MY BOYFRIENDS A CRIMINAL! — Bf!nettspend x Gf!reader
information: After Gunners live, he drives recklessly to impress you and it ends up with him up in trouble with the cops. cw: illegal activities, intoxication, speeding, kissing masterlist taglist
Gunner tossed his phone onto the console next to him, the screen going black after he abruptly cut the live stream. He had spent the last twenty minutes carefully angling the camera, successfully keeping you completely out of the frame.
Now that the audience was gone, the quiet of the car settled between you. A slow, wicked smirk spread across his face as he looked over.
“Alright, ma,” he drawled, his voice low and vibrating with mischief. “You ready to see how fast this baby can actually go?”
You let out a soft laugh, your chest tight with a mix of anticipation and the heavy, strong smoke lingering in the air. The haze slightly clouded your vision, making the streetlights outside bleed into long, neon streaks.
You knew this was incredibly stupid. You knew it was dangerous. But looking at the relaxed grip he had on the wheel and the fierce, protective spark in his eyes, you knew you trusted him with your life.
You leaned back and nodded, a quiet challenge in your voice. “Floor it.”
Gunner’s eyes darkened. He slowly licked his bottom lip, giving you one last lingering look to make sure you were serious before turning his attention back to the dark stretch of asphalt ahead.
He slammed his foot down on the gas.
The engine roared to life, a powerful, guttural sound that vibrated straight through the floorboards and into your bones. The sudden acceleration threw your body hard against the leather seat. A breathless chain of laughs escaped your throat as the world outside became a dizzying blur.
Gunner glanced over at you, his smirk widening into a genuine grin as he drank in the sound of your laughter.
He started weaving through the light traffic, making sharp, aggressive turns and swerving around slower cars. He was chasing the high-pitched squeals and gasps that left your lips, feeding off your energy.
The music blaring from the speakers pulsed through the car, the heavy bass matching the frantic rhythm of your heart and only heightening the rush in your veins.
At one point, you let your head fall back and closed your eyes. With the weed heavy in your bloodstream, the sensation of speed morphed; it didn't feel like you were driving anymore. It felt like you were strapped into a rocket ship, hurtling through space.
Suddenly, the car swerved violently. Gunner took a sharp turn, and the passenger-side wheels clipped the curb hard enough to make the whole vehicle bounce.
Your eyes flew open, your fingers instantly digging into the leather seat. You whipped your head toward him.
Gunner let out a throaty snort, completely unbothered. “We good, ma. Just a little—”
Before he could finish the sentence, the sharp, wailing shriek of a siren cut through the music.
Your heart instantly dropped into your stomach, the adrenaline rush turning ice-cold. Both of your heads turned slowly toward each other, the high evaporating in a split second.
“Fuck,” Gunner muttered, the single word hanging heavily in the smokey air as flashing red and blue lights illuminated the back windshield, casting harsh, rhythmic shadows over his face.
Hesitantly, Gunner began to slow the car down, pulling toward the shoulder.
“You know you could have lost them,” you whispered, your voice tight as you watched the patrol car close the distance behind you.
He shook his head, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. “You want me to get booked for a felony chase, ma?”
You bit the edge of your thumb, taking a deep, shaky breath to settle the sudden fluttering in your chest. The police cruiser pulled up close behind, its headlights blinding in your side mirrors.
Feeling your anxiety, Gunner reached across the console. His bigger, warm hand closed over yours, squeezing tightly. “Hey. I got you. You ain't do nothing wrong, ma.”
You squeezed back, looking at his profile. “I’m not worried about me,” you said softly.
His bottom lip twitched upward in a faint, grateful smile, but he shook his head, signaling you to drop it and stay calm.
The heavy thud of a car door closing echoed from behind. A male officer approached the driver’s side, his flashlight beam cutting through the smoke-filled cabin. He tapped aggressively on the glass, signaling for Gunner to roll the window down.
Gunner complied, letting the window slide down with a slow, agonizing crawl.
“Do you know what I’m pulling you over for, son?” the officer asked, leaning down slightly.
Gunner didn't say a word. He just shrugged, his expression a mask of pure indifference.
The sheer audacity of it made you have to press your lips together to bite back a laugh.
“You were going 150 in an 80,” the officer pressed, his tone hardening as he stared down at him. “Does that sound familiar?”
Gunner huffed, looking straight ahead. “Doesn't ring a bell.”
You immediately turned your head toward the passenger window, half-amused by his stubbornness and half-annoyed that he was actively digging a deeper hole.
“License and registration,” the officer demanded, clearly done with the attitude.
You turned back to Gunner. He was already looking at you, a silent, brief look of warning passing through his eyes before he faced the cop again.
“See, I don't got my physical license on me,” Gunner said, his tone entirely too casual. “I got my permit, though.”
The officer’s fingers tapped a harsh, irritated rhythm against the doorframe. “You gotta be real fucking dumb to be driving around like that without a license on you.”
The condescending tone rubbed you entirely the wrong way. Before you could stop yourself, you leaned slightly toward the driver's side. “And you gotta be a real asshole to talk to someone like that.”
The officer paused, slowly ducking his head lower to peer across the seat and look at you properly. “What’d you say, sweetheart?” his voice dripped with patronizing authority.
Before he could get a proper look at you, Gunner shifted his weight, intentionally blocking the officer’s view of the passenger seat. “She ain't a part of this. Just give me the ticket, man.”
The officer stared at Gunner for a long, tense moment. He looked back over his shoulder at his partner, who was waiting by the cruiser, then turned back and tapped the heavy plastic of his flashlight against the door.
“Step out of the car for me,” the officer commanded. “We’re doing a vehicle search.”
Gunner let his head fall back against the headrest, a heavy, frustrated groan escaping his chest. “I don't got no weapons, man,” he tried to reason, his voice dropping into a tired, pleading drone.
“Based from the smell coming out of this car, you’re not only driving underage, but you’re doing it under the influence,” the officer countered, his hand already dropping to the handle. He popped the door open. “Step out of the car.”
Before the cop could even think about reaching in to grab him, Gunner swung his legs out and stood up, towering over the officer for a brief second before complying. The officer kept a firm grip on his shoulder, guiding Gunner back toward the cruiser and leaving him under the watchful eye of his partner.
A moment later, the driver’s side door of your car opened again, and the first cop reached across to unlock your door. He walked over, opened it, and gave you a firm, commanding nod. “You too, sweetheart. Out.”
You stepped onto the gravel, the cool night air hitting your skin and sending a sudden shiver through you. The officer guided you over to the front hood of the patrol car where Gunner was already waiting. You leaned your lower back against the warm metal, trying to look as unbothered as possible.
The second cop stepped up to question the two of you, pulling out a small notepad. Every question he threw your way was met with short, drippingly sarcastic answers. Your heart was pounding, but the lingering high gave you a shield of pure attitude.
“Where were you two heading in such a hurry?” the cop muttered, pen poised.
“Your mothers house,” you muttered under your breath, keeping your face completely blank.
Beside you, Gunner’s shoulder shook. He let out a sudden, sharp cough to mask the laugh bubbling up in his throat.
The officer stopped writing, his jaw tightening as he slowly pinched the bridge of his nose. The silence stretched, the cop's temper visibly running shorter and shorter the more you spoke. Finally, with a heavy, irritated sigh, he snapped his notebook shut. “Stay right here. Don’t move.”
He turned on his heel and walked back toward Gunner’s car to help with the search.
What felt like hours dragged by in agonizing, slow-motion minutes. The hum of the highway in the distance and the rhythmic, blinding flash of the cruiser’s lights became a dull, hypnotic blur. Beside you, Gunner’s foot tapped a rapid, frantic rhythm against the dirt. The attitude he’d carried earlier was slowly chipping away, the obvious anxiety of a looming arrest running hot through his veins.
Finally, the searching officer walked slowly back toward the hood of the patrol car. His eyes were narrowed, squinting at the two of you as if trying to read a secret written across your faces. He stopped right in front of you, looking between your tense expressions.
“Your car is clean,” the officer announced, though his tone was heavy with suspicion. He knew something was off, but his hands were tied. “Wait here.”
He turned and began walking back toward the driver’s side of his cruiser to run Gunner's information one last time.
The second the cop’s back was turned, Gunner’s eyes widened, and he whipped his head toward you in sheer, utter disbelief. He knew exactly what had been in that glove box.
You caught his frantic gaze and shot him a subtle wink.
“How did you...” he started to whisper, his voice cracking slightly.
You raised a single finger to your lips, giving him a warning look to hush.
A breathless, unbelieving huff of a laugh escaped Gunner’s lips. The tension in his shoulders melted away, replaced by a gaze so raw and full of adoration it made your chest ache. A slow, helpless smirk spread across his face.
“God, I love you,” he murmured, his voice thick with a mixture of relief and genuine awe.
You couldn't help but smile back, the warmth spreading through you — but the moment was brutally cut short.
The officer returned from his cruiser, and this time, the metallic clink of steel handcuffs dangled from his fingers. Before either of you could react, the officer stepped up, grabbed Gunner’s arm, and forcefully pulled his hands behind his back.
“Yo, what the fuck?!” Gunner yelled, his body tensing as he tried to pull away.
Your smile instantly vanished. You took a sharp step forward, your hands clenching. “What are you doing? You said the car was clean!”
“You’re currently being detained for reckless driving and operating a vehicle without a license,” the officer told him coldly, his knee pressing into Gunner's lower back to keep him still as he clicked the heavy metal cuffs around his wrists. “We’ll take you back to the station, and you can make a phone call from there.”
“That's bullshit!” you exclaimed, step for step matching the officer as he began to lead Gunner away.
The officer didn't even look at you, offering only a dismissive shrug. “Sorry, sweetheart. But don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be back home soon.”
The officer nudged Gunner forward, guiding him toward the rear door of the patrol car. Gunner groaned, his shoulders twisting awkwardly against the tight cuffs.
“Hol’ up, hol’ up,” Gunner grunted, digged his heels into the gravel and fighting back against the officer's forward momentum. He couldn't turn around fully, but his head was whipped back, his eyes locked onto yours with a sudden, desperate intensity.
You followed close behind, still cursing out the officer, your heart hammering against your ribs.
“Get in the car, kid,” the officer warned, his hand reaching for the top of Gunner's head to guide him into the cramped backseat.
“Let me kiss her first,” Gunner demanded, his voice cracking with a sudden, fierce urgency.
The officer paused. He looked at Gunner, looked at you, and let out a long, exhausted groan. He took his hands off Gunner's shoulders and took a step back, raising his hands in a gesture that said make it quick.
Gunner didn't waste a single second. He took a heavy step toward you, his chest nearly flush against yours.
With his hands bound behind his back, you instantly stepped into his space. You cupped his face between your hands, your fingers tangling in the soft, messy strands of his long, pinkish hair. You pulled him down, connecting your lips in a deep, chaotic, and desperately messy kiss.
Gunner let out a low, ragged groan into your mouth, his body subconsciously straining against the handcuffs as he tried to wrap his arms around you. The taste of him — smoky, sweet, and entirely familiar — flooded your senses. His tongue slid hungrily against yours, drinking you in as if he were trying to memorize the feeling to carry him through the night.
Before you were ready, a heavy hand clamped onto Gunner’s shoulder, pulling him back.
Your lips parted with a soft, reluctant pop, your mouth pouting slightly at the sudden loss of warmth. You immediately took another step forward, chasing him to press one last, lingering peck to his lips before the officer firmly guided him down and forced him into the back of the car. The heavy door slammed shut with a definitive, chilling thud.
The officer turned back to you, dusting off his hands. “You can drive the car?”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded softly. “Yes.”
“Take it straight home. Go the speed limit. Don’t let me catch you around here again,” he ordered, before walking around to the driver's side and sliding into the cruiser.
You stood frozen on the shoulder of the dark road, crossing your arms tightly across your chest against the sudden chill. Through the heavily tinted glass of the patrol car’s rear window, your eyes locked onto Gunner’s.
Even through the dark glass, you could see the faint, incorrigible smirk on his face. He blew you a playful kiss, followed by a slow, reassuring wink.
The cruiser pulled out, its tires kicking up a small cloud of dust as it drove off into the night, the red and blue lights finally dying down to a distant, receding glow.
And just like that, you were standing completely alone on the quiet, empty street.
You let out a long, shaky breath you felt like you’d been holding for hours, the adrenaline finally beginning to fade. You walked back over to Gunner’s car, hopped into the driver’s seat, and shut the door, sealing yourself inside the warm, familiar cabin.
Reaching down, you slipped your hand down the front of your top and pulled the heavy, tightly wrapped baggie of weed out from where you’d tucked it safely inside your bra.
You looked down at it, a small, breathless laugh escaping your lips as you started the engine.
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