Please I need ANYTHING with Mickey I have a weakness for gingers and I want him to exploit that
A/N: You can consider this canon or non canon.
Tw: Mickey kinda weirdo ngl
“Sugar? You think you can help me with that barrel over there?”
You peaked up from the book you had lost yourself in, gazing at the cowboy who was currently cuttin up some wood for the barbecue you were plannin later.
“Sure thing Mic.”
“Mickey.”
You paused, a soft laugh pouring out of your throat that had the pale southerner lookin to the side shyly.
“Right Mickey, my bad.”
With a dramatic groan you pulled yourself out of your hammock, and trudged your way over to the wine barrel Mic- mickey, had set aside for you.
You eyed it for a moment, figuring out the best way to get this thing moving while a certain cowboy stared you down.
Pushing up the sleeves of your flannel, you crouched down, lodging your fingers under one side of the barrel, and propping the rest on the top side.
With a deep breath you pulled the barrel up into the air before catching it, bridal style in your arms and heading towards the cellar.
Cerulean eyes dilated while watching you work.
His addams apple bobbed down slowly with a thick swallow as he gazed at your forearms and sweaty neck.
Fuck your were Goddamn hot.
He could practically feel his dead heart thundering within his chest.
Watching you work always brought out something primal in him. He didn’t know what to be honest. Maybe it was the sound and sight of your blood rushing. Maybe watching your muscles flex was what gave him that fluttering feeling.
Maybe. Maybe he wanted you to toss him around like that sometimes too.
When you finally set down the barrel, you yelped slightly at the shadowing presence that squished its into your back, trapping you against the barrel.
“Mickey! what the hell-“
His gaze made you blink. Once. Twice. Nope still there.
His eyes were lidded, hazed over, and you couldn’t tell if they were even looking at you at this point. He looked like he was zoning out.
But that shouldn’t have been the case. Not with the way his rough hands began trailing up your forearms. Mapping out each vein and divet. Each bruise or scar from the hard labour you put in while on the farm.
His breath poured over your cheek, and you cringed inwardly at the feeling of the pink cowboy taking a deep breath.
His fingers played with the sleeves of your shirt, tugging and pulling, pushing them up to expose more skin and then pulling them back down as if it was lewd.
You didn’t really know what to make of this behavior.
You’re shoulders shook slightly, when his hands finally met at your neck, and peeled down the fabric of your shirt, watching with bated breath as it slide down your shoulders.
“Uh…Mic-“
“Mickey.”
It was practically a growl now, that burned your ear when he pressed his face into the crook of your neck, his hair tickling your jaw, and nearly making you shoulder him in the eye if it weren’t for his steady grip on you.
“You smell so pretty sweetheart…”
You laughed awkwardly.
“Sweetheart? Sugar? What happened to kid mic-Mickey?”
Something akin to a quiet groan pulled out of his throat as he pressed himself further into your backside.
“No…you’re not a kid Y/n…not anymore..”
Creepy as hell
The feeling of cold lips on your skin made you stutter on your breath, your head trying to whip around and see whatever the hell this psychotic cowboy was up to.
“Y/n….”
You paused. Foolishly.
“Yeah…?”
“Just….just one bite…just one okay? You think you can do that for me sweetheart?” His voice had dipped into a purring lull, and you weren’t completely out of touch with reality to not flush and feel butterflies in your stomach.
The southern twang in his voice was slurred. You didn’t even understand what he was asking, and honestly it seemed like he didn’t either.
“Wh..what do you mean…?”
Something sharp dragged lightly up your neck, followed by the wet cold feeling of a tongue and hot breath. You shivered, uncomfortably? you weren’t sure.
“Just stay still sweetheart…”
“Wh- OW”
Thwack!
“MICKEY WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”
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