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the-hinky-panda · 2 years ago

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The Dog: Part IV

Author’s Note: So if you guys follow @bullet-prooflove, you know that The Dog and The North Star take place in the same fic universe. The vet in this story does have a name (Meredith) but I will continue to write her as a reader by using you/your and have Mike refer to her by using nicknames only. All this to say I’m not sure how to label this now since she has a name but it won’t be used in this fic.

Another note, I do use physical descriptions in this chapter (freckles and red hair) but I do it for a bigger purpose. Yes, no descriptions are more inclusive, however I wanted to make a point that she is self-conscious of her looks because don't we all have something that we don't like about ourselves? Don't we all have something that we want to change? And how wonderful is it when we surround ourselves with the right people that love us and all our imperfections? So please forgive the physical descriptions in this chapter as they were only done to deliver an important message: love your freckles!

You stand in front of the mirror and inspect your face. Your fingers trail over the splashes of freckles across your round cheeks, your face framed by your red hair. You’re not beautiful. At least, not by social media standards. No one is going to stop you on the street and want to take your picture, make a model out of you. You’re not destined for Instagram fame. It makes you wonder what Mike sees in you, what prompted him to ask you out to dinner at a local brewery. Mike, with his roguish good looks and witty sense of humor; warm brown eyes and easy smile. And dear lord, those adorable dimples.

You dig out a tube of concealer, specific for freckles and other skin blemishes. Your ex, Kevin, had found it for you. He hadn’t been a fan of your freckles and often urged you to cover them up as best you could. You always kept a tube of the makeup on hand in case he wanted you to join him at a pharmaceutical rep party or just go out for drinks with some of his friends. Holding that small tube in your hand, you wonder if you’re really ready to try out another relationship with someone new. All the masks that need to be worn and maintained, you just didn’t know if you had it in you.

So, why try?

If Mike is going to like you, it’s going to be for you. You drop the make up back into the drawer and continue with your normal, basic routine. Simple make-up, a loose twist to keep your hair back from your face, and small gold hoop earrings. Shasta watches you curiously, her head cocked to the side, not exactly sure what this new routine is. It’s pretty sad when the dog is wondering why you’re dressing up. You pat her head as you leave the bathroom.

“You’re coming with me, don’t worry.”

Shasta follows you into the bedroom where the second struggle of evening occurs: what to wear? Your wardrobe consists mostly of scrubs. It’s been about six years now since your divorce and you’ve never really gotten back onto the dating scene and your clothes show that. You’re able to find a green blouse to go with your jeans and flats. You grab a navy blue cardigan since you’ll be sitting outside at the brewhouse. You give yourself one last look in the mirror, releasing a long sigh to try to dispel some of the butterflies that have taken up residence in your stomach.

You had forgotten this part of life. This nervous thrill that makes you feel nauseous but you can’t wait to see what the evening is going to bring. It’s a knife’s edge balancing act of being yourself but just the likable pieces. Honest, authentic but keeping the odd and messy parts of yourself still hidden from view. You pick up Shasta’s harness, try to get the dog to stand still and it takes three attempts to wrestle the harness on her body. It doesn’t help that her short tail is wagging so excitedly, you struggle snapping the enclosures. You stand up, grab your keys, and look at the dancing dog in front of you.

“If Mike doesn’t like me, it’s your fault,” you joke. “Maybe Bono can teach you some manners, you wild red dog.”

You get Shasta secured in the backseat of the Subaru and make the ten minute drive over to Mike’s place. Any nervousness that you may have felt while getting ready completely dissipates when you see him, sitting on his front porch, Bono sitting next to him. He’s dressed up his regular henley with a plaid button shirt and has his suede jacket thrown over his arm. You’re struck once again with what a handsome man he is with his confident gait, wavy dark hair, and warm brown eyes. Maybe you should have worn the concealer this evening and you silently chide yourself as he gets Bono situated in the backseat next to Shasta before sliding into the passenger seat of your car.

“You look nice.”

You turn your head to hide the nervous, pleased smile that erupts on your face. “Thanks. You look nice too. Have you ever been to the Bronx Alehouse before?”

He shrugs halfheartedly. “Once or twice.” He glances behind him at Bono. “Guess I better get better acquainted with it.”

“You know that Bono can go into any restaurant you want. You don’t have to go to dog friendly ones only.”

“I certainly don’t want to leave Shasta out of the good times though.”

“That’s very kind of you. Shasta appreciates it.” You glance to the side and catch his smile that’s just large enough to cause that dimple to appear in his cheek. If it were even possible, you fall more in love with the man. You park a couple blocks away from the restaurant to give the dogs a chance to walk off some of their energy. Well, for Shasta to walk off her energy. Bono trots right at Mike’s side, the perfect gentleman.

They seat you outside on the sidewalk patio where they provide water bowls next to the table for the dogs and your waitress slips both dogs a small treat when she takes your drink orders. You chat about what has transpired in the last week of your lives, what has happened since that beautiful day spent at Orchard Beach. Your update is short and sweet: working overtime at the clinic. Although the finding of a litter of fox pups did make for an interesting day a couple days ago. His update is more interesting.

“My sister from Maryland came up for a few days.”

You know from the texts and calls that have been going back and forth between you two that he has three sisters along the East Coast. “She’s the teacher, right?”

“Right,” he picks up his beer and takes a sip. “So she cleaned the house, stocked my pantry, and fussed over me for three days before heading back to Baltimore. Then I paid a visit to the training center where Bono came from, learned a bit more about what goes into training a service dog and what they’re capable of doing. There were some dogs there that were being trained to sniff out cancer in people.”

“I’ve heard of that but haven’t seen any dogs in action yet. Dogs are incredible animals, extremely adaptable to a variety of situations and environments. They’re loyal, loving, dedicated. It makes me wonder what we humans did to deserve them.”

He laughs but there’s very little humor behind it. “Certainly nothing that we’re currently doing. The world’s a mess.”

You get it. You understand his bleak world view at the moment. Colin had it too after his accident. But Mike’s nihilistic vision comes from years of seeing the worst of humanity while on the police force. The last five years he’s spent chasing down Oscar Papa certainly hasn’t shown him the best of humanity either. “Maybe that’s why we have them. As reminders that we can be good enough people to deserve the love of our dogs.”

“How do you do that?” The bitter edge of his perception dissipates and there’s genuine curiosity behind his words. “How do you stay so positive after all the horrible shit you see too? The animal abuse? Abandonment?”

You shrug. “I guess I take peace in the thought that I’m not one of those people. I care for the animals, treat them, heal them, rehome them. I can’t stop people from being jerks and assholes, but I certainly can help fix what they’ve broken. You can’t make the world a better place without someone out there trashing it.”

The warmth comes back to his smile and his eyes. “That’s a commendable attitude then.”

“Thank you,” you raise your beer glass in his direction before taking a sip. He starts to say something else when your name is shouted across the patio and your blood runs cold. You can’t believe he would be here, in the Bronx, at this restaurant, at this exact time. But you hear your name again and when you turn, your eyes are immediately drawn to the extremely well-dressed blonde man who is waving at you.

“Who’s that?” Mike asks, a sense of wariness creeping into his tone.

“My ex-husband, Kevin.” You hope against all hope that he and his bubbly little girlfriend go back inside the restaurant but that is not your luck. The two of them, arms draped over each other in their high-end clubbing gear, make their unsteady way over to your table.

“Hey, babe.”

You twist the corner of the napkin in your lap. “Not your babe, Kevin.”

His blue eyes land on Mike. “Yeah, I can see that. Kevin Bradford.” , the ex. This is Wendy.”

“Mindi,” she corrects with a high-pitched giggle.

Mike reluctantly shakes his hand. “Captain Duarte.”

Mindi emits a small squeal of surprise. “You’re that police guy who got hacked up by-“

“Yes, I am,” Mike cuts her off.

Kevin grabs two chairs from another table and pulls them up to your table. “That’s fucking rad, man.”

“Kevin!” You feel the tips of your ears heat up with a flash of anger.

“What?” He shrugs. “How many dudes can say they went a few rounds with machetes and lived to tell about it? Like, that is fucking badass, legendary.” Kevin lightly smacks Mike’s arm. “Bet it gets you a lot of action from the ladies, am I right?”

Mike gives Kevin a sharp smile. “Not quite.”

“Oh,” Kevin shrugs. “Guess you haven’t gotten your strength back yet. In that case,” he points to you, “she’s a good one to break you back into the game. Doesn’t ask for much but puts out-“

Abject humiliation overtakes you to the point that you’re practically strangling the napkin that is still in your lap. Mike’s eyes flash and he starts to say something when Mindi interrupts him.

“Awww,” she coos and reaches towards Bono. “What a cute doggie!”

“Please don’t touch my dog.” Despite the directness of the command, Mike does soften his tone with the young woman and she immediately withdraws her hand.

“Sorry. Is he a service dog or something?”

“He is,” Mike answers. “I forgot his vest tonight. It’s okay.”

You’re once again impressed with how easily Mike can read a situation, measure people up, and respond to them. He’s like a social swiss army knife. You do take pity on the poor girl and scoot your chair out slightly. “You can pet my dog if you want. Her name is Shasta.”

The woman’s face lights up as she gives Shasta a vigorous rub on her back. “What a good girl, Shasty. I’m Mindi.”

“Hey, hey,” Kevin leans over and bumps her shoulder with his. “Save some of that hand energy for later, babe.”

You roll your eyes and look over apologetically at Mike. He responds with a “what the hell were you thinking” look but where there should have been judgment in his eyes, there was a soft mirth. Some of your humiliation fades. The sun has set enough that the lights on the patio turn on and brighten the outside area significantly. Kevin looks over at you and motions to your face.

“You run out that concealer? I can get you more if you want.” He motions towards Mike and lowers his voice. “You know, since you’re trying to impress someone new. Trust me babe, no one likes looking at…that.”

“Oh, is that the stuff you got me?” Mindi pipes up and turns back to you. “It’s fabulous and will totally cover all those freckles and spots. It’s a miracle in a bottle.”

Freckles and spots. You want to disappear again. You and your freckles and your red hair and your odd sense of humor and…

“She’s not trying to impress me,” Mike’s sharp tone draws all three sets of eyes to him. “I’m already impressed.” He picks up his beer. “Besides, I love her freckles.”

Kevin bursts out laughing. “What is this, your first date? Shit, man. You don’t have to try that hard with her. You already got a cool dog. If she hasn’t slept with you yet, trust me, she will soon.”

“Kev, be nice,” Mindi says but it’s quiet and half-hearted.

He drapes an arm around her shoulders. “Honey, you do realize this is my ex-wife. The one who dumped all my things in the front yard, in the rain, for no reason.”

“No reason?!” You’re halfway out of the chair when you realize your anger has moved you to your feet. People’s heads have turned in your direction and you slowly sit back down at the table. You remember that horrible night in vivid detail. You and Sam dragging Kevin’s Armani suits, fifty pairs of shoes, and exercise equipment out of the house. You still don’t know how the two of you managed to move a full size treadmill but rage at his behavior that night certainly was a solid motivator. “You showed up drunk to Colin’s funeral.”

“Who wants to go to funerals?” Kevin counters. “So I knocked a couple back at the bar down the street. Me and half the people there that night had been drinking before showing up.”

“Yeah but you were the only one that leaned his fucking elbow on my brother’s casket.” The disbelief and fury you had felt when you had seen that, his lean frame casually leaning on the highly polished wood of Colin’s casket roars to the surface again. You want to punch him in his smug face but instead you ball up the napkin that you’ve been twisting in your lap and throw it at his head.

Mike stands up from the table and tosses a twenty dollar bill on the table. “Okay, we’re done. Enjoy the table, Kevin. Mindi, my advice would be get the hell out now.”

“Dude,” Kevin throws his arms out. “What happened to bro code? Bros before hoes.”

Mike grimaces. “Exhibit A, Mindi.”

You’re humiliated and angry. You had been looking forward to this evening, excited for this new start with a charming, kind, and good man. And you’ve ruined it because Kevin decided to darken the door of this restaurant and bring out the worst of you. Mike has his phone in his hand, most likely getting ready to call an Uber and retreat from this clusterfuck. You don’t blame him at all. You’re so lost in your thoughts, berating yourself for your outburst, that it must take Mike a couple times of saying your name until you hear him.

“What?”

He smiles at you, warmly, and extends his hand that isn’t holding Bono’s leash. “Come on. I know a better place.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and take his hand before he changes his mind. His hand is warm, broad and it helps ground you in the storm of your fury. It takes a couple tugs for Shasta to follow you, as she doesn’t want to leave her new, loud and giggly, friend but eventually you, Mike, and dogs soon find yourselves back on the sidewalk.

“I’m so sorry, Mike. I had no idea-“

“Don’t worry about it. I have an ex-wife, I get it. They call it baggage for a reason.”

You sigh and drop your shoulders, the tension finally releasing as you start moving down that sidewalk back towards your car. “Thank you, for understanding.”

You walk a block and stop to wait for the light to change when he squeezes your hand. You realize you never let him go from the restaurant. You give him a small smile and he leans over and presses a quick kiss to your cheek. “I like your freckles. Don’t ever cover them.”

Oh yeah, you were completely and utterly head over heels for this man.

#mike duarte x you #mike duarte x reader #mike durate #captain mike durate #law and order svu #mike duarte x ofc #maurice compte

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bullet-prooflove · 6 months ago

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Bingo: Mike Duarte x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @ResonMalvo @littleone65 @mydarkestsecretlol @evee87

Everyone knows that Mike Durate doesn’t work a Thursday evening but no one seems to know why. There’s rumours of course, a secret taskforce, a scheduled meeting with a C.I, a woman but you’ve seen no evidence to confirm any one of them. Still it niggles at you, when you watch your Captain pull on his jacket and stride out the door at exactly 6pm.

You’re still thinking about it when there’s a knock at your door at 7pm. It’s Mrs Jacobson from the house across the street. Her bingo partner has begged off sick and she needs a ride because she doesn’t drive so well at night anymore. It’s the only social event she attends during the week and the thought of her sitting home alone missing it kills you, so you grab your keys and drive to the senior centre a couple of miles away.

“You should come in with me, play a game or two.” She tells you as she reapplies her lipstick in your rearview mirror. “Our bingo caller is very handsome.”

You laugh politely because the image it conjures is of a silver haired, eighty year old man who calls the numbers with the gusto of a cruise ship director. When you escort her into the senior centre you can see your assumption is correct, Derek is geriatric and very interested in the fresh face whose shown up in their midst.

You manage to escape because the lights above you flash on and off indicating that the game is about to start. When you take your seat next to Mrs Jacobson, your don’t expect a dark haired man to sit down alongside of you, one you happen to know very well.

“What are you doing here?” Mike Duarte practically hisses at you.

You can’t speak because you’re too shocked to open your mouth. You can’t believe that your Captain is sitting right here with bingo marker in his hand, ready to throw down.

“I said…”

“I heard what you said.” You respond, finally finding your voice. “My neighbour invited me, the question is what are you doing here?”

He’s silent for a second, his dark eyes boring into yours before he clicks his tongue and tilts his head towards an older woman approaching the table.

“I’m here with Maria. Her husband died last year and she doesn’t like to come alone.” He tells you as he toys with the lid of his bingo marker. “She helped me raise my brother and sister after my mother died, my father…”

He trails off then because he realises he’s betrayed himself. He doesn’t talk about his history, it’s a part of himself he keeps locked deep inside. The problem is you have a soothing presence and he constantly finds himself falling into that trap. It’s why he tries to keep a little distance between the two of you, he’s too terrified of revealing himself as something other than the fierce Captain you’ve become accustomed to.

“Mrs Jacobson kinda adopted me when I moved to the neighbourhood.” You find yourself telling him. “My house was part of one of those police buyback programmes, it’s meant to make the block a little safer. She doesn’t like the idea that I was a single woman living on my own so she checks in on me every so often, brings by dinner.”

It takes Mike a minute to process that information. He opens his mouth to say something but the lights flash once more and the game begins. You can’t help but sneak glances at him throughout the session. His dark eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, he bites his lower lips as he studies the numbers, scowls when someone on another table calls ‘House’. Yet there’s a tenderness that you’ve never seen him exhibit inside of work. He’s kind as he helps Maria with her bingo card, checking her numbers, smiling when she get a line.

“Better luck next time.” He tells you as the lights go up, signalling the end of the game. Maria and Mrs Jacobson hurry off towards the bathroom as he raises to his feet, pulling on his jacket. “Will I see you here next week?”

“I’m not sure bingo is really my game.” You tell him as you begin to gather up the used bingo squares into a neat pile.

“It wasn’t mine either.” He admits as he helps you organise them. “But it does me good, having some sort of a social life outside of work, even if it is with people thirty years older than me.”

The edges of his mouth tip up into smile and something blossoms in your chest, because Mike, he’s quite handsome when he doesn’t have a perpetual grimace on his features.

“Maybe you will see me next week.” You say, your shoulder accidently nudging against his as you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. The way he looks at you in that moment, it’s the start of something, you can feel it. You can tell he feels it too because his cheeks colour just a little before he tears himself away.

“Good.” He says gruffly, tucking his hands into the pockets of his coat. “And if you could keep this just between the two of us…”

“Don’t worry Captain.” You says as you pick up your purse, setting it upon your shoulder. “You’re secret’s safe with me.”

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the-hinky-panda · 2 years ago

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The Tremont Tempest: Chapter 5

Warnings: Descriptions of a sexual assault.

Jonas Bronck Park

17 months ago

Mike has no idea what he’s looking for but what else is new? He’s been chasing leads, losing witnesses left and right to either pay offs or hits, and still healing from the wounds of his undercover failure. The blood loss had been significant but fixed relatively easily with a transfusion. The stab wounds missed major arteries and organs, leaving only muscle damage, which he’s still doing to physical therapy to regain his fitness. Speaking of fitness, his legs are burning at the moment as he treks off trail in one of the many wooded parks in the Bronx. One of his contacts told him he should head out here, have a look around…

He looks at the compass on his phone, the longitude latitude numbers as he wanders through the woods. He comes to a stop on a ridge in the middle of the woods, standing at the exact coordinates. It’s the early morning, three thirty to be exact. He checks his notes from the informant.

“Look for the broken tree.”

He turns the flashlight on on his phone and shines it around the area. About five feet in front of him, it lands on a tree that had been blown over, the trunk snapped and jagged. He goes over to it and continues to shine his flashlight around the area. Down from the tree in a small flat area, he sees something hanging on a tree branch. He climbs down the embankment and as he gets closer, he sees multiple things. Scraps of clothing, probably sixty or seventy pieces of cloth. No. Not just cloth.

Underwear.

He crosses himself. “Dios mio.”

He takes pictures of the tree, tries to get as many up close pictures of the underwear that he can. A fucking rape tree. As if he needed another reason for wanting BX9 out of the Bronx for good. Anger carries him out of the park and back to his apartment. He’s trying to figure out who he can report the tree to that won’t bury this evidence. Who hasn’t Oscar Papa paid off in the NYPD? There was a detective over the Bronx SVU, what was his name? Pluto? Fido? It was a dog’s name, Mike remembers that. He was one that was making noise over there, pointing fingers at inept and crooked cops. He might be a good one.

He gets back to his apartment, unlocks the four out of the five deadbolts on his door, picks up the paper, and then clears his home. He needs to look up the name of that detective, see if he can meet with him, talk to him, feel him out to see if there is a bite to his bark. He googles Bronx detective whistleblower and immediately the name Terry Bruno pops up. Bruno, that’s it. Next, he goes through his contacts until he finds the number for Bronx SVU and calls. Two rings and an automated message comes on: Thank you for calling the Bronx SVU. At this time, we are experiencing an influx of phone calls and wait times may vary from sixty to ninety minutes. If this is an emergency, please hang up and dial 911. If this is not an emergency, please remain on the line until an available officer can speak with you.

Sixty to ninety minutes? What the hell is happening down there? As soon as the thought crosses his mind, the answer is immediately provided by the newspaper headline: Detective Terry Bruno files lawsuit against Bronx SVU for wrongful termination. Mike’s eyes zero in on the ax that slices through his only lifeline, termination. Bruno isn’t even a detective there anymore. The SVU is going to be scrambling trying to cover their tracks right now. Piles of evidence is most likely being dumped into the incinerator which is why no one is answering the phone.

“Fuck.”

He ends the call and fights the urge to throw it against the wall. He rubs his hands over his face, his fingers slipping down to the new tattoo on the side of his neck. He had just gotten it last week. It had been Gabby’s birthday and he wanted to do something to memorialize her because no one else in the neighborhood was going to do anything for some stripper in a sticky floored bar. He had the tattoo placed there, the point on his neck where her head always inevitably fell, even after death when he held her on the blood-slicked kitchen floor. Now, he presses the pads of his fingers into the still sore skin.

What is he doing wrong? What does he need to do differently? Or is he just destined to fail no matter what?

***

Bronx River High School

Later that day

You had just finished a tenth grade class where students were doing peer edits of their final essays on symbolism found in “The Tempest.” You had helped guide discussions, modeled how to properly and kindly critique others' work. The students had been responsive, some even grateful, for the chance to fine tune their writing before submitting a final version at the end of the week. You were saying your goodbyes to the students when Dr. Caban stepped into your room. One of your new students, a young man named Albert, stops by Dr. Caban and gives him a wary look.

“Albert, have you met our principal, Dr. Caban yet?”

He shakes his head. “No, teach.”

Dr. Caban extends his hand. “Albert, very nice to meet you. Welcome to Bronx River High.”

Albert cautiously takes the offered hand. “Thanks.”

“Albert’s writing about the symbolism of Prospero’s books in Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest,’” you add. “He makes some very solid points and explains them well. He’s quite a strong writer.”

Caban smiles kindly. “You’ll have to share your final revision with me, Albert. She doesn’t praise student’s writing very often. In fact,” he winks, “ you should hear what she says about the writing in my emails.”

Albert nods. “Alright, okay. I’ll, uh, I’ll send you my final essay.”

Albert leaves and Caban motions to him. “Bright boy.”

“He is, very much so. He just came to New York from El Salvador. His attendance is still shaky but he could just be becoming used to the routine here. I’m keeping an eye on him. He has a lot of potential.”

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about, if you have a minute.”

If it were anyone else, that phrase would make you nervous. But you’ve known and worked with Dr. Caban since the start of your teaching career. He’s seen you from the first day in the classroom, through your cancer treatments, your divorce, and your rise to the English department head. “Of course. What do you need?”

“More teachers like you,” he responds kindly. “Actually, more administrators like you. Our Dean of Students is taking an admin position over in Brooklyn Heights next year. I would like to see you fill the role.”

You’re stunned. You had gotten your administrative certificate just as a fallback, a just in case kind of career plan. You never intended to leave the classroom. But you know Dr. Caban wouldn’t ask you to make this move if he didn’t think you would do well in it. “I, uh, I don’t know what to say.”

“The pay would be more, the benefits would be better. But I want you there because the students love you. They’ll listen to a dean that they feel will hear them.”

“But I love to teach.”

“I know, and you’re excellent at it. But when opportunities to move forward, to move up, are presented to you, you should take them.” He gives you a wide smile. “Besides, when have I ever steered you wrong?”

He had a point. “Alright, I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Something feels off about the exchange. Dr. Caban had always encouraged you to follow your gut whenever it came to teaching a concept or interacting with a student. His response now seems pushy, maybe even…no, you’re just not comfortable with the idea of being in a more administrative position. You remind yourself of the idea that you teach to your students: growth only occurs when you’re uncomfortable.

***

You feel like a teenager again as you get up the next morning and get ready for work. For once, the clearing of your apartment last night resulted in no findings. No notes, no bottles of wine. All that Mike found was a blanket on the couch that you forgot to fold and a couple dirty dishes in the sink that you were too tired to clean. You and Mike had enjoyed the food from the Havana Cafe and the bottle of wine while sitting on your couch.

You fix your hair, twisting the riotous curls into a dignified style to keep your hair from getting in your face while remembering how Mike’s hands felt sliding through the curls last night. The broad span of his palms as they held your cheeks, the pads of his fingers pressing into your scalp. It seems like a shame to slide lipstick on, wanting to preserve the feel of Mike’s lips on yours. You’d never been kissed like you had been last night.

Mike kissed like he did everything else, with complete focus, conviction, and passion. It had been so long since someone had not only kissed you, but kissed you like they wanted you. All of you. It had been overwhelming and heady. There was an undercurrent of excitement that ran through your body, the kind that you hadn’t felt for such a long time. You wanted to feel it again. But before things progressed past the kissing, his phone had rung and he had been called back to the precinct. He had said he was going to try to make it into the school this afternoon but you don’t know how far into the night he had to work. So you ready yourself for your day with slightly trembling hands and a silly grin on your face.

You make your way into the office, opening your door and are immediately greeted by half the Manhattan squad of SVU. Captain Benson is back and introduces a new face, Sargent Tutuola. Your cousin Terry saunters in, takes one look at you, and grins. Doctor Caban is the last person to join you all in your office and he shuts the door for privacy. Of course it’s your cousin who outs you in front of everyone that’s gathered for the debriefing.

“Well, who is he?” Terry asks.

You shuffle papers on your desk. “Mind your own damn business, Ter.”

“He, who?” Dr. Caban asks.

You shake your head. “Nothing. Detective Bruno is my cousin and likes to instigate things.”

“I mean if you’re seeing someone,” Terry continues, “we should probably know who it is. For the investigation’s sake.” He ends the sentence with a shit-eating grin.

“I plead the fifth, thank you.”

Benson speaks up. “I do think we should know if you’re dating someone. It’ll give us someone else to talk to, maybe they’ve noticed something you haven’t.”

You sit down behind your desk and hold Benson’s eye for a beat longer than necessary. “We’ve already discussed this.”

She nods once in understanding but the downturn of her mouth tells you what she thinks of the situation. Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything else about it. “Alright, this is what we have so far. All the notes and the wine bottle didn’t have fingerprints on them. The paper is cardstock that is found throughout this school and many others in the state. We do have the video of the woman from the convenience store.”

Caban pushes his glasses up his nose. “There was a woman at a convenience store?”

Benson nods. “ Yes, the bodega owner has the person who bought the wine on video but he didn’t recognize her from the neighborhood. Velasco and Muncy are trying to identify her as we speak. Fin, you and Bruno went out to Long Island to talk to Charles Murrary yesterday afternoon. Anything come from that?”

“I could have saved you a trip out to Long Island,” you say. “Charlie and I still talk from time to time. He’s a little too busy and quite happy with his wife and four kids to care about me.”

Terry shoots you a pointed look and grimace but neither one of you says anything. You know his feelings about Charlie and how things shook out after your cancer diagnosis. You can only imagine how that interview went yesterday. Maybe you should shoot Charlie a text to see how badly Terry questioned him and see if you need to smooth any ruffled feathers.

“So here’s what I’d like to do next,” Benson adds. “Dr. Caban and I will go over a list of teachers and staff to see if any of them stand out as possible suspects. Bruno and Fin can brainstorm with you to come up with any other people that you may have noticed hanging around you lately. Someone from the neighborhood, parents, store clerks.”

You nod. “Okay, sounds good.”

Caban gives you a light touch on your shoulder and a smile before following Benson out of your office. He closes the door behind them and Terry immediately leans forward in his chair.

“Who’s the new guy?”

Before you can shoot off a retort, Fin interjects. “I don’t want to get in the middle of family issues here, but I’m with Bruno. It might be helpful to know who the new boyfriend is.”

You drop the pen that you had been fidgeting with onto the desk. “Fine but I don’t even know how serious this thing is yet.”

“Fine,” Terry agrees, “I’ll hold off on the background and credit check. Who is he?”

“It’s Mike.”

“Duarte?” Terry prompts.

“Yeah,” you confirm.

“Well shit,” Fin sits back in his chair. “Liv isn’t going to like that.”

“Liv and I have already had a conversation about how Mike isn’t the stalker. He’s had multiple opportunities to take advantage of me and hasn’t done one thing that raises a concern.”

Terry sighs. “To be fair, you did marry Charlie.”

Fin shrugs. “What happened with you and Charlie? Cuz over here got real quiet when I asked him why the two of you divorced.”

You’re surprised that Terry didn’t blast Charlie when Fin asked about him. Terry’s opinion of your first husband always had been less than stellar. “Charlie and I just…wanted different things.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” Terry mutters.

“Look,” Fin starts, “I know this is tough. Having all of us here, digging into your life, your past, it’s invasive. But having someone stalk you is dangerously invasive. The more information, even the embarrassing things, can help us.”

“On a professional level,” Terry says, “anything you say in here stays between us. We might see something in the information that you don’t. And trust me, we’ve heard worse than what happened with you and Charlie.”

You pick up the pen again and click it a few times. “Alright, fine. Charlie and I met in college. We were both education majors. We got married two days after graduation, he went to work at an elementary school, and I came here to teach. Two years later, I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. Between the hysterectomy and chemo treatment, I obviously couldn’t have any children of my own. Charlie always wanted children but I couldn’t give them to him. So we divorced.”

Fin motions for you to continue. “That’s it?”

“That’s it. He met his current wife at the elementary school. She’s a kindergarten teacher and was able to give him his…legacy.”

“Duarte’s looking pretty good now, isn’t he?” Terry quips.

“No shit,” Fin agrees.

“So that’s why I don’t think it’s Charlie,” you state. “Charlie has exactly what he’s always wanted. There’s no reason whatsoever for him to stalk me.”

Terry stands. “Well, maybe Benson and Caban can come up with some names for us to track down. But until then-”

“I’ll keep in touch,” you promise.

***

Mike looks down at his phone and smiles as he takes another sip of bourbon.

Teenagers and Shakespeare do not mix well. God love them for doing their best though.

He had been tied up with leads, strategizing, and paperwork all afternoon that he never made into the school today. He had been afraid after last night you would take his disappearance personally. God, he didn’t want to leave last night. Everything had been perfect for once. Nothing had been found in the apartment, the food was excellent, it was the first time he had felt like he could breath. And then you stole it away from him when you kissed him.

He had texted you about the day getting away from him and you had messaged back that you were facing similar circumstances. The principal that was supposed to show up for the Shakespeare play this evening had to cancel due to a sick baby at home so the duty of attending fell to you. So he opted to have a drink at the Bronx Beer Hall while exchanging text messages with you.

What play is it?

Taming of the Shrew. There’s a pause. At least I think that’s what this is.

Any plays you’ll need to attend on Saturday night?

Nope, no theater productions are being held on Saturday. What do you have in mind?

I was just thinking I could go for some Italian.

Oh really? I was thinking of trying some more Cuban.

He smiles. I guess the kids aren’t the only lousy acts this evening.

I suppose not. I don’t know if you’re ready for Bella Luna yet.

Why not?

My Aunt runs it. Terry’s mom, Carla. She’ll throw you in the meat locker in the back and interrogate you.

Wouldn’t be the first time someone’s done that.

What?!

Long story. Sounds better with a good bottle of wine. I’ll be back in school tomorrow and we can settle on where to go on Saturday.

Ok. The lights just came up. Oh dear God, it’s only intermission. I may pull the fire alarm.

That’s premeditation now. Better find another way.

“Well, you look happy.”

Mike looks up from his phone and sees Benson standing next to his chair. “Captain. To what do I owe this visit?”

She orders a glass of wine as she takes the barstool next to him. “A friendly warning.”

All good naturedness bleeds out of him. “Alright then.”

“Dr. Caban is convinced that you are the stalker.”

That doesn’t surprise him. “Dr. Caban was against me coming into the school in the first place. He’s been looking for a reason to get me kicked out. Let me guess,” he drains his glasses and motions for a second one, “you agree with him.”

“Actually, I don’t.” She laughs humorlessly. “I talked to a lot of teachers and students today and they all spoke very highly of you. Those kids in that school love Mr. Mike.”

He smiles at the nickname the students have come to refer to him. “Alright, so the staff and kids vouched for me. I already know that Caban is gunning for me. What’s the warning?”

She fiddles with the stem of the wineglass. “The way that Caban was gunning for you, wanting me to focus on you and only you, it was odd.”

Mike leans back on the barstool. “You think he’s the stalker?”

“Him or maybe his son. I have Velasco looking at Caban’s family, see if he has a sister. Muncy is reaching out to some gang contacts to see if the son has been approached by BX9 or if he’s involved, it’s just a solitary fixation.”

Mike stares down in the amber liquid and sighs. “If the Cabans are involved in this, it’s going to break her heart. Caban was her mentor when she was student teaching. She equates everything she learned about teaching to him.”

“Betrayal never comes from enemies.”

That is certainly true. “Amen.”

“Where is she tonight?”

He picks up his phone and turns it over. There are no new texts from you but it could be that the second act has started. “She’s at the Shakespeare play at the school. It should end in another hour.”

Benson pulls out her phone. “I can have Fin or Bruno make sure she gets home safely.”

“I can finish this off and go see her home, that’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” It’s an excellent excuse to surprise you at the school, to see you again.

She finishes her glass of wine and reaches for her purse. “Are you sure I can’t drop you at the school?”

“Nah,” he waves her off and finishes his drink. “I’ll walk. It’s not that far. And the play should be letting out by the time I make it there.”

“Okay, well, let me know if you change your mind.”

He throws some money down the bar to pay for both of their drinks. “Is this your way of apologizing to me?”

Benson opens her mouth but closes it as she rethinks her answer. “It’s not so much an apology as it is…an understanding. You’re right. The Bronx is a completely different animal compared to Manhattan. But talking to those students today, you guys are making a difference in those kids' lives. It may not be the way I would deal with the problem, but at least the problem is being dealt with.”

“Well, if that’s the closest I get to an apology tonight,” he grabs his phone and stands up from the barstool, “then I will sleep soundly.”

Benson laughs and shakes her head. “Just know that I wish Terry’s cousin the best of luck with you.”

He laughs as well. “Well, thank goodness she’s used to dealing with people with behavioral issues.”

He sees Benson to the towncar and waves her off for the night before heading down to the school. It’s early spring, the night is unusually warm, a positive reminder that warmer days are on the horizon. But he’s worried about what Benson told him about Caban. If Caban really were the stalker, it truly would devastate you. He had also looked into Caban’s son’s record and the boy was an upstanding citizen and student. He really hoped that Benson was wrong on this one. He passes by the bodega where the wine had been bought and catches sight of Roberto behind the counter. Checking his watch, he sees he still has some time to kill so he goes inside.

“Hey, Cap!”

“Hey, Roberto.” He doesn’t really need anything but knowing the news that he may need to break to you prompts him to do something he hasn’t done for six months. “Can I get a pack of reds?”

“Sure,” Roberto reaches around and grabs the pack of cigarettes. “I thought you gave these things up a while ago.”

Mike shrugs. “Old habits, I suppose.”

Roberto shrugs and starts to ring him up when the door opens and two teens in hoodies walk in. They both look at Mike and Roberto before moving towards the back of the store. Mike turns to Roberto who just nods and Mike sees one hand press the emergency call button under the counter and the other hand wraps around the handle of a baseball bat. Mike draws his weapon but keeps it at his side as Roberto comes from behind the counter.

“They might be letting their friends in from the back,” Mike says.

Roberto motions to the sidewalk in front of the store. “Let’s get out there at least.”

As soon as Mike reaches for the handle of the front door, it swings open as three more teens rush them. He manages to get off one shot but the flash of a machete comes down on his right hand and forces him to drop his gun. Roberto is swinging the bat as best he can in the confined space but Mike feels a blade cut into his arm, his shoulder, his back. He hits the ground as Roberto keeps swinging, trying to hold the teens at bay but Mike can see the blood dripping off Roberto as well.

He can hear the sirens in the distance and prays they reach them in time.

***

You were so happy to hear the last line of the play and see the lights come up in the auditorium. The kids made a very valiant attempt at tackling Shakespeare and you gave them props for that. But you were tired and ready to crawl into bed and sleep for at least a few hours before getting up and coming back tomorrow. You go back to your office to pick up your coat and purse when someone knocks on your door, causing you to jump.

“Oh,” you laugh, “Dr. Caban, you startled me.”

“Sorry about that,” he smiles easily at you. “I was hoping I could talk to you for a moment.”

“I’m very tired-”

“I understand. This won’t take long.”

“Okay,” you sigh and set your purse down on your desk. “What’s up?”

He closes the door behind him. “I really enjoyed the play tonight. Taming of the Shrew. It was always one of my favorites of Shakespeare.”

Your skin starts to prickle, your palms sweaty. “Really? I was always a fan of Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

“You always do enjoy the more fantastical stories of literature, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”

Caban stops just a couple feet away from you. “What do you see in him? That Duarte guy?”

Something is terribly, terribly off at the moment, and you swallow down the bile that has risen to your throat. “I don’t understand-”

“Yes, you do.” He lays his hand over yours. “I can, I have offered you so much more than he ever could. I gave you your career, your skills, your positions. I put you in this office, next to me. You deserve everything that I’ve given you and more. And I can give it to you. If you let me.”

“Dr. Caban-” You try to slip your hand from his but his grip tightens to the point of pain.

“Just stop!” He closes his eyes and releases a breath through his nose. “Stop.”

“Please,” your eyes dart to the closed door. “Please, just let me go.”

He shakes his head. “I’ve watched you go every night for the last twelve years. I can’t do it anymore. Not after those clandestine lines from the Bard himself.”

“Please, just let me go.” You feel tears starting to form in your eyes, the buzz of adrenaline bursting through your veins. But Caban had an iron grip on both your arms now. You were wedged against the curve of the desk, your back against the hardwood with Caban pressing closer against the front of your body. He lays his cheek against yours, his lips against your ear as a tear slips from your eye.

“‘Tis a wonder,’” he whispers the last line of the play, “‘by your leave, she will be tamed so.’”

“I don’t…please, I don’t want this.”

“Oh, my fiery Kate, you don’t mean that.”

You’re shaking with fear, looking for any escape route when you hear voices in the outer office. Caban stiffens with surprise and you take the only chance at escaping this situation and yell for help. Caban’s hand cracks across your cheek with enough force you see stars momentarily and leaves you dazed. You manage to scream again which earns a second strike across your face but you’re able to hear the splintering of the door to your office as someone kicks it in.

“Hands where we can see them!”

There’s a scuffle around you before Caban is pulled away and you fall back against the desk. Before you can regain your balance, someone has your arms and is pushing you towards your office chair. You hear your name being repeated and recognize the voice speaking it.

“Terry…”

“Yeah, it’s me,” he says, his fingers skating over your face where Caban’s hand had struck you. “Are you okay?”

You nod numbly. “Yeah, I think so.”

“Did he-”

“No,” tears start to fall in earnest. “No, he didn’t.”

“Okay. Okay,” he looks behind him before refocusing on you. “We’re going to have to head over to the hospital.”

You take in a couple deep breaths. “I’m okay, I promise.”

Fin is standing at the door of your office. “Caban’s in handcuffs. I’ll wait for Velasco. Get her over to the hospital.”

You start to assure them both that you’re okay, just dazed and out of sorts when you catch the look in Terry’s eyes. “What else has happened?”

Terry sighs. “Mike was jumped along with a bodega owner tonight by BX9.”

#mike duarte x you #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte #captain mike durate #mike duarte fic #law and order: SVU fic #SVU fic

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hotgirlmav · 3 years ago

Text

Fatal Attraction — Tom 'Iceman' Kazansky x Reader

Pairing: Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky x Female!Reader (18+)

Description: Much like every other person that came across Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, you had developed quite the crush on him. What made you different, though, was that you were the niece of his direct superior. He knew it was wrong, and he knew he shouldn’t entertain the idea in the slightest, but a little teasing never killed anyone, right?

Warnings: Explicit language, insane dirty talk, semi-possessive Iceman, sexual thoughts and tension, allusions to smut, so much pining, degradation kink, Iceman not wanting to pull a Maverick, Iceman doing just that. You know the drill.

Word Count: 4,279.

A/N: Not only was this much longer than I expected, but it ended up being much dirtier. I’M SORRY, Iceman just does something to me. He does something to all of us. Val Kilmer, you will PAY FOR THIS.

Requests are still open!

Another Friday morning. How lovely.

You were currently making your way to Commander Mike Metcalf’s office, commonly known around those grounds as Viper. The skylight beaming throughout the windows of the naval building illuminated the hallway before you, further reminding you of just how tired you were.

Every single day for the entire month that you were in San Diego, your uncle would forget his lunch. In several ways, his unintentional forgetfulness reminded you very deeply of your father, further proving just why those two were best friends. Had it not been for you, the containers so articulately and thoughtfully prepared by your aunt would have remained right where she left them on the granite countertop.

The first time it happened, you figured that you would just take it to the base on your way out, seeing as you had a few light errands to run. That was all it took for that very action to become a key part of your daily routine for the entire duration of your visit. You would never complain, though. Not when you were happily occupying the guest bedroom in his very, very beautiful house.

To be quite fair, not all of it was so bad. It thrilled you to see the stunning aircrafts taking off on the runways as you stole glances out of the windows, and it was always fun to hang out in your uncle’s office. The best parts, however, were the pilots.

God, the pilots.

The naval aviators studying at Top Gun were nothing short of cocky, but it wasn’t as if they had no reason to be. They were young, they were the best at what they did, they were hot shit— they were the future of the Navy. The very world was at their fingertips, and they were well aware of that fact.

Your uncle had warned you about these men. Some of them got a bit too cocky, resulting in them crashing and burning. Sometimes metaphorically, sometimes literally, as brutal as that was. For the most part, you heeded his warnings with ease, taking the warmest comfort in knowing that his expertise on the subject had been perfected over the course of your entire lifetime. You had been flirted with by quite a few of the men, but it never seemed to have any impact on you. None of them really captured your interest, nor did they properly catch your eye.

Well— none of them except Tom ‘Iceman’ Kazansky, of course.

From the moment you laid your eyes on him, you were completely hooked. You had no idea whether it was because of his undeniably indescribable beauty, his electrifyingly powerful aura, his domineering and enigmatic attitude, his precision when flying, his irresistibly alluring charm, or his very evident intellect. All you knew was that whatever it was, it completely consumed you. It devoured you.

Never in your life had you hungered for another human being so deeply. The very sight of him set your heart ablaze, despite him acting as a walking example of everything your uncle warned you against.

In your most humble defense, you thought your uncle should consider himself lucky that you weren't madly in love with Maverick, but that was another story.

The very thought of Iceman put quite the smile on your face as you entered the vacant office, any remainder of sleep in your eyes disappearing into thin air. You inhaled sharply as a means to take a deep breath and sauntered over to his desk, absentmindedly leaving the door open behind you.

Your mind began to wander in just the few seconds it took for you to walk. What was Iceman doing? Would he be happy to see you, if he even did? How did flying go today? Did Maverick piss him off again? You didn’t even have to ask that one, you already knew what the answer was.

What went through that pretty head of his? After asking yourself the question, you realized just how much you truly wanted to know the answer to it. Even though you had only been in his presence for just a month and you had only slightly conversed with one another, you wanted to know everything there was to know about the enigmatic man. You wanted to know why he was the way he was, why he did the things that he did. Everything. You wanted to go back to where it all began, you wanted to know every minute detail that he probably hadn’t even noticed himself. You wanted to know if the cheeky little glances and the few devious smirks he’d flash you whenever you briefly spoke meant anything, or if that was just something he did to everyone.

After just a moment, a very particular voice rang through your ears like no other, your heart falling to your feet once you heard it. You hadn’t even reached the desk once it pierced your ears; the containers were still in your hand.

“There she is.”

You turned your head and there he was.

A subtly grinning Tom Kazansky, fully adorned in his flight suit. Because of how engulfed you were in your own thoughts, you didn’t even realize that training must have been over. Men had been roaming the halls outside the office for a few minutes now, much to your chagrin. That man in particular, however, noticed you the second he entered the building.

Immediately, your lips were curling into a wide grin, not even being able to fight your excitement as you giggled at just the sight of him. Trying to hold your composure as calmly as possible, you turned and set the containers on Viper’s desk, your back now facing him. “Good morning, Ice.”

Had you not missed making an appearance yesterday, you felt as though you would have been much more collected. It was the only day in the past month that you didn’t show up to drop off lunch, and the Iceman withdrawal was hitting you with the intensity of ten hammers. The thing that bothered you the most about it was the fact that he couldn’t have been thinking about you. No, of course not. While you were lying awake at the thought of not seeing Tom Kazansky for the first time in a month, you were sure that he was chatting up some blonde, sipping his ice water with his aviators on his stupidly beautiful face.

That asshole.

“I missed you yesterday.” He told you so casually, treating the words as if they were as simple as him asking you what the weather was. To him, the words were nothing more than a simple little fact, but to you, they were the warmest sentiment you had ever received. Your heart both stopped and sped up as your eyes widened, your back still turned to him.

You stopped dead in your tracks as you heard his words, something that did not go unnoticed by him. Your eyebrows were furrowed as your widened eyes stayed firmly on the surface of the desk. Your fingers were still lightly planted on the containers while you stood, not even looking over your shoulder as you spoke before you could think. “You noticed I was gone?”

Iceman was aware of your reaction the second you froze. He didn’t fight the smirk that was forming on his face, seeing as your back was still turned to him. Had you been looking at him, he wouldn’t have embarrassed you with the way his gaze was glued to your figure. Had you been looking at him, you would have seen the way his eyes were heavily clouded with lust as they were planted on you. Had you been looking at him, you would have seen the way his cheek was hollowed from the way he was biting the inside of it. Had you been looking at him, you would have seen the way he was eye-fucking you the same way you did to him whenever he had his back to you.

Within the next few seconds, though, the words that fell from his lips seemed to be what sent you over the edge. You could practically hear your heart pounding out of your chest as you felt your entire body heat up. Weirdly enough, even as hot as your skin felt, you felt goosebumps rising along your spine.

“I notice a lot of things about you.”

That was enough for you to finally let go of the container, making an attempt to face him very casually. Your body turned and you immediately cleared your throat at the sight of him, trying your hardest to disguise it as something very normal. Even under all of his aviation gear, you could see that his toned body was a bit tense. His sunglasses must have been in one of his pockets, seeing as you had a full view of his face.

“Like?” You further egged him on, mentally patting yourself on the back for it.

“Yeah, that’s right. Fall into the trap. Take the bait. Come on.” You thought to yourself as you gazed over at him, silently hoping he wouldn’t examine your face the way you were trying to examine his.

You silently hoped that he would be oblivious to your feelings about him, but even the furthest person in the building could identify the lust in your eyes. You were blinking almost every second as a means to suppress your excitement, but there was no use. His eyes were firmly fixated on yours, and you could feel your heart continue to race as a result. You wondered if he saw the look in your eyes for what it was; a mixture of lust, desire, and admiration.

For someone as cold as Iceman was, he was not an asshole. He could see the look in your eyes as clear as day, of course he could. He recognized that very look in nearly every woman that looked at him. The most notable difference, though, was that he wanted you to look at him.

To say that Tom Kazansky had quite an effect on people, typically women, was an extreme understatement. From his enchantingly full lips, to his quite muscularly toned frame, to his domineering aura, even to his precision, it was safe to say that he knew all eyes were on him when he entered a room. For the love of all that is holy, he’s Iceman.

He’d be a fool to think that he wasn’t the subject of most people’s desires, and a fool was the last thing he was.

Regardless of how he knew people gawked at him, dreamt of him, and even craved him, none of it seemed to truly capture his interest. For all that it was worth, the man was practically next to unattainable. He liked to have fun, yes, but all of his focus went to flying. It was very safe to say that people were able to catch his eye, but never his interest.

Everyone except you, that is.

From the moment you caught his eye on the first day you came, he was intrigued. The pure confusion in your eyes as you tried to navigate the corridors had him in quite a trance, which did not go unnoticed by his friends.

“Slider, who is that?” The words fell from his lips with what was almost an embarrassing amount of interest. His eyes fixated on you as if he was scared to look away.

Slider glanced over at you once he heard his friend ask the question, his eyebrows raising at the sight. There was no denying that you were a beautiful woman. From the way your precious sundress hugged your waist and flowed just to your mid-thigh, Iceman had to nudge Slider to prevent him from devouring your body with his eyes. In doing so, Slider figured that he was telling him to back off. He figured that he was claiming you, and due to the fact that Slider was very highly up Iceman’s ass, he would oblige.

Before he could answer, you met both of their gazes and took a sharp breath, assuming that they were silently laughing at you for how lost you were. You flashed a gentle smile once you saw Slider kindly nod at you as a greeting, making your way over.

“Excuse me.” Your heavenly voice filled Iceman’s ears, causing him to stand up straight. You were speaking to Slider when you went over, but once you caught a glimpse of the man beside him, your mind went completely blank. Your lips parted as you gazed up at him, blinking a few times before you forced the words out. “Do you know where I can find Mike Metcalf’s office?”

“Viper?” Iceman asked with furrowed eyebrows, knowing you must not have been from around there by the way you neglected Viper’s callsign. You rolled your eyes at your own mistake and let out a small giggle, nodding your head.

“Yes, I’m sorry. He’s my uncle, I was just dropping by because he forgot his lunch.” You sweetly told the two pilots, both of them clearly quite surprised at the revelation.

“No, no way. You’re too pretty to be related to Viper.” Slider casually remarked, earning one of the coldest glares that Iceman could conjure up. You let a small laugh out at the flattery, shaking your head slightly in response.

“He’s my dad’s best friend. I’ve just known him as my uncle my whole life.” You gently spoke, a cheeky little grin on your face as you decided to tease the taller man. “I’ll tell your commander that you said that.”

Slider’s life flashed before his eyes as Iceman let out a cool chuckle at your words, causing you to silently and subtly swoon. You glanced over at him with a warm grin, your breath hitching in your throat as you finally met his intense gaze.

“Two doors to the left, sweetheart. You were almost there.” Iceman told you in a tone that would’ve made anyone fold right then and there, the smirk on his face tying it all up. You immediately swallowed once you felt your mouth water and shifted in your stance, not being able to help the smile that was on your face.

“Thank you, um…” You began, now noticing that they hadn’t introduced themselves to you.

Slider opened his mouth to speak, but it was no use. Iceman was already politely extending his large hand, the size of it almost making you faint.

“Iceman.” He stated it in a way that you couldn’t properly identify. It wasn’t cocky, but it was definitely sure of himself. Yes, that was it. He was very sure of himself.

You shifted the container to one of your hands and used your free one to grip his, the firmness in both of your hands as you shook causing you to suppress a literal moan. Your hand was quite small and warm, as opposed to his large, cold one. Your skin was soft; his was calloused. You didn’t want to let go, but any second longer would have resulted in you just pouncing on him.

“Iceman.” You repeated in a mutter, causing his smirk to return and his attraction to replace all hints of professionalism that still remained in his expression. You took a deep breath and retracted your hand, kindly smiling at the pair of them as you snapped out of it. “Thank you both.”

Once you began to walk away, Iceman made no attempt to hide the fact that he was gazing at you. Your figure was now an image that was burned into his memory, something that came in handy in his dirtiest and most desperate moments. You truly would never know that Iceman had taken quite an interest in you long before you had taken one in him.

“Viper’s niece. There’s your answer.” Slider chirped out as an answer to his former question, looking down at his watch.

“Not biologically.” Iceman responded in a way that sounded all too familiar, causing him to furrow his own eyebrows. He didn’t even know where that came from.

“Yeah, Ice, good luck with that. See how well Commander Viper would take you being laid up with his niece, blood or not.” Slider dryly laughed out loud, shaking his head. “Don’t shit where you eat. Don’t pull a Maverick.”

The reference to Maverick relentlessly trying to get Charlie was something they all made fun of, despite not knowing that he had been successful in doing so. Immediately, Iceman’s face dropped.

Maverick. Maverick would try you. Holy FUCK, Maverick would definitely try you.

“Shut up, Slider.” Iceman seethed through his teeth lowly at the thought, taking a sharp breath. Once he put his aviators on, he only tried to disregard the thought of you. He had worked incredibly hard to get where he was, and he refused to put his lust before his work. That was the difference between him and Maverick. He was logical, and Maverick was the most impulsive person in the world.

Iceman cleared his throat as the thought of meeting you flashed throughout his mind so briefly, now meeting your gaze. You recognized the way he cleared his throat and didn’t even try to hide your smirk, as it was the way you always did when he teased you.

You made him flustered.

“Like what, Iceman?” You asked in an even softer tone than before, your head tilting to the side. You could see the lust in his eyes for the first time since you met him, trying not to let it corrupt your position of having the upper-hand.

In true Iceman fashion, however, he refused to not be the one in control.

A cold chuckle escaped his lips as he shook his head, now standing up straight. The sound of his boots hit the floor in a way that made you feel as if you were listening to a sweet tune. He slowly inched inside of the office before he used his large hand to push the door shut behind him, doing so very quietly.

“I don’t think you can handle it.” He teased you in a light tone, his voice almost intimidating you as you tried your hardest not to shift. Now, he was standing in front of you, the smirk on his face prominent as he used his tongue to wet his lips. Unbeknownst to you, he only did so to see if you would gaze at his lips during the process. Much to his satisfaction, you did.

Your lips parted as you basked in the sight, completely submitting to him in that moment. He wanted the power, and you let him mercilessly take it. Trying your best to fight against the situation, you gulped silently and said the very first words that crossed your mind.

“Try me.”

For such small and seemingly harmless words, they truly acted as the match to the sensitive gas tank that was his self-restraint. He knew that it was incredibly unwise to jeopardize his position by involving himself with you, but he could no longer control himself. From your parted lips to your doe-like eyes, he found himself unable to resist you. The privacy of the four walls in the office intoxicated him in a way alcohol would. The mere fact that he could make a complete mess out of you with no one knowing filled his head, but what prevented him from doing so was the fear of getting caught.

Fuck, you two couldn’t get caught.

For the love of God, you were in his commander’s office. To add even more danger to the situation, you were the niece of that very commander. Not only would he be severely punished if he was caught with someone there, but if he was caught with you there, Viper would just fuck him up. None of that mattered to him in the moment, though. The way you were slightly backed up to where you were standing in front of the desk was enough for him to disregard his thoughts. Gazing at the needy little look in your eyes, he decided to use the risks to his advantage.

Still standing right in front of you, he took his time in dipping his head down, your hands practically shaking as you felt his lips not even a few centimeters away from yours. You could feel his minty breath hit your lips as he parted his own, causing you to grip the edges of the desk behind you.

“How would your uncle feel if he knew this is what you did at his job, hm?” He whispered to you, his lips slightly brushing against yours as he spoke. He was that close to you.

You would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit ashamed, even though that was not his goal at all. If you weren’t as aroused as you were, you probably would have stopped whatever was transpiring between the pair of you.

“How would he feel if he knew that while he was out serving his country, you were in his office, practically begging to be fucked by one of his colleagues?” His whisper hit your lips once more, your eyebrows furrowing in desperation as your mouth slightly fell open. You wanted him, you craved him. You needed him.

The look on your face caused his large hands to find shelter on your hips, his grip making it seem as though he was holding onto you for dear life. He effortlessly lifted you off of your feet and almost roughly set you down on the desk, wasting no time in spreading your legs for him to step in between.

You didn’t even slightly resist. You were his for the taking.

“How would he feel,” he trailed, his rough fingertips running along your bare thighs before he lifted one of his hands, gently yet firmly gripping your neck with it. “If he knew that you were on his desk, begging to be fucked like the dirty little slut you are?”

You had never been spoken to that way, both sexually and non-sexually. Your heart was racing as the words traveled from your ears to your stomach, warming your body up entirely. You couldn’t even speak. All you could do was gently grip the fabric of his flight suit, which wasn’t aiding your desire for him in the slightest bit.

“He could walk in here at any time, but you don’t care.” Iceman coldly chuckled at your needy little expression, his lips still hardly away from yours. Teasing you even further, his head tilted to the opposite side that yours was tilted to, the tip of his tongue lightly running across your parted lips. You finally let a small whine out, having had quite enough of his teasing. You swatted at his chest and properly crashed your lips onto his, silently thanking every higher power for the fact that he returned your kiss.

The kiss was foul. Both of you were desperately trying to taste one another, the sounds coming from you two being enough to kill a nun. In the process of it all, he had pulled your hips closer to his, your sundress riding up as he did so. The thin fabric of your panties and his entire flight suit separated you from his bulge, but you could still definitely feel it. Before you could even begin grinding your hips the way you wanted to, he detached his lips from yours and chuckled softly, glancing down at the beautiful sight underneath him.

“All you want is for me to fuck you stupid and leave you a pathetic, needy little mess. Used like the fucking toy you are.” He seethed through his teeth in a way that sent you in a whirlwind, causing your back to arch for the man.

With the sound of rising chatter in the hallways outside of the office, both of you were brought out of your lust-driven haze, resulting in the most sexual tension you had ever been in. He let a chuckle escape his lips at the sight of you as he took a deep breath, stepping back a few times.

“I told you that you couldn’t handle it.” He teased you in a tone that made you roll your eyes, standing up from your position on the desk. You fixed your sundress and hid the way that you were smiling from him, your head turned away from him.

“Listen, a few of the guys and I are going to play volleyball after training.” He informed you with a hint of something you couldn’t quite recognize. For a second, it almost sounded like Iceman, the Iceman, was a bit nervous. “Maybe you can come with us. Hold my shirt for me, throw rocks at Maverick and Goose. You know.”

Your lips curled into the biggest smile he had ever seen, your gaze on him telling him just how long you had been waiting for him to ask you out, even if it was to do something as small as watching him play volleyball.

“Maybe, we’ll see. I’ll throw rocks at whoever’s losing.” You teased him gently, earning an amused chuckle as he opened the door. “I’ve heard that there’s just something about that Maverick. I think he has a real shot at winning.”

The dull and playful glare made your incessant teasing worthwhile, but what he said before he left was what made you giggle and squeeze your eyes shut once you were alone.

“Try telling me that again after I make a pretty, whimpering mess out of you.”

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vdlest · 3 years ago

Text

Always & Forever

Characters:

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Summary:

Steve sees himself as nothing but a pretty face, but you managed to remind him that he's more than just that.

Warning:

Fluff

"I revised this fucking essay countless times already, yet it still doesn't make any sense to me," Steve crumpled his essay and threw it on the back of his car, "I guess what they say about me is true, I'm just a fucking pretty face."

You and Steve arrived early at school today, you have dropped off Dustin with his friends already and so you and Steve decided to kill some time in his car. He showed you the fourth essay draft he came up with for your class in English, it's a very important essay since the grade for this essay will surely manifest in your transcripts.

That explains Steve's paranoia.

"Hey," you cupped his face and made him look at you, "That's not true. There's two people in this car who both know that you are more than a pretty face. That's you and me," you assured him.

In the duration of your relationship with Steve, you have nothing to complain about. He's sweet, caring, and he always make sure that you always feel his love. The only thing that makes you worried about him is the times like when he is too frustrated to prove himself when you know that he doesn't need to prove anything to anyone.

You love Steve the way he is.

You first liked him when he helped your dear-o cousin, Dustin, and his friends when they were facing the Demogorgons. You liked him even more when he protected them against Billy, despite the fact that Billy knocked him off.

"Steve, you have to stop calling yourself that," you told him.

Steve shook his head and scoff as he move his face away from your touch, "You're my girlfriend that's why you're saying that, but if you weren't, you'll see me that way too, everyone does anyway," he put both of his hand on the steering wheel and sighed, "So sick and tired of this."

"Steve, baby," you forced him to look at you again by cupping both of his cheeks, "You're being too hard on yourself. Don't be pressured. Just take things slow. Think about what you want to say in this essay, what you really think of. Don't think about what other people will say about your essay or what grade will you get. If you keep on thinking of those things, you really won't get better. This piece," you reached for the paper he crumpled and held it, "This is already good. Just imagine how more good could it be if you focused on the positive things."

Steve can be hard to deal with at times, but you have no plans of leaving him or breaking up with him just because of his insecurities and stubbornness. The moment you decided to be with him, you chose to love every single little thing about him.

Besides, the first thing you fell in love with him is how he takes good care of your little annoying cousin, Dustin, and his friends.

Your parents are already separated, they both have new families. Since you don't want to join either of their families, your Aunt Claudia, Dustin's mom, asked you to just live with them. Your Aunt Claudia is your dad's youngest and only sister, amongst your other relatives, she's your favorite and you're her favorite niece, well, you're her only niece after all.

Upon your arrival in Hawkins, Dustin invited you to join their Christmas party at Steve's house. You were hesitant at first because you don't know Steve, and any of Dustin's friends aside from Lucas and Mike, but your cousin insisted on bringing you.

When you arrived at Harrington's, Dustin introduced Steve to you. Steve offered you a bottle of beer but you told him that you don't drink and that you prefer a juice, which he don't have any. So what he did was he went to the nearest store to buy you a juice, not just one but tons of it. That was the first time you find him cute.

You and Steve got closer after that night. You two shared classes together, whenever he'll bring Dustin to school, he'll ask you to join them too. He would also bring you and Dustin home, which made you like him even more. He asked you to be lab partner in Biology. He asked you to watch Day of the Dead with him, and his hands were your stress ball the whole time. He even asked you to watch his games and he'll glance at you after his shots.

But then, you found out from Dustin that Steve dated the first close friend you had in Hawkins, Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy is like your best friend and you are always welcome to sleep over at their place, and she's also fond of staying over at Henderson's. But you find it awkward to like and date your best friend's ex, so you stayed away from Steve and avoided him for a week.

Steve immediately noticed that you were avoiding him. When he had enough of your cold shoulders, he confronted you after your last class together.

"What the hell's going on, Henderson?" Steve pulled his bag on his shoulder as he confronted you in front of your locker.

You looked at him and play dumb, "What do you mean what the hell is going on? Are you alright, Harrington?" you and Steve got used of calling each other by your last names, but sometimes you find it annoying because he also calls Dustin by his last name, "I have no time for your pranks, Steve. I have to stop by at the Byers. Nancy, Jonathan and I needs to finish our project in History."

Instead of answering you, he slammed the door of your locker, making you jump in surprise.

"I've had enough of your silent treatments, Y/N."

The moment he called you by your first name, your heart skipped a beat.

"You're avoiding me and I'm certain about it. Dustin told me that he told you about my past with Nancy, and from then on, you started to avoid me. Thank God, your cousin finally told me what's going on with you for the past few days after I bribed him with five new released board games," Steve scoffed and shook his head as he walk closer to you, "Why?"

"Why, what?" you asked him, still avoiding his gaze.

"Why the hell are you doing this to me?" he shot you his first question, "Why are you avoiding me? You can't keep doing this to me, I can't sleep, I can't think properly, I can't concentrate on my classes knowing that you are sitting beside me and yet you are avoiding me the whole time," he reached for your hands and held it, "Can you tell me what's wrong?"

You realized that it's now or never, you have to tell Steve what you truly feel for him.

You took a deep breath before you look into his eyes, "Steve, I had to avoid, I have to stay away from you."

"Why?" he asked you without letting you finish.

"Because I can't like my best friend's ex boyfriend!" it was a good thing that there weren't so many people near you and Steve, no one noticed that you two were arguing and no one heard what you just told Steve, "Can't you understand that? I can't be in the same room with you, knowing that you are Nancy's ex and that all I had to do is to like and admire you from afar. I was hoping that one day you'll come up to me and tell me you like me, but I can't wait for that day anymore, knowing that you and Nancy had a past."

Steve wasn't able to answer nor react. He was stunned. He was just looking at you, trying to process what you just said.

Tears escaped your eyes, but you immediately wiped them away.

"Steve," you sniffled as you wipe your tears away, "I'm gonna be okay. The kids may feel different about us not being together all the time, but they're gonna get over it. Dustin's gonna be okay with it. You don't have to say anything or do anything, but there's only one thing I want to ask you," you slowly retreat your hands away from his touch, "Don't you ever stop being there for the kids. They love you. I won't be able to forgive myself if they'll lose you. Those kids love you. It's gonna hurt a lot knowing that I'll lose you, but I'm gonna be okay knowing that the kids still have you."

You quickly opened your locker and put some of your stuff inside. You closed it and before you turn your back, you looked at Steve again, who is still shocked with what you just told him.

"One more thing, Harrington," you sniffled again as you reach for his right cheek, "Take care, always."

That same night, the kids were sad upon hearing from Dustin that you won't be able to join the gang for quite some time because you needed to move on. It was also heartbreaking for you not being able to watch movie with them, play games with them, go on a shopping bonding with Max and El, you would miss staying up late just to babysit them with Steve.

But the next day, Steve did not waste his time.

He went to Nancy and talked to her about you, your feelings for him, and Steve's feelings for you. Nancy and Steve both agreed that there's nothing left for the two of them, especially now that Nancy is with Jonathan and that Steve is already over her and he's in love with you. Nancy told Steve that he's idiot that he did not go after you as soon as you turn your back on him.

Right after Nancy and Steve's talk, Nancy went to you to tell you that you should not be bothered with her past with Steve. Nancy told you that Steve became a different person in a good way because of you, and that she was also grateful to you that you were able to give Steve the love she couldn't give to him when they were still together. You and Nancy agreed that you two would still be the best of friends and that there will be no awkwardness around the three of you.

That night, Steve knocked on your window, which surprised and shocked you.

You let him in and the two of you talked in your bedroom.

"I'm so stupid for not telling you this as soon as possible," Steve clenched his jaw before he looked at you, "I'm not gonna be okay with the fact that I'll lose you and you'll lose me. I'm not gonna be okay with the fact that the kids will lose you too. Those kids love me, they love you, they love both of us, and I know that you know that we both love them all. Even though they are all bunch of jackass, we love them," you both chuckled when Steve called the kids a bunch of jackass, "But most of all, I can't deny the fact that I can't lose you."

The smile on your lips faded away when he got serious again, at the same time you avoided his gaze and looked down.

Steve gently reached for your hand, "I can't lose you because I love you."

Your eyes immediately went to his when you heard what he just said.

"I love you, the whole you. I love you with all my heart, Henderson. And call me psycho but I think my surname will look good after your first name," he said.

This person is really thinking about marrying you in the future. He wants you to be his Mrs. Harrington.

"But while we're too young to go down that road, I want us to be with each other, I want us to go on dates, roadtrips together, I want us to go after our dreams together, I want us be there for each other ever single day, I want you to be with me because I became a better person because of you, and I want to be better each day, means, I want you to be with me for the rest of my life," he shifted his body facing you, he grabbed your other hand, "I lo--"

"Can you just kiss me?"

Steve's flickered like a light bulb when he heard what you asked him, "Can I what?"

You groaned and rolled your eyes at him, "I said can you just kiss me, jerk?" you asked him.

You and Steve sealed the night with a passionate kiss, and from that night, the two of you were inseparable. Steve shows you how much he loves you in every single way he know. But there are still time when you two will argue because of little things, but that's part of a relationship. You deal with it and move forward.

You smiled at him, "Steve, you trust me, right?" you asked him.

Steve nodded, "Of course, baby, I do. I trust you with all my heart, with my life."

"Then trust and believe me whenever I tell you that you can do this, that you're more than just a pretty face. Okay? As your girl, I 100% believe that you are the most intelligent and most gorgeous boyfriend in the whole world," you planted a quick kiss on his lips, making Steve smile, "Now you're smiling, you punk!"

His smile grew wider as he looks into your eyes deeply, "I love you," he said.

"And I love you too," you playfully pinched his nose.

"What the hell would I do without you?" he sighed and grabbed both of your hands, "I have no idea what did I do to actually deserve you."

Steve both kissed the back of your hands.

"Steve," you called his name as softly as you could, "We will never ever get to convince everyone, there will always be something that they will hate about us, that they will find weird about us, but you got to know that there are many people out there believing in you, trusting you. Those people don't see you as just a pretty face. Dustin sees you as a big brother, a hair mentor. The kids look up to you. They know you'll protect them as far as you could. They know you love them. And please, don't you ever say that if I'm not your girlfriend I will also see you how other see you, because no, that will never happen," you said in full conviction.

Instead of answering you, Steve closed the space between the two of you and claim your lips for a kiss.

Steve Harrington is hard to deal with, but the fact that he's hard to deal with is what makes you more in love with him.

Your kiss interrupted when someone knocked on Steve's window.

"Hey, you two," you and Steve heard Jonathan's voice outside, "Get a room!"

You looked over Steve's shoulder and Steve looked behind him where Jonathan and Nancy are.

"We're gonna be late for homeroom. Come on you two!" Nancy shouted.

"I guess that's our cue, mister," you grabbed your bag and prepared yourself to go to school.

"I guess so, but just so you know," Steve gently held your chin, making you face him again, "I have no basketball practice today, means we can go home early and watch a movie."

You smiled at him, "Ask permission from my little cousin first," you joked, "Let's go, we're gonna be late."

-v.dl

#Steve Harrington #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington imagine #Steve Harrington fluff #Steve Harrington x Reader #Steve Harrington x You #Steve Harrington x Y/N #Steve Harrington x fem!reader #Stranger Things #Stranger things imagine #Stranger things fanfic

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bullet-prooflove · 2 years ago

Text

The whole vibe for my Mike Durate story Past Mistakes.

Thanks again for saving me. Someday, I'll save you too.

— Zelda Fitzgerald, Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda: The Love Letters of F. Scott and Zelda Fitzgerald

#mike durate x you #mike durate x reader #mike durate #captain mike durate #maurice compte

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vikkirosko · 3 years ago

Note

Headcanons for Aged up! Goth Kids + Mike with a S/O who was a smoker and it was badly hurting their health

Headcanons Smoker

🚬 Age up!Michael x Reader 🪦

Initially, you started smoking to annoy your parents. You often quarreled with your parents, and Michael was one of the reasons for your quarrels, which is why when you heard that they were unhappy that he smoked, you started smoking to annoy them. At first it was unusual for you, but you didn't notice how you got used to the taste of cigarettes. Michael was glad that you were supporting him, albeit in a rather strange way

When you both got older, you couldn't get rid of your bad habit. Smoking has become a part of your everyday life. You and Michael borrowed cigarettes from each other, smoked together on the balcony of your apartment together. But when, after visiting the doctor, it turned out that you had health problems because of smoking, you decided to change your usual lifestyle

You tried to quit smoking. Michael didn't stop you from doing it, even though he saw that sometimes you had breakdowns and you still smoked. You tried to reduce the number of cigarettes you smoked in a week, but sometimes your desire to smoke got the better of you, after which you were ashamed of yourself

Michael understood that you were trying to change, but he loved you regardless of whether you smoke or not. You've been through a lot together and he was ready to support you in any of your endeavors. He couldn't give up his nicotine addiction himself, but he supported you mentally, hoping that you would be able to quit smoking

🚬 Age up!Henrietta Biggle x Reader🕯

You tried smoking for the first time at school. After that, every time you had stress, you got rid of it by smoking. Henrietta didn't mind that you started smoking. You became much calmer about the fact that she smokes in your presence and you began to smoke together often. However, when you got older, your bad habit made itself felt

Your health has been severely damaged due to your long smoking. When you told Henrietta about the doctor's diagnosis, she wasn't surprised. For all the years that you have been together, she herself has got health problems

After long conversations, you decided to start solving health problems together. You both started smoking less and started trying to exercise. You both wanted to live as long as possible because it meant that you would spend this time together

It was hard for both of you to get used to your new lifestyle. You are used to a completely different life, but you had no other way out. The duration of your lives depended on whether you were ready to change your usual life and change yourself

🚬 Age up!Pete Thelman x Reader ☕️

When you first started smoking, Pete often reminded you about the dangers of smoking, worrying about you, but every time he brought up this topic, you reminded him that he also smokes. After several unsuccessful attempts to convince you, Pete has accepted that you also smoke. When you got older and started living together, he noticed that your health became worse compared to what it was before

Pete didn't wait for your health to get even worse and took you to the doctor. The doctor said that if you continue to smoke in such volumes, your health will be irretrievably ruined. You had to give up cigarettes in favor of health. Pete understood that it would be difficult for you to get rid of smoking, but he was ready to help you with this

Pete made sure you didn't smoke. He took your cigarettes that you always carried with you, he collected those cigarettes that you kept at home, and even your lighter. Pete understood that it was hard for you to give up cigarettes, so he helped you as much as he could

You understood that Pete cares about your health, so you tried to treat his care more patiently. It was hard for you to give up an old habit, but together you intended to cope with anything, and even more so with nicotine addiction

🚬 Age up!Firkle Smith x Reader 🔪

Firkle started smoking very early and he was the one who gave you a cigarette for the first time. After that, you started smoking a lot, most often you smoked together. It was something that brought you very close. You communicated throughout your studies at school and then when you entered the university. That's when you started having health problems

Due to many years of smoking, you developed asthma, which caused you to cough frequently, you had shortness of breath and you could not climb the stairs without starting to suffocate. You understood that if you continue to smoke, your health will become even worse, so you decided to give up your bad habit

Firkle was unusual to see you without a cigarette. Your cigarettes were replaced by an asthma inhaler that you began to always carry with you. Firkle didn't show it, but he was worried about you and didn't want your health to deteriorate completely. He didn't care what happened to his own health, but your health and your life were dear to him

It was hard for you to quit smoking. Firkle tried to support you and tried not to smoke in your presence. You were grateful to him for his support and understanding. You understood that he was used to smoking and that it would be difficult for him to give up this habit, but you did not ask him about it. You were also glad that he did not smoke in front of you, thus expressing his concern for you

🦇Age up!Mike Makowski x Reader 🧛‍♂️

When you were kids, you and Mike communicated despite the differences between you. You liked him, except he kept asking you to stop smoking. He followed a healthy lifestyle and was very worried about you and that you were spoiling your health, but you didn't listen to him

When you got older and started living together in a shared apartment, Mike noticed that you started coughing a lot. He began to worry about you and urged you to visit a doctor. You refused for a long time, but eventually he took you to the doctor. As it turned out, more than ten years of smoking severely damaged your health and you urgently needed to give up your bad habit

Mike has seriously taken care of your health. He helped you quit smoking, reminded you to change nicotine patches, he made sure you didn't smoke cigarettes. Mike greatly valued you and did not want you to die because of your bad habit

You understood that Mike loves you and cares about you, so you stopped resisting his care. You loved him and didn't want Mike to worry about you. Even though it was hard for you to quit smoking, but you sincerely tried to do it. You wanted you and Mike to live together for many more years and for the sake of your future together you were ready to give up cigarettes

#South Park #South Park x Reader #South Park headcanons #Michael #Michael x Reader #Henrietta Biggle #Henrietta Biggle x Reader #Pete Thelman #Pete Thelman x Reader #Firkle Smith #Firkle Smith x Reader #Mike Makowski #Mike Makowski x Reader

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bullet-prooflove · 9 months ago

Text

EARLY ACCESS: Bingo - Mike Duarte x Reader

Now available on Patreon

#mike duarte #mike duarte x reader #l&o svu #svu #law and order svu

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the-hinky-panda · 2 years ago

Text

The Tremont Tempest: Chapter 3

Author Warning: Lots of mention of blood and violence in the first part of this chapter.

There is blood everywhere.

He can hear it dripping; a different intonation when it falls on broken concrete, cracked linoleum, threadbare carpet, and scratched hardwood. He squeezes his hand tighter around the knife wound, trying to slow down the bleeding. It’s pleasantly warm but sticky, syrupy, when it continues to flow through the spaces between his fingers. He feels it soaking through his jeans from the leg wounds, making the denim stiff and abrasive against the punctures. His ears are still ringing from the headblows and his right eye is starting to close from the swelling. His brain feels like a phone call with poor reception, thoughts coming in pieces, chunks of context missing.

Somehow he manages to make it the six blocks to the apartment and up three flights of stairs in the falling down apartment building. His hand, the one not shoved in the knife wound between his ribs, is shaking from shock and slick with blood. It takes him multiple attempts of pawing at the broken doorknob before he’s able to push the door open.

He’s been made.

His undercover persona has been outed, word spread on the street, and he’s now a marked man. Some low-level members thought they would get the jump on him, bring his head to Oscar Papa as a one-way ticket to lieutenants, but he managed to drag himself down a fire escape while they argued about who was going to deliver the final blow. Now, he had to get his informant out like he promised, give her the opportunity to get out of that raunchy strip club and do what she wanted to do: have a life. She was going to go to nursing school, work in a hospital ER, get married, have children…with him.

He was going to finally have a life too.

He stumbles through the door, catches himself on the rickety end table where they always dropped their keys and his gun. He remembers the day when she pulled it out of a trash pile declaring it could be repaired and saved. He had joked that she had done the same thing to him. That memory of her, hazel eyes crinkling in the corner, a flash of white teeth as she smiled and said “I know a good thing when I see it” comes through in stunning clarity.

“Gabby?”

He barely recognizes his own voice. He swallows down whatever is crowding his vocal cords and tastes iron on the back of his tongue. He’s dying. But he needs to get to Gabby. They need to leave together. He’ll break everything in the world but not this promise. He swallows down more blood, it really is everywhere, and tries to call for her again when he trips over something in the middle of the floor. He goes down hard, his reflexes slowed by blood loss. His knees take the brunt of the impact, then his elbow, shoulder, and cheek. His ears start ringing again when his head bounces off the dull wood floor and he momentarily goes deaf.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Blood is starting to pool under him and he has to get up, keep moving. If he lies there, he’ll die. There’s blood everywhere. He forces his eyes open and looks behind him to see what tripped him. It’s a duffle bag, half filled. Pieces of information start to come together in his fuzzy brain. Half filled bag. Left in the middle of the room. The door was unlocked.

“No, no, no…” he keeps repeating the word, hoping that he’s wrong. He grabs the edge of a bookcase and pulls himself upright. “Gabby!”

He stumbles through the living room, smearing blood over the peeling plaster of the walls. When he passes by the kitchen, he sees a form laying on the kitchen floor. The liturgy of “no” continues as he tries to find the lightswitch. When the light does come on, he wonders why he turned it on in the first place.

There’s blood everywhere.

He falls to his knees again. He lets go of the wound on his side. He’s lightheaded, sick to his stomach. There’s so much blood; it creates a sacreligious halo around Gabby’s head. He tries to brush some of her curly hair away from her pale face, her unseeing hazel eyes, but he only smears his own blood across her cheek. He struggles to get her into his arms, cradled against his chest, like she had been just a few hours ago.

“I’m sorry, mi vida. So sorry.”

He can hear the sirens, the extraction team, coming to get him. But he doesn’t want to go back. His undercover assignment blew up in his face with nothing to show for it. His promise to get a brave woman out of the hell that was her life is shattered. His soul is fractured. This is more than just failure. He can’t take her with him so he presses his lips to her forehead, silently begging for her to take him with her now.

“Duarte!”

A sob catches in his throat with a swell of blood. Maybe if he doesn’t call out to them, they’ll take too long to find him. But he can hear them running up the stairs, stepping across the threshold of the shithole he’s called home for the last six months. It doesn’t take long for them to find him on the kitchen floor. His captain is yelling his name in his ear but it sounds so far away.

“Duarte! Stay with me! Fuck!”

They’re pulling Gabby away from him but there’s no strength in his arms anymore to fight against the separation. Isn’t there supposed to be a light he’s supposed to move towards?

“Where the fuck are the EMTs?”

There’s the light, flashing in his eyes. He tries to lift his hand towards it, embrace it, follow it, when it moves away. Well, isn’t that his luck?

“He’s in shock.”

“No shit. There’s blood everywhere!”

***

You tap your fingers in an annoyed beat as you stare down Mike. He, on the other hand, remains steadfastly focused on his notes. Every once in a while you see his jaw tick so you know he does feel your annoyance at the situation. It took a lot for you to make that call last night; you told him that much when he showed up at your neighbor’s door and you took him through your apartment. You’re getting ready to say something to him, demand his attention, when there’s a knock on your door.

“Hey Chief, there’s a Captain Benson and Detective Muncy here to see you?”

“Thanks, Anita. Send them in.” You glare at Mike, who gives you a shit-eating grin.

“Aw, look, she brought your BFF.”

You have to admit, seeing Grace right now will be quite nice. “I’m still mad at you for this.”

He stands up from the chair across from you and gives a meaningful look towards the door. “Believe when I say, I’m getting used to having women angry with me.”

“I find that shocking.”

You try to maintain a serious face but the corner of your mouth twitches and he catches it. You didn’t take his comment too seriously but seeing the tense faces of Captain Benson and Grace as they pass by Mike, you reassess his words. Damn. He wasn’t joking.

You stand up, straighten your blazer, and introduce yourself to Benson. Mike had told you about her recent run in with BX9 and that she had a healing black eye but the severity of the injury makes your stomach twist. Grace gives you a smile and head nod but the smile disappears just as quickly as it appeared. That also makes you uneasy.

“Thank you for coming in,” you start, “but I don’t know if it’s really necessary.”

“Someone got into your apartment without your knowledge or permission,” Grace says. “That’s a problem.”

Okay, maybe she had a point.

Benson pulls out a notebook. “Do you have any idea who this person could be?”

You spent the majority of the night last night going through everyone you know and who would be capable of doing this. “I don’t have a clue. Everyone I work with I’ve had a solid relationship with for years. I was thinking it could be a student but I don’t know how they would have gotten their hands on a $80 bottle of wine. That particular bottle is kept behind the counter at most stores.”

“So you’ve known all your coworkers for years?” Benson repeats.

“Yeah.”

Grace looks down at the floor.

Benson sighs. “Except for Duarte.”

You actually laugh. “Mike? That’s ridiculous.”

“He told me last night that he was here for the start of the notes. You don’t think that’s a coincidence?”

At first you think she’s kidding but there's such a serious set to her mouth. You glance over at Grace, who’s giving you a similar look. “You’re not serious about this. Grace, you gave me his number. Told me to call him.”

“I did,” she admits. “But maybe…”

There’s definitely something going on in the other investigation, something that had happened between Benson, Mike, and Grace. But that isn’t your issue or problem right now.

“Well, let me put your suspicions to rest. If Mike were the one leaving the notes and the wine, then he would have had his chance last night to do…whatever he was intending to do. He was in my apartment, searching it and gathering evidence. We were alone there for close to two hours. He offered to stay the night but I told him it wasn’t necessary and he left. That was the end of it. He didn’t try to convince me to let him stay, or go with him back to his place. If he wanted to get me alone, he accomplished that. And when I assured him everything was good, he left. But I’m telling you both, he was nothing but professional. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Grace scoffs. “Tree, that’s real funny.”

“Muncy,” Benson warns.

Grace has been your friend for years and you know of her temper, have been on the receiving end of it a couple times too, so her outbursts don’t scare you. It also means you know how to poke the bear to get to the source of the problem, so you do, despite Benson’s obvious unease of the direction the conversation is taking. But you don’t poke, you do a direct jab. “Grace, what’s going on?”

“Did you know about it?” she demands, without any preamble.

“About what?”

“Muncy, enough!”

But it isn’t enough as Grace drops her phone on your desk, a picture illuminating the screen. Benson sighs in frustration as you pick up the phone and study the picture. It’s literally a tree with scraps of fabric hanging from it. You zoom in on a section to get a closer look. “Is that-”

“Underwear,” Grace spits out. “It’s a fucking rape tree in the middle of Jonas Bronck Park.”

“Jesus,” you breathe out.

“And the guy you just defended,” Muncy continues, “he’s known about this for a year. A fucking year.”

There has to be close to 100 pairs of underwear on the tree. 100 women in the neighborhood assaulted and raped. How many of those women have been in your school? Sat in your office or in meetings about their student’s behavior, grades, or attendance? And here you were worried over a few notes and a bottle of wine. You say a quick prayer and cross yourself before handing the phone back to Grace.

“I heard rumors about…something.” You swallow down a lump of emotion that has risen up in your throat. “The kids talk, exaggerate, it’s difficult to figure out what’s real and what isn’t. I’ve heard of memorials dedicated to violence that BX9 uses to recruit, but I never heard of a tree specifically. But you’re saying Mike knew about the tree for a year?”

“Yeah, and he didn’t tell anyone about it.”

Betrayal. You realize Grace feels betrayed about not knowing about this tree, this abomination in their neighborhood. But you’ve lived here your entire life. Your parents lived here their entire lives. You know and understand the micro ecosystem that is the Bronx. “Who was he supposed to tell, Grace?”

It’s Benson’s turn to scoff. “You can’t be serious.”

You feel your educator persona kick in immediately. “Captain Benson, with all due respect, I don’t think you fully comprehend the landscape that you’ve just walked into here. And Grace, shame on you for not educating her properly on our neighborhood.”

“Hey-”

“Hey yourself,” you interrupt. “You haven’t been in Manhattan long enough to forget what it’s like up here.”

“So tell me,” Benson says, “what is it like up here?”

“It’s a fucking warzone for starters. The chances of you stepping out onto the street and getting robbed, stabbed, or shot by a gang member is incredibly high. And Mary, Joseph, and Jesus can only help you if you wander into a showdown between 19th street and BX9. The local cops are all in Oscar Papa’s backpocket which is why violent crime is so rampant. They’re either paid off or too scared to do anything. Bronx SVU, well, you wouldn’t be here if they were doing their jobs. And Grace, you know the gang unit is taxed to the max. Mike’s been Captain for what, five or six years now? And he’s already lasted twice as long as the last two Captains. So let me ask you again, who was he supposed to tell about the tree? Crooked cops who would have taken everything down, including the tree and burned it? Bronx SVU, who would have collected all the evidence and then ‘lost’ it? And he is the head of the gang unit, there’s no one else above him to tell.”

Both women are silently thoughtful for a moment. You fold your hands on your desk and lean forward. “May I ask you both a question?”

“Of course,” Benson responds.

“Why do you think, after a year, you were the one he took to that tree?”

“I’ve been asking myself that for the last twenty-four hours.” Benson shrugs. “Why?”

“Because I think he finally found someone that he believed would actually do something about it. Someone that cares more about the victims than the violence. I don’t know you, Captain, but I know Grace. And Grace is going to fight with every ounce of her being to get justice for every single woman that is connected to that tree. But you can have all the fight in the world and it doesn’t mean shit unless you have the resources. Manhattan SVU are the resources that this borough has been waiting for. So my suggestion to you would be make whatever peace you can with Captain Duarte, forget about my situation, and remember where you are. This ain’t Kansas, Dorothy.”

A ghost of a smile crosses Grace’s face. “You calling me Toto?”

You smile back. “If it gets your head back on straight, yeah, I am.”

#captain mike durate #mike duarte #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte x you

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dxncingwithastrxnger · 2 years ago

Text

Alex’s Christmas Sleepover 2022!!!

Okay, okay, sooooo

Last year I started this way too late and I also, like, completely failed and didn’t get any of my story requests done, so I greatly apologize for that 😅😅😅 BUT to @shadyrunawaykingdom, @corner-emo, and @sevenmillionpsychos, if you still want the same stories that you requested previously, I will write them this year and they will be the very first stories that I put out from this. If you want a new story instead, just let me know and I’ll do that instead. If you’d like to request another story along with your previous one, that’s perfectly fine, just know that your new story requests will go into whatever list I have going after your previous requests are done. If you need a reminder on what story you requested last year, let me know and I’ll tell you!!

So, now, here’s how things will go. Below, I’ll have listed the characters that I’m currently comfortable writing for categorized by fandoms, as well as different symbols relating to christmas and whatnot. You get to choose if you want a moodboard or story (if you pick story, you automatically get a moodboard as well, please keep that in mind), as well as what character or characters you’d like in it. If you want a story, you get to choose what type of story (smut, angst, fluff, comfort, etc. as well as any combinations - any characters I list that are canonically younger than 18, I will be aging up unless you ask for a scenario that requires them to be younger, just no asking for there to be smut while the character isnt aged up to 18+) as well as if you’d like a shorter story (Around 500-1,500 words) or a longer story (Around 2,000+). You then get to also add in any of the christmas symbols that I list and voila. I shall create something for you 😌

I do ask that you go through this whole post in order to create your request. Also, if you want a specific version of a character (ie, Emo!Wanda Maximoff, Dark!Lizzie Saltzman, Season 3!Eddie Munson, etc., etc..), then please let me know!! You can just fill out the information below and let me fill in the blanks with whatever comes to my mind or you can give me a specific scenario along with the other things as well, it's entirely up to you!!

Duration: 12/08/22 - 01/31/23

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Ships:

[Polyamorous ships are allowed for both of the following]

📖 - Character(s) x Reader (Please specify platonic or romantic)

👩 - Female, Transfemale

👨‍🦱 - Male, Transmale

🏳️‍🌈 - Enby, Other (Please specify)

🚢 - Character(s) x Character(s) (Please specify platonic or romantic)

Characters:

[Crossovers are allowed!!]

MCU:

✪ - Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier

⍟ - Steve Rogers/Captain America

⎊ - Tony Stark/Iron Man

⧗ - Natasha Romanoff/Black Widow

४ - Loki Odinson

🕸️ - Peter Parker/Spiderman

➳ - Clint Barton/Hawkeye

ᱬ - Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch

⩔ - Sam Wilson/The Falcon/Captain America

🥂 - Pepper Potts

🔫 - Yelena

🏹 - Kate

🥥 - Bruce Banner/Hulk

🍄 - Jen Walters/She-Hulk

🪄 - Dr. Stephan Strange

🔨 - Thor Odinson

🐍 - Sylvie Laufeydottir

🦯 - Matt Murdock/Daredevil

Stranger Things:

🌼 - Robin Buckley

🐉 - Mike Wheeler

🤱 - Steve Harrington

📷 - Jonathan Byers

📒 - Nancy Wheeler

🍃 - Argyle

🍁 - Gareth Emerson

🧠 - Dustin Henderson

👮‍♂️ - Jim Hopper

🎸 - Eddie Munson

😇 - Joyce Byers

🏀 - Lucas Sinclair

👙 - Karen Wheeler

🦸‍♀️ - El/Jane Hopper

🎶 - Max Mayfield

💏 - Will Byers

📣 - Chrissy Cunningham

🇷🇺 - Dmitri Antonio

🥃 - Murray Bauman

Lucifer:

😈 - Lucifer Morningstar

🥀 - Rory Morningstar

👑 - Chloe Decker

🚓 - Dan

🥽 - Ella

💼 - Charlette

🔪 - Mazikeen Smith

🍎 - Eve

🎓 - Linda Martin

📿 - Amenadiel

The Originals:

🐺 - Klaus Mikaelson

⚖️ - Elijah Mikaelson

🪞 - Rebekah Mikaelson

🧿 - Freya Mikaelson

🪬 - Vincent

🔮 - Davina Claire

🗝️ - Camille O'Connell

👠 - Hayley Marshall

🏏 - Kol Mikaelson

🎀 - Aurora

🧨 - Keelin

🧬 - Marcel

Legacies:

⛓️ - Penelope Park

🧳 - Josie Saltzman

🗡️ - Hope Mikaelson

🧭 - Cleo

🚨 - Ethan

🚀 - MG

🎠 - Lizzie Saltzman

🥊 - Jed

♟️ - Ben

🎩 - Landon Kirby

🎸 - Finch

🔥 - Kaleb

For:

✍ - Story

Length:

📈 - Long

📉 - Short

Type/Genre:

😘 - Smut

🥰 - Fluff

🥺 - Comfort

😔 - Angst

💀 - Dark

🗡 - Mafia

😊 - Cute

😍 - Flirty

🌇 - City

🌄 - Country

🏖 - Vacation

💒 - Married/Wedding

💍 - Engaged

�� - Pets

😝 - Silly/Weird/Crack

😴 - Sleepy

🤒 - Sick

🥳 - Party

🤰 - Pregnancy

🛍 - Shopping

🍼 - Baby/Kids

⚔ - Era AU (Specify which, please, 1800s, 1860s, 1940s, 1980s, etc.)

🏍 - Bikers

👻 - Spooky

🦇 - Vampires

🎒 - K-12

🏫 - College

These were all the ones I could think of, but if you had others in mind, that's perfectly fine as well!

Remember, you can put together as much as you want as long as it makes sense!!!

🖼 - Moodboard

📸 - Number of Pictures

🌈 - Color(s) Theme

🧱 - Background Color

🚫 - No Background Color

Christmas Symbols:

🎄 - Decorated Christmas Tree

🌲 - Non-Decorated Tree

🎁 - Presents

🎅 - Santa Claus

🤶 - Mrs. Claus

🧑‍🎄 - Elves

🎶 - Caroling

🕯 - Christmas Lights

⭐ - Stars

❄ - Winter

☃️ - Snowman

🌿 - Mistletoe

🔥 - Fireplace

🍽 - Food

🍪 - Desserts

🦌 - Reindeer

🛷 - Sled

🧤 - Gloves

👒 - Hats

😌 - Blankets

👕 - Sweaters

🎂 - Holiday Desserts

☕️ - Hot Chocolate/Apple Cider

🌨 - White Christmas

⛸️ - Ice Skating

🧣 - Scarf

Again, if you can think of any others that you would like to use, I am perfectly fine with that!!

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Guys, you can request as many stories as you want, just remember that these things all take time!!! Just let me know what your requesting in a reply, ask, reblog, dm, etc. Anything at all!! Just please let me know!! And if you have any questions, definitely feel free to ask me!!!

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titan-fodder · 4 years ago

Text

Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys.

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable.

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party.

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that.

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now.

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought.

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!"

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening.

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?"

More cheers, more hollers.

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!"

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day.

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse.

Again—you fucking hate frat boys.

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst.

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer.

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt.

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team.

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!"

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow.

"Hell no!"

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike."

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving."

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed.

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?"

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly."

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer.

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little.

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?"

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along.

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though.

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?"

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer."

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers.

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in.

He does, and you let out a breath of relief.

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?"

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?"

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you."

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs.

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue.

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?"

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself."

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon.

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip.

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice.

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach.

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum.

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!"

"Ayyy, waterfall!"

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced.

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch.

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up."

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game.

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards.

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace.

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup.

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you.

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts.

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely.

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you.

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before.

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team?

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you.

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out.

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult.

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes.

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses.

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way.

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls.

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you.

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc.

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover.

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall.

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster.

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him.

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them.

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it.

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms.

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees.

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested.

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins.

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?”

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away.

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him.

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave.

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning.

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you.

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too.

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was.

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you.

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips.

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble.

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere.

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out.

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb.

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper.

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind.

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind.

“Holy—”

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs.

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass.

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately.

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress.

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan.

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you.

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it.

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed.

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to.

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door.

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias.

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again.

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot.

Is still hot.

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong.

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner.

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits.

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face.

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you.

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago.

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head.

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick.

God dammit, why is he so sexy?

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so...

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body.

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face.

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted.

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip.

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock.

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat.

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion.

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth.

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue.

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you.

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward.

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot.

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit.

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to.

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine.

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts.

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight."

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you.

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed.

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach.

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression.

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support.

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot.

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?"

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee."

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out.

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side.

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth.

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like.

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?"

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!"

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together.

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave.

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it.

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove.

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?"

And, there's that point.

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request.

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea.

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times.

But, it needs to stop.

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth.

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer.

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call.

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven.

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it.

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them.

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious.

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before.

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods.

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It’s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated.

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself.

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee.

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much.

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully.

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?"

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?"

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to.

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point.

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you.

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie.

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?"

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal."

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?"

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended.

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards.

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day."

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face.

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias."

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps.

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick.

"You have any classes?" You ask.

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place.

"Sucks," is all you can come up with.

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?"

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself.

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'.

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?"

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals.

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it.

"God dammit."

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear.

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to."

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan.

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole.

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane.

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name.

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit.

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air.

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess.

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat.

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate.

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

#miche zacharias x reader #mike zacharias x reader #aot x reader #snk x reader #aot fanfiction #attack on titan fanfiction #mels prima vista #mels frat house

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bb-babyy · 3 years ago

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Spring Break Of '86 (3)

Eddie Munson x Reader

Warning(s): Mature; swearing; violence

Summary: Instead of enjoying a lavish spring break with your college friends, you were off running around Hawkins dodging the police with Eddie Munson, your ex.

Word Count: 2.0k

++++

The ride was tense. Well, for you anyway. Matty, Mike, Erika, and Dustin were rambling off in the back about how great the campaign was and what they'd like to do in the next one. Eddie smiled and chuckled occasionally. You were lost in the distant memories as you breathed in the familiar scent of cheap cologne and weed.

You didn't realize that you had relaxed into your seat until the vehicle stopped. You waved Mike and Erika goodbye before the van started off again. You tried being sneaky about taking peeks at Eddie, but you must've not been doing a good enough job from the way the corner of his mouth lifted up into a smirk.

You huffed to yourself and watched as the scenery passed by. "So, how's your spring break?" Eddie asked; he physically cringed at how awkward he had felt but still let the question linger in the air.

After seeing Eddie for the first time in over a year, you weren't angry at him anymore. You were just hurt and overall disappointed. "It's fine. I would've loved to be drinking cocktails on a yacht right now, though."

"Wow, can't believe you decided to come back to this dump of a town instead," he said, keeping his eyes on the road. You just shrugged and continued to stare at the passing view.

It didn't take long for the van to pull to a stop in front of your house. You let out a sigh of relief before unbuckling your seatbelt.

"Thanks, Eddie." It was the first time in a long time since he had heard you say his name, and it brought back some familiar feelings in its wake.

"Y-yeah, of course," he said. Your smile was a little awkward and tense, but he still thought it was one of the most beautiful things he's ever seen. Waving bye to Dustin, you and your brother made your way inside for the night. Eddie watched as your door closed behind you as he sat and contemplated how he felt seeing you in the passenger side like in old times.

"So…"

"So?"

"You and that college alcoholic seem to have some history," Dustin said, climbing up to the front seat. This made Eddie snap out of his stupor, as he began to drive again.

"I don't want to have this conversation with you of all people, Henderson." Eddie chose to ignore what Dustin had called you, knowing that you could barely handle a beer due to the bitter taste.

"I mean, if you don't tell me, that's fine. Matty will, though. And besides, it might make you feel better since you've had a death grip on the steering wheel this entire time," Dustin pointed out. Eddie briefly looked down and noticed that the skin on his knuckles was stretched tight and white from his hold.

At the revelation, he let his hands relax a bit. He could only sigh as Dustin continued to look at him.

"We…We dated a long time ago for a long time. I got held back, and they went to college, and with distance, our relationship kinda just faded," he murmured. He knew he shouldn't have lied, but he didn't want Dustin knowing the real reason, that he was highly insecure and felt like he was holding you back.

"Shit."

"Yeah," Eddie really wanted to smoke a cigarette right now, but with Dustin in the van, he held in the urge.

Eddie was thankful that Dustin didn't bring the subject of you back up during the duration of the ride.

"Hey man, you have a week to rekindle whatever is left between you two. But if you want my opinion, I think you still have a chance," Dustin said, grabbing his bag from the back as he stood on the curb. Eddie gave him an uncertain smile and waved before driving off.

He couldn't get Dustin's words out of his head as he drove toward his newest client's house. A big part of him, the hopeless romantic, really wanted to believe him, but with the way things had ended between you, he doubted you'd still feel the same about him.

+++

You were honestly fed up with life at this point. You had torn your room to shreds in search of your wallet. Your secret little stash of liquor was almost depleted, and you knew that you would not survive the rest of the week without something vital to drink in the comfort of your room late at night.

You wouldn't admit it out loud, but you were gaining a little bit of a terrible habit that may come back to bite you in the ass later in life, but right now, you just wanted to ease your mind with something strong.

Taking a deep breath, you tried to recount your whereabouts the other night. You remembered having your wallet when you were in the gym with Lucas, looking inside it to see how much cash you had to determine how much it would cost for your truck to be towed, and then you were in Eddie's van. You don't remember taking it out of your back pocket and placing it on your nightstand like usual.

Picking up your pillow, you screamed as loud as possible into the soft material. You cried out to the point that you started to form a headache. You began to gasp for air and think about how you'd get it back.

Frowning, you began to clean your room while making a plan. You groaned, knowing that you'd just have to walk a good four miles to reach Eddie's mobile home, and even then, you'd have to work up the courage to talk to your ex-boyfriend alone.

Your first step was to get dressed and then begin your descent up the stairs. Heading to the kitchen, you gave your mom a half-hearted greeting once she addressed you. Pulling the yellow pages off the top of the refrigerator, you began searching for a tow truck company.

You began dialing the first number you saw and waited for the line to pick up. "Hi, my truck broke down on me last night at Hawkin's High School, and I was wondering, is there any way you could drop it off at Hank's Wrenches?"

You began to give the woman on the line the information you needed. You wrote down all the information she'd provided in cost for the tow and who would be waiting for you at the mechanics.

Thanking the woman, you sighed as you hung up. Turning around, you made eye contact with your mother who looked at you over the rim of her cup. You gave her the biggest pleading smile you could muster and clasped your hands together on top of your chest.

"Ma, can I please borrow your car–" She lifted her hand out, silencing your pleading mid-sentence.

"You know how I feel about other people driving my car," she said, sighing. You held back the eye roll, knowing that if you showed any attitude, she wouldn't even consider any offer you threw her way.

"I know, but–" She cut you off once again.

"If you know how I feel, why would you ask?" She took a sip of her coffee, eyes returning to the counter's magazine. You wanted to scream. She has always made it hard for you to ask for help without anything in return. If you were Matty, hell, if you were Mary, she would've given you the keys to her car no problem, but you just had to be yourself.

You were just about to beg your mom when your brother came around the corner with a VHS tape in hand. "Hey, mom?"

"Yes, baby?" She placed her cup on the counter and closed the magazine giving him her undivided attention. He looked up at her and briefly looked at your stressed visage. You clasped your hands on your chest again and began to shake them silently, telling Matty that you required help. He gave you a slight tilt of his head in understanding before addressing your mom once again.

"I was hoping I could return this movie for another one for our family movie night. And I was hoping to keep the movie a surprise," he said, hinting that he wanted you to take him.

"Of course, sweety!" She then turned towards you.

"To Hank's, Family Video, and back. Do you understand me?" She asked, dangling the keys right in front of you. You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded, reaching for them before she pulled them back.

"Do you understand? I know how much gas it would take." You choked down any courses that were about to spill out.

"Yes, I understand," you said through gritted teeth. She again searched your eyes and dropped the keys in your open palm.

"Thanks, mom." Matty kissed her on the cheek, which caused a smile to break on her face. You held back a wince as you noticed that her smile had lowered just a minuscule amount once she turned to look at you again.

You gave her a quieter thank you and rushed back to your room to collect some cash you had saved up for rainy days like this one metaphorically. Once Matty and yourself were safely tucked away in your mother's vehicle, you pulled him in for a hug.

"Thank you, Matty," you said, tears pricking the corner of your eyes. He returned the gesture. He always hated how your parents treated you. You weren't abused or mistreated; your relationship with your parents was on the edge of tough love and displeasure. He could only remember his parents praising you when you stuck up to bullies on both his sister and his account.

"I have to drop by Eddie's real quick," you said, finally starting the car and speeding off. When you reached the entrance to where he lived, it was taped off with police vehicles littered around. Pulling closer, you were forced to stop as a police officer gestured for you to roll down the window.

"You can't be here right now," he said, his brow pinched together in irritation.

"I just left my wallet in my friend's van. I just need to grab it really quickly." You tried to give him the friendliest smile you could muster, hoping he'd just given in for you to get in and get out.

"We're not allowing anyone to enter who does not live here. You're going to have to leave and come get it at another time," he said, his voice cold and uncaring.

"I promise it won't take long. I'll leave the engine running with my brother in the car; that's how fast I'll be." The officer's temper was starting to rise just as yours was.

"As I said, We're not allowing anyone who does not live here to enter. Leave now, or I will detain the both of you," he threatened. Your brother gently grabbed your arm, trying to encourage you to leave.

"I know. I heard you the first time, but I just need to grab my wallet out of my boyfriend, Eddie Munson's van, and then I'll fuck off! Just please do me a solid, sir!" You were just about fed up with this entire day, and if this cop wouldn't help you, you'd hit him and drive off despite the repercussions you'd face.

The guy's eyebrows shot up as his eyes widened. "I'm going to need you to step out of the vehicle," he said. His hand began to reach down, which caused yours to shoot up above your head.

"L-listen, dude, officer, I didn't mean any harm. I've just been stressed and I just want to go home."

"I'm not going to ask you again; step out of the car!" he shouted. You jumped and pulled the keys out of the ignition.

"Okay, okay! Jesus, just don't shoot!" you begged, taking your seatbelt off and opening the car door. The officer grabbed you by the arm and began to drag you further into the trailer park. You looked back and saw the fear on your brother's face. You gave him a smile to try and ease his worries, but you had to face forward once again as you began to trip on the uneven sidewalk.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction

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bullet-prooflove · 2 years ago

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This is how Mike realises he's falling in love with you. The sex is great, he loves what the two of you get up to in bed but it's been a fucking gruelling day, he's exhausted, he's emotionally wrung out and you aren't much better. All he wants to do is curl up in bed with you and hold you in his arms. He wants to bury his face in your hair and fall asleep with you pressed against his chest feeling, safe and cared for. He craves the intimacy of it, he wants to take shelter in someone else for a while and you are his sanctuary, the only place he can relax and let his guard down.

You wanna come over & just go to sleep?

#mike durate #captain mike durate #mike durate x you #mike durate x reader #maurice compte #mike duarte x reader #mike duarte x you #captain mike duarte #mike duarte

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namjoonsteeth · 6 years ago

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A Christmas Surprise - Jay Park one shot

Jay Park x Reader

Genre: Christmas Fluff

Word Count: 2.1k

One thing about my husband that is still taking some getting used to is his habit of waking up earlier than any normal person. Unfortunately, Christmas isn’t an exception, it’s an excuse for Jay.

“We should get up,” he says, shifting his weight like he’s going to get out of bed.

I tighten my arms around him, holding his body against mine. Of course, I’m not actually making a difference. If he wanted to slip out of bed, he could easily do it. He settles back against me as I press my face into his neck.

“Let’s wait until he wakes up. I’m tired,” My eyes squint against the bright Christmas lights coming from the tree in the corner of our room before I bury my face back into his skin. It’s a miracle I got to sleep last night, or every night this week, since Jay decided we needed a tree in our bedroom this year as well.

“It’s Christmas, though,” I can hear the pout of his lips. That’s one of my favorite things about him. Usually it would work on me, but considering we were up late last night having our own celebration, I’m partial to staying in bed until our son forces me to get up.

“It’s too early, Jay. I feel like we just got to bed,” I stretch my legs out, hooking one around his hip to remind him just how we spent the night. As if he could forget, we didn’t bother putting any clothes on afterward.

“What if the kid and I get up and make you breakfast and then we open gifts,”

“We wrote no cooking into the marriage contract. Don’t touch my kitchen,” I tell him, a little agitated that he’s not going to let me go back to sleep.

“Marriage contract,” he scoffs.

“Vows. I take them very seriously. We agreed you don’t give me food poisoning more than twice and you don’t wake me up,”

“You got food poisoning once and it wasn’t really my fault,” he protests cutely. I don’t care. I’m not actually trying to be cute, he’s really not allowed to cook me any food after the great raw fish debacle of 2016.

“Do you really want to break your vows so early into this union?” I question seriously.

Jay blows a large breath between his lips, his mouth slapping together. You would think that he’s super excited to open his own Christmas gifts, but in reality it has to do with his son. With Miles turning four, this year we’re sure he’s a little more into the Christmas spirit than prior years. Jay’s excited for his baby’s excitement which is too cute. Still, it’s six o’clock in the morning. And as much as our son takes after his father, he hates being woken up just like his mother.

“Give us an hour,” I try to appeal, kissing his skin.

“Okay,” he sighs, relenting. His arms tighten around me, pulling me flush against his body. It’s not like I can go back to sleep with his antsy moving and Christmas lights blinding me, instead I try to enjoy the first hours of Christmas with him. The Holiday’s are always stressful. With him trying to squeeze as many shows as possible before the new year and me trying to get everything at home situated with enough Christmas spirit as he likes, it always feels like a race against time. This year had Jay even more stressed out. He wanted everything to be perfect for Miles.

“The sooner we open gifts, the sooner you can go back to sleep,” He bargains.

I take the bait knowing that he’s going to keep at it until I finally agree to get up anyway. Sighing I reach up to playfully tug at his ear. “You’re waking him up,”

“He hates when I wake him up,” Jay protests.

“Well it’s your call because he’s worse than I am in the morning,”

Miles was always a good baby. He’d slept through the night early, never went through a toddler tantrum phase, and when he plays he’s extremely aware of his surroundings. But wake him up before he’s ready to get up, and it’s like he turns into a demon child. I get it. I’m the same way, but it’s a little inconvenient sometimes. Today, at six in the morning, Jay deserves what ever fury rains down on him.

Jay leaves first, making his way into Mile’s room. I sit up too, reaching for the T-shirt and shorts I’d slung over the headboard last night. I’m just pulling my shorts on and slipping my feet into slippers when Jay comes back in with our sleep son in his arms. Miles is a small four year old. With his arms wrapped tightly around his fathers neck, and his legs around his waist; he looks like my baby again. Not the hyperactive independent kid he’s growing to be. I peak over Jay’s shoulder, seeing Mikes still has his eyes squeezed shut tightly, resisting any hint of awareness until the very last moment. His dark hair curls around his ears and falls over his forehead. When he sees me peeking at him, he presses his face into Jay’s neck and sighs.

“You’re both extremely overdramatic,” Jay tells me.

I laugh as I follow them out to the living room. Jay sets Miles on the floor and pulls out a box for him. “It’s present time,” he tries to appeal to his son with shiny wrapping paper. Miles finally bites and starts opening his gifts, eventually betraying me and not caring that the sun isn’t even up yet. Mama’s boy my ass. When he’s opened all of his smaller things, Jay pulls out the bigger box from the closet. Miles’s eyes light up cutely as he sees the miniature version of his dad’s car. I watch the two of them fawn over the toy as a round of nerves hits my stomach. Jay and I don’t really do Christmas gifts. We both want for nothing and usually just give each other what we want when we feel like it through out the year. It leaves coming up with something every year out, and lets us focus on Miles and work.

This year, I’d prepared something. When Jay sits on the sofa and watches our son play with his toys, it feels like a good time. I reach under the tree and pull out the tiny box I’d wrapped a week ago now. Jay frowns as I hand him the gift, understandably confused.

“What’s this?”

“Just open it,” I say, prodding his knee with my elbow. I pull my lip between my teeth as I watch him remove the lid and pull out the tiny black and white picture. He holds it in his fingers, staring at every detail before his dark eyes flick down to me.

“You’re kidding?” He says breathlessly. I can see him doing the pointless math in his head. When people have as much sex as we do, multiple mistakes happen. With us, it’s almost inevitable. The only reason I was able to pinpoint the when was after I’d gotten the ultrasound.

“Not a joke, baby,” I say softly.

“When?” Jay scratches at the back of his head, looking more confused.

“You don’t remember how much you loved my Halloween costume?” I raise my eyebrows at him hoping I don’t have to jog his memory beyond that.

“You’re kidding?” He repeats looking down at the box in his lap. My stomach rolls again with nerves. I can’t read him. It’s hard to gauge if he’s happy about the news or not. His eyes go to my belly, which is just barely showing. I’ve always had more of a naturally full figure, it would be easy to miss that there was a little bean in my stomach.

“I thought I was just feeding you well for the last few weeks,” he says seriously.

“You haven’t been home for the last few weeks,” I point out. “I’m pregnant, Jay,” I place my hand on my stomach tenderly, moving to sit beside him on the sofa.

When our son was born we were prepared. We’d done it the way we wanted. We got married, spent two years with him on the road and me joining him whenever I could. Then, once we saw everything we wanted to see with just the two of us, when we’d started longing for a little one, we’d made the decision to have a baby. This one, the one that’s in my stomach, has no clue just how unplanned they are. The dichotomy is ridiculous. I’ve never known Jay to not have a plan. A new baby would be just the thing to throw him off. I can see his jaw ticking, not in anger, as he reworks the next year in his head. Jay isn’t the type to let me sit at home and do this on my own.

“Are you happy?” I whisper, running my thumb over his high cheekbone.

I’ve been nervous for a week now. Nervous to tell him that I thought I was pregnant, then nervous to to tell him that I went to the doctor without him. Finally, he reaches out for my hand. He pulls me onto his lap. His palm lays flat against my stomach, smoothing under the fabric of my T-shirt. When his skin touches mine, I finally relax. Of course, everything is ok. This is Jay. He’s got me, no matter what surprises pop up.

“Can I be honest?” He says looking up at me. When I nod, his face cracks into a wide smile. “I wanted a new baby really badly,”

I look down at our son who has neglected his toys and put his head on the floor and is doing a dangerously looking b-boy spin surrounded by ripped wrapping paper. He’s his father’s child.

“You think you can handle two of him? He’s more hyperactive than you are,”Jay smiles down at him.

Suddenly, he lifts me up off his lap and smoothly transitions us both to sitting on the floor. “I think,” he starts, reaching out to playfully push the baby over which starts a war with our defensive and always ready to fight son.

“I think, that me and you are meant to have as many kids as we can. As long as you’re comfortable with having them, I’ll always want more,”

My heart beats faster. I never had any doubt that we’d be ok. Maybe at this moment we aren’t mentally ready to have another baby, but with Jay’s fingers gentle tapping against my skin as he looks over at our son, it’s hard not to feel a spark of excitement in my chest. And he’s right. I feel it. Him and I are meant to expand our family as far and wide as we can. Suddenly Miles sits up, his head swaying clumsily like he’s dizzy from all the spinning.

“Mommy, why did we get up so early. I’m still tired,” his tiny pink lips pout and he looks just like his father.

Jay scoffs. “You guys would sleep the day away if I let you,”

I nudge him with my elbow, “Hey, I have pregnancy fatigue,”

“Is that your excuse, Y/n? So you’ve just had pregnancy fatigue for the duration of our whole relationship-,”

“Don’t attack me,” I smile, leaning in to press my lips against his. He kisses me back, holding my mouth against his with a hand on my chin. When he pulls back, he leans his forehead against mine. His lips pucker and touch my nose and forehead and cheek before he leans back against me.

“Thank you for my Christmas gift,” he whispers. “I’m really fucking happy,”

“What do you think they are?” I ask him with a smirk.

I’d asked him the same question four years ago when I told him I was pregnant with Miles. I knew I was having a boy. From the moment that I’d known I was pregnant, I knew that it was Miles. Jay on the other hand had been going back and forth before finally giving up on making a decision until the day Miles was born.

“I think a girl,” he answers finally.

“You sure?” I say looking down at my belly.

He nods seriously.

“I want her to look just like you, from your eyes to your smile. I think she’s going to be perfect,”

I look over at our perfect little boy who is bumping into the unlit fire place with his mini Bentley. He backs up a bit before lurching forward right into the edge of the marble.

If it’s a child of Jay’s there’s no way that our baby can’t be absolutely flawless.

#Jay Park #AOMG #h1ghrmusic #jay park scenarios #jay park imagine #khh scenarios #khh imagines #park-jaybum writes #add to master list 1

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