shin up against your will, “Can feel ya milkin’ my cock”

You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping you could at least avoid seeing what was going on if you couldn’t stop it. With each passing second, every one of their movements became more and more aggravated. Hoping to speed up the process and still chasing a release, you snaked your hand down your body, your fingers instantly finding your clit.

You focused on working specific, intricate circles around your bundle of nerves, as the pain seemed to slowly but surely transform into pleasure. For the first time since you found yourself caged between the two men, you actually smiled, as your eyes started to roll back.

For a while, your orgasm seemed to mock you, inches away but still seemingly so far that you were almost out of breath.

What threw you over the edge however was Ransom changing his position, solely his pleasure infused grunt tickling your ears and playing with your senses in such a way that you were instantly hit with a ravening wave of unbridled bliss, the feeling propagating along your limbs until you were shaking from head to toe, crying out as you came undone, for the second time, in the arms of a stranger.

And if until now you felt like you couldn’t take anymore, as you came down from your high, every feeling, every touch, every jab and spank felt infinitely more dire and extreme, your overly sensitive and freshy exhausted body unable to keep up anymore.

What followed turned out to be all a haze. You lost track of time and had absolutely no idea how much time passed until you were finally free. “It fucking hurts-” you whined again, your ass and pussy sore and aching with each thrust.

“Good,” Ransom said, bottoming out. He pushed himself as deep as he could, cursing out from the feeling your body provided for him.

“Please, stop-” you cried.

“Shut up and take it” he screamed, pulling your hair so hard your head was thrown back, “Stop being a fucking bitch. I don’t wanna fucking hear you”

Choked back moans still echoed around the room as they continued to use your body, but you refrained from making any more comments.

Ransom was the first to finish, shooting his load deep inside your ass, “Better fucking keep it in there” he panted, spent and consumed as he pulled out and fell on his back on the bed.

As he stopped guiding your hips, you fell down against Lee’s chest, making him scoff when the position made it more difficult to keep up. Grunting in your ear from the effort, without pulling his cock out of your pussy, he spun the two of you around, pinning you down into the mattress.

He hovered above you, slamming himself balls deep into your pussy, moaning all sorts of profanities against your cheek.

You held onto his back, hooking your legs around his middle, “Come on” you whispered, “Cum inside me”

“Oh, now you want it, huh?” he chuckled in the crook of your next, shoving himself into you a few more times, until he finally had enough. His movements became irregular and sloppy, his growls lower and more aggressive as he fucked himself into you a few more times. He finished balls deep into your pussy, coating your walls with his hot cum before pulling out, and throwing himself down on the bed, in the same manner as Ransom did mere minutes before.

Although no one spoke for a few seconds, the room was far from silent. Rugged breaths echoed around the room as you shuffled closer to Ransom, ready to curl yourself into a tiny ball into his side, “Hold me” you whined against his shoulder.

He wasn’t quick to react, but Lee on the other side, seemed to have been waiting for the right moment to speak up. “Bring us the glasses-” he sighed, slapping your bare ass, “And a refill, doll”

You gulped and searched for Ransom’s eyes, hoping he’d take your side. He did turn to you with a smile, “Yeah, love-” he nodded, caressing your cheek with the back of his fingers, “I’m parched”

Seeing none of them about to change their minds, you shuffled out of bed. Every muscle ached and your bones seemed close to collapse, but you pushed through, limping your way to the living room and returning with their glasses and the bottle under your arm.

After you placed them down on the nightstand, you turned to them, “I’ll go run a bath” you said, pointing to the door.

“Good, babe” Ransom nodded, motioning for you to lean down and kiss his lips. You obliged, finally feeling warmth against your skin after everything that went down.

“I love you, baby” you whined, rubbing your thumb against his cheek bone.

“Love you too, y/n” he smiled. You turned to leave, but just when you were about to pass the threshold, he called for you again. “Lee’s staying over tonight, so when you’re done with your bath, be a doll and fix up the guest bedroom for him, yeah?”

#ransom drysdale x reader #lee bodecker x reader #dark!ransom x reader #dark!lee bodecker #chris evans x reader #sebastian stan x reader #ransom drysdale smut #lee bodecker smut #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale imagine #ransom drysdale fic #lee bodecker #lee bodecker imagine #chris evans smut #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan smut #chris evans imagine

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lesbianrobin · 4 years

Note

hello em i have a request. can u please rate mr harrington's looks/outfits i just feel like u have the best takes and i'd LOVE to know how you'd rank his choices 👀

this is the single greatest ask i’ve ever received. i will be ranking the outfits, not steve’s moral alignment or actions in each scene. in order of appearance:

The Introduction

4/10

hair is tragic

steve copied this entire fit from a mannequin in the ralph lauren polo outlet store

would honestly be a 0/10 except for the obvious valiant effort being put forth by his lower half to resist the sexless curse of khaki pants. the devil (st costuming department) works hard but by god steve harrington (joe keery’s body) works harder

nice brown watch that certainly came from a department store

also gains points for being next to nancy’s anemic librarian fit, thus looking better by comparison

The Rich Bitch

8/10

thank god he ditched the khakis

hair looks much less demonic

it’s a simple look but the sweatshirt rides up when he shotguns the beer

he also gets wet

solid 8 for sluttiness alone

The Whore

10/10

wet

please note that his chest is waxed. keep this in mind.

The Heterosexual

2/10

hair looks like he dipped his head in glue

bold choice with the grey pants. unfortunately that choice was wrong

matching outfits with your comphet girlfriend isn’t as cute as you think it is stevie

you only get points because despite that ungodly pastel stripe pattern the polo’s decently fitted and makes your arm look kinda nice

The Dickhead

3/10

glue head pt. 2

at least the stripes aren’t pastel this time

The Cuck

6/10

hair slightly less glue-y

yet another striped polo is peeking out unfortunately

but! it’s green and green looks good on him

finally wearing jeans like a normal fucking human instead of weird slacks

pivotal moment in steve’s fashion evolution from preppy male model to sexy morally upright king

his morals are stored in the denim

The Final Girl

9/10

an outfit with a character arc to rival steve’s own

pretty fucking good hair if i do say so myself!!

it’s fluffy!

that shit looks like if you touched it it’d be soft... no glue here!

finally not copying from the goddamn l.l. bean catalog

iconic green slut sweatshirt? check! jacket and nikes? check! fucked-up gorgeous face and baseball bat full of rusty nails? check, baby!

looks good on its own OR with some blood on top

overall a very solid look

The Darling Little Drummer Boy

7/10

babe no... please don’t go back to the khakis... they won’t treat you like jeans do...

not quite glue head but not his best

apparently steve owns a single green sweatshirt, a thousand striped polos, and one very precious christmas sweater

almost makes up for prep-related khaki crimes by being really fucking cute

The Simp

8/10

glue head is DEAD

further evidence that steve harrington’s entire closet is just striped polos

this is his fifth unique striped polo

most of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

actually all of these points are for the sunglasses and the hair

he’s finally let go of the fucking pastels thank jesus

and you can’t see it but he did wear jeans with this fit i just forgot to make sure they were pictured and it’s 4:15 am so i don’t feel like going back to remake this collage

cannot tell if this is a lighter blue version of the jacket he wore three times in s1 or if it IS the jacket he wore three times in s1 and the color grading is just that different

either way he loves jackets and i think that’s very sexy of him

The Intellectual

9/10

i’ve been waiting for this one... turn it up!

literally invented vests

excellent hair

loses a point for unfortunately introducing steve’s SIXTH unique striped fucking polo

i can’t see the collar but i know it’s there i know you’re wearing another fucking polo steve you can’t hide from me

can’t decide if he looks gay or just really preppy but either way he’s got some repression going on

still a very solid look

The Oh No Oh God It Hurts I’m Looking Away I Can’t Watch This

10/10

yes that middle picture is absolutely to show off the texture of his blazer and not at all me making sure that if i have to see his heartbroken little face then you all do too

anyways i Know that blazer cost at least $100 like i Know that shit’s expensive

excellent gorgeous soft-looking hair that someone ought to run their hands through but only people who haven’t dated him for a year while pining after someone else

emotional devastation... but make it unbelievably fucking sexy

stevie baby i know you’re a colorful guy but please wear more black

The Meathead Jock

9/10

aw christ whatever happened to standards?

introduction of the blue nikes <3

god his hair looked fucking good here

could have gained that final point by using tube socks with blue and GREEN stripes to tie together the shoes and the gym uniform :/

shorts could be shorter but are an altogether appropriate and enjoyable length

fun sweatstain to customize the look <3

The (is there a word for victim of bullying?) Serious Athlete

8/10

the yellow stripe was more fun

still cute though

The Sudsy Boy

11/10

wet

suds indicate that he’s washing his hair, presumably with faberge organics. is this why he’s being bullied?

steve brings his faberge organics shampoo and conditioner and his farrah fawcett spray to school with him whenever he has basketball practice

steve either has shampoo, conditioner, and hairspray in his backpack at all times, or he has a separate gym bag that’s mostly haircare products

just need to make sure we all know that

excellent freckle showcase

his chest is still waxed. please, i beg, keep this in mind

one of his strongest looks

The Babysitter

10/10

his most versatile look to date

a different jacket than the one(s) he’s worn before but it still has the same kind of collar. steve found a jacket he liked and bought it in at least three colors

the whole thing fits So fucking nicely! shirt, jacket, jeans... baby boy is TAILORED

return of the white nikes with the red check indicate that they are his fashion nikes, while the blue nikes with the white check are his sport nikes. interesting.

this fit lasts like 48 hours and steve simply looks sexier as time goes on which is a testament to its quality as well as his inherent power

every new accessory elevates his appearance. roses, nail bat, rubber gloves, blood, sweat, band-aids, bandana, goggles... each element complements the look in its own way!

an overall win

The Chauffeur

8/10

we can’t really see the whole fit but he’s not wearing a striped polo so i’m calling it a win regardless of what’s on his bottom half

cannot give him a 10/10 though because he might be wearing khakis

red is such a nice color on him when it’s not just from his blood

i lied when i said he should wear more black he should wear more colors

that plain sweater absolutely cost $85 or more

hair looks very nice and soft

excellent look!

The Sailor Man

9/10

very precious

absolutely the best hair i’ve ever seen

baby boy got highlights for his hot girl summer!

bright colors make his very red lips pop

shorts could be shorter

love the little accents! especially the white pockets and belt

excellent color coordination on steve’s part with the blue sneakers (notably different than his s2 blue basketball nikes) and the red bruising/blood

i hope you remembered that steve’s chest was waxed. as you can see his chest is now unwaxed. some change between s2 and s3 drove this decision, presumably either his breakup with nancy or the fact that he no longer showers in front of other guys at school. up to your interpretation

shock blanket at the very end is a nice touch so we don’t forget he’s traumatized

The Drowned Rat/The Man Overboard

10/10

wet

shorts could be shorter

the decision to purchase and wear a hoodless raincoat is absolutely ridiculous and stupid

however it is also very steve harrington and i value self-expression

The Chick Magnet/The Flaming Homosexual

100/10

what can i even say about this fit?

the absolute best pants he’s worn thus far. amazing fit, excellent classic wash. i say this as a former american eagle outfitters associate and the winner of my freshman year dorm’s “best at folding jeans” award

manages to make blue jeans with a half-blue denim vest work effortlessly

bold primary colors make him stand out without being too gaudy

excellent pairing of t-shirt with simple stripes and vest with simple color blocking to create a complex yet cohesive and flattering look

simple brown belt gives the look a put-together yet down-to-earth vibe

hair has only gotten better

still wearing that same brown watch that he’s had since the introduction

this man looks like he waxes his chest

this is steve in his final form

thank you for your time

#em talks #asks #long post #steve harrington #stranger things #battleonthedeathstar

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the196thbattalion · 4 years

Text

star wars human! high school! au

i’ve seen so many headcanons circling throughout the star wars tumblr about high school au’s, so i wanted to share my bit with all of you :D

anakin skywalker

five words: REBEL CHILD ON A MOTORCYCLE.

he doesn’t like riding the school bus because it makes him feel extremely claustrophobic, so he scrapped and scavenged up parts to make his own customized motorcycle, which he lovingly dubbed artoo.

the blue and silver detailing was the joint effort of ahsoka and obi-wan, because anakin doesn’t know how to paint.

if he can catch up to the bus, he’ll ride alongside it and flip off the students on it before revving on ahead of them. (the freshmen think it’s the funniest thing in the universe)

probably one of the most well-known juniors in the entirety of temple high school (mostly because of his shenanigans but partly because he’s dating padme fuckiNG AMIDALA, PRETTIEST GIRL IN THE DAMN SCHOOL)

he always wears this worn-down leather jacket his mom gave to him before she passed away, and refuses to take it off, even though it’s somehow “a violation of the dress code and should be outlawed.”

his hair alone has seduced eight different students (boys and girls)

sometimes during study hall, ahsoka or padme will get a hold of his hair and style it into little braids or make a super rad ponytail.

he really likes iced coffee with milk and sugar. he puts in the milk to make it nice and light (it’s aesthetically pleasing, obi-wan!), and then like eight tablespoons of sugar to make it actually taste good.

his favorite class is mechanics, taught by kit fisto.

anakin spent months on a mechanical arm project to replace his clunky plastic prosthetic, and he was so freaking happy when it was finished; he almost cried. (he did cry and ahsoka got it on video)

obi-wan kenobi

a mixture of the soft™, pretty™, hippie™, grunge™, vsco™ and nerd™ tropes.

he really likes peppermint tea with lots of honey but takes his coffee black.

he has had too much tea.

someone needs to stop him.

almost all of his classes are ap courses, and if cody hadn’t been watching when obi-wan was making his schedule, all of them would be.

him, cody and padme have ap english with mace windu, and cody knows how much his classes stress him out, so he lets obi-wan sleep during class and sends him the notes

the only ap class obi-wan doesn’t take is mechanics, and he shares that class with anakin.

anakin and obi-wan are super close with each other. kenobi was there when ahsoka was adopted, and anakin was there when kenobi got his cat. (they were like 5 okay)

“NAME IT C3PO OBI-WAN, OR I SWEAR TO FUCK-” “what kind of name is that, and why would i - anAKIN PUT HIM DOWN!?”.

mr. fisto constantly has to split them up for disrupting the class, but it’s almost like they can communicate telepathically, and the teachers have a running bet

mace windu literally bet $50 on these fucking nerds so you know it’s for realsies

in reality, they’ve just gotten super creative with passing notes.

kind of off topic, but he has these brown harry potter glasses that he uses (kinda for reading???? but mostly so he can do that anime pushing up glasses thing)

cody thinks it’s the funniest shit ever

whenever cody is feeling stressed, obi-wan just does the thing™ and BOOM! happiness.

people think he’s a goodie two shoes, and honestly, it’s really easy to think that. if the iconics are trying to do something stupid, he’s usually the voice of reason.

but parties?

…

you know what, just ask anakin for the video footage.

ahsoka tano

this hs!au ahsoka tano turned me bisexual confirmed ✔

okay before i go into her style, which is mainly what made me drool over my computer, can i just put skatergirl!ahsoka out there?

spray painting of the rebellion symbol all over the bottom of her board and on items in a couple of the places where she skates the most (like the back of an abandoned car yard)

her instagram is filled with these super cool vhs-tape recorded skate videos (u know)

lots crackhead 3am visits (starring anakin, rex, kenobi and barris) to a gas station to get slushies and grind the shit out of the curb connecting the store to the parking lot

trying to teach anakin how to skateboard but he just can’t figure it out? uh yes

“try to balance skyguy!” “HOW DO I MOVE? DO I SCOOT? SNIPS THIS ISN’T FUNNY AND I WANT TO GET OFF – GUYS, STOP LAUGHING!”

okay okay okay i’m done

for now

anyway, her style???? is so???? fucking????? cool!!!!!

her genetics gave her a 80% of having vitiligo, so it really wasn’t a surprise when patches of her skin got lighter, but it still freaked her out a little bit.

basically, went like this: “DAD, I’M TURNING WHITE!” “???? oh my gosh ‘soka, no.”

she has long braided dreadlocks she dyed a super bright orange with various colored beads woven into them with the help of anakin and padme. she usually styles them into little space buns atop her head.

her entire clothing wardrobe consists of fishnets, neon bomber jackets, at least 11 bisexual beanies™, handmade patchy jeans, white tank tops, and light-up platform shoes.

she doesn’t give two flying fucks about the dress code, and – IN THE MIDDLE OF THE MOST BUSY HALLWAY - punched principal sidious over whether or not she “could wear shorts that short” (anakin may or may not have cheered when she broke his nose).

the fetts (chuck have mercy)

*cracks le knuckles* i’ve put it off long enough

we have: fox (24), wolffe (19), cody (17), rex (17), echo (16), fives (16), boil (15), waxer (14), hardcase (13), jesse (12), longshot (8), kix (6), tup (3), gree (2) and boba (9mo)

wolffe is off at college - fox already graduated and moved out, that cheeky little fucking shit - but both still keep in good contact with the fam, and it’s a constant clamor between eleven of the siblings of who gets to talk to them first

fox majored in government/politics, bly is majoring in space/astronomy, and wolffe is majoring in police/law enforcement shit (i don’t know how college works, so sue me)

cody and rex are juniors, and despite their similar looks, the amount of schoolwork each of them completes drastically varies

cody is the honor roll student, valedictorian, whatever you want to call it

rex kinda just either does the work really well or 9/10 times gets distracted by anakin or ahsoka sending him some nice spicy memes

cody tried to tutor rex but it ended up almost landing tup in the hospital

“that’s really simple, actually. if you – vod? rex, are you okay? what are you oH NO TUP DON’T PUT THAT IN YOUR MOUTH-”

fetts on the varsity football team is like a right of passage in the family

right now, only the juniors of the fett family are on the team, but the coach has eyes on fives and echo for next years team

SPEAKING OF

echo, fives and boil are the infamous sophomore trio that pulled the milk bucket prank on the gym teacher, pong krell.

they had to help the janitor (99) clean up afterwards, but they genuinely enjoyed 99’s company, because he’s rad as shit and knows all the secret school passageways.

to be honest, not one person (except maybe sidious) was complaining

that motherfucker makes everyone run like eight laps during gym class

even mr. windu gives them a small smile in the hallways after that

boil says he was blackmailed into it

waxer is a freshman (the poor dude, i’m so sorry), and he always looks out for the nervous freshies

if someone is having a bad day, he’ll give them a lollipop (he carries around a whole bag), a place to sit during lunch, and a shoulder to cry on

all you need to do to find waxer is to locate this long ass line of children

the school counselor, plo koon, sometimes brings his niece numa into school during the day because he can’t find a babysitter, and waxer. fucking. loves. her. PERIOD.

w+n pull these tiny little pranks on teachers, and the staff pretends not to notice, but numa always giggles and gives them away.

boil has a soft spot for numa too, and sneaks her rice krispies.

bonus shit i want to add in but can’t figure out where to put it (or i’m just gonna add it on and shit)

plo koon adopted anakin after his mother died (him and anakin’s mother were good friends), and found ahsoka on the side of the street, shivering like a maniac.

he doesn’t know where ahsoka came from, but he loves her so gOD DAMN MUCH.

he’s the school counselor, and still keeps in touch with a lot of students even after the graduated (he thinks that majoring in law enforcement/police is a bit dangerous for wolffe but he still supports his unofficial but basically son 100%)

yoda is the super old but radically rad english teacher.

his entire point of existence in my mind fic is to troll the shit out of palpatine.

a recent conversation starring yoda and palps: “did you give the students the mountain of extra work i assigned them?” “for the students, that was?” i’m sorry. my bad, that is.” “this is the seventh time, yoda.”

okay but for real

mace windu violently roots for the school football team.

“BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM, CODY! YOU TOO...OTHER CODY!”

“THAT’S A HOLDING! THAT’S A HOLDING!”

“REF IF YOU DON’T COUNT THAT TOUCHDOWN THEN I SWEAR TO SAMUEL L. JACKSON I WILL COME DOWN THERE AND BEAT YOUR SORRY PINSTRIPED ASS!”

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sign-from-god-complex · 4 years

Text

Self-Control

Summary: The sound of footsteps pad across the landing above and though Virgil has come all this way he’s suddenly struck with the feeling that he’s not ready. It’s been 15 years since they’ve seen each other—so much can change in 15 years; so much has changed in 15 years.

Though, maybe things haven’t changed quite as much as Virgil thinks.

(AKA, a past-punk moxiety AU)

Pairing: Moxiety!

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol, smoking, homophobia and nondescript injury. Vague allusions to past abuse (or at least mentions of terrible parental figures). Brief discussion of a parental figure having died.

AO3 Link

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It isn’t at all the place Virgil imagined for him. The flower pots all sit in a row on the steps, red ivy climbing up the fence like spider webs and a garden hose curled up on a perfectly manicured front lawn. Everything about it is picturesque—almost to the point of insanity—and as a butterfly floats by and lands delicately on a ladder leaning onto the fence from the backyard, Virgil wonders what in the world could have changed Patton so drastically to have led to this.

There’s an image, in his head, of teenage rebellion—of 2 am milkshakes and stolen bicycles, of broken glass and laughter, so much laughter, as they took advantage of what time they had left to live. It doesn’t fit in with this pastel blue sky in this pastel blue neighbourhood full of pastel blue people but he knew that it wouldn’t. He knew things would be different.

Though, that doesn’t make it all that much easier to comprehend.

Vaguely, Virgil hears the sound of excited squeals coming from the yard and he ducks his head over the fence just a bit, catching sight of a young girl flying off of a trampoline at a hundred miles an hour—hair a mess and grin bright.

The kid must be Patton’s—it’s unmistakable, that dark skin and reckless look, like she’s ready to take the world on at any moment—and Virgil can’t help but remember the nights the two of them spent drinking and talking and vowing to never tie themselves down to anyone or anything.

He supposes no one really does know what they want when they’re young.

It takes Virgil a while to gather up the courage to knock—he’s all too aware of his leather jacket and patches, his dyed hair and piercings. He couldn’t feel more out of place in this suburban neighbourhood and he hadn’t thought that around Patton he could ever feel out of place.

In the end, though, the choice is taken out of his hands. The young girl throws open the door, clearly looking to haul ass across the street to the park—the kind of place he and Pat would have smoked, once upon a time—but is stopped short as she notices Virgil standing in her way. There’s a moment where he’s afraid she’s going to scream or cry or something else he would have no clue how to deal with but instead, she just grins cheekily.

“Dad!” she yells, barely turning her head to face the soft white interior of the house, “There’s a man here for you!”

The sound of footsteps pad across the landing above and for a moment Virgil is so afraid that he’s gotten the wrong house or that Patton won’t want to see him and though he’s come all this way he’s struck with the feeling that he’s not ready. It’s been 15 years since they’ve seen each other; so much can change in 15 years.

“Riley, what do you mean? What ma-”

And then, there he is.

His face is void of any of the makeup he used to wear, his hair faded from turquoise to its natural black and left curly in a way he wouldn’t have been caught dead with once. And, over the top of a graphic t-shirt displaying some characters Virgil doesn’t recognise and unripped light-wash jeans, Patton had thrown a familiar blue flannel.

Virgil remembers that flannel, worn under heavy coats to help fight the evening windchill, tied around Patton’s waist as they scaled fences just to see if they could and left in a pile on the floor in his room as they finally escaped back to comfort and warmth. Honestly, he’s just surprised it still fits.

Patton does nothing but stare at him for a moment, his lips parted in shock and his eyes big and wide and god, looking at him now is like falling in love all over again.

“Virge?” he breathes, a melody of disbelief in his voice. Virgil can’t exactly blame him—it isn’t as if he’s someone Patton was expecting to see.

Virgil rubs over the fabric of his jacket, a nervous tick he’d had even back then. “Hey, uh… surprise?”

And in an instant, has Patton pitched forward right into his arms. Virgil catches him—of course, he catches him, he’ll always catch him—and Patton laughs, displaying some level of joy Virgil hadn’t known he’d needed to hear until now. He can feel Patton breathing against his neck as they hold each other and, distantly, the sound of light footsteps echoes away and up the stairs.

They pull apart, eventually, the separation like trying to peel a sticker off of a concrete wall—the easiest kind of graffiti to enact while still being tricky to remove. The distance Patton puts between them seems almost reluctant and Virgil wishes he had the courage to tell him to stay.

“What are you doing here?” Patton asks. It’s soft, like the white fuzzy carpet of his new home and Virgil realises suddenly he’d been so caught up in him that he’d forgotten that this him wasn’t the same.

Patton had always been soft but not soft like this. He’d been soft in redirected conversation and distractions, in Virgil’s favourite TV show on in the background and stolen chocolate bars in his pocket, guiding hands mimicking steady breathing. This Patton seems soft around the edges—worn down, almost—and Virgil feels those 15 years as more of a lifetime.

He doesn’t answer the question—truthfully because he’s not sure how, not sure where to start with the mess of events and near-misses and regrets that finally brought him here to Patton’s doorstep—and instead replies with one of his own.

“My mom died. Did you know that?” It’s a stupid thing to ask, they hadn’t spoken to each other in 15 years, there was no way he could have known. Virgil asks it all the same though. “I have her money now. Didn’t write me out of the will even after everything we went through. Guess she didn’t want how much she hated me and my “lifestyle” to come out even after she’d kicked it.”

Patton just looks at him. There’s something sad in his eyes, maybe, something regretful or sympathetic, something holding years worth of apologies and love confessions in not so many words that every night they'd pretended they hadn’t said.

Maybe not, he isn’t sure. He’s never been very good with stuff like that.

“You owe me a party,” Virgil continues impulsively. Patton grins and shakes his head and the urge to kiss him is so strong for a moment Virgil can’t breathe. “You promised me when she was dead and I didn’t have to worry about her anymore we’d have a party. With cheerio sausages and expensive liquor and-”

“Sparkling juice and bad karaoke,” Patton interrupts, “I remember.”

Nobody speaks. Patton doesn’t invite him in and Virgil doesn’t ask for fear of being turned away.

He knows there’s an element of worship in the way he looks at Patton. It’s worship like the way farmers pray for rain in a drought, worship like how sailors are drawn to the rough turn of the sea and worship like teens relishing in the night when they’re bored and alone and angry, yearning for freedom that only comes in years they feel they don’t have left.

But now, dark eyes gazing at him and breath catching in his throat, Virgil thinks maybe he isn’t the only one who feels it.

“I have a kid now, you know?” Patton asks and Virgil knows instantly that question isn’t about the party but everything that comes after it—all of the hundreds of possibilities that stem from this decision that neither of them can quite voice out loud, “Single parent. I made a lot of bad choices in those 15 years—gave myself away to a few people who didn’t deserve it, maybe—but she’s… helped. I want to be better for her.”

Virgil nods. It’s a little hard to reconcile teenage Patton with this one but he tries anyway. He has to; he owes him that much.

(In truth, he owes him so, so much more than that but right now this is all he feels he can give.)

“Yeah, uh, Riley, right? Seems like a sweet kid, if not a bit mischievous.” Virgil smirks slightly, somewhere between teasing and nostalgic. “Kind of like you were.”

At that, Patton grins and he laughs and it feels right—feels like early morning rainfall and crackling log fires, like the burning in your lungs as you run and the way your eyes slowly drift shut against your will when you’re up too late, like every ending and beginning in just a moment.

He shakes his head again, almost affectionately chastising and there’s a stuttering of Virgil’s hand as he goes to reach out, to brush a strand of hair away from Patton’s face but stops himself halfway through.

Patton doesn’t seem to notice. Virgil once thought Patton never noticed—never saw the longing in his eyes and the flushed red of his cheeks as they sat side-by-side on a park bench in the middle of winter, running from the heat of harsh words and high expectations.

He wonders if maybe that was naive.

“Well, I’ve gotta make sure to raise her right,” Patton jokes and his smile is amused—fond and familiar like the worn leather of Virgil’s jacket between his fingers, “If she’s not questioning authority and getting me called down to the office at least once a term then I’m doing something wrong.”

With that, there’s a flash—just a moment—of principal visits and angry rants, of cutting class to sit with the other in the silence of the school office and knowing, that outside of the two of them, there was no one else to come. And he thinks of Patton—this Patton, not his Patton—taking up the empty space of that office with kind reassurances and defensive words, protecting and protecting and protecting, fighting for Riley the way he had Virgil.

Parenthood suits Patton more than he’d first thought, perhaps.

“Ah, office visits.” Virgil nods sagely and can’t resist the quirk of his lips as Patton giggles. “A hallmark of a punk child. Next thing you know she’ll be dyeing her hair, running off to the park in the middle of the night to meet up with boys.”

It’s obviously a joke but still, Patton quietens, taking on a more contemplative look. It seems as if he’s remembering something and Virgil needs, all at once, to make sure he’s more to Patton than simply that expression on his face in the midst of just another day.

“Yeah,” Patton finally says, “Yeah, she was thinking purple actually.”

Virgil doesn’t reach up and drag a hand through his own purple hair but it’s a near thing. He hums—soft and low. “Good taste.”

A heavy silence rings in his ears—an echo of all the memories they share and all the memories they don’t, a collision of black and pastel blue on a canvas already painted with teenage angst and first love—and Virgil can't stand the way it feels like it may be too much to overcome. It isn't; he won't let it be.

He takes a step closer and Patton doesn’t move away, just lets Virgil crowd him against the doorframe till their chests are pressed together and each shuddering breath is a joint effort.

“I’d like to get to know her. If you’ll let me,” he murmurs and he’s so close that he can hear Patton’s heartbeat pick up as he slides a hand up to brush at the strands of hair against Virgil’s neck.

The air between them is tense and pulled tight—gazes tracing over freckles and foundation, their skin warm with each point of contact and the rushing of blood in Virgil’s ears drowning out the pounding of his heart. Each second that goes by without comment feels to Virgil like sinking into quicksand, like fingers losing their grip on the edge of a building and threatening to let him fall.

But, before he can draw away, throw up his walls and stumble his way through apologies like they’re nothing more than kids again, Patton tugs him forward and, softly, he brings their lips together.

The kiss is a teenage fantasy come true, the culmination of every moment—under streetlights or under blankets or under nothing more than the cover of night itself—where Virgil longed to reach out and tell Patton that he wanted to kiss him until the world faded away and all that he could focus on was the taste of cherry red lipstick and the joy and love pounding in his chest like a second heartbeat.

It's the comfort in late-night knocking, Patton taking Virgil in and patching him up and holding him as he cries because he has a mother that doesn’t love him and a father that’s always absent and a world that doesn’t care, muttered reassurances a quiet backdrop to his sobs.

It's the warmth in drinking their way through meagre retail paychecks, Patton’s soft touches like fire against his skin and the thread of restraint holding Virgil back from blurting out a love confession worn down to something as thin as a spiderweb and just as delicate.

It's the exhilaration in grocery store runs with no money and bags filled with spray paint cans, their gloved hands clasped tight as they race against the biting evening wind, giving in to the urge to let out a cry of victory that bounces off the empty alley walls.

So, yes, it’s the culmination of years of pining but it’s more than that too. It’s an apology, it’s acceptance and it’s an offer of a future, to stay here with them.

“I think I’d like that,” Patton gasps as he pulls away and Virgil’s so enamoured even after all these years that he barely knows what to say, “For you to know her, I mean. She’d like you. She’s like you, or at least the way you used to be—always a bit loose with self-control.”

Virgil doesn’t tell Patton that all his self-control had been going towards keeping himself from telling him he loved him. He doesn’t think he’d know how.

Slowly, Virgil blinks and he nods and it’s all he can do to keep himself standing as Patton beams up at him with a smile reminiscent of stars colliding—bright and beautiful enough to take his breath away. And suddenly Virgil feels like maybe he can fit in here, that maybe he can fit in anywhere he needs to if Patton keeps looking at him like that.

He smiles back, smaller than the one he’d received but the way Patton’s eyes light up makes Virgil feel like maybe that doesn’t really matter. “Okay, yeah. I want that; I want to stay.”

“Okay,” Patton parrots and he’s barely holding back giggles, Virgil can tell. It’s okay though because he feels it too—that sense of happiness and disbelief that has almost no other way to present itself—and giving in feels more like an inevitability.

So, laughing and hands joined together, Patton pulls Virgil inside to the soft white of his suburban home. And he closes the door.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard @shadowsfromthesun @teadays @sandersships @camcam774 @autism-goblin @deadlyhuggles6 @romanthestarstruckqueer @whispers-stuff-in-your-ear @rainboots-are-for-snobs @welpweregonnadie @spirits-in-my-thoughts @hold-my-hat @goodandbadisallmadeupnonsense @stop-it-anxiety @figurative-falsehood @jadedfantasies231 @idosanderssidespromptssometimes @poisonedapples @sanders-screams @another-sandersidesblog @do-not-just-see-observe @mychemicalpanicattheemo @harleyquinnamiright @localtransgrape @fandomsofrandom @gattonero17 @airiervessel @ollyollyoxinfree @tired-and-probably-crying .

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #moxiety #patton sanders #virgil sanders #lo can write #blease read this guys I worked really really hard on it #they're just. soft and in love #virgil has Many Feelings

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extremelyblackandwhite · 4 years

Text

i wanna know what love is - 02

Pairing: rockstar! sebastian stan x writer!reader

Warnings: sebastian is a still a prick

Last Chapter // Next Chapter

She had begged and begged her editor to send someone else, confident that she was going back only to hear more nasty remarks about herself coming from the rudest person she had ever met. However, Jason was adamant that she go in and get the most the could squeeze out of someone who simply didn’t look like they wanted to interview at all.

Nevertheless, at 9 AM, she was back at the Vixen. Walking inside the saw the complete opposite of what she had seen last night. The club was scrubbed clean, and only a few staff were running around filling the bar and cleaning some tables. Something that did not change was the cluster of girls still following Sebastian around as if he were the most beautiful man put to Earth. She couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t attractive, but whenever he spoke, all his pretty features seemed to fade away.

Speaking of the devil, he turned around spotting her in the entrance in her dark navy jeans and another white blouse, carrying a brown messenger bag on her shoulder and a notepad on her right hand. He pointed at her, gesturing to her to come closer, which she unhappily did.

- Miss Wiley, I see the blouse stays. - he took his sunglasses off, a much less lazy tone to his voice which confirmed her last night suspicions that he was drunk off his arse.

- Mr Stan, I see your entourage remains. - she looked over at the at least six girls that were surrounding him as if he were a king.

- Does it make you uncomfortable, Miss Wiley? - he teased her, licking his own teeth before telling the girls to go back to his dressing room. She crossed her arms at him, preparing herself mentally to deal with the man child.

He pushed a chair with his foot to stay in front of him before pointing at it as if asking her to take a seat which she did before he threw another remark about her writing capacity or what she was wearing.

- What did you write about me so far?

- I have nothing to write about you besides what gossip magazines have already written. - she placed her notepad on the table, grabbing a pen from her bag. - Are you gonna answer my questions or are you gonna make sexual remarks about me the whole time?

- I’m not gonna answer anything, sweetheart. - he closed her notepad, making her roll her eyes. - I want you to come on my goodbye tour with me.

- I’m sorry but just because you said I’d be a good groupie doesn’t mean I want actually to be one of your groupies.

- No, as a tour reporter but you’re welcome in my entourage anytime.

- Are you joking? - she cocked her eyebrow at him, watching him down a bottle of beer at 9 AM.

- You wanna be a big shot writer, and I want you to clean my reputation. It’s a fair deal. - he held eye contact with her, making her feel awfully uncomfortable. More uncomfortable than that was the fact that this full grown-up man was standing in front of her in black trousers and a single worn-out leather jacket, no shirt, allowing everyone around to see his torso and tattoos. Therefore, she had no other choice but to stare at his face and hold eye contact, which he was awfully good at. - You’ll be on the tour bus, able to ask whatever questions you’d like and in exchange, you’ll clean my slate.

- I thought you didn’t care about what people said about you. - she crossed her legs, a very smug smirk forming on her berry painted lips. The tension was hard between the two of them as Sebastian refused to have the newbie intern win an argument. The sharp environment atmosphere was broken by one waitress placing a metal tray on the table, the noise created by the motion making the two turn to look at the woman.

- Thanks, Francine. - Sebastian winked at the red-headed waitress, making her giggle as she walked out. Y/N could not understand how girls managed to fall over him, a man that was always surrounded by women didn’t look seductive to her. He took two glasses from the tray, pushing one towards her.

- No, thank you, it’s 10 AM. - she looked at the clear liquid in front of her. Was he expecting her to drink straight vodka at 10 AM just a few minutes after she had woken up was too much. Way too much.

- It’s elderflower water. - he replied, taking what looked and smelled like a glass of whiskey up to his mouth. - Don’t worry, sweetheart. There’s nothing on it.

- I’d have to speak with my editor to ask if ...

- Sweetheart, sometimes you have to take a risk. - he pointed his ringed finger at her. - You don’t get to be an esteemed writer if you do what they ask of you.

- What do you even know of writers? - she wouldn’t dare do something to upset her boss when she wasn’t even a contracted writer. She was an intern, at any point she could have her job removed and replaced by a much eager fresh out of university person who would receive and accept orders.

- 15 years in show business, I’ve met and heard many writers. - he finished his drink, placing it on the metal tray. - Sleep with a bunch of them too.

- Do you always need to be so crude?

- Only when you’re around. - he got up from his seat, towering the sitting intern in front of him. - I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N. 9 AM here.

- I can’t just go on tour without my editor’s permission ... I ...

- Like I said Y/N Wiley, 9 AM.

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian imagine

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jessicajonesrp · 4 years

Text

Reminiscing and big news

The day of Dorothy Walker’s memorial service and funeral passed with minimal dramatics, thankfully.

As Jessica had promised, she and Luke had remained outside the service, vigilant for any sign of Phillip or anyone else lurking around the building or attempting a disruption. Jessica owned exactly two dresses that she had worn exactly once each, and one of them was a red wedding dress. She owned no “funeral appropriate” clothing, according to Trish, despite the irony of owning quite a lot of black t-shirts, jackets, and jeans. According to Trish, if Jessica wore any of them, despite the appropriate color, the clothes themselves would likely cause Dorothy to rise from the dead just to sputter her indignation at the scandal.

In the end she borrowed a dress from Trish that was a little short in length and tight on her around the chest, which made no sense to Jessica, since she was usually at least a cup size smaller than Trish. It was not exactly the kind of clothing that was suitable for ass-kicking, which would have made her uncomfortable any time, let alone when she was guarding a place with the actual possibility of ass-kicking. Damn Trish and her adherence to social expectations, but this wasn’t a day Jessica could argue with her.

Phillip didn’t show, although it seemed like every other person even loosely attached to the entertainment industry did. The amount of dramatic grieving from people that likely barely knew or had actively disliked Dorothy made Jessica’s skin crawl just watching them, which made her glad she didn’t have to sit through an entire service of it. No one in particular stood out to her, and the vast majority didn’t recognize her as Dorothy’s adoptive daughter as they passed, whether that was because they wouldn’t associate Jessica with wearing a dress or because Dorothy had managed to put that much distance between them over time. Jessica did notice a short young woman with dark hair and intense eyes look her over a little longer than she considered normal, but the woman didn’t speak to her, and she wasn’t someone that Jessica recognized, so she let it go.

By the time it was all over and everyone was milling around, likely gossiping more than talking about Dorothy, Jessica was more than ready to get Trish and go. She wanted to check in on her and make sure she got through her speech okay, of course, but she also had had to pee really badly. Which was weird, because her morning attempt at coffee and whiskey had not been successfully digested, something she was starting to get actively agitated about. This was not the time to be sick, damn it. She would start to think someone was poisoning her, if she hadn’t been getting all her own drinks herself.

Trish’s eyes were red, her expression tired when she finally emerged with Danny, but she gave Jessica and Luke a smile that was only slightly strained, obviously relieved that everything had gone smoothly. She gave Jessica a hug and kept her in it loosely as she looked past Jessica’s shoulder to Luke and Danny.

“Jess…I know you hate talking and feelings and combinations of the two. But would you please do just one more thing for me?”

Jessica sighed, pulling back from Trish to look at her, but despite the attitude she gave off in her look, she already knew she would say yes. “What are you making me do?”

“I sort of just…I want to go sit somewhere with you, and remember things about Mom,” Trish said softly. “Not like everyone else just did. That was a public thing. It was true, mostly, but it wasn’t the whole story, it wasn’t the Mom we knew. No one else lived with her, no one else but you knew her like I did. Just for a little while. I think it will help me, if you let me talk about things we remember.”

Her blue eyes were so full of both hurt and hope that it was hard to even look at her, let alone say no to her. Her request was about the last thing one earth Jessica wanted to do, but she sighed and nodded, for Trish.

“Fine. Just let me go pee first, I swear I’ve been holding it for like three hours now.”

They ended up sitting together on the couch of Trish’s and Danny’s penthouse, Trish with her knees wrapped around her legs, Jessica a little twitchy and tense at first, but gradually relaxing. She had been afraid that Trish might want to romanticize Dorothy, going into detail about every positive quality that the woman had and conveniently forgetting all the rest, but instead, Trish was wanting to talk about what it had been like when they lived together, or as Jessica thought of it, suffered through mutual Dorothy encounters together.

“Do you remember your first Christmas with us?” Trish said with faint smile. “Mom always insisted on going ridiculously all out with decorating, she would actually hire people to put up garland and mistletoe and fake snow and whatever else was chic that year. And she insisted on that huge photo spread of us as a new family in that magazine?”

“God, what the hell was she thinking, putting up mistletoe in a house three women lived in? Who were we supposed to kiss, each other?” Jessica rolled her eyes, before smirking. “Maybe we should have, just to shake her up a bit. That would have been the most viral photo shoot of the year. Patsy Walker makes out with her own sister!”

Trish giggled. “She made you wear that dress that matched mine, and you absolutely refused to smile. In every single picture, every damn one, there was Mom and me grinning like manic Christmas fairies, and you giving your best death glare, all decked out in velvet and lace.”

“She didn’t try that again, after all the comments to the editor speculating about if her new daughter was brain damaged or mentally ill from her tragic accident,” Jessica remember, her smirk deepening. “I think they would have cut me out of the pictures entirely if that didn’t kind of defeat the point of the photo shoot.”

“She would get so mad at how you dressed,” Trish reminded her, smiling. “I swear, Jess, I think your style to this day is a defiant reaction to her constantly telling you to comb your hair, put on makeup, and wear clothes with a designer labeled designed for the female body. Who knows, maybe you would be a fashion model if she hadn’t actually encouraged you to be one. You have the height and figure for it, she wasn’t wrong.”

“But absolutely zero interest,” Jessica reminded her flatly. “I outgrew the girly thing about the time I outgrew wearing princess dresses with Sketchers. Even then, Barbies in my hands got their hair chopped off and their bodies tattooed with Sharpie.”

“Remember the time the Thanksgiving caterer she hired somehow brought us the wrong food, for some vegan family, and we had this ridiculous tofu shaped like a turkey?” Trish laughed. “And she tried to cook one herself but never actually turned the oven on, so we had like, a thousand side dishes that all looked and tasted like cardboard, and a frozen turkey? And then you tried to microwave it-“

“Hey, I was 15,” Jessica laughed. “I know now to just order take out. Real take out, not vegan catering shit.”

“And that time she decided we should drive to the movie I was shooting in LA, all the way from New York, because it was about a girl going on a road trip with her friends, and she thought I needed to actually experience a road trip to give an authentic acting experience,” Trish continued, her smile broadening. “No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t convince her that driving across the country with your manager mother at age seventeen is not at all the same as driving with a group of friends.”

“Oh my god, you’re lucky I didn’t strangle you both with my earbuds,” Jessica muttered, shaking her head. “She literally brought along an It’s Patsy soundtrack to listen to on the road. Does she know how many times I had to sit on my hands to keep from grabbing the wheel to force us over the side of a cliff? I didn’t care if it was suicide, I was fucking ready to die within an hour.”

“She would actually go rant at the gas station attendants about the unacceptable lack of cleanliness and availability of healthy food options in their stores,” Trish remembered, snickering. “I was so mortified. And you locked us both out of the car for an hour at one stop.”

“I needed the peace, what can I say?” Jessica shrugged, smirking. “I would do it again, a thousand times over.”

Trish sighed, her expression going more serious as paused before speaking up again.

“None of this was funny then,” she said quietly. “It probably still isn’t, really. But we’re the only ones that remember. We’re the only ones left that really knew her. Mom…she was a difficult person. Really, really hard to love sometimes, and harder to like. But the good things I said about her back there were true too. She was smart, she had high expectations of herself and others, and she was strong. She had to be, raising me on her own, wanting me to be more and have more in life than she could. She messed me up, but she always thought what she did was for my best, no matter how much she had to twist up logic to come to the conclusion that it was right.”

Jessica didn’t argue with her, just nodding slightly. What Trish said wasn’t untrue.

“She was toxic for you,” she offered quietly. “But she did love you, as much as she could love anyone besides herself. She was proud of you. She was shit at showing it, but she was. You were her shining star.”

“I know,” Trish said softly, exhaling. “I don’t know if I should be trying to remember the good times, like when she would tuck me in at night and tell me I was the best and most beautiful girl in the world, or the bad times, like when she would slap my face and call me a fat, selfish bitch. But maybe the best thing is to remember it all. Balance.”

Jessica nodded again, putting a hand hesitantly on Trish’s knee. Trish covered it with hers, squeezed, and then entwined their fingers.

“She loved you too,” Trish told her, unknowingly repeating Luke’s words. “I know it probably didn’t seem like it to you. But she did. I know she did. She wouldn’t waste her breath criticizing someone as much as she criticized you, if that person wasn’t someone she loved.”

This was the first time that Jessica had really considered this, and the first time it rang true. She exhaled, accepting the idea, and a bittersweet tightness spread through her chest as she understood that this was something that both she and Dorothy had never expressed and now never could.

Trish leaned her head against Jessica’s shoulder, shifting to settle her body against her. Jessica inhaled sharply when Trish’s shoulder inadvertently jostled the side of her breast, not having expected the tender pain the slight gesture invoked.

“Ow,” she muttered, shifting away from her enough that Trish could remain leaned on her, but wasn’t touching anywhere near her chest. “Hm, maybe I pulled something.”

“Pulled something? Did you break a rib?” Trish asked, concerned, and starting to lift her head. “Did you go out and fight people last night?”

“No,” Jessica shrugged. “Pretty sure you can’t break a boob. Probably PMSing. Or strained a chest muscle from puking. You probably actually don’t want to get this close to me, whatever I’ve had lately is probably contagious.”

Trish’s lips twitched then, and her eyes danced with amusement that she tried unsuccessfully to hide. Jessica stared at her.

“What, we’re so juvenile now we laugh at the word boob? What do you call yours, mammary glands?”

Trish giggled, shaking her head.

“You just aren’t adding things up, are you, Jess?”

“What is there to add?” Jessica demanded, more confused than ever. “When did we change the subject to math?”

“Jess,” Trish said patiently, still fighting a smile. “Think about this. You’re throwing up. You’re wanting to eat weird things and not drink. You cried in front of Danny yesterday-“

“Hey,” Jessica protested, automatically defensive at the mention of crying, but Trish spoke over her.

“You’ve peed three times since you’ve been over here, and now, your boob hurts. Are you starting to see the picture?”

“Yeah, you spend way too much time paying attention to the shit I do,” Jessica grumbled, not seeing at all. “Why are you tracking everything I do, you weirdo?”

“Oh my god, you are the least self aware person I’ve ever met,” Trish groaned, shaking her head. Putting both hands on Jessica’s shoulders, she looked her directly in the eye, speaking slowly and distinctly. “Jessica. Honey. You need to take a pregnancy test.”

“What? I’m not pregnant!” Jessica exclaimed, automatically stunned and dismissive of the idea. “I would know if I was pregnant, Trish, please!”

“Jessica, Danny already told me that you are,” Trish started, which only set her off into sputtering indignation.

“DANNY told you?! He’s been in a parallel fucking world, how the fuck would Danny know a damn thing about whether or not there’s a human being hatching in me?!”

“He saw the baby’s chi,” Trish explained patiently. Giving her shoulders another little squeeze before letting them go, she stood, then gestured for the door. “Right, I can’t let this level of denial go on any longer. Here’s fifty bucks. Go to the pharmacy and buy a pregnancy test. Two of them, at least, the most accurate brands. Go home and take them, and if I’m wrong, you can laugh at me all you want.”

“Baby’s chi- what crap,” Jessica muttered, shaking her head as she stood, taking the money. “Whatever, I’ll buy the pregnancy test, but I’ll buy a few bottles of booze too. So I can celebrate my not-pregnant state once I prove you wrong.”

But an hour later, she was standing frozen in the bathroom of her and Luke’s apartment, staring at the very clearly marked positive of the third pregnancy test she had taken. Two positives had not been enough to convince her, and she had actually gone out to buy another of a different brand from a different pharmacy before she could accept the outcome. But three positives was evidence enough to come to a conclusion.

Danny and his stupid chi was right. Apparently, Jessica was pregnant.

Her hands were shaking when she picked up the phone to call Luke. “Um, when are you coming home? We need to talk about something.”

#jessica jones #jessica jones roleplay #luke cage #luke cage roleplay #trish walker #trish walker roleplay

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tuffduff · 4 years

Text

Life After You (Duff McKagan x Reader)

Pairing: angsty/fluffy Duff x Reader

Words: 4,733

A/N: Hey loves! This one actually isn’t a request, I was inspired by Taylor Swift’s “All Too Well” and actually didn’t intend for this to be so long, but it just came out.

P A R T T W O

Seattle had never been your home. You were not a born and raised native, never quite got used to the torrential downpours and overcast skies. In fact, you always waited for the day you would eventually move, figuring the setting to be just a minor stepping stone in your ultimate life story.

Until you met him.

It started in autumn, with falling leaves and brisk air. You had barely entered your twenties and the existential dread hadn’t yet set in; you were itching to find your niche and sense of belonging. Maybe that’s why you agreed to go with friends to some punk house to see a local band. The guys playing were interesting for lack of a better word, and you found yourself staring at the bassist. He was the tallest of the bunch with shaggy blonde hair and wandering eyes that kept finding their way back to you. You brushed it off though, thinking you were imagining it, until your friend leaned over and whispered, “the tall blonde one is checking you out.”

After the show, when the band began mingling with the small crowd, you wondered if he was going to come and introduce himself. That’s when someone hollered a warning for the cops and everyone scattered. You split out one of the backdoors, thankful that you lived just down the block.

“Hey! Wait up!” You slowed down in the alley, watching your breath in the air as the tall blonde ran to catch up to you. He had something in his hand; the scarf you had worn out and already forgotten about. It must have slipped off when you ran.

“Oh...thank you! You didn’t have to do that,” you replied, accepting the garment back. He shrugged a little, trying to keep eye contact but slightly faltering.

“I’ve never seen you around before.” He noted.

“Do you recognize every face around here?” You asked, unable to stop the smile from forming on your face. He smiled back.

“Only the pretty ones.” You weren’t expecting that. Nor the blush that crept to your cheeks. “I’d known if I had seen you before.”

“This is my first show. You were really great, by the way...?”

“Duff.” He replied, sticking his hand out. You took it with a smile.

“Y/N.”

“Do you live far?” He asked. For some reason, it wasn’t threatening. Some wall had already been broken from the beginning, when you both couldn’t stop staring.

“Down the block, thankfully. I should be able to make it home in about five minutes if I walk fast.” You replied.

“How about I walk you and we make it in 10?” He offered. You tilted your head.

“Why 10?”

“We’ll walk slow.”

That was exactly what happened. Ten minutes turned quickly to 15, and then 20, with the both of you talking outside your residence, both of you seemingly unwilling to let the night end. You were freezing beneath your coat but didn’t notice; Duff however was without a jacket and had his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.

“Can I see you again?” He asked bluntly. You smiled.

“You know where to find me.” He smiled back.

“Cool. Okay. Have a goodnight, Y/N—” he had turned to start walking away, but you had grabbed onto his shoulder to stop him. Gently, you draped the scarf around his neck.

“I think you need this more than I do. Take good care of it, you hear?” You told him with feigned seriousness. His returning smile was one you would never get out of your mind. Even to this day.

And so it went you discovered real love. Maybe with other people, they didn’t quite realize it at the time, but with Duff, you just knew. He was your first love, and with him came a new stage in your life. There was life before Duff and now life with Duff.

Back then, you had been blissfully unaware that there would be life after too.

Days quickly turned to a weeks. Months passed; holidays were celebrated in a new fashion, always together. Him not having quite enough money for a Christmas present, so he wrote you a song and gifted you a necklace that had once belonged to his grandmother. There were never any arguments, the both of you couldn’t get enough of each other. You figured, in the back of your head, that it was infatuation and it would wear off soon, but for those months, neither of you could get your fill.

Somehow a year had flown by and you found yourself back in autumn again, a year under your belts as a couple without possibly being able to imagine being more in love. And yet, you found new ways to fall in love with him just about every day. The two of you moved in together, Duff working at a bakery and you doing your best juggling school and working at a record shop, where Duff would spent his free time.

He had a broad assortment of family members and friends and you had taken a spot amongst them. They all knew you too, they were now your friends. Duff’s mom had you over every other weekend and would bake pies with you, telling stories of growing up during the depression and what Duff was like as a child. The charming youngest, always creative and eager to perform his duty as a man, trying his best to look after his mom. “He’ll always do his best at taking care of you and succeeding, but I’m just glad he’s found someone to take care of his heart.” She would tell you.

Duff knew he could make real money moving up at the bakery he was at. After-all, he was a hard worker and his bosses appreciated that, and really, it wasn’t bad work. But he always talked about music; the both of you would stay up at night staring at the darkened ceiling sharing your hopes, your dreams, your past, your futures. Sometimes the ceiling would grow light as you stayed up talking. Your fears would come into conversation too, but those moments were fleeting; you were both young and ambitious and fueled by love, what in this life couldn’t be accomplished when you had that?

He talked too, in disdain and grief, about the state of his hometown, of the dangerous heroin use spiraling out of control, vowing he would never turn out like them. He said he was ready to get out, like you had always said.

But then you were offered a chance of a lifetime, an internship at the local radio station for your journalism degree. You couldn’t leave now, but Duff was already decided. It left you both at a fork in the road.

“I would never stop you. You’re right. The only way you’re gonna know if you can make it is away from here. I’ll be right behind you; I’m sure I can easily find work in LA after my internship.” You put on a strong face and decided to be his rock. You had to take care of his heart. After all, your love was the strongest thing you had ever experienced. If you were meant to be, it always would and you had no doubts whatsoever, even if it meant time apart.

“I love you, Y/N. I’ll call you every day. You’ll have to visit when you have the chance, okay?” He took your scarf amongst the bare minimum of things packed away in his old car, and you waved goodbye with a smile and weird sense of displacement, but ultimately, you were hopeful.

Time somehow went faster and slower after he left. He did in fact call you every day, telling you about his new job working at the same restaurant with his brother. The shitty apartment he found and how he slept with cockroaches. “You wouldn’t last a day here, baby.” He teased you over the phone when you lamented your disgust. “Every night there’s helicopter lights outside my window. If you don’t hear from me tomorrow…” He kept your spirits high with his humor, even miles and miles away.

He told you all about meeting Slash and Steven, who were looking for a bass player for their band. He called you with a heavy heart often because he missed you, he called to hear your voice when he doubted himself. The excited phone calls were your favorite. His happiness was yours and it was beginning to sound like he might just have a chance in LA—not that you ever doubted it.

You answered every call at first, but as your semester went on, it got harder. Your phone calls grew scarce, but he still kept you updated. He mailed flowers to your house when you had your finals, somehow scrounging up money he had made from gigs with his new band, Guns ‘N Roses.

“The guys can’t wait to meet you, Y/N.” He told you over the phone and you would laugh listening to the group of guys yelling their hellos in the background. You had chatted with all of them at one point. They called you hotshot affectionately, impressed by the fact that you were actually obtaining a college degree.

Graduation came, but Duff didn’t. He had a gig the same night. But it wasn’t a big deal to you, his mom and sisters came. Duff called you as soon as the gig finished, and though you stayed on the phone for over an hour, you still cried yourself to sleep.

Aspiring for LA right out of the gates had been a naïve pipedream on your part. Duff had done it, but it was different for you. Turned out, it wasn’t the place where dreams came true, at least not for you. Work sent you across the country, all the way to Spartanburg, South Carolina, where you found work as a reporter.

“Someday when we’re actually making money, you won’t have to work anymore.” Duff would try to reassure you. To his credit, he helped you move despite his busy schedule that was only growing more demanding. “I’m gonna give you the life you deserve.”

“I don’t mind the work, if it weren’t here.” You told him, smiling. “Gotta get something out of this piece of paper though, right? I just…miss you.” You never knew missing someone could cause physically heartache.

“Believe me, babe, I miss you more. The guys are tired of hearing about it. But we’re gonna be together again soon, just wait. You can stick out here and you’re going to do amazing and soon, we’ll both be living in some nice place in LA.”

This was the point in your life where you were so busy you couldn’t keep your eyes open when you made it home at night. You had long hours, early hours, and it seemed your schedule and Duff’s schedule, or, lack thereof, never matched up. If he called, it was usually after midnight when you were sleeping. If you called back, it was early morning, when he was sleeping. Communication was exchanged more through voicemail than an actual call. You saved every one that he left you.

Guns N’ Roses gigs were now selling out all the local clubs. There was a record deal for his band, and then an album. You were climbing your own ladder too, and just when you finally had the opportunity to work out of LA for a promising up-and-coming music magazine, Duff was about to be taken away, on tour. You only had about a week together in LA when you made it. But what a week it was.

“Every day you weren’t here, I would wake up and the sun would be out and the first thing I would think is ‘Y/N is gonna love it here.’” He told you as you drove down Sunset Boulevard. He had an actual car now to his name and new clothes and you had never been attracted to him more in your life. The both of you spent at least a day marveling over one another’s new appearances.

“God, I can’t believe I get to call you mine. You just look different,” he told you while stopped at a stoplight. He couldn’t take his eyes away from you, traveling up and down in disbelief, shaking his head slightly. “How is it possible that you’ve gotten more beautiful?” His smiled, you told yourself to remember the moment, to take in the warm glow of the sun and crowds of people on the street, Guns N’ Roses on the radio as you drove, palm trees over your head. You were in bliss. At least, most of the time.

Love was just as you had remembered it. That reunited week was like heaven for your tired soul; you had grown used to an empty bed and now you still couldn’t catch up on sleep, the two of you wasting each night tangled in limbs and sheets, still unable to get enough of each other. He showed you his favorite parts of the Sunset nightlife, some of which you didn’t have the heart to tell him you disliked; the shady Mexican restaurant where patrons were getting blowjobs under the table, or the various clubs they had played and conquered, where bar-goers puked outside the doors and went back in for more.

The rest of Guns N’ Roses were as authentic as Duff and they were easy to appreciate and get along with. They never made you feel like an outsider, even when that was plainly obvious—you didn’t dress like the girls on the strip and you never let it bother you, you were simply being you and that was enough.

Though you and Duff still had endless conversation to share, you couldn’t help but notice a difference, one glaringly obvious one; he drank more than he ever had before. It would start with vodka out of the gates and never seemed to stop. You were the only one left to carry him home, sober and still living in the real world.

“Baby, maybe you should slow down on the drinking.” You tried to tell him before he left for tour.

“Hey—don’t worry about me, okay, beautiful?” He breezed off your words with a kiss goodbye and a smile. “Take care of yourself and don’t miss me too much.”

This time, time went even faster. The magazine was in high-demand and you had several assignments seemingly all at the same time, ever moment of every day. You even had the pleasure of covering Guns N’ Roses as they became one of the hottest bands in the world. It seemed everywhere you went, all you ever saw were guys dressed like Duff, or Duff’s face on the cover of a magazine. On MTV, sometimes the news. Now, everything felt surreal.

This is where things get blurry; you don’t spend too much time in this period of your memories. Why would you? The drunk phone calls. Lonely nights in LA. The nasty rumors. Any time you were reunited, all you could smell was liquor. To this day, the smell made your stomach drop.

“Duff, I’m serous. I’m not asking you anymore, I’m telling you; you drink too much.” You were forced to put your foot down during a rare time of being reunited.

“Y/N, ease up. It’s not that big of deal, that’s what we do.”

“Since when?” You questioned. “How many times did we talk about old friends back home, how many of them took it too far?”

“I’m not like them.” He snapped back. “I don’t depend on drinking, or coke, or anything—I’ve only done heroin one time!” This was the first of many times his addiction finally began cracking away at your heart. You couldn’t fathom that he didn’t see an issue in his words.

“Duff, you said you never would.”

“So what, it was one time, Y/N! It’s not like I’m addicted, get off my back.” No, these were not the conversations you spent your time thinking of.

It began a long battle in your relationship that you were both destined to lose, and also became an internal battle to yourself. Maybe you had it all wrong, after-all, it wasn’t as if you didn’t indulge in drinking every now and then too, the both of you were young, it was LA—what was the harm? You tried desperately to see it from his point, he was a Rockstar, he did have an image to maintain…but that never held up in your head rationally; this wasn’t your Duff. He didn’t give a fuck about an image. But was it your place to police him? Often times, you just felt like the lame girlfriend. You started keeping your mouth shut despite your growing alarm and aching heart.

Too quickly, it turned to recklessness, then even quicker to hopelessness. To the rest of the world, Guns was still the band that was gonna take over the 90s. They were on one of the longest rock tours in history, they had a double album out, but you knew better. They had already lost members; you had written the articles about Steven and then Izzy’s departures. You sometimes wondered at night if Duff would be next.

He hadn’t even been there to help you move into the new house the two of you bought together. It felt as empty as your relationship and you wondered why you stayed, only to have the question answered every time you looked back into his eyes. Would you ever not love this man?

“I’m gonna fix it, I swear. I just—there’s nothing I can do. Axl’s always late and so we just—we drink. And, I can’t help it, Y/N, you know those panic attacks I always used to get? It’s not like you’re with me anymore and I just get them all the fucking time. I can’t fly without drinking; it just sets me off. I can’t take all the shit, when we’re late to the stage all you can hear is the crowd getting angry...” you knew all about that; you had written an article about the Riverport Riot. At this point you were tired of writing about the latest of the controversial rumors and incidents.

It wasn’t as if his words didn’t break your heart. You were at a complete loss. Rationally, you knew he had a disease that you had to fight together, but it only resulted in the both of you screaming at each other. Duff wasn’t at a place where he wanted to change, that was what made it hard.

At first, you avoided the realization, you tried running from it. When friends asked, you always said your relationship was better than ever. But the worse his issues got, the more you were pushed to confront them. It was just drinking anymore, it was pills and cocaine and whatever else just happened to be in the room, whatever someone slipped him.

Ultimatums weren’t your thing; you were never going to beg someone to prove you were important. Plus, you had seen addictions cripple people. Duff was in its vice grip and had already slipped away from you, it was very obvious what you had to do. But how? How could you, he was your soulmate. This was still the boy who had walked you home that autumn night—he was all you knew. How do you unravel yourself from someone tied so intricately to every detail of your life?

You couldn’t tell him at first, you just packed up and left. You ran. It was a while before he called you, demanding to know what was going on. To date, it’s still your most humiliating phone call. It’s not a memory you revisit, ever, and you’re not sure if it’s because of the pain of it or the embarrassment—you had cried so hard you couldn’t work the next day.

For a while, you felt empty. Lost. You would cry at stoplights. You would cry at lunch, in the grocery store passing by his favorite chips. The radio was much too risky to ever bother with, if it wasn’t one of their songs coming through the speaker, it was his favorite Prince song, or a song tied to a memory.

The youth of your twenties faded that day and you were pushed into the next period of your life reluctantly, your steps sluggish and uncertain. It was autumn again, cozy months where people spent their time with loved ones. You spent it crying over the idea of Thanksgiving alone, unable to pull out any Christmas decorations or pretend to care about any semblance of a normal life; all of this was new again and still littered with the broken promises of something you thought you would never lose. How were you ever going to decorate a tree again when he wasn’t there to put you on top of his shoulders to place the star? Who was going to make snickerdoodle and gingerbread cookies by your side? His jackets and shirts made up half your wardrobe, his fingerprint on your life was almost entirely irreversible.

It wasn’t as though he gave up on you. Sometimes he would call. At first you always answered, frantic and hopeful.

“I stopped drinking,” he told you, but had a slurred speech.

“Then why are you drunk?” You questioned, already on the verge of tears.

“I’m not drunk,” he denied your words. “I haven’t drank vodka in a week.”

“Then what are you drinking?” You were aware of how stupid you sounded, playing along, but couldn’t stop the hope you felt.

“Wine. It’s not bad,” he insisted. “I stopped drinking for you, why aren’t you happy? Y/N…C’mon, please, I promise I’m better now, I just miss you—” You hung up. That night was a bad one.

Looking back, maybe there were more bad memories than good. It wasn’t as if you were unbiased. But maybe the good outweighed the bad by importance. Duff had shaped your life, the foundation of who you were. When you thought of love, you thought of him, and gave up the concept.

Now, just barely entering your thirties, you found yourself surprised to be back in Seattle. Maybe deep down you were still chasing after the best time of your life. It probably wasn’t healthy to let your mind wander backwards, but it did, every time you took certain roads. Sometimes you avoided them, but most of the time, you drove down the tree-lined roads, remembering when it had been the two of you. Back to a time when you thought you hated the rain and couldn’t wait to get out of it; now rain brought you peace.

Life was much more peaceful now. You worked as a freelance writer and genuinely enjoyed the topics you wrote about, thankful not to have to write another Guns N’ Roses article. It wasn’t like there was much to write about anyways in that category; there were rumors the band was on the brink of breaking up. It was still lonely, but the pain had subsided. You were okay with being alone and you were smart enough to fill your time with meaningful activities.

You never lost contact with Duff’s family. His mom finally stopped trying to apologize. You did your best not to consume your waking hours following the band, trying your best to force yourself into moving on entirely. Duff had released a solo album, and though your heart still swelled with pride, you couldn’t listen to it. There were rumors a lot of the songs were about you.

Nowadays, the reminders of him were scarce. He looked to be in rough shape, but you did your best not to let it bother you; that wasn’t your battle. You stopped crying and you had developed your own routine. Routine was important. Your house was decorated the way you wanted it and you had a dog, an affectionate brown Labrador. Now, you considered this place home and had favorite spots and local shops you spent time at, and yes, some of them were places the two of you had once frequented, but the reminder didn’t hurt anymore. The hurt was still there, if you pulled everything back and looked down within, but mainly, there was an appreciation for what once had been. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

It was clear that wasn’t the case when you left your favorite coffee shop one Sunday afternoon and spotted a familiar face across the parking lot. At first, you thought your eyes were deceiving you—his hair had been long for years. This man no longer looked puffy and fatigued like you had seen in pictures, he was leaner and had short spiky hair. More importantly though, his eyes were clear. That was when you were sure you must have been dreaming.

“Y/N?” He said, his voice unsteady, but somehow still sounded the same. Your coffee tumbled to the ground and he reached out too late. “Shit. Sorry, I...” he trailed off helplessly; you hadn’t even looked down at the spill once yet.

“Duff?” You asked, waiting for wake up from this weird dream. He stood a little bit back from you.

“You still come here, huh?” He asked after a moment, trying to smile. When you didn’t reply, he cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I heard you moved back. I didn’t really believe it at first, but I guess...I bought a house here too.” you didn’t reply still, no words could come out. He shoved his hands into his pockets and you could feel your eyes watering. “How have you been?”

“Good. Fine, yeah.” You replied quietly, somehow able to keep the moisture in your eyes. “I’m surprised your home and not on the road for your album.” Maybe you had paid more attention than you realized. He looked down.

“...Yeah. Um,” he chuckled uncomfortably. “I actually canceled a lot of the days earlier this year, I was exhausted. I thought maybe coming back home would be better for me...I...” he paused before he shook his head a little and let out a breath. “It’s been...a real eye opening few months.”

For a second, your heart pounded hopefully and you wondered desperately what that meant, before you told yourself to stop.

“To be honest, I’m in a hurry, so...I should probably get going.” Your tone was suddenly curt, sharp and brisk as the autumn air; the falling leaves behind you threatened to break your composed façade; it was all taking you back to a different time and you knew you needed to leave. Duff suddenly looked apologetic.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, uh...” he shrugged. “Um...I just. I know you’re busy and everything, but...maybe, just...” every time he met your eyes, he looked away again. You bit your lip hard.

“Yeah, I don’t have a lot of free time nowadays. I’m sure you get it.” You forced out. He nodded, looking down and backing away from your car.

“...Yeah. Well...take care.” He ended lamely. The longer you looked, the more it was apparent his eyes were actually clear. “And I just…I hope you know I’m sorry.” You swallowed hard and turned away without another word to get into your car and seal yourself away. Inside, you could finally let yourself crumble, feeling the mixture of a pounding heart and butterflies quickly crumbling and falling in your stomach, your hands shaking as you tried to get the key into the ignition.

Realizing in panic maybe you had made a mistake, you quickly turned your head to find him again, but only caught a brief glance of him before he entered the shop, and that’s when it caught your eye.

The red fabric around his neck, nestled into the leather jacket he had on.

Your old scarf, still there, the lasting image of you on him.

You weren’t the only one struggling with accepting the loss of the only real thing you had ever felt in your life, but it wasn’t enough to move you from your car. So you sat, engine idling, until finally tears that had started as a stream turned to just a few stray drops. But it took you longer than 5 minutes, longer than 10, to finally drive away.

#duff mckagan #duff mckagan imagine #duff mckagan fanfiction #duff mckagan x reader #duff mckagan fanfic #guns n roses #guns n roses imagine #guns n roses fanfic #80s imagines #gnr #gnr fanfiction

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bloodmoonsabbvth · 3 years

Note

You don't have to answer all of them, but these are the ones that caught my attention that I don't think have been asked yet 🙂

7, 8, 15, 16, 17 👀, 18, 20, 23, 28, 29, 32, 36, 43, 45, 47, 48, 58, 59, 61, 70, 81, 93, 98

7. earbuds or headphones?

I mean they both have their pros and cons haha. As far as sound quality and really immersing yourself in a song, headphones! But if I'm going out for a short period of time or something then I'd prefer to use earbuds.

8. movies or tv shows?

I'm gonna have to say TV shows only because there's a lot more story to get immersed in. Now that being said, I think it's really impressive when a movie can say a lot more in an hour and thirty minutes than some poorly written shows have attempted to say in 10 seasons 😂

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment?

Jane Eyre! My favorite book ever. Read it when I was 17 and have been in love with it ever since. Granted I hated that English teacher / class so much lmao but the content we went through was excellent.

16. most comfortable position to sit in?

I'd say like when you're in a fucking enormous bean bag chair and just sprawled all over it. I really need one of those in my future house 😂

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes?

Hahahah definitely my checkered Vans 😂 Though my black ones and my camo ones are strong contenders as well. In this house we wear all the Vans 😤

18. ideal weather?

When it's dark and cloudy and cool out! Now as far as rain, depends on what I'm wearing lmao

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)?

I'd have to say on my laptop if I'm writing a story or something, but if I'm journaling I do that in a notebook.

23. strange habits?

Uhhh hmm, I can't really think of anything that would be described as "strange" hahahah. If I think of anything I'll let you know 😂

28. five songs to describe you?

a. Thoughts of a Dying Atheist by Muse - my favorite song rn. Is pretty much the embodiment of my health anxiety

b. Like in the Movies by Vlad Holiday - How I feel about romance and desire

c. From Happiness to Dust by Swallow the Sun - This is how I feel pretty much when I go from having good days to having bad days

d. Ghost Myself by Diamante - for those days when I have really low self-esteem

e. Let Me Kiss You by Morrissey - pretty much describes how I feel about my physical appearance in contrast with my desires, I feel as though they're not in sync most days

29. best way to bond with you?

Hmm, I'd say visiting an art museum with me! That's where I'm really in my element

32. top five favorite vines?

Okay tbh I haven't really seen many vines to where I could name a bunch of favorites but I do quote "Merry Chrysler / Merry Crisis" often 😂

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing?

Hmmm, probably some variant of Bad Luck Brian lolol

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket?

Definitely the leather jacket haha. They're so classy and badass! Never go out of style.

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero?

Answered on the previous post~

47. favorite type of cheese?

Hmm I'm gonna go with Swiss! But all cheese is good cheese

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be?

Maybe a pomegranate? I love the taste of those things, they're very artistic looking and they smell fantastic as candles hahaha

58. four talents you’re proud of having?

Ohhh this is gonna be hard hahahah

a. I can play the piano fairly decently! Would be a lot better if I practiced daily. But I can play most of Clair de Lune which is a piece I'm very fond of ^^

b. I'd say I'm pretty decent at capturing the human face. I would eventually like to do portraiture work.

c. I've been told by a number of people that I have "perfect pitch." So even though I don't have the best singing voice, I at least know what's in tune and what isn't lmao. And I can harmonize well!

d. I'm not bad at learning new languages, that comes fairly easily to me

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be?

Probably something to the effect of "Git gud mate" because I'm petty lmao

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.?

Hmm well there are a lot! But off the top of my head, "Si vis pacem para bellum - if you want peace, prepare for war" which is of course heavily associated with The Punisher who is my favorite comic book character

Okay and then also - i have to mention "It's about who stays, not who fucking promised" - Thomas Shelby from Peaky Blinders. That hit me hard. Because people can easily spew a bunch of shit about how much they want you, but they can tell a completely different story through their actions. Experienced that firsthand, so I've been wary of promises for the past year

70. left or right handed?

I'm a lefty! Sadly. The world does not cater to us 😂

81. fireflies or lightning bugs?

Wait, are these not the same thing O_O Or does this mean which one do I call them? I call them fireflies hahah

93. nicknames?

Hmmm, I wouldn't say I have an official one but I've been called Rach, Ray Ray, Rachey Poo and Rachonk 😂

98. favorite historical era?

Answered on the previous post~

Haha thank you for all these questions! Has been a really good distraction while I've been feeling not so great.

#ask

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moscowjackboot · 4 years

Text

See You Tonight

Plot: You’re sort of going out with Andrew but you’re not sure what’s happening.

Word Count: ~1.9k

You met Andrew after one of his shows at a hole in the wall kind of bar near the theater he’d just performed at. He’d sat next to you and asked if he could buy you a drink. Not used to receiving attention from men you actually found attractive, you were pleasantly surprised that not only was his approach very polite, but he could hold a pretty good conversation. You exchanged numbers and began calling and texting each other regularly. Sometimes the conversations grew flirtatious, but the two of you mostly focused on building a solid friendship for the first few months you’d known each other.

The thing you loved the most about Andrew is that you always felt safe with him. There was just such a comforting quality in his existence. His physical presence was so familiar. He felt like home. You loved being around him from the moment you met him. You were ecstatic when he shyly asked for your number at the end of the night because you weren’t sure if you had the nerve to ask for his. Being with Andrew unlocked a piece of you that you didn’t know existed, a piece of you that you needed.

Most of your dinner nights were unmistakably platonic. You two had gone out a few times when he was in town for a tour or “other work engagements.” He never specified exactly what brought him to you, but given that he usually wrote his music alone, you had a feeling he really just came to see you. Whenever he was in town, he stayed in a hotel, so you drove the two of you to various restaurants that you’d picked out. He always paid for the meals without question, which you figured was just him returning the favor for giving him a ride.

Andrew told you he’d probably be in town this weekend. You decided to make the first move this time around. You weren’t sure if you should call him or text him. If you called him, you’d get to hear his voice again, which always brightened your day, but he also might be able to tell how nervous you were. If you texted him, you’d have time to plan your responses to him as the conversation went along, but you also ran the risk of waiting hours for a response. What if he was writing or recording right now? Oh, you could even FaceTime him, but that’s not something you ever did without warning. You didn’t even like it when your best friend FaceTimed you without warning, so you certainly didn’t want to put Andrew on the spot like that. You hated leaving voicemails, and waiting hours for a guy to text you back was an even worse kind of torture. You knew that crushing on Andrew was unrealistic, but you couldn’t help it.

Even through the veil of his shyness, he had such a radiant spirit. He was sweet, funny, and such a gentleman. He wasn’t the old fashioned type of guy that thought chivalry was about treating a woman like she couldn’t do anything for herself, but he always opened and held doors for you and told you you looked beautiful whenever he saw you. He wasn’t one to talk too much about himself, but when you asked him questions, he gave you the most in-depth and thoughtful answers. In turn, he asked you questions that showed you he really wanted to get to know you without prying. He was just good.

Before you could overthink it any more, you decided to call him. The phone rang several times, and you were pretty sure you were going to get his voicemail. But then you heard his voice, sounding bright and cheery, his accent strong.

“Hey! Y/N! What’s up?”

“Andy! Um...nothing! I’m good. How are you?” What the hell was that?

“I’m good, I’m good. It’s great to hear from you. I was actually about to talk to you. I wasn’t sure if I should call or text,” he said with a chuckle.

Your heart fluttered. He was overthinking things too. “Well, I’m glad you picked up.”

“I’ll always pick up, hon.”

Your heart skipped a beat. He’d never called you anything like that before, but you liked it. It gave you butterflies. It had been years since anyone had given you butterflies, especially from something so simple. You realized he couldn’t see you smiling and you needed to say something before he thought he’d make things awkward.

“Good to know….I’ll always pick up for you too.”

“Oh, stop it,” he said with a laugh.

“I mean it.”

“I know you do,” he said coyly.

The two of you spent the next few minutes catching up with each other. He asked you about work and your family (stressful as usual on both counts). You asked him about his flight (not great, lots of turbulence) and what he was doing in town. For once he didn’t do his usual routine of making up a reason that didn’t make much sense, like an interview that you never ended up seeing, or a song with a producer that never came to fruition.

“Actually, I came to see you,” he said plainly.

You were suddenly very glad you decided not to FaceTime him. You were grinning like a schoolgirl in love. It was ridiculous. You decided to play it cool. It’s not like he just told you he loved you or anything.

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Well, that’s very sweet of you.” You hesitated. That’s so sweet is what girls say when a guy they don’t like that much does something romantic. “I’m really glad you’re here. And it means a lot that you came here just for me.”

“Well, I missed you.”

You smiled. “Oh, I missed you too, Andy. I missed you a lot.”

“Good. I mean-,” he started tripping over his words.

“I know what you mean. It feels good to be missed.”

“Yeah. Usually, it’s just my dog who misses me,” he joked.

You laughed. He was so cute.

He waited until you were done giggling to pose his next question. “So...you got any plans tonight?”

So much for making the first move. “No, I uh, I actually don’t have anything planned for tonight. You got anything in mind?”

“Any restaurants we haven’t been to yet?”

“Yeah! A bunch of them, actually. What do you feel like having? And don’t say you want whatever I want.”

“I’m in the mood for whatever, really.”

“Andrew,” you said sternly.

“What? I didn’t say I’ll have whatever you want. I just said I’ll have whatever.” You could tell he had a shit-eating grin on his face. You hadn’t known him for long but you knew him well.

“Pick something, Andy! I’m serious,” you said giddily. This exchange was making you too happy.

“Fine, fine, fine. I’ll pick somewhere new and text you the address. What time do you want to meet? I’ll take a cab or something.”

“You sure, Andy?” You were a little disappointed. You loved the drive to whatever restaurant the two of you went to. The conversation was always great and it was so heartwarming to watch Andy be mesmerized by your hometown.

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Now, what time were you thinking?”

“How does 8:00 sound?”

“So, 8:30? I know how long you take to get ready.”

“Shut up!” You waited a beat. “Yeah...8:30 sharp.”

“Okay. 8:45.”

You rolled your eyes. “See you tonight.”

“Looking forward to it, my dear.”

Dinner went even better than you’d expected. Andrew picked a steakhouse about half an hour from your apartment. True to form, you’d met him in the waiting area at 8:40. In your defense, you’d actually arrived at 8:25, but after finding parking, making a last-minute lipstick change, and walking from your car in heels, you’d lost 15 minutes. Andrew’s eyes widened when he spotted you, looking you up and down. He was wearing a dress shirt with a waistcoat, dress pants, and the sexiest leather jacket you’d ever seen. You’d worn a cleavage-bearing lacy blouse with dark wash skinny jeans, a blazer, and heeled black ankle boots.

“Andy! Hi!,” you greeted him, hugging him tightly.

“Y/N! It’s so great to see you again,” he said, looking down at you. “And you look…amazing.”

“Oh, hush,” you said, exasperated.

“No, I mean it. You...you’re breathtaking.”

You didn’t know what to say. You realized your arms were still around his waist, and his were still around your shoulders. “Thank you. You look very handsome tonight, Andrew.”

Just then, the hostess called his last name to let you know your table was ready. The two of you separated, but he kept a hand on the small of your back as he guided you to your candlelit booth. That’s when you realized why he was so hell-bent on you not driving him to the restaurant tonight. He wanted you to know that it was a date.

At the end of dinner, Andrew offered to drive your car back home because you’d had a few drinks with dinner. You definitely weren’t drunk, but you weren’t okay to drive, and he didn’t want you getting hurt or in any trouble.

Outside the restaurant, he held your hand and looked at you tentatively, as if to ask if that was okay with you. You smiled and squeezed his hand. You lean your head against his arm.

“Thank you for taking me out tonight, Andy. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too, baby.”

On the way home, Andrew remarked that you should’ve gotten dessert. Feeling bold, you suggested that the two of you go back to his hotel room and order room service. He smiled and agreed, one hand on the steering wheel, the other one on your knee. Once you got to his room, you didn’t hesitate to get comfortable, kicking off your heels and taking off your stiff blazer, leaving you in your revealing top and jeans. You could tell that Andrew was making a pointed effort not to look at your chest, which made you smile.

“What?,” he asked, smiling back at you.

“Nothing. It’s just you.”

He chuckled. “What about me?”

“You. You’re sweet.”

“So are you.”

You looked down, your face growing warm. When you looked back up, you caught him looking at you. He began to blush, embarrassed about being caught staring. You walked up to him, grabbing both of his hands and looking up at him, a smile on your face. “I’m really glad you came to see me.”

“Me too,” he said, his hands leaving yours.

He gently cupped your face along your jawline and leaned down a bit. Your heart began to beat faster, anticipating what was coming next. “I know that we’re just friends and all, but tonight...to me at least, it- it felt ehm, like it could be something more. Like we could be something more.” He was so nervous.

“I feel it too, Andy.”

“Good,” he said with a chuckle, loosening up a little. “Can I…?”

You nodded. “Kiss me, Andrew.”

He leaned down further, bridging the gap between you two, and closed his bright green eyes. You stood up on your toes so he wouldn’t have to strain so hard, silently scolding yourself for taking off your shoes so soon. You felt his lips gently touch yours. They were soft and pillowy. You reached your arms up to his neck, bringing him down further so you could deepen the kiss. He was an amazing kisser. The kiss wasn’t aggressive, but it wasn’t a limp, lifeless kiss either. When he finally pulled away, he whispered, “I’ve been wanting to do that for months.”

#hozier fanfic #hozier imagine #my writing #fluff

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eclecticstarlightconnoisseur · 4 years

Text

EDINBURGH TO BOSTON - CHAPTER 15 - AN EXAMINATION OF CONSCIENCE

Good evening all! As promised here is Chapter 15 of Edinburgh to Boston. This picks up right after Chapter 14. Our lovebirds grappling with the argument they had. As the title implies there is a lot of soul searching going to happen.

At the end, I will include some interesting information. At least, I think it’s interesting. I do need to thank my betas for their magnificent and tireless help, suggestions, and comments. Thank you @curlsgetdemgurls and @scubalass. You guys keep me on my toes and push me to do my best. Honestly, a lot of work on the part of @scubaless went into this and unjumbled the mess I made at times. How do I thank @curlsgetdemgurls who always tells me I can do this and supports my desire to write. I am truly blessed to have you both. I honestly don’t know how I would do this without you. 🧡🧡🧡🧡

As always I welcome any thoughts suggestions, comments you would like to share with me.I hope you enjoy reading. Without further ado I give you:

Edinburgh To Boston

Chapter 15

An Examination of Conscience

***********

Click!

Claire stood mutely watching as the door closed with a muffled and insubstantial sound. Biting her upper lip, she watched the handle for any sign of movement. She fully expected it would reopen momentarily and Jamie would walk through. Nothing happened. With the bolt slipping into place, it created a barrier as strong as any prison wall between her and the man she loved.

She didn’t know what to do. Should she go after him or call him? At the edge of her vision, she caught a glimpse of his phone resting on the bedside table along with his wallet and money. “Idiot bloody man,” she huffed. She had no choice other than to wait. Maybe it would turn out for the best allowing him time to sort through his thoughts. Perhaps they both needed a little time away from each other to calm down and become more rational.

What a bloody mess this turned out to be. If Claire was honest with herself, she never expected that it would come to this, that he would leave. She fully believed that they would have a loud and impassioned fight concluding with...what? Forgiveness? Compromise? Possibly the dissolution of their tender three-day-old relationship? At this point, she didn’t know what to think.

Needing a distraction, Claire began to set the room right. Taking a large bath sheet, she wiped up the spilled whisky and the broken crystal discarding everything into a wastebasket. Jamie’s still sodden jeans rested on the floor where he had discarded them earlier anxious to crawl into the warm bed and into a still warmer Claire. “Ye ken the fastest way to warm up is with body heat,” he murmured erotically against her ear. She did know and had shivered in anticipation of his intention.

Her jeans and jumper left a trail from the door to the bed. The lacey black bra that he removed, lay on the floor. Her skimpy panties drooped from one of the four posts of the bed, like a flag hanging limply in a windless sky.

She felt like a live wire skittering across the ground shooting off sparks. Remaining on edge and unable to concentrate, she padded around the room picking things up and putting them down. Every little noise or echo of a footfall in the hallway drew her attention. “He’ll be back, won’t he?” she said to herself.

Scanning the room she saw reminders of him wherever she looked. His shaving kit, suit, shoes, jeans, jumper, cologne. She ran her hand over his things aching with the need to connect to him. His touch, his scent, his look. The room felt empty. Not because of the lack of his physicality in the space, but from his essence. Jamie filled a space with his being. Claire suddenly felt lonely. She missed him already - terribly.

Exhaling a huge sigh, she walked over to the window, peering down at the street. She had a very strange sensation that Jamie just might be standing down there next to a lamppost looking up at the window. From her perch high above the street, she had a commanding view of the area around the hotel. The street was devoid of people. Not even a taxi cruised around looking for passengers. Even though Claire knew that it a foolish thought, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed she didn’t see him standing there. She rubbed the glabella, the tender skin between her eyebrows, in an effort to thwart a beginning headache.

Relationships are complicated things, she considered. For Claire, relationships were hard for her because she has trust issues. A gift courtesy of one Frank Randall. She gave him her heart, love, and trust only to have him toss everything carelessly away like a worn-out, useless, old shoe. She was hurt, betrayed, and doubtful to ever trust another man again. And then Jamie Fraser walks into her life. After working with him for over a year, she knew him as a kind, thoughtful, gentle, considerate, loving man.

In spite of their close working relationship, Claire continued to hold back her feelings, her trust. She knew Jamie to be a good man and it wasn’t that she didn’t trust him because she did. Well, professionally she trusted him implicitly. Personally, she did but... Maybe it’s because she feared how he would judge her if he knew the whole truth. Whatever the case, she thought he deserved someone better than her. She didn’t blame him for leaving after the way she treated him. Truth be told, she all but forced him out after insinuating that he was to blame for what happened.

Claire knew that Frank had been watching them. He admitted it to her. ‘I’ve been watching you with him all night. What the fuck do you see in that Neanderthal?’ She also knew that Frank observing her with Jamie fanned the flames of his jealousy. He always had been a jealous and possessive man. Come to think of it, Claire refected, this is just like the time he almost thrashed poor Albert, the young assistant professor that had the misfortune of spending time with and talking with her.

Albert took pleasure at her admiring his wit. Frank watched from the sidelines following her every move, smile, or laugh. He watched and drank, drank and watched until sufficiently drunk enough to physically menace the younger faculty member. Dragging her out of the party, he called her every vile name he could think of slut, whore, tramp bringing tears to her eyes. “You're mine, Claire. I don’t share well. You are my wife and you had better act like it. Don’t do it again,” he threatened. “Or so help me, I’ll…” He raised his hand to strike her. “Or you’ll do what Frank, beat me?” she called his bluff and succeeded. He dropped his hand grabbed her and pulled her to their car.

She exhaled deeply and walked away from the window. Claire knew that neither she nor Jamie could have changed what happened in the restaurant. Frank, hellbent on creating trouble, would have followed them determined to create mayhem.

She knew deep in her heart she wronged Jamie. Letting her anger get the better of her, she created a wedge between them. She knew she needed to admit her mistakes and tell the truth about her life with Frank. He needed to understand. No more secrets. No more lies.

Claire yawned and stretched feeling overwhelming fatigue settle over her. She hadn’t slept much since they arrived in Boston. It became an emotional roller coaster fueled from jetlag, too much alcohol, the newfound intimacy with Jamie and the disaster in the restaurant. No wonder she felt exhausted. She decided to rest while waiting for Jamie to return. Spying one of the tee shirts he had recently worn, she walked over picked it up and inhaled deeply. It smelled of him. Heady, musky, woodsy with a slight undertone of citrus from his aftershave. Claire pulled off her sleep shirt and put his on. It was too big, baggy, and shapeless on her small frame. Running her hands over the fabric, she felt the softness of it from frequent use. She climbed into the bed, breathing in his scent. She pretended that instead of his shirt wrapped around her, she lay enveloped in his arms and protected by his body. I’ll make it right. I must. Slowly she drifted off to sleep.

**********************************

Ding!

The elevator door slid open with a soft whoosh permitting Jamie Fraser to step in. Entering the lift, he leaned against the glass wall dropping his head back to rest against the cool slick surface. He needed to get away, clear his mind, try to figure things out.

An enigma. A puzzle. A mystery. How else to describe Claire? Damn the woman. He only wanted to offer her comfort, tenderness. Instead, she turned away from him. She says one thing I love you and only you and then she rejects him. Why would she do that? Frustrating. Infuriating. Confusing.

He sought oblivion. Tonight was a double-edged sword. On one hand, he wanted to understand what was happening with his Sassenach. Then, again, he wanted to forget and to reduce the memory of this evening to ashes. Raising the bottle of whisky to his lips, he drank deep. The spirit slipped across his tongue cascading down his throat followed by its familiar burn.

The door slid open allowing Jamie to exit into the main lobby. He strode past the reception desk.

“Dr. Fraser, can I be of assistance?” The pretty receptionist inquired.

“Thank ye kindly lass, but no.” His face appeared slightly flushed.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like me to call a car for you. It’s quite cold out. Definitely not a night to be on foot.”

“I’m a Highlander, born and bred. I’m used to the cold, ye ken?” With that, he exited through the hotel’s sliding doors into the fridge embrace of a Bostonian winter. Jamie searched the pockets of his jacket for his cap and gloves finding neither. He also discovered he neglected to bring his wallet, money, or phone. “I’ll do,” he muttered to himself. Mercifully, his jacket had a hood which he pulled up over his head while cramming his hands, carefully, into his pockets. His bottle of whisky tucked into a pocket inside his jacket.

Lacking familiarity with Boston, he wondered where he should go, though it really didn’t matter. He was not out to sightsee but out to clear his head.

Taking another long drink from the bottle, he turned to his left and began to walk, then jog, eventually running without direction. He slipped and slid on the black ice, tumbling into a snowbank laughing at his own foolishness. He was drunk, very drunk, he thought as he took another big gulp of the whisky. His Da always said, “Yer never drunk if ye can still stand up.” And he was still standing, albeit with the assistance of the snowbank, but standing he was.

Jamie found himself back at Boston Commons where he spent the day with Claire. He walked slowly through the whispering white silence of the park looking at the places where they had gone. The park had an ethereal feel to it. Streetlamps cast shadows across the park’s snow-encrusted expanse giving shape and form to the spectors hiding in the gloom. Evergreen trees, tall, imposing, majestic released their sharp piney tang around him. Deciduous trees with branches bare, naked without their leaves, covered with smatterings of snow or encased in ice. The wind howled through the trees causing clumps of snow to drop around him. At night, the park became a desolate place reflecting the wretchedness of his soul.

He came across the spot where they met the sparrow family. Collapsing onto the cold bench, he found himself surrounded by the memories of the day.

“The lass has ye twisted around her wee finger, ye ken? Ye even speak to birds if it makes her happy. She’s even gotten you to believe that they have the souls of her dead family,” he snorted. He sat there shaking his head. “What wouldn’t ye do for her? Nuthin’. Then why is this so hard? If she doesna want to have the scoundrel arrested, then let her have it. She has her reason, Fraser. Ye trust her word, do ye no’? Aye, I do. Then leave her be. She’ll tell ye why when she’s ready or when she can.”

“Remember lad, she’s been hurt.” Harry had said. “Be gentle wi’ her.”

“Aye, ‘tis all true, but why did she no’ discuss this agreement she made with me first? I mean we’re supposed to be partners.” His fingers tapped out a rhythmic tattoo against his thigh as he sat in contemplation. “Ye ken the reason, ye eejit. Ye would have said no. She did this for ye, tae protect ye. Tae sacrifice herself for ye. No’ because she loves the man. She loves ye enough tae do such a thing.”

Jamie knew all this within his innermost heart, but he still wanted justice for her. He did not want to be the one causing her to lose that chance.

“Besides,” he told himself, “ye heard her, she blames me for what happened. For failing tae protect her, for leaving her for,” he choked, “no’ being the man she needs.” Abruptly he realized that he also broke his promise to the bird family.

‘I promise tae see her safe, care for her and love her all the days of my life,’ he vowed to the birds. Jamie slammed his hand down on the bench. “Ifrinn! Fraser, ye are useless, and no’ a man of honor. Ye couldna even keep yer word tae a cluster of sparrows now could ye? If ye canna do something as simple as that, how could ye keep yer word tae Claire? Ye dinna deserve her.” He took another drink, the bottle very nearly empty.

He saw the bird tree just a short distance from where he sat. Feeling the need to apologize, Jamie staggered toward the tree calling out loudly, “If ye can hear me wee birds, I am sorry, sae sorry. I let her down and ye as weel. I’m no’ a man.” He hung his head in shame but quickly his anger rose to the surface.

He unleashed his fury against the tree hitting it hard reinjuring his right hand causing it to become scraped and bleeding. The pain from the single blow shot white-hot up his arm into his oxter. He collapsed into a mound of still soft snow at the base of the conifer. He let loose a torrent of Gàidhlig curses and self-deprecating rants. Hanging his head between his knees, Jamie took a deep breath trying to stem the waves of pain, nausea, and dizziness gripping him. No good. Heaving and retching, his stomach turned itself out of whisky and bile. He felt numb, tired and decidedly less drunk than before.

“What a waste of that verra fine whisky,” he ironically thought as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

It was cold, colder than before. “Weel, yer sitting in the snow, yer no’ dressed for the weather, and yer just vomited up all yer antifreeze, what do ye expect?”

The problem, he considered, came down to where to go. He could go back to the hotel but he did not want to see Claire, just yet. He didn’t have his wallet with his credit card nor did he have any money. As he saw it, he needed to keep moving to stay warm. He stood up with great difficulty. Choosing a random direction, he began to walk. Jamie began to feel better walking. After walking about five blocks he came upon a Church with a brightly lit sign outside.

Cold? Tired? Hungry? Or just need a place for the night? The Lord Loves You. All are welcome!

He looked up and saw a statue of Blessed Michael the Archangel standing guard over the entrance.

“Blessed Michael of the Red Domain defend us,” he thought and knew he had found a safe refuge for the remainder of the night.

Brother Stanislaus Kostka possessed an imposing figure. In his previous life, he was a former naval corpsman serving with a marine unit. He had blonde wavy hair, kind green eyes, and maintained a muscular physique hidden by his simple religious habit. He wore a brown habit with a hood, a cord wound around his waist and sandals. The cincture tied around his waist had the characteristic three knots symbolizing poverty, chastity, and obedience. A black rosary hung from the cingulum completing his attire.

Jamie stood quietly in the back of the shelter, observing the clergyman caring for his flock. The friar had a gentleness and compassionate way that emanated from him. A woman had approached him with a problem, to which he devoted his full attention. After considering and weighing the possible alternatives he smiled and presented his proposal. The woman grinned nodded in acceptance, then moved away.

Looking up he spotted Jamie standing in the doorway waiting to be acknowledged.

Brother Stan turned his attention to Jamie. “How can I help you tonight, my friend?” His smile could warm a person through and through.

“Beggin’ yer pardon, Father, but I need a place to stay for the night,” Jamie apologized.

“It’s Brother, Mr…?”

“Fraser, but ye can call me Jamie.”

“Welcome, Jamie. It seems you had a difficult night so far. You know there is always room at the Lord’s table for one more.” Looking at Jamie he took in his appearance and observed his battered and bruised hand.

“So Mr. Fraser, er Jamie, come with me and let’s get a look at that hand?” He turned away not waiting for an answer. Jamie followed and they walk into a small room both office and treatment room.

“May I ask how you injured your hand?” asked the Brother as he set up what he needed to care for Jamie’s hand.

Jamie looked abashed. “I, ah, had an argument with (what do I call her?) Claire the woman I love. And I got drunk. I needed time to think things over. So, I jogged to the park and my anger got the best of me, and I took it out on a tree.”

Brother Stan went about the task of caring for the wounds removing any splinters that he found.

Jamie hissed as the open areas were cleaned and dressed. “I have two hairline fractures of my right third and fourth fingers. I, um, somehow lost the splints that were there. Could ye make something temporary to put there?”

“How did you acquire the fractures?”

“‘I was in a fight last night defending a friend’s honor. I ken how it sounds like I’m some kinda drunken brawler, but ‘tis no’ true.”

“And would this friend be, Claire?”

“Aye, ‘twas.”

By this time, Brother Stan had cleaned and dressed the wounds. “I see,” he nodded solemnly.

Giving Jamie a direct look, Brother Stan inquired, “You are troubled. How can I help you?”

He considered this offer to help. “Ye can let me into yer chapel to pray and ask the Lord’s guidance.”

“Usually, we don’t allow people in the chapel alone at night.”

Jamie leaned back in his chair adopting his storyteller pose. “Let me tell ye a story. ‘Tis a tradition in the Fraser clan that parents make a rosary for each child for their First Communion. My Da carved each of the beads and the crucifix. My Mam strung the beads together thinking on the Glorious Mysteries. As she placed each bead, she said a Hail Mary, Our Father, or the Glory Be in the appropriate place. They had it blessed by a priest and it was gifted to me on the morning of my First Communion. I put it away after and dinna think much on it again until they died. Then it became the most precious thing I owned. I would ride out on my horse and go tae the old deserted churches in the Highlands and there I would pray. I would pray my rosary, the one they gave me, and it gave me comfort as I believed they were near me. Now, I’m asking ye to grant me another chance for comfort, tae talk tae the Lord so I ken what tae do. I dinna have my rosary with me, but I’ll do. Can ye help me?” Jamie placed his left hand over Brother Stan’s appealing for understanding.

Emerald green met sapphire blue seeking the truth and asking for help.

Brother Stan’s hand went to the cord around his waist and removed his rosary. “Tonight you can use mine.”

They rose and silently walked through the slumbering mass of people. Homeless men, women with children, battered women, runaways, lost souls, those down on their luck. Jamie looked around committing this sight to memory.

As they ascended the stairs to the chapel, the scent of beeswax and incense hung heavy in the air. On the right of the main altar was a shrine to the Holy Family while on the left was a shrine dedicated to St. Michael. The red sanctuary lamp was lit hanging near the main altar announcing the presence of the Lord.

In accordance with the custom of the Roman Rite, both Jamie and Brother Stan dipped their fingers into the holy water font and crossed themselves in the Sign of the Cross. Brother Stan gripped Jamie’s shoulder before leaving, “May your heart find comfort and your soul know peace. The Lord be with you. If you have need of me, you know where I will be.”

“Thank ye for everything,” Jamie replied choking with emotion.

Brother Stan nodded and left.

Jamie walked to the center aisle, genuflected, got down on his knees, then lay prostrate before his God in humility, respect, and penance.

“Lord God, please let me understand her.

Let me shelter her from all danger, pain, and sorrow.

Let me be her sanctuary, her safe port in a storm.

Let me keep her safe; her protector from what seeks tae harm her.

Let me help her tae find peace, happiness, joy, and love.

Let me be her home the place where her heart resides.

Let me love her rightly.

God, oh God, please let me be enough.”

And he wept.

****************************

Claire woke up looking at the time on the bedside clock. Ill-temperedly it announced 3:38 AM. Shit, she only meant to take a brief nap not fall asleep. Rubbing her eyes ridding them of residual sleep, she scanned the room looking for...

“Jamie?” There was no answer. The opposite side of the bed was cold and not been slept in. There was no sign of him.

Claire began to panic, her heart racing, fingers cold and sweaty. What if something happened to him? What if he had fallen and gotten hurt? He could be lost. Maybe he was hit by a car? Her imagination ran wild imagining different catastrophes that could have befallen him.

Deciding not to let panic consume her, she thought maybe he fell asleep in the lobby not wanting to wake her up. Calling down to the front desk, she discovered he had left about three hours ago. According to the receptionist Jamie did not say where he was going. The young woman did notice that he turned to his left when he exited the building.

Foolish man, where could he have gone to? Guilt engulfed her. She should have gone after him when he left. She should have never left him alone. She would never forgive herself if something happened to him.

Claire decided to look for him and dressed quickly. Where he could have gone, she had no idea. But she was damned if she was going to sit here to wait and worry. She grabbed his warm coat, gloves, scarf, hat, and his wallet. Claire thought having his wallet could prove useful as it would serve as a means of identification. Although, a very tall red-headed man would be easy to spot.

Claire turned left following Jamie’s assumed route, hoping luck would be on her side.

Walking the empty streets, she began to wonder where he could have gone. She trudged along for several blocks before noticing that this is the way to Boston Commons. Of course. That’s where he would go. The open spaces would be a balm to his soul. She hurried quickly over the icy walkways.

She reached Boston Commons and followed the path they had taken. There was no sign of him. She passed by a tree and found an almost empty bottle of whisky that she recognized from the hotel along with a fair amount of vomit. So! He had been here. She looked around and did not see him. “Jamie, where are you? Jamie!” But there was no answer.

Claire continued walking, looking for any sign as to where he could have gone. She followed the path out of the park and walked straight for several blocks until coming across a welcome sign posted by a church. The sign welcomed anyone in need of a place to stay. She wondered if he would have gone in until she looked up and saw the imposing statue of Blessed Michael the Archangel and knew. Michael was important to the Scots. They often petitioned him for assistance in a time of need.

“No harm in asking,” she considered. Descending down the stairs, Claire entered the shelter and observed Brother Stan at work talking, comforting, praying. Looking around she did not see any red curls anywhere. Just as she was about to leave, Brother Stan approached her.

“May I help you?” he asked a gentle smile across his lips.

“Well, maybe. I am looking for a tall red-headed Scotsman that…”

“Are you Claire, by chance?”

She gaped at him. “How did you know? Jamie, is he here? Where is he? Is he alright?” Claire babbled. She frantically scanned the room again. How hard could it be to find him here?

“He is here and safe. Though he re-injured his broken hand, I’m afraid. I had to pull several splinters out of his hand. He had a run-in with a tree, it seems,” he said with a little smirk.

“Take me to him, please,” she pleaded. He was hurt and she hadn't been there to care for him. She felt uneasy until she could see him with her own eyes.

“He is upstairs in the chapel, praying. Come I will take you.”

“Praying?”

“Yes, he said it would bring him comfort and peace.”

They walked up the same stairs and repeated the same blessing. “Go to him. Be with him. He needs you.”

“Thank you Father for everything.”

“You’re welcome my dear. Oh and it is Brother, not Father. The Lords’ peace be with you both.”

Brother Stan left silently as he did before.

Claire put Jamie’s things down in a pew, and soundlessly approached the man she loves.

Kneeling down beside him, she hesitated wanting so much to touch him. Wanting to stroke his soft curls to give him comfort. To reassure herself he was real. But she felt afraid to startle him out of his deep meditations.

Instead, she whispered softly, “Jamie, it’s me, Claire.”

***********************

Interesting things:

St. Stanislaus Kostka is the patron saint of broken bones. So I named the Brother after him.

In the mood board, the picture of the church in the left upper corner is a church devoted to St. Stanislaus Kostka. It is located in Brooklyn.

The Marine Corps is part of the Naval services and do not have their own medics. So that’s why Brother Stan served as a naval corpsman.

You all noticed I didn’t say anything about Chapter 16 and I’m not going to either.

#edinburgh to boston #chapter15 #outlander fanfiction #An Examination of Conscience #my writing #best ever betas #the best readers #curlsgetdemgurls #scubalass #Here Goes Nothing

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you-a-southpaw-doll · 4 years

Text

Buzzed - A Negan One-Shot

Summary: After an incident in the Sanctuary, Leigh takes matters into her own hands. What will Negan’s response be?

Warning(s): Language. Angst. Attempted rape. Violence. Death. Slight Panic Attack. Anxiety. Leigh being a badass. Negan caught off guard (no pun intended). Mentions of what could be considered self-harm. Daddy kink, but not really. You’ll see. Protective Negan. Fluff. Sexual Innuendoes. Puns (Sorry Not Sorry!). Happy ending. Not Beta’d. I just finished writing this and had to post it! Sorry for any errors.

Author’s Note(s):

I cut my hair myself, usually every 2 weeks, but no more than 3 weeks. I just can’t have my hair touch my ears; it makes my anxiety 10 times worse, and in a way, I kinda explain the reason behind that in this story. I was cutting my hair tonight, (it’s now 2:30 am, 5/24/2020) and I thought of this story idea and Negan’s reaction to the main character having short hair.

Also, if any of the warnings are triggering for you, please don’t force yourself to read. The last thing I’d want to do is trigger someone into having a panic attack. Feel free to give me any feedback, thoughts, questions, comments and/or concerns you have with the story. I love hearing from y’all!

As always, if you’d like to be added to my taglist, just let me know and I’ll happily add you!!

Word Count: 5,301. (A lot, I know, but I think it’s worth it, and I just couldn’t get everything I wanted across in less words, so enjoy!)

Relationship(s): Negan x Leigh Sullivan (OFC)

Characters: Negan. Leigh Sullivan (OFC). Simon. Dr. Carson. 3 unnamed Original Male Characters. Sanctuary People.

Taglist: @negans-network @prettyboynegan @mychemicalimagines @spnnnxangelsx @rockinkel21 @misskittycat02 @band--psycho@ofxallxwexlost @iron-halt @thamberlinawrites @ravenwings73 @lettherebepink @stoneyggirl

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Story Time:

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Then

They’d caught me off guard, for once.

Normally, I never let anything or anyone catch me off guard. Or at least...I tried not to. Due to having anxiety, I was usually hyper-aware of shit going on. But, today, my anxiety had eased off after the relaxing morning I’d had with my husband. We’d spent the morning, snuggled up in his big king-sized bed, just shooting the shit and goofing off.

He didn’t have to go out on a run today, so there was no need to rush the morning like we normally had to 95% of the time. Eventually, though, the day had to get started. Dwight came knocking on the door, interrupting our relaxation time, saying he needed my husband for something. Being the man my husband is, he grumbled, cussed Dwight out, and then got outta bed while apologizing to me for the interruption and assuring me we’d finish relaxing when he got back later.

After a kiss, and a soft “I love you,” he was gone. Off to do what he did. It was my day off, so I laid in bed for a little longer before I too got up, dressed, and made my rounds. As the top female Savior, something I’d worked my ass off, fought for, and took seriously, I said hi to who I needed to, did what I needed to, and finally, sat down under my favorite tree out by the greenhouses.

I laid my leather jacket on the ground next to me, leaving me in my usually black t-shirt, holey but patched up and well worn blue jeans, and faded brown leather boots. Strapped to each thigh was a holster. In the right one was my signature gun, a .357 Magnum, 6-shot revolver. In the left holster, I kept my handcrafted 6 inch blade that I made back when I was 15, well over half a decade, shit closer to a decade ago, considering I was almost 25.

Bending my knees, and pulling them close in a comfortable position, I propped up the notebook I usually kept in my leather satchel with two backup knives, an extra gun, ammo, and a spare notebook for work along with several pens and pencils. The writing equipment was a rare commodity these days, so I always kept them close to me.

As I was writing a story I’d started a few days prior, I zoned out just a bit, focusing on it. I’d started writing when I was just 12 years old, and kept the habit up, even now, 3 years after the world ended and the dead started walking back in 2020 after the Coronavirus outback after the new year, new decade had started.

I was writing, losing myself in the words I printed on the paper in my chicken scratch. I say chicken scratch ‘cause, well...that’s basically what it was. As a lefty, my handwriting wasn’t necessarily the best, and a doctor’s prescription note was probably more legible. It was a mixture between slanted and curved print and semi-elegant at times cursive.

But, it was my handwriting, and I could read it. My husband sometimes had difficulty reading it, but he’d always put his black-rimmed glasses on, and fuck if they didn’t make him look sexier than he already was. Because of that, I sneakily wrote a little sloppier when I knew he’d have to read something from my notes about the runs I went on.

It was all an excuse to see him with those glasses perched on his nose, giving him that sexy professor look. He thought they made him look ridiculous, but I loved it. Since I was writing and zoned out, I wasn’t nearly as focused on my surroundings. I didn’t think I had to be. The tree was my safe spot when I wasn’t with my husband.

The Sanctuary was a relatively safe place, and that was thanks to the rules that were in place. So, it’d make sense that I wouldn’t focus on my surroundings as much and relax a bit as I wrote. But, boy was I wrong. I just didn’t realize it till it was far too late. Before I realized what was happening, I was being punched in the right side of my face, slinging my head to the side, as my notebook and bag were jerked away from me and my hair was roughly pulled, jerking my head backwards.

I went to grab my gun and my knife, but they’d already been taken from me. My eyes flirted back and forth in front of me, trying to process what was going on. But, everything was blurry and I was dizzy from the hit. I could barely make out three men close to me, far too close to me. They were basically on top of me.

Fuck. One of them actually was. I could feel the weight of him straddling my thighs, keeping me from standing. I couldn’t hear anything as the beating of my heart flooded my ears. I tried to fight back as best as I could, but the other two men grabbed my hands and jerked them away from my body and pinning them to the ground as they shoved my upper body down.

When they jerked my arms away, I felt, more than heard, my left shoulder dislocate. I clenched my jaw. The pain wasn’t anything new. I’d been dealing with a shoulder that dislocates when I fuckin’ sneeze since I was 13 years old. The pain, when it happened, was now at a tolerable level since I was so used to it happening.

I didn’t cry out. I knew not to. Plus, the wasn’t the type of person I was. I knew what was ‘bout to happen. It, like my shoulder, was something I’d had to put with for years growing. It wasn’t anything new either. But, that didn’t mean it was enjoyable. It was anything but. I barely processed my jeans being jerked down my hips and past my knees.

I could just barely hear the men laughing and joking around with each other, talking ‘bout what they were going to do to me and wondering why the fuck I was wearing two pairs of boxers under my jeans. I watched them, as best as I could with my vision being what it was. When the blurriness faded just enough, I could make out their features and recognized them as members of the new group that was brought in last week.

Members I’d brought into the Sanctuary. Into my house. I dropped my head back down to the ground and groaned to myself. I let my body go slack, waiting for the perfect time. When the men realized I wasn’t struggling anymore, they laughed and the two dumbfucks holding my arms down eased up on their grip.

The man on my legs lifted himself up just enough push his own pants down. Their easing up on their grip was their mistake and ultimately what led to their demise. Since they weren’t paying attention to me, thinking I’d just given up, and instead focusing on getting their baby carrot sized dicks outta their pants, I was able to strike back.

I immediately brought both my hands up, fingers curled in to form perfect fists without worry of possibly breaking my thumbs, ignoring the protest of my left shoulder, and cocked both the men on my sides straight in the noses. I internally smiled at the sounds of their noses breaking and their screams of pain.

They stumbled back just a little bit, hands covering their faces as they clutched their noses in an attempt to stop the extensive amount of blood falling. Clearly, I caught the man on top me off guard with my actions and he was shocked for a moment. It was perfect. I bucked him up off me, managed to jerk my pants up as I stood.

All one fluid motion.

Since he was still obviously in shock at me suddenly fighting back, he stumbled, tripping, and falling backwards on the ground. He tried to scurry backwards as fast as as he could. Despite being 5’3”, I was able to stay with him. I slammed my boot down on his stomach, making him howl in pain and wheeze as he struggled to get the air back that i’d just forced outta his lungs.

I kept my foot on his gut, putting most of my weight on it, digging the worn sole into his abdomen. He let out a sad excuse for a grunt as I did. I just smirked. This fucked had no idea who he’d fucked, or tried to fuck with. I leaned down and started pummeling the shit outta his face, keeping him in place with my foot.

Since he couldn’t get fresh air back into his lungs because of the position of my foot, he was too weak to try and fight back. To say I was a little disappointed at not having a challenge, would be like saying the dead weren’t walking around. It was a lie. I was disappointed, and I fueled that disappointment in with the anger as I literally beat him to death.

He kept trying to apologize, tried to plead with me, to not kill him, but I didn’t give a fuck. He was ‘bout to rape me, and I’d had ‘nough of that in my life. I wasn’t putting up with it. I eased up just before I knew he was about to die. Gave him false hope into letting him think his words had affected me. I let him get one last breath in as I completely lifted my foot off his torso.

“Than-” He started to say, but I cut him off as I slammed my boot into his face, effectively crushing his skull.

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, prick.” I muttered to him as I wiped my boot off on his once clean but now bloody clothes. “You fuckin’ ruined my goddamn favorite fuckin’ pair of boots, asshole.”

Before I turned away from him, I spit on his crushed skull. Since it was destroyed, I didn’t have to worry ‘bout him coming back as a dean’un. I was a little sad that I wouldn’t get to kill him a second time, but he’d gotten what he deserved. Turning to the other two dumbfucks, I repeated my actions, and did to them exactly what I’d just done to their friend.

I knew my husband was going to be pissed that I killed these men, instead of letting him do it, but I’d deal with that. I wasn’t going to let these fuckers back inside the relatively safe concrete walls of the factory that was the Sanctuary. By the time I was down stomping in the skull of the third man, I looked up, as I finished, and noticed that I’d gathered quite an audience.

Including Simon. The right-hand man, third person in charge of the Sanctuary. His, and everyone else’s, eyes were wide, and everyone was silent. I knew I was gonna be in trouble since they’d just seen me stomp the life outta three men, but I didn’t give a fuck. I had shit to do. I gathered up my weapons, my jacket, and bag after shoving my shit into it and stormed inside the Sanctuary, flipping everyone off, not wanting to deal with their gawking.

Not caring ‘bout my bloody appearance, I made my way to the commissary, needing to grab a few things before I went back to my room. I found what I needed: a new pair of jeans identical to the ones i was wearing, a new t-shirt, undergarments, a pair of boots and a special item, an unopened, brand new boxed set of hair clippers.

Once I had what I needed, I stormed up to the room I share with my husband, stripping down to my bra and one pair of boxers when i get there.

Leigh’s P.O.V. ~ Now

“What the fuck was that fuckin’ shit out there, Leigh?!?”

I sigh as I hear my husband storm into our room, the door slamming shut behind him. I look at myself in the mirror as I lay the scissors down on the bathroom counter by the sink and pick up the clippers. Turning them on, I don’t reply to my husband. Not wanting to explain to him what happened at the moment.

I stare at myself in the mirror as I bring the clippers up to my shortened hair. I press the #2 guard to my head and move it backwards from my forehead to the back of my head, sticking to the once familiar hairline I used to see and live by religiously. I watch as the hair falls, joining the rest of my once long, curly locks, on the floor by my feet. I use my fingers to guide my movements, making sure I don’t go too high and completely fuck up my hair.

Once I have the hairline visible, separating what I want to keep and what I want to shave off, I move the guard down below my ear and with practiced ease, I shave the sides and back of head, getting rid of the hair. Keeping an eye on myself, making sure I don’t fuck up my haircut, not that I would since I used to do this every 2-3 weeks, I watch as my husband steps into the bathroom.

I watch as his eyes nearly bulge outta their sockets when he sees me. I watch as the anger vanishes from his face and body, being replaced with worry, sadness, and a hint of curiosity. I watch as his eyes traveling over the reflection of my face in the mirror, taking in my black eye, bruised and split open cheek, covered in blood and even the nasty black eye I’m now sporting.

I watch as he slowly moves his eyes up to meet mine in the mirror.

“What...what are you doing?” He asks softly.

My left eyebrow shoots sky high as I look at him. My husband rarely says a sentence without cussing every other word. And yet...he just asked a simple question without one sentence enhancer thrown in.

“What the fuck’s it look like I’m doing? I’m cutting my hair.” I say. “Decided I needed a new fuckin’ look. Don’t you fuckin’ love it?”

I know I’m being Captain fuckin’ Obvious at the moment, and a bit harsh, but I’m not ready to tell him what happened. That’s for after I get done. Cutting my hair is the only thing keeping me from completely shutting down and giving in to the panic attack that’s trying to take over. I watch as he lets out a deep breath as he slowly steps into the bathroom, padding across the tiled floor to me.

He places his hands on my shoulders and I do my best not to flinch. But he still sees it and quickly lifts his hands off me, holding them up in a surrendering pose. I know he’d never hurt me, and he was the one to save my life after this shit hole of a world started three years ago. But, I can’t help it. The feeling of those fuckers’ hands on me, plus the fact that my shoulder is still dislocated, keeps me from wanting to be touched.

“Can...let me help. Please, sweetheart.” My husband’s soft drawl meets my ears.

“No. I need to do this myself.” I reply, tightening my grip on the clippers.

I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat as he swallows deeply and nods. I keep my eyes on his in the mirror and finish cutting my hair. It’s been three years since I’ve cut my hair, but the muscle memory is still there. It’s like riding a bike. My husband watches as I finish shaving the sides of my head down to where there’s just a bit of peach fuzz.

Switching the clippers off, I replace the guard with a #1 and go back over the bottom hairline on the base of my neck. Once I have that done, I take the guard off completely and just put the metal of the clippers to the back of my neck doing my best not to flinch at the burning heat coming off it as it meets my skin.

I take that little strip down so there’s no hair there, running along along the hairline on my neck. I use the blending guard and even out the area, making the hair have a fade. Replacing the blending guard with the #7, I bring it up to the patch of hair on my head, and trim it down. When I finish, my feet are covered with a mountain of what used to be the long, thick, curly hair on my head.

My neck and shoulders are also covered with the little strands of hair that I buzzed off. Setting the clippers on the counter, I run my hands over the buzz cut I now sport and take in a deep, shaky breath. I let my head drop down, pressing my chin to chest and take another shaky breath in after letting out one.

“Baby?” My husband asks softly.

I lift my head and look up at him. My eyes roam over the unzipped black leather jacket he’s wearing over his standard white t-shirt and down to the grey jeans he’s wearing, held up by two leather belts. I let my eyes rest on his feet, no longer hidden by his own pair of black combat boots, but rather a pair of white socks.

Taking in another deep breath, I bring my eyes up to meet his. I can see the worry swimming in his muddy water brown eyes. I shake my head as i start to take my bra off and push my boxers down, stepping outta them as the pool ‘round my ankles.

“I need a shower.” I mumble and step ‘round him to walk to the stunning shower we share.

I grip the knobs tightly as I turn the water on, as hot as it’ll go. I need to feel the pain of the burning water over my skin. If I don’t, I know I’ll give in to that panic attack that’s already on the verge of consuming me. Stepping into the shower, I glance back at my husband over my shoulder.

“You can…” I mumble.

He nods as he understands what I’m trying to say. I look away, for the first time since we met, and eventually became intimate, not wanting to watch him undress. I know that if I were to watch, I’d see those assholes tugging their pants down, and I don’t want that. I don’t want my husband to be mixed in with them.

Standing under the burning hot water, feeling it flow over and pelt my skin, I bring my hands up and tightly grip what’s left of my hair, tugging on it. I feel Negan step into the shower, behind me. I don’t have to look. I know he’s there. I can feel the heat rolling off his skin, along with the worry and helplessness.

He hasn’t seen me like this in three years, and even then, it wasn’t this bad. I blindly reach for the bottle of men’s body wash he and I share and I vigorously scrub my body with it. Trying to get the touch and the blood of those men off me. It takes four harsh washes and rinses before I even begin to feel clean.

Negan just stands behind me, leaning against the back wall of the shower. He’s giving me my space while still letting me know he’s right there if I need him. The bottle slips outta my hands when I go to pour more of the soapy liquid into my palm. I’d leave it there, but Negan gently reaches around me, picking it up.

I hear the bottle open and can tell he’s pouring some into his own hands. I figure he’s just gonna wash his body until I feel his soft and gentle touch on my skin. I flinch and tremble at first, but eventually give into the feeling of him touching me. He takes his time, gently washing me, letting me get clean for the final time.

Letting me know that it’s ok. That it’s over. That’s he’s got me. That he’ll take care of me. Neither of us say a word as he takes the removable showerhead from it’s dock and gently rinses me off after he turns the cold water on, letting the temperature of the water mix until it’s no longer burning, but rather warm and gentle.

He lets the showerhead drop and dangle as he turns the water off and steps out. I keep my eyes closed and feel him wrap a soft towel around me. I open my eyes and bring them to meet his, only to find him staring at my dislocated shoulder. He blinks and his tongue darts out just a little from between his lips.

“Want me to put it back in place, sweetheart?”

I nod slowly.

“Put your right arm ‘round my waist, baby, and I will.”

I follow his soft command and a moment later, I feel his palms against my left shoulder. He’s helped me pop my shoulder back into place enough over the last few years that he knows what he’s doing. I suck in a deep, shaky breath right as he pops it back into place. I bit my lip to hold back the whimper from the pain.

As soon as he’s done, he wraps both his arms ‘round me and just holds me close as I bury my face against his wet chest. We don’t say another word for a solid 10 minutes. He just holds me as we stand in the bathroom, water pooling ‘round our feet. Eventually, he gently scoops me up in his arms and carries me to bed.

Sitting down on it, he just holds me in his lap, not saying anything. I know it’s his way of helping me get outta the panic attack and also letting me know that he’s listening when I’m ready to talk. It takes me a hot minute before I get the words out, and even then they’re just a whisper.

“They...they were trying to rape me.”

I hear him let out a growl and his arms tighten ‘round me, protectively. That’s his number one rule. Rape is not allowed. Followed by the prohibition of abusing women and children. He doesn’t say a word, letting me continue. I tell him everything that happened, as I tremble in his arms. He just holds me close, softly rubbing my back and taking even breaths to help me subconsciously focus on keeping my own breathing even.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there, baby.” He finally murmurs after I finish recounting the events. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that. They got what they deserved. I just wish I could’ve introduced them to Lucille.”

My eyes flirt over to the barbed-wire baseball bat propped up against the wall by our bedroom door. She’s surprisingly clean. I guess Negan didn’t have to dish out any punishments today. Only I did.

“I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, though, baby.” He whispers in my ear.

I look up at him, confused. “Proud?”

He nods. “Mmhhmm. You shut that shit down, and kept your cool until you were up here. I don’t know how you fuckin’ managed that, but I’m not surprised. I heard what you did, heard how you described it, and fuck, baby. I wish I’d seen you go Rambo on their asses. You’re my badass girl. I’m proud of you.”

A small smile tugs at my lips. Despite the events of the day, and me doing what I did, my husband still manages to make me smile. He slowly brings one hand up, keeping it in my line of sight, and cups my good cheek.

“Will you let me send Carson up here to stitch your cheek up and get you checked out?”

His eyes search mine, waiting for my reply, and hoping I’ll let him. I nod against his palm, and he lets out a deep breath. He reaches over to the nightstand and plucks his radio off it. His thumb pressed against the side button.

“Carson. Get your fuckin’ ass up to my room now, and bring your bag. Fuckin’ now.” He growls into the receiver.

“Yes, sir.” Comes the doctor’s reply not even a moment later.

Negan then pushes the button down again and talks.

“Simon. Bring two plates of food up to my room. Now. And make sure it’s some good shit too.”

Simon replies in the affirmative and Negan sets his radio down. He looks back at me and places his palm back against my good cheek. A gesture that always makes me relax.

“Can I ask why you cut your hair?” He asks softly.

“I refuse to let another man tug me around by hair, guiding me to do his bidding, especially during a situation like earlier. It was a flashback to my dad doing what he did. It’s why I’ve also cut my own hair. It’s the one thing I about my body that I can control. So, I keep it short and no man will ever be able to use my hair against me again.” I say, the truth just spilling out. “Plus, having it touch my ears, always made my anxiety ten times worse.”

He knows what my dad did, and he’s known that tugging on my hair was a hard limit for me. So, he never did it, which is why I let my hair grow out. I felt safe around him. I still do. But, having long hair is just a liability, and I refuse to be put in that situation again. He nods in understanding.

“I’m gonna miss your curls, though.” He says. “And waking up with a mouthful of your hair in my mouth.”

I can’t help but giggle at that. It’s true. Most mornings, he’d wake up, sputtering to spit out the strands of my hair that ended up in his mouth as we slept next to each other.

“I left enough on top so you can still play with my hair, babe. And, there’s still enough to run your fingers through it.” I assure him.

“Can I?”

I nod and a moment later, I feel his fingers on his other hand stroke through my wet hair, lightly massaging my scalp as he does. I let out a soft moan at the feeling and lean into his touch on my cheek, closing my eyes. He chuckles as he plays with my hair.

“If that’s your reaction to me doing that every single fuckin’ time, I could get used to it. And I’ll just have to get used to having an even stiffer hard on from the soft moans.” He smirks as he looks at me.

I blush and open my eyes looking up at him. “You're my husband. I think I can manage helping you out with the baseball bat you have in your pants.”

He laughs softly. “Yea?”

I grin. “Mmhhmm. You’re fond of Lucille. I’m quite fond of your own bat.”

He grins, showing off his dimples. “I’m fuckin’ fond of you, baby. Have been since we first met in the woods. Why else do you think I got rid of the wives years ago?”

I try not to grin as I shrug. “It was the only way you were getting in my pants and scoring a homerun.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Not the only reason, baby. It was because I love you, Leigh.”

I grin from ear to ear and turn my head to place a soft kiss to his palm. “I love you too, Negan.”

Before he can say anything else, there’s a timid knock on the door.

“Come the fuck in!” Negan calls out, holding me close.

Dr. Carson comes in. He’s no longer as nervous as he used to be when I first showed up. But he’s still a little nervous around the man. I’ve gotten Negan to ease up on the fear of himself he’s instilled in people, and gotten him to be nicer in the way he treats folks. He’s not the bat-wielding lunatic he was when we first met.

He’s the man I always knew he was.

A soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather.

My soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather.

After Carson checks me out, determines nothing’s broken, assures me that everything is good, and stitches my cheek up, he leaves. Negan helps me get dressed in a pair of his boxers under my new jeans and one of his shirts before he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. Simon comes in shortly after I finish getting dressed, holding a tray of food for Negan and I.

His eyes widen as he looks at me, taking in my new appearance.

“What, Si? Never seen a girl with short hair before?” I ask, teasing.

He shakes his head. “I have. I just wasn’t expecting you to have cut your own. It looks good on you, fitting.”

I smile. “Thanks, Si.”

Leaning up, I kiss his cheek and then kick him out before Negan can Lucille him for staring at me. My husband knows Simon’s like a dad to me, the dad I never had, and that there’s nothing there. He just gets jealous and protective over me, not liking other men to stare. And, for once, I’m thankful, given the events of today.

As we eat, Negan and I stay on the bed, me snuggled up to his side. When we’re finished though, I look up at him.

“I have to tell you something else.” I say.

His eyebrow raises and he looks at me, grining. “What’s that? You planning on buzzing anything else?”

I laugh and playfully slap his bare chest. “No, asshole.”

He pretends to be hurt and rubs his chest, grinning. “Damn, girl. That hurt.”

I laugh and kiss his chest where I smacked him. “Feel better, Daddy?”

He grins that dimpled grin again and nods. “Mmhhmm. Now, what else you gotta tell me, babygirl?”

I smirk. “Well, Daddy…you see...”

He growls low in his throat. “Don’t tease me, little girl.”

I giggle. “I’m not, Daddy.”

I bring my hand down to rub my tummy.

“You full from eating?” He asks, covering my hand on my tummy, rubbing what he thinks is a food baby.

“Nope. But, it’s nice to see you already rubbing my tummy. I can happily get used to this over the next 7 months.”

“7 months?” His brow creases in confusion for a moment before his eyes widen. “You...you’re...we’re…?”

I giggle and nod as I lean up to kiss him softly.

“Yes, honey. I’m pregnant.” I say. “I’m 2 months along, and found out a few days ago. I was working on a story earlier, and that was gonna be how I told you, but shit happened, so I figured I’d just tell you.”

He lets out a high pitched squeal that I never would’ve expected from him, and pulls me right back into his arms and his lap. His beard tickles my neck as he grins against it, placing a soft kiss there. I giggle and wrap my arms ‘round him. Like I said, he’s a soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather.

My soft, 6’2” teddy bear wrapped in leather and I’m his buzzed haired girl.

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slytherinlesbian3 · 4 years

Note

All of the colors. Knock yourself out

Alright, Anon. I see you. I’ll leave out the ones I’ve already done though <3

red: describe your favorite shirt Blue. Literally just blue. Tight, but not too tight. Makes my biceps and boobs pop so it’s pretty nice.

blue: preferred type of weather? Rain or snow.

purple: a poem you think describes your closest friend Not a poem, but “I’ll be right beside you to the very end.”

turquoise: favorite sea animal? Dolphins.

cyan: are you religious? spiritual? Uh, I believe in more than one god and lean more toward Roman/Norse mythology than religion. I believe in every god, really. But I’m not submitting myself to blind faith for a cult I know nothing about.

violet: are you a part of the lgbt+ community? Lesbian through and through.

aqua: do you thrift? Do I...what? Thrift as in steal or thrift as in buy on sale? Because yes.

black: would you ever try going vegetarian or vegan? No.

coral: an animal you wish hadn't gone extinct Bro...Dodo birds. They were dope.

grey: how many languages do you speak? do you want to learn any more? Technically I only fluently speak English, but when I was younger I only spoke in Italian except to my family sejfnskejnfdjskn. I’m learning Latin right now and I can still speak Italian but not nearly as much. I know bits of French, German, Japanese, and Czech though. Beside Latin, I don’t really wanna learn any others.

maroon: do you care for clothing brands? Adidas and 511. Adidas because I’m a slut for soccer and 511 because their pants are so COMFY BRO. But they’re expensive so I only own a 511 belt </3

rose: favourite scent on a person? Something...floral. Roses or cherry blossom. Coconut is nice too. Vanilla is cliche but you can never go wrong with it.

charcoal: have you ever been camping? No and I do not wish for it ever.

claret: do you play an instrument? do you want to learn to play any? Trumpet and guitar. 6 years, 11 months.

copper: gold or silver jewelry? Neither, but silver probably. Just looks nicer with my skin tone.

cream: any piercings or tattoos? do you want any? None. I don’t even have my ears pierced. However, I do want a snake tattoo on my thigh lmaoo.

salmon: how many pairs of sunglasses do you own? Like 5 but I only wear one because they’re aviators :D

indigo: have you ever lived on a farm? Nope but I have stayed on one for about a month.

lavender: relationship status? Single but I do have a tumblr wife: @maritasdump

erin: what was/is your best school subject? ENGLISH BECAUSE I CAN WRITE ESSAYS IN LITERALLY 15 MINUTES

fulvous: another name you think would suit you Ew, uh...well, Vi. It’s my nickname since it’s the shortened version of the nickname of my real name, but it fits me better.

coconut: a subject you enjoy learning about Rome and Latin :D

frost: a -core you enjoy A what.

porcelain: an tv show you used to love Powerpuff Girls, Teen Titans (original), eh

fawn: any interesting family stories? Well, one time my brother got a stick stuck in his shin. Kinda funny. Another time my brother broke my leg while on a trampoline Another time my brother almost broke my ankle by daring me to jump off a 20 foot ledge. Another time I made my brother bleed with my nails for taking my skittles. I could go on...it’s just a lot of sibling violence.

gold: do you wear your socks mismatched? I used to but I just wear black socks now. (Except for soccer)

honey: your thoughts on magic- does it exist? Yeah. Just in different forms:)

rust: form of art you enjoy doing? Writing lmao. But I guess just sketching is fun.

mahogany: your sun, moon, and rising signs I have 0 desire to calculate that because I don’t know it off the top of my head but I’m a capricorn and I feel like that’s enough information

blood: twin beds, queen, or king? ...And there was only one bed...

hot pink: did you/do you had/have strong feelings against the color pink? Hot pink is nasty but regular pink is cool asf. My soccer socks for October games are pink and I wear them every practice/game.

plum: a food you've never tried A lot, but I’ve tried a hella ton of European foods. So, uh...I’m not really sure. Something non-American (all Americas), non-EU, and non-Asian, I know that.

lilac: dogs, cats, or fish? CATS.

amethyst: do you collect anything? Knives.

mulberry: earbuds or headphones? Eh...Depends what I’m doing. Voice chat? Headphones. Music at the bus stop? Earbuds.

azure: jean jackets? My God - on other people? Hot. On me? I’ll stick to leather.

teal: have a job? Not yet.

sapphire: do you think you can sing well? For the most part, yeah. Trying to incorporate my guitar playing with it and it’s going pretty smoothly.

mint: favourite flavour of gum? Juicy Fruit simply because my grandmother got me hooked on it from a really young age. That or plain ol’ wintermint.

pecan: shuffle your playlist, what's the first song that comes up? Follow by Breaking Benjamin

penny: icecream or cake Ew. Sweets are a hit or miss for me, but um? Probably ice cream.

ash: can you do your own makeup? Hell no. I’ve only worn makeup twice and it was applied by someone else.

jade: ever written fanfiction? EKFMNSKENFJKDSN SO MUCH.

grape: how many blogs do you follow? 346!

umber: do you brush your teeth before you eat? No, ew. Why would you do that?

chestnut: type of phone you have iPhone 10 XS. Got it last May...First new phone I’d ever owned. Went from an iPod that could only call, to a phone that could only call, then an iPhone 5 until I was 15. They were all hand-me-downs and I never complained. They worked fine.

prussian blue: what's your first choice at the vending machine Soda, probably. If it’s food, either the chips or the rice krispy <3

aquamarine: beach or pool Pool. I’ve come too close to death at the beach to enjoy it anymore.

brass: least favorite food condiment Mayo/horse radish.

mustard: how much sugar in your tea/coffee? All of it.

silver: ever broken a bone? My entire leg and foot <3

rose quartz: rings or necklaces Necklaces with rings. I’m serious. But if I had to choose, rings. It’s the gay in me.

onyx: do you still play Minecraft? Sometimes?

burgundy: ever ridden a motorcycle? NO BUT I WANT ONE MORE THAN ANYTHING IN THE FRIGGIN UNIVERSE

apricot: opinion on 3 in 1 body wash/hair wash wait those exist?

platinum: do you follow politics? Dude I didn’t know Trump was president til this year

magnolia: your Instagram handle? ha, nice try, luzer.

Bro I am LATE to somewhere because of this but I enjoyed it. Thanks again, anon! <3

Color Asks (I am closing this shite because I AM TIRED)

#asks #anon

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katiekitty261 · 5 years

Text

And they were roommates// Jim Mason x Fem!Reader

This started as a request from my lovely @wroteclassicaly, but it kinda turned into its own beast LOL. (Also, the title just makes me laugh. I had to keep it. Forgive me)

This is a little college AU type situation, the characters might be OOC because of it. This is also my first length fic for jimmy :’)

@ladynuwanda and ella, I’m just pointing out that I saw this gif...and I had to use it. Legally I couldn’t use a different one.

Description - Jim is the boyfriend of your college dorm roommate and you hate each other, but do you really?

Word count- 4800+

Warnings- swearing, a little blood. Brief description of violence. Maybe slightly submissive Jim if you squint? I don’t know. Smut. Near-Death experience?

Read on Ao3

You wanted to throw something.

Your lovely roommate Leah begged you to let her boyfriend Jim, stay over for a few ‘hours’. You usually didn’t let her, but she wouldn’t shut up about it. You decided you’d study in the student lounge while you waited for her to text you that you could come back.

The text never arrived. You ended up falling asleep at one of the uncomfortable couches. Your back ached and you forgot to set an alarm, so you only woke up with 15 minutes left to get to class.

“You look dead,” You looked up to see Medina Mason taking a seat next to you in the courtyard, dropping her books on the picnic table.

“Your brother kept me awake all night.” You said bitterly, stabbing a bite of your salad.

“He did what?” She raised her brows at you.

You coughed, realizing what it sounded like. “No- God…” you wiped your mouth, “He was with Leah. All night.”

“In your room?”

“Yes, and I had an exam!”

“I’m sorry, I can try to talk to him if you want, knock some sense into him.”

You smiled at her and nodded, “That would be great. I have English next week and I can’t afford to fail this one…”

You liked Medina. She was Jim’s twin sister, but the complete opposite of him. You honestly didn’t know how they shared the same DNA.

You had known them since they started college in the same year as you, but you never got along with Jim. It was like he had some kind of vendetta against you or something, like his goal every semester was to find a way to piss you off more. This year he had really spread the icing on the hate cake by dating your roommate.

Medina tried to convince you that he was just doing it because he probably likes you, which was bullshit. Jim Mason did not like you.

He hated you. Just like you hated him.

It didn’t help that he was panty-dropping gorgeous. Not that you would ever admit it, though.

“There’s a party tonight. You coming?” Medina asked you sighed.

“I shouldn’t… I need to study.”

“Oh come on. It’s Friday night, you have the whole weekend to study. Come have a few drinks with our friends, and you can forget all about my brother.”

“Forget what about me?”

You groaned internally at the familiar voice. Looking over to see the devil himself, with his arm wrapped around Leah's waist.

“That I couldn’t go back to my dorm all night because you and Leah wouldn’t keep your hands to yourselves.”

“Oh my gosh! I’m SO sorry I forgot to text you! We just fell asleep.” Leah tried to explain, but you rolled your eyes.

“You could’ve joined us if you liked.” Jim winked as he spoke and you scoffed.

“Fuck you, Mason.” You turned your back to him and continued eating. You didn’t miss him saying, “only in your dreams,” under his breath but you chose to ignore it.

“Are you going to the party, Jim?” Medina asked, you heard him reply in agreement.

You definitely weren’t going now.

___

“Black or red.. or purple… or Yellow?”

“Why don’t you just wear a rainbow?” You leaned back on Medina’s bed as she picked out something to wear to the party.

That she was forcing you to go to.

“You know I’m not good with style… I want to look decent.” She pouted at you, holding up two dresses for you to see.

“Blue. Blue is your best color.”

“Blue wasn’t an option… but you’re right. It’s a Mason thing.” She started shuffling through her closet again, looking for something in blue.

“What are you wearing?” She asked as she finally picked out something.

“What do you mean? I’m already dressed.” You gestured to the clothes you were wearing already. A white T-shirt and a pair of light wash denim capris.

“You are not.” She rolled her eyes, “We’re supposed to be having fun… Don’t you want to meet someone? Get laid? You can’t dress like that.”

“I’ll dress whatever way I want to, Dina.”

“Fine. At least put on makeup.”

You compromised with Medina and let her put a little makeup on you. Not much, but a little mascara and concealer can make a difference.

___

You recognized Led Zeppelin playing when you and Medina got to the party. The music was so loud you could barely hear her talking to you as you went to find drinks. If you were going to have any fun tonight, you needed something to drink.

Dina ditched you about an hour in, something about going to smoke with a guy she had met. Not that you minded, you were buzzed enough to not care anymore. You danced with a few of your girlfriends, enjoying the music and swaying with the crowd of scantily dressed college kids.

You spotted Leah, dressed in a bright red mini skirt that was pushed up so high you could see the giant dream catcher she had tattooed on her thigh. Her brown hair sat loosely on her shoulders and her red lipstick was smeared on her lips. She was sitting on Jim’s lap, her arm around his shoulders.

She waved at you with a smile, making him look in your direction. You tried not to notice how good he looked in his old worn jean jacket, you really did try. In your inebriated state, however, your efforts were fruitless. You tried to pretend like you weren’t checking him out, just looking back at Leah, you waved back and gave her an awkward smile.

Jim tapped her legs so she would move, getting up and making his way toward you. You tried to walk away, but before you could make it through the crowd, he had made it to you first.

“You really wore that?” He looked you up and down.

“So what, not all of us have to dress like sluts to go to a party, Mason.”

“You didn’t even change what you wore earlier,”

“Why do you pay so much attention?” You asked,

“I’m not.”

“Mhm. Just like you’re not over here bothering me instead of your girlfriend over there on the couch.” You emptied your cup and turned to leave, but Jim reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“You shouldn’t drink anymore if you’re here alone.”

“Who are you to talk? I’m not alone, Dina is with me.” You shrugged off his hand, ignoring the warmth his hand had left on your skin.

“I just saw her leave with some dude, you are alone. We both know you can’t hold your liquor well either.”

“Who says I can’t hold my liquor?”

“The last party you went to you fell off the deck into the pool.”

“That was on purpose.”

“Sure it was. What about that time you threw up in the bushes and Medina and Leah had to carry you home?”

“Why do you care so much? You don’t seem to care about me any other time.” You turned to face him, swallowing when you realized how close he was standing to you. He practically had you backed up against the counter now.

“I don’t.”

“Then leave me alone.” You pushed him away from you and he stumbled back, watching as you poured yourself another drink and downing it in one gulp, making an exaggerated “ahhh” to annoy him.

“You’re a fucking pain, you know that (Y/N)?”

“Only in your ass, Mason.” You winked at him, grabbing another drink before you could disappear back into the crowd, leaving Jim alone in the kitchen.

___

The rest of the night was basically a blur.

Somehow you ended up in the upstairs hallway, some strangers lips attached to your neck, making obscene noises as he tried to grope your breasts through your bra. Your shirt had a drink spilled on it, which was making you feel wet and uncomfortable.

You weren’t really enjoying yourself to any degree, and you tried to push him off of you but he wasn’t budging.

“Dude, get off me…” You said, He ignored you trying to unhook your bra, but you pushed on him again.

“There you are… Hey-” You heard a voice that didn’t belong to the stranger call out, and suddenly he was ripped from you, making you stumble against the wall.

“She said to get off her.” You recognized it as Jim, holding the other guy by the collar of his shirt, a murderous look in his eyes.

“She wanted me, bro. Lay off.” He tried to get free of Jim’s grip, but he wasn’t letting up.

“Jim… let him go.” You said, but he ignored you.

Jim punched the guy square in his face, you could hear a crack that had to be his nose. The guy stumbled back, cursing at him.

Luckily instead of fighting back the guy ran off holding his bloody nose.

“Jesus fuck, Jim. You didn’t have to do that.” You grabbed his hand, his knuckles were bruised and bloody too.

“What happened to your shirt?” He asked, eyeing your chest. It was showing your bra through the wet fabric. You would’ve felt grossed out (you liked to tell yourself) if you hadn’t been so drunk, but at this moment having Jim Mason staring at your chest left you tingling in all the right places.

“Some asshole spilled their drink on me.”

“Come on, I'm taking you back to the dorm.” Jim shrugged off his jacket and handed it to you, telling you to button it up before he grabbed your hand and walked you outside with him.

You were too tired to argue, too hot under the skin to shake his hand away, enjoying his attention on you way too much.

Plus you felt so warm inside his jacket, unconsciously pulling it tighter around you.

Jim drove you all the way back to your dorm, where you found Leah passed out on her bed still fully dressed and everything.

“Did you bring her back too?”

“Earlier. She was tired.”

“You came back for me?” You asked, Jim looked at you and sighed.

“Go to bed.” He gently pushed you toward your bed, You flopped onto it and fell asleep seconds later.

_____

Sunlight and a pounding in your head woke you up the next morning.

You groaned, covering your face with your pillow, but the dryness of your throat and your bladder stopped you from sleeping in any longer. You stood up, realizing you were still wearing Jim’s jacket, but you had managed to take off your jeans while you slept.

Most of your memories were hazy, but the ones involving Jim were crystal clear in your mind.

He was actually nice to you. Really nice.

Any warm thought your brain was conjuring disappeared when you looked over and saw him in bed with Leah, her back pressed against him, a smile on her lips as they slept.

“He’s her boyfriend… and he’s Jim.” you shake your head, trying to remove any weird lingering feelings as you walked to the bathroom.

After taking care of yourself, washing your face and brushing your teeth among other things you walked out to find Jim and Leah awake, Jim was sitting up in bed, his hair ruffled from sleep and looking stupidly beautiful for first thing in the morning. Leah was standing at her closet in her underwear.

You forgot that you hadn’t put on pants when you walked to the bathroom, and Jim noticed right away.

His eyes trailed down your legs, and back up again, a certain look in his eye as he stared at you wearing his favorite jacket and not much else.

You felt uncomfortable, feeling your face heat up as he blatantly kept his eyes on you and not his underwear-clad girlfriend just a few feet away.

“Is that Jim’s?” Leah asked, bringing your attention back to her.

“She spilled a drink at the party,” Jim responded before you could, and you nodded.

“You really shouldn’t drink so much…” She said and you rolled your eyes.

“Whatever. I need to get dressed.” You stood in place and unbuttoned the jacket, Jim’s eyes glued to your half-naked state. You wondered if Leah didn’t care or if she was really that dumb that she didn’t notice the look Jim was giving you. You tried to pretend you didn’t notice the look he was giving you, either. You threw the jacket in his direction, and it seemed to snap him out of his daze.

You grabbed clean clothes from your closet and retreated back into the bathroom. You felt your cheeks hot as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. “What the hell is wrong with me today?” You muttered to yourself as you started to get dressed.

Jim usually didn’t affect you this much. For some reason this morning, you couldn’t get him out of your head.

“Jim and I are going to breakfast!” Leah called out a few minutes later, you muttered a reply before flopping back onto your bed.

Your head was still pounding and you didn’t think you could be around them for any longer, so you downed a couple Advil and went back to sleep.

____

“This is exactly what I needed. Exams are a bitch, aren’t they?” Medina said as she zipped up her wetsuit. You and a few friends decided to go surfing since it was a Saturday and you had nothing better to do. You couldn’t surf very well, but Medina was teaching you.

“Is Jim here?” You asked as you grabbed your board. Medina shrugged.

“Maybe. Why?”

“No reason… He was acting really weird to me at the party last night. I was drunk so I might be remembering it wrong, but I think he was actually worried about me.”

“I told you, (Y/N). He doesn’t hate you. I know my brother. He doesn’t hate anyone.”

You wanted to argue, but the memories of last night irritated you. He rescued you from some total creep, gave you his jacket and brought you back to the dorm. Maybe he was turning over a new leaf?

“It’s weird and I don’t like it.”

“Maybe Leah is changing him?”

You wanted to laugh. “I doubt he’s getting any kind of influence from her. She can barely keep her class schedule straight let alone control anything Jim does. Too busy preaching about how much she loves her “aesthetic”. You mimicked the annoying way she acted and Medina laughed.

Leah may have been your roommate and you were civil to each other, but you were far from friends. She had a tendency to be a little overbearing and being her friend was exhausting, so you just stopped trying. Your annoyance living with her only grew when you found out she had started dating Jim.

“I don’t know why he’s with her. She’s not his type at all.”

“Jim has a type?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“I thought he would just fuck anything that moved.”

“He’s not like that (Y/N). He wasn’t in high school at least. He didn’t sleep around until he got here. He doesn’t when he’s dating someone either.”

“I really don’t know what he sees in her.” You said as you noticed the couple appear on the beach. Leah was practically skipping in the sand, wearing a bikini that you were sure was two sizes too small. It was pink and gaudy, a bright contrast to Jim’s dark wetsuit.

Great, he was here to surf too.

“She’s hot and he’s shallow?” you finished, Medina shrugged. “Maybe”.

You got into the water which effectively ended the conversation as you tried to focus on surfing.

You caught a few good waves, but you weren’t nearly as good as Medina. You kept getting distracted by Leah yelling at Jim every 10 minutes, asking how he was doing and begging for him to come back to the beach.

You tried your best to ignore him, but it wasn’t working.

Jim didn’t surf as much as Dina did, but he was still a pretty good surfer. You found yourself watching him, sitting on your board almost forgetting completely that you were there to surf too.

“(Y/N)!” You heard Medina shout, and you looked over at her, she was waving and pointing, and you realized she was pointing at the very large wave that was coming right towards you.

You tried to act fast, but you didn’t act fast enough. The wave crashed into you and knocked you off your board, you felt the ankle strap on the board rip off as you went under the water. You struggled against the surge, swimming up, but as soon as you did another wave crashed and sent you in the water again.

You could feel your vision starting to blackout from lack of oxygen, and your lungs burned as you involuntarily sucked in water.

“This is it, I'm about to die.” You thought as your vision finally went dark.

___

You gasped for hair and opened your eyes, sputtering water and looking up directly into the eyes of an angel.

Had you died? Wait. No. It wasn’t an angel. It was just Jim.

“Thank god,” You heard medina yell, you realized she was sitting by your side, as Jim hovered over your body in the sand, his hands on your shoulders still.

“I almost drowned…” You coughed, “Did you save me?” You looked up into Jim’s eyes, his face was only a few inches from yours. He nodded.

You fell silent. Jim had saved you from literally dying, and he was sitting close to you now you almost wanted to kiss him.

“Oh my god! Are you ALRIGHT?!”

Leah’s shrill voice rang in your ears as she ran over kicking sand on you, making Jim pull away but he didn’t take his hands off of you.

“I’m ok I think…”

“You should get checked out,” Dina said, you shook your head. “No, I’m fine. I just need to get back to the dorm.”

“I can take you.” Jim piped up, and Leah gave him a dirty look.

“She’s fine. We just got here.”

Medina gave her a nasty look. “She almost just drowned.”

“She’s fine. Let’s go Jim.” She pulled his arm and he pushed her off.

“Jim,” You stopped him. “Just go with her. Dina can take me home…”

Jim helped you up, earning another dirty look from Leah. “We need to talk.” He whispered in your ear, leaving you confused a little light-headed.

____

The rest of your exams came and went, and you felt fine after a few days. Normal even.

Except, it wasn’t normal.

You hadn’t seen Jim all week, not since he left the beach. Normally you’d find him in your dorm, hanging off Leah, or bothering you and Dina while you studied, but you didn’t see him once the entire week.

You tried not to let it bother you, but the less you saw him the more you couldn’t get him off your mind. It was driving you mad.

Your brain was constantly invaded by him. His stupid blue eyes and wavy hair. His stupid freckles and his stupid smile.

He’s the one who said he wanted to talk, Right? So why was he avoiding you?

“Fuck…” You groaned.

You needed to end this. Whatever it was.

You made your way to his dorm, knowing where it was because you had been there a few times with Medina. Standing at his door you felt stupid, You didn’t even know if he was there, and what were you going to say, “Why are you ignoring me after you said we needed to talk? It’s stupid. Please stop ignoring me so we can go back to hating each other like normal.”

You scoffed at yourself.

You started to walk away, but the door to this dorm swung open.

Jim gave you a confused look, and you stood still.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“What took you so long?”

“I- what do you mean? You wanted to talk to me. Why did I have to come to you first?”

“I had some things to deal with, I figured you’d show up here after you heard.”

“Heard what?”

“You don’t know?”

“I don't know! I don’t know what’s going on. I never know with you, Mason.” You were starting to get angry.

He crossed his arms as he sat down on the couch, you followed him in.

“Nevermind.” You huffed, and he stood up. ��Wait, don’t.”

“I don’t even know what I’m doing here, you’re right. I don’t know why I care so much about you… stupid ass…”

Jim walked up to you, grabbing your wrist to keep you from walking away.

“Do you really hate me?”

You swallowed.

You wanted to say yes, you really thought you did, but you couldn’t think straight.

“Medina said you thought I hated you. I know you think I do, but do you really hate me?”

The way he looked at you made your heart stop. No. I don’t hate you. You wanted to say it, but you were frozen.

Fuck it.

You turned and grabbed his face, pressing your lips hard to his.

Jim stood in shock as you kissed him, but quickly caught on and kissed you back. Wrapping his arms around you as he deepened it, walking you back until you were pressed against the door.

His lips were as soft as silk, and he tasted like mint. Your hands tangled in his brunette waves as you kissed him feverishly.

You broke the kiss first.

Breathing heavily as you stared at him, looking at you with a surprised expression.

“Should we do that again?” He asked you could feel your heartbeat pounding in your chest.

“Leah, what about Leah? You’re dating her… She’s my roommate-”

Jim’s lips cut you off.

“I broke up with her, After the beach.”

“What? Really?”

“I only dated her to get closer to you. The way she acted after what happened. I couldn’t stand it. That’s what I meant, I figured you had heard from her.”

“To get closer to me?...” You scrunch your brows together.

“You’re really that oblivious?” He had his arms wrapped around you, but you didn’t make any effort to push him away further.

“I like you. I have, for years. I never hated you… I just didn’t know how to tell you. I dated Leah cause I was hoping you’d be jealous. It was stupid.”

“It was stupid. I thought you hated me so much that I thought I hated you.”

“You don’t hate me, do you?” He asked again, but this time he knew the answer.

All the secret feelings you had bottled up the last two years came bubbling to the surface as he confessed to you. Every little stupid thing you had thought he had done to piss you off in the past, every sweet thing you pretended wasn’t sweet came to the forefront of your mind.

“I'm an idiot and I think I’m in love with you.” The words fell out of your mouth as you stared up at him, only a few inches from you. You could feel his heart beating in his chest under your hands.

He pressed his lips back to yours, this time the kiss was less rushed, you could feel the tenderness in how he kissed you. His hands wrapped around you like he never wanted to let you go.

“I’m sorry I’m such an idiot.” You breathed as you kissed him, his arms wrapped around you tighter.

“For the record, I love you too, and I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. Now kiss me.”

Jim didn’t need any more convincing after that. He pressed his lips yours again, this time with no intention of stopping.

“Is your,” you continued pressing your lips back to his as you spoke, “roommate coming back anytime soon?”

“Mm no, at his parents for the weekend.” Jim walked you over to his bed, his fingers finding the hem of your shirt and you gave him a nod, letting him know this was ok.

“Good god, you have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” Jim stared at your shirtless form, his hands making quick work of your bra and tossing it aside. His lips immediately found your chest. Gently lapping and biting, one hand caressing while he kissed and sucked lightly on your skin and nipples.

“I think I have an idea…” you sighed at his touch, running your fingers through his hair.

“We’re both idiots, right? We could’ve been doing this way sooner.” Jim laughed as he straightened himself up again, taking off his own shirt as he talked.

You admired the way his arms flexed and for once you could stare at him without feeling guilty.

“Like what you see?”

You shut him up with a kiss.

Your hands worked Jim’s belt as you kissed hungrily when you finally undid it you let him sit on the bed as you slid his pants off him.

His cock was strained against the fabric, pressing its full hard length for you to see how much he really wanted you. It practically made your mouth water.

Jim Mason was blessed in every department it seemed.

You dropped to your knees in front of him as he sat on the edge of his bed, running your hands up his thighs.

“You’re such a tease,” he adjusted his hips, his cock still straining for attention.

“I’m not in a rush…” you winked playfully up at him before finally taking his throbbing member in your hand and giving it a few light strokes.

Jim groaned through his teeth, bucking up into your hand.

“Are you going to cum if I put my mouth on you?”

“I- Maybe,” he wanted to say no, but with the way he was feeling Jim knew he wouldn’t last if you wrapped your pretty little lips around his cock.

Another time.

You kept your hand wrapped around him as you pushed him back on the bed so you could straddle him, stopping only for a few seconds to pull the rest of your pants and panties off.

“Do you have a condom?”

“Yes, in the side drawer.”

“I guess your whore tendencies do come in handy sometimes, Mason.” You reached over and found a little foil packet, resuming your straddle position as you sat on top of his thighs.

His cock was dripping precum now, and you couldn’t resist leaning down and cleaning the head of his cock with your tongue.

“Fuck, (Y/N).”

You tore open the condom carefully and rolled in on him, “do you want me to ride you?” You asked him, he stared up at you straddling him, completely naked and practically dripping with need all over him.

“Please.”

You adjusted your hips so you could grind the tip of his cock against your clit for a few seconds, moaning softly as you rocked against him. Jim’s hands found your hips as you directed his cock into you.

“Fuck, I love you.” You found yourself saying again as you felt his cock fully seated inside of you.

You leaned down and pressed another kiss to his lips, and started rocking against him. Agonizingly slow for Jim’s preferences.

He gripped your hips tighter, moving you the way he wanted you to move now. He lifted you up so he could fuck you properly, eventually sitting up and wrapping his arms around you while his cock was still buried inside you.

Your wrapped your arms around his neck in return, enjoying the sensations flowing through you as you simply stayed still, feeling your naked chests pressed against each other and your hearts beating in synch.

“I’m never going to get tired of hearing you say that to me…” Jim pressed his forehead against yours, stealing your lips in another kiss and another after that.

“I love you, Jim Mason.” You whispered against his lips. “I love you,” he smiled in return before deepening the kiss.

As he kissed you, he adjusted your position so he was on top. Driving into you with slow but firm thrusts, his tongue tracing the most sensitive part of your neck sending chills up you as he fucked you.

One of Jim’s hands eventually found your clit, running along it in slow circles as he continued to fuck you, Making you moan his name in his mouth.

You climbed the mountain together, feeling your orgasm build and you could tell by Jim’s sloppy thrusts that he wasn’t far behind,

You moaned loudly as you finally felt your release, so loud, in fact, you imagined everyone on this floor could hear you, not that you cared.

Jim followed suit, spilling into the condom while still inside you. You kept your legs wrapped around his hips as you both rode out the last of your orgasms together.

“How you do you think Medina is going to react?” You whispered as you laid against his chest, Jim laughed.

“I think she’ll be happy. She’s been waiting years for me to tell you how I feel.”

“YEARS?”

____________________

I’ve had this finished for a couple days, but I kinda hated it so I put it off, edited it a little. But I wanna post it before the new season or I never will. Hope you guys liked it anyways lol :)

Requests OPEN

Everything Taglist - @wroteclassicaly @manyimaginativemuses @unholyromanoff @thispandaisbored @queencocoakimmie @daadddysprincesss @ms-mead @mega-combusken @desidia-1

If you want to be added/removed send me an ask :) My everything taglist is for everything, including blurbs. I can also add you to separate tag lists for specific characters like just Michael/ just Duncan, etc.

(I edited this entire fic and tumblr wouldn’t post it. I thought I was gonna die)

#Cody Fern #Jim Mason #jim mason x reader #The Tribes of Palos Verdes #michael langdon x reader #tagging so cody whores can find it #:)

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