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sunlightmurdock · 1 year ago

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Like This Forever | 0.1 | J. Seresin

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You’re thinking of the past, right as the future is about to change forever.

Warnings: accidental pregnancy, childhood friends to lovers, country singer!Jake, smut, pining, blissful ignorance, other warnings to follow. wc: 3k (18+ minors do not interact)

A U G U S T 1 9 7 4 / F E B R U A R Y 1 9 9 1

Driftwood — small town southwestern Texas, situated in Lockheart County. Springs, stony hills, and steep canyons. It’s good land, occupying a tiny patch of earth in the middle of the Edwards Plateu. That’s what they all say: good land, good soil. Large acreages of wheat for miles around, grown annually for harvest and winter through spring livestock grazing. The remaining two-thirds of the region is rangeland devoted to cattle ranching. Ranches in this region often seem older than the landscape itself. Lockheart County’s livestock industry is nationally appreciated, it was, even back then. Ranches here are huge, they’ve been there for generations. The town of Driftwood, itself, sits in a valley. It holds on to the people who settle there just like it holds onto the weight of that thick, summer heat all through the day. So hot that even the trees bend and furl like they’re seeking shade too.

Back then, Driftwood was even smaller than it is now. Post Office, Church, two schools, a fleet of locally owned stores on Main Street and a few other buildings for the fathers who weren’t ranchers or ranch hands to work.

On that day in early August, most of Driftwood’s thousand person population were nestled amongst the pews of St. Augustine’s Church, just outside of town. It’s a mile and a half from Main Street, and a mile and a half from the furthest fence on the Seresin Ranch. Their house is a sprawling thing that Bill’s grandfather had built — they haven’t got that kind of money now, and they didn’t on that morning in August. They’ve got three boys, who were squirming around the front pew, melting into the aged wood below them in their smart white button ups. They’ve got another boy too, standing behind Pastor James, holding a processional candle.

Jake’s their youngest. He was nine back then. Small for his age, especially when you stood him next to his brothers and their broad shoulders and long legs. His hair was beyond blond, lightened from the sun. His cheeks dusted with brown freckles and his eyes always narrowed into a type of John Wayne kind of squint. Jake loved John Wayne back then. He loved the cowboys on his bed sheets, and the fact he could see the cattle from his bedroom window. All he wanted back then was a pistol on his hip and a one-way ticket to El Dorado.

Mary-Lynn Seresin grew up in Driftwood, just like her husband had. She had known Bill since she was a little girl, and she had always known that she would marry him one day. Her nails were polished pink that day, sitting pretty atop the procession card as she fans herself with it. Two pews behind, you could still see a droplet of sweat bead from her neat blonde hairline and trail into the collar of her blue polka-dotted Sunday dress.

On that particular Sunday, the fans had packed up and stopped working. So, all six hundred of you who could make it out to St. Augustine’s we’re trapped in there — not just with Pastor James’ storytelling, but with the thick heat pressing down on the entire valley feeling like it had all been shut in this one room with the rest of you.

At the front, Jake Seresin’s cheeks were red, his hair was beading with sweat and his scarecrow, twig-like arms were trembling around the cross. He struggled with its weight and you had watched his green eyes flash out towards the crowd, briefly landing on his mother. Mary-Lynn gave him a proud nod. Bill was staring at the stagnant ceiling fans above their heads. You, were staring right at Jake.

Eight years old yourself, just eight weeks younger than Jake is, you have known that little grass-stain your entire life. In fact, Mary-Lynn and your mother found out that they were expecting just days apart. They had been in the same high school grade as girls, had married men who were good friends, and back then your mother had worked in the town’s hair salon five days a week. They grew very close through their pregnancies. Your mother was the first one to send flowers when Mary-Lynn went into labour a month and a half early.

Jake’s John-Wayne-Squint deepened through the heavy air, watching you like you were both about to draw pistols and settle this like men — right in the middle of Pastor James’ final verse. Your pigtails and your white Sunday dress weren’t fooling him. His robes and the heavy cross in his hand weren’t fooling you. Clearly following his brother’s gaze, Daniel Seresin turns and peers at you over his shoulder. He’s the closest in age to Jake, but he’s still five years older. Thirteen then and too grown up for childish squabbles like those, he just turned back to the front and shook his head.

The first three of the Seresin boys were all born within three consecutive years. Matthew, Noah and Daniel. They’re each tall like their mother, blonde like her too, and have inherited their father’s linebacker shoulders. Noah was fourteen and about to be a freshman in high school. After he fixed the chain on your bike at the beginning of summer, you were full-blown head-over-heels in love with him back then. You thought you were anyway.

Jake, however, had been in your class since Kindergarten and you had been forced to share your toys with him for even longer than that.

His arms trembled before you and your mouth had twitched. Neither one of you was listening to the service. It was almost over. Just a few more minutes until Pastor James wrapped up and the people of Driftwood and poured out of this sauna and out into the dry, morning sun.

Quickly, you shot a look at your mother sitting at your side. She was listening intently, staring right ahead with her neatly steamed clothes and her hair-sprayed hair. You’ll always remember the heavy smell of her rose-scented perfume. Every time you inhale it, you’re sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her fix her face in her vanity. Then, you looked to your father on the other side of you. Exactly the same. Pleased, you turn your attention back to the youngest Seresin boy.

Scrunching your nose, you had sat forwards just slightly and stuck your tongue out at him. Quite the diss back then. Jake’s green eyes had widened, sweat beading down his back under his white shirt and his service robes.

Driftwood is a safe place. It’s a fantastic town to raise children. The schools aren’t overcrowded and cars don’t speed through the centre of town. Country roads are a different story. But no one bats an eyelid, especially not back then, when their children are out of sight.

Mary-Lynn was busily detailing the events of her dinner party that coming Saturday to a group of women that are invited. She’s quite the hostess still. Your mother stood amongst them. Neither one of them were concerned about where their children were in the slightest. Until, that is, the sounds of muffled screaming filled their ears. The mothers of Driftwood rush to the commotion in their kitten heels and pretty dresses. Your mother was the first around the corner. She would recognise the sound of her baby’s screaming anywhere. But you weren’t the one in trouble. As usual, you had been causing it.

Your white dress grass-stained and muddy, dirt under your fingernails and covering your formerly white, frilled socks. You were kneeling. You haven’t yet noticed the crowd of women rushing in your direction. You’ve got Mary-Lynn Seresin’s youngest son pressed into the dirt, kneeling on his back and twisting his arm uncomfortably behind him.

“Say Uncle!” You demanded.

“You’re so dead! Get off!” Jake struggled under you, screaming with all the force that his growing lungs would allow. His voice must have been audible across the entire valley with how he was hollering. Freckled cheek pressed into the dirt, his white shirt was destroyed and he was in the middle of ruining his shoes with how he was scrambling for purchase in the dried dirt.

Quickly, your mother had grabbed you under your arms and hauled you off of the boy, spinning you to face her.

“What do you think you’re doing young lady?”

“He started it! — He said my dress was ugly!”

“It is ugly, you look like a girl!” Jake huffed from behind you as he had stumbled onto his feet and taken a look down at his church clothes. Slowly, he had lifted his gaze to look at his mother. Sullen and worried looking, he began to pout. It wasn’t working. Mary-Lynn had raised three boys by then, she knew when they were trying to play innocent.

The thing about growing up so close together, is that approaching double digits was a confusing time. It was around that age that your mother began to put her foot down when it came to all of those tom-boy activities. Girls might roughhouse and come home with holes in their jeans and mud on their faces, but young ladies didn’t. The dress was her idea.

Jake’s comment had been passing, just a whisper as his family had headed into church ahead of yours, but he was right — you did look like a girl. Back then, that wasn’t a compliment coming from him. So, you had cornered him outside and pummeled him into the dirt. Fair is fair.

“Mary-Lynn, I am so sorry about her — send me the dry-cleaning bill. I’m sorry, we should go.” Your mother had sighed in a hurry, frowning down at your ruined clothes, then looking towards Jake’s. You’ll always remember the smile on Mary-Lynn’s face after. Not pity, because she knew you were in a lot of trouble for this. Just fondness. She had gently patted your mother’s forearm and shaken her head.

“Let’s finish our chat. They’re already filthy. Let them play.”

Looking up at her, you hadn’t understood why she was siding with you back then. You had just almost broken her son’s arm for sport. As you grew, Mary-Lynn Seresin was always on your side. In her kitten heels and dresses, she remembered being a dirt-covered little girl once too. No one was telling her son that it was time yet, to be a man. There’s no harm in letting you be young a little longer.

Your mother had looked uncertain, but people in Driftwood always looked to Mary-Lynn for advice. She had somehow managed to keep four boys in line perfectly, her parenting expertise was studied by those around her. Finally, she had given you a brief nod.

You remember spinning on the delicate almost-heel of your church shoes, rounding on Jake, ready to brawl. You have no clue where the stick came from, but he was armed when you had turned around — but Jake always fought fair. He tossed you a stick of your own and took aim. Green eyes narrowed, he was trying to look down his freckled nose at you, but you were taller then.

“She’s gonna marry that boy someday.” Mary-Lynn Seresin had huffed with a wistful smile, watching the mud-caked children tear off through the field once again. This time, with sticks in hands and violent intent plastered across their dirty faces.

You’re not eight anymore. Jake’s not nine. This time of the year, you both happen to be twenty-six. You aren’t trying to kill him with a stick anymore either. You’re sitting at your favourite bar in Driftwood — there are four now — watching your best friend up on stage. He’s always confident. He has been since he hit that growth spurt when he was twelve. Since then, Jake has been unstoppable. But on stage is when he really shines.

The Dark Star feels like an old bar. It’s packed every Friday night. It smells like malt and smoke and Jake’s been playing here every Saturday since he was seventeen. This is the last time that it will ever be like this, and you don’t even know it yet. Jake’s in the middle of an original. People around here know him, they know his music. They might not get all the words right, but he always gets people singing.

Jake isn’t small for his age now. He grew into his nose, and he inherited those big shoulders, his skin’s tanned from his days out at the ranch. He’s strong and funny and kind. Sometimes it catches you off guard, when you turn your head and find a man in place of the little boy you once knew.

You’re in a booth, talking numbers. It turns out that you had inherited your mother’s knack for business strategy, and Jake’s way with words had rubbed off on you long ago.

You don’t look like the little girl Jake had once known either. If he was concerned about you looking like a girl before, then you can only imagine how dismayed he must be when he looks at you now. Breasts and everything.

“It’s more than potential, Stu — you saw how crazy people were for him when he was opening for The Ashford Band.” You tell him, fingers curled around a brown glass bottle. This is already settled, the deal is already done. You knew from the second that he walked in that you had Stu Adler suckered.

This is a deal that you’ve been mulling over for a couple of months now. Getting Jake on his first headline tour. His debut album came out last week and it’s doing well, but the record label is tiny and the publicity deal is even smaller. Jake’s making pennies compared to other people in his genre, but you’re about to change all of that.

“Six months is a long time on the road. It’s a different lifestyle,” Stu’s dishwater grey eyes flicker briefly up from the plunging neckline of your top to meet your gaze. He’s an older man, with a once successful career in Los Angeles. Now, he spends his time scrounging small towns for talent. He’s just a stepping stone in your plans for Jake. “You’re sure he can handle it?”

Stretching your legs out, you scoff incredulously at the accusation as Jake’s last song dwindles behind you. The beer bottle is cool against your lips. Stu swallows, watching your lips purse around the rim to drink. You know he’d die for the chance to get his wrinkly, old dick in your mouth — it’s why Jake’s about to get the best deal of his life.

“Jake? — Of course.”

“Can you?” Stu asks. The light on you for once makes you cringe. Even so, your poker face doesn’t falter. Calmly staring across the table at him, a small smile on your face. “Y’know, he’s going to need a manager that I can rely on. I.e. — one that he won’t dump, sweetheart.”

This only makes your smile grow. “Jake is like a brother to me. You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

It’s that lie that secures the deal. Six months, a hundred and sixty dates across the US. Mostly small venues, but it’s his first headline tour — and it’s all because of you. Because of that one little white lie. Letting Stu think that he’s got a chance with you. Letting him think that you’ve never fucked Jake.

You have. Twice, already by this point. Once, after senior prom. Your date was an asshole and his was cruel. You’d parked his truck out in the west pasture of the Seresin ranch and got a little too drunk under the stars, and wound up with your legs hiked up over his shoulders. The second time was Thanksgiving two years ago. Your family joined his. All of his brothers have fiancés or wives now. Sharing Jake’s bed in his childhood home that night, neither one of you was drunk. You were just lonely, and maybe bored.

Tonight, there are a couple of different factors at play. Sure, by the time that you and Jake collapse down onto that red, velvet couch in the Dark Star’s ‘dressing room’, you’ve had plenty to drink. You’re not quite as lonely as you were that thanksgiving, though.

You turn your head and he’s grinning at the ceiling, chest heaving from the energetic final song. His arms stretch along the backs of the couch, his eyes closed for a moment. You watch him silently.

“You’re incredible.” Jake’s half-cut on an unhealthy mix of tequila and vodka, but smiling, eyes still shut, chin still pointed towards the sky. He gives his head a small shake. “A hundred and sixty dates.”

A smile plasters itself across your lips. As drunk as you are, it’s nice to be complimented for your hard work. “Yeah, we’ll see if you still think I’m so incredible when you’re living off of burgers and beer and still have eighty shows to go.”

The smell of cigarettes lives within the fibre of this room. Part of the furniture, nestled amongst the cracks in the red painted walls. There’s the couch that you’re sitting on, and an illuminated vanity against the far wall, and then a coat stand. It’s not much of a dressing room, but it’s fine.

You just wish it would stop spinning.

“I mean it.” His fingers rest atop your denim clad thigh, patting platonically. You hear him sigh from beside you. He squeezes at the supple skin under his hand. “Thank you.”

“Jake… since when do you have manners?” You ask him. Both of you are sitting with your eyes shut on this old, probably dirty, velvet couch. It’s five in the morning. The two of you might have gone a little overboard with celebrating. Wayne Mayhew, the owner of the Dark Star might have threatened to kick you both out of his bar if you didn’t finally get off of his damn stage ten minutes ago.

But there’s a high buzzing between the two of you that feels electric. Wordlessly, you know Jake feels it too. That this is the last night. Here, in this shitty hometown bar. Everything is about to change. After this tour, nothing will ever be the same again — for either of you.

Jake’s thumb trails back and forth in just one small pattern, reminding you that it’s there on your thigh.

It’s been on your mind all day, for no reason at all. That Sunday in August in 1974. Your ruined church dress and the fat bruise on Jake’s cheek the next day when you had seen him at the market. The start of it all.

Those late night drives and all the evenings you studied together. Jake’s football games and his band practices — back when he had thought he wanted to be in a band. Him drying your tears and making you laugh. Growing up together, talking for hours and hours about all of the possibilities. This was everything Jake had ever wanted, and he’s thanking you.

Your eyelids weigh double what they normally do — heavy as you blink open your eyes and turn your head. This time, he’s looking across at you. The tips of his fingers brush the inseam of your blue, low-rise jeans. His face is calm, he isn’t saying anything and he’s far from doing anything either.

Scrunching your nose, you poke your tongue out at him. Across the couch, Jake lifts his brows. The corner of his mouth twitches. He’s got stubble now. Stubble, and chest hair and an Adam’s apple. But that look, that glint in his eye that’s just daring you to try him has always been the same.

Jake’s fingers twitch, pressing into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. Dim lighting, fifteen year old red paint on each of the four walls, and that perpetual cigarette smell — it’s hardly a romantic fantasy. And this is far from a good idea.

But it’s Jake. Confident, loud Jake who gets shy when he’s around someone he really likes. Funny, smart-mouthed Jake who under it all is a great listener. Goofy, habitual Jake who has the nighttime routines of a fifty year old housewife.

Strong-willed, handsome, Jake, your best friend — who’s looking at you like you’re his next meal.

…

@fia-thefirst @daggerspare-standingby @dempy @v0id-chaos @moonlight-addisyn @grxcisxhy-wp @shakespeareanwannabe @coconut152 @330bpm-whiplash @takemetooneverlanddd @princess76179 @loveofvernonslife @averyhotchner @trickphotography2 @sushiwriterhere @the-romanian-is-bae @atarmychick007 @talktomegooseman @xoxabs88xox @thedroneranger @roostersforevergirl @buckysdollforlife @abaker74 @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @whatislovevavy @lonelywriter10 @s-u-t @topguncortez @callsign-joyride @rosedurin @86laura11 @theenorthstar @mygyn @growup-thatbeautiful @percysaidnever @katiedid-3 @its-the-pilot

#jake smut #Jake Seresin #Jake Seresin x reader #Jake Seresin x you #jake seresin x y/n #Jake Seresin fic #jake seresin #Glen powell #Jake hangman Seresin #top gun: maverick

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

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One-Shots

Gojo Satoru

You Are In Love - "you're my best friend," and you knew what it was

...Ready For It? - knew he was a killer first time that I saw him

Hits Different - it hits different 'cause it's you (or, struggling in a situationship with gojo satoru)

Never Grow Up - meeting megumi for the first time

The Archer - all of my enemies started out friends, can he hold on to you?

invisible string - the first time megumi uses ten shadows

even in my worst times, you see the best in me - being the strongest has its downsides, but at least you're suffering with him

life's no fun without a good scare - you have the brilliant idea of playing hide and seek in a corn maze against the most powerful sorcerer in the world. should be fun, right?

it's all me, just don't go (meet me in the afterglow) - satoru is jealous but refuses to admit it.

every dead end street led you straight to me - former fuckboy gojo has some things to say at the top of a mountain

i hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this! - coworkers to lovers with a healthy amount of teenage eavesdropping

he's the death you chose (you're in terrible danger) - married life with husband!gojo means cleaning up bodies at 2am.

Geto Suguru

The Great War - somewhere in the haze, got a sense I'd been betrayed

Back to December - you gave him all your love and all he gave you was goodbye

say you'll remember me - you were destined to fail from the start, so why does it hurt so badly when he's gone?

dazzling haze, mysterious way about you, dear - need some fluff after reading all the angst above?

tell me that you love me, love me 'til my lips turn blue - being partnered with suguru on a mission takes an unexpected turn

what if all i need is you? - after failed attempts to find a date to a relative's birthday party, your best friend acts as your fake boyfriend.

you know i love you so. - what if he never left you?

Nanami Kento

of daisies and collisions - nanami kento felt a little out of his element, with a small bundle of flowers sitting in his lap and brooding in the dark corner of the jazz bar. yet, you play that song he likes again, and nothing else matters.

Blurbs/Drabbles

the stakes are high, the water's rough, but this love is ours - holding satoru and letting him rest, even if it's only for a little bit

it took so long to know someone like you - he doesn't know who he is with you and it scares both of you

bad days and blanket burritos - good ol' satoru bf fluff

Imagines/HCs

And the touch of a hand lit the fuse

how gojo and geto react to their partner being obsessed with them (fluffy !!!)

summer camp counselor!gojo

Gojo Satoru

What, like it's hard? -> law student!gojo / university!gojo

general hcs

when he buys a motorcycle

flirting via the library

I'm with the band -> rockstar!gojo

rockstar!gojo meet sexyy

the valentine's day show

quiet moments and teaching you guitar

awards show

Falling for you, on and off the ice -> hockey player!gojo

someone steals your usual rink slot

watching a game

living in winter, i am your summer - he's terrible at figure skating

Kachow -> professional racer!gojo

on the radio

smoke his ass! - pro racer!gojo needs some motivation after a newcomer to the track pisses him off

Geto Suguru

oops? - satoru finds out that you've been seeing his best friend

a quiet moment in the aquarium

napping with you :)

scare actor!suguru

wooing the rec center worker (university!suguru)

Save a horse, ride a cowboy -> gunslinger!suguru

gunslinger!geto au

big iron - he's not the first to go after the crystal-eyed bandit, but something tells you that this one will keep his promise to buy you a drink when the hunting is done.

Theta Phi Fuckhead -> enemy frat!suguru

ancient grudge, new mutiny

move fast, keep quiet

half the things that haven't happened yet

Series Masterlists

End Game (volleyball captain!gojo x you) COMPLETED

Co-Parenting Megumi with Satoru COMPLETED

I Don't Wanna Live Forever (gojo x you during shibuya) COMPLETED

VIGILANTE SHIT (vigilante!au, IN PROGRESS)

#irisintheafterglow masterlist

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heartstringsduet · 6 months ago

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Happy Wednesday. <3 Back again after vacationing and friends-ing. This is a Work Is Posted day for once. Thanks for tagging me last week. I loved reading your snippets.

Your Shotgun rider 'til the day I die Summary: Carlos joins his husband for the concert of his life. A/N: A prompt fill for @carlos-tk 🍵 for the @911actionforgaza. If you are able to, please consider donating to the people still suffering in Gaza. Check out the event list or this vetted list for fundraisers.

Turns out, TK had a right to worry. At the bar, the bartender immediately notices him and asks him for his order and it would have gone so smoothly if it weren’t for the petite girl beside him that the bartender ignored for it. Carlos points at her to go first. She thanks him for it. So do the other five women he lets go in front of him out of a sense of sudden guilt. By the point that he finally orders two mineral waters at the price of half a tank of fuel, he has around five minutes left before TK seeks him out and he has yet to make it through the crowd.

The way out was rough, the way back in makes him clench his jaw until it hurts. At work, he puts the myriads of anxieties he houses away. He used to be better at that in general, before TK came and showed him it was okay to be weak sometimes, that his fears wouldn’t topple him. He puts the armor back on as he apologizes to each dressed up person glaring at him for daring to move past them, but he doesn’t stop.

The first time he can breathe again is when he sees the familiar brim of a cowboy hat that sticks out mostly because it’s a real one, and not one of the cheap neon ones sold in front of the venue for a fiver.

He’s pretty sure TK has moved several feet away from the stage while he was gone. The reason for it becomes apparent when Carlos finally squeezes through to him and sees a group of teenage girls that hadn’t been in front of them before. TK’s eyes light up when he spots him and he pulls at Carlos’ wrist to draw him in closer against the last barricade of people in front of them.

“You made it back!” TK yells over the increasing murmur and music in the background.

“Told you I’d make it.”

“How many people did you let order in front of you?”

Carlos snorts at being so easily known. “As many as you gave our good spot to so they could see better.”

“Are we like…too good for this world?” TK jokes, wiggling his eyebrows.

To Carlos, TK is. He’ll tell him that later, when he can make sure it can’t be written off easily. Every day, he wants TK to know he is the best thing on this planet.

[Read More]

OPEN TAG for WIP Wednesday & tag with absolutely no obligation to like or share this btw

@welcometololaland @rmd-writes @carlos-in-glasses

@strandnreyes @reyesstrand @alrightbuckaroo @lemonlyman-dotcom

@butchreyes @americansrequiems @decafdino @tellmegoodbye

@cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @birdclowns @never-blooms

@freneticfloetry @bonheur-cafe @emsprovisions

@paperstorm @ladytessa74 @eclectic-sassycoweyes

@honeybee-taskforce @sanjuwrites @liminalmemories21

@sapphic--kiwi @thisbuildinghasfeelings @whatsintheboxmh

@nancys-braids @pimento-playing-hopscotch @ironheartwriter

@chicgeekgirl89 @goodways @orchidscript

#michelle writes #fic: your shotgun rider til the day I die #wip wednesday #tarlos #tarlos fic #tarlos fluff #911 lone star #911 lone star fic #tg

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astrylx · 26 days ago

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You all said you wanted it so here we go. Things I like about Nosferatu as a Dracula adaptation vs things I don’t.

LIKE: Anna Harding

Anna Harding is the Nosferatu equivalent of Lucy Westenra, one of my absolute favorite characters in all of Dracula. So many adaptations of Dracula tend to make Lucy out to be a “slut,” and appear as if she is deserving of her fate as a victim of Dracula. This is all taken out of context by the “Why can’t a woman marry three men” line that she says. Nosferatu does not fall into this. That may be in part because instead of having three suitors, Anna has one married husband, but either way, the do not make Anna to be promiscuous and they instead utilize and showcase her true character traits.

Lucy Westenra is an innocent, loving woman, who is loyal and virtuous. She sticks by the people she loves. The line that makes her sexualized is a line showing in part her innocence and deep love. She cares for all the men in her life, and she does not want to have to choose, risking in part hurting them. Anna, in Nosferatu, is incredibly loyal to Ellen. She stands up for her and cares for her. There are even slight touches of queer undertones between Lucy and Mina in the book, if you’re looking for them. Anna has done nothing but care for the people in her life.

And then she is transformed. And the transformation, in some ways, does resemble the wantoness that takes over in the book, through her odd behaviors, and almost orgasmic expressions.

While it’s not a perfect representation of Lucy in the novel, it’s so much closer and done so much better than some others. Anna is a much more minor character than Lucy as well, but just as Lucy does, she drives the plot. And just as Lucy’s death does ultimately lead to the death of Quincey Morris, one of her courtiers, so too does Anna’s death lead to that of Friedrich, her husband.

And that brings us to the next point.

DISLIKE: Lack of Quincey Morris

I honestly don’t even think I need to go into depth in this. Quincey Morris is such a good character in the novel. The cowboy vampire slayer. He’s fantastic. A+ character. And Jonathan and Mina even name their child after him.

He and Jonathan are the ones to finally destroy Dracula, even if it ends in his own demise. Yet… in Nosferatu… he’s not there. I hate this. Justice for Quincey.

LIKE: Von Franz

Dracula adaptations have two tendencies with Van Helsing, neither of which Nosferatu falls into: Either he is the decades long enemy of Dracula, a vampire hunter, or he is the all knowledgeable man everyone relies on. The truth, Van Helsing is quite an odd character. And he’s not a vampire slayer or all knowledgeable of vampires. He simply studies many different things. It’s not that vampire knowledge is what he seeks.

Nosferatu understands this. We get to see the quirks of Van Helsing. His relation with Seward (though minimal), and his true knowledge. Plus, Willem Dafoe is exceptional in the role. It’s refreshing to see a Van Helsing that, despite any flaws in the film, actually resembles Van Helsing to me. He’s not perfect, but he feels right. Much closer than many other adaptations.

DISLIKE: Herr Knock

Look, I will admit, I am quite biased when it comes to this. To me, no one will ever come close to Dwight Frye’s Renfield. He’s just absolutely exceptional in that role, and I couldn’t ask for more. Meanwhile Herr Knock, while having his moments, is quite flat and boring to me. He lacks many of the complexities of Renfield that make him stand out. And so much of his character just feels like they jumped around, didn’t clearly plan how they wanted to use him. I could barely follow it half the time. Which isn’t always a bad thing in horror, but to me was disappointing.

Especially because I tend to view Renfield and Jonathan as interesting parallels. Jonathan could, in my opinion, have very easily ended up like Renfield. And they are even more so connected by their relations with Mina. Mina is the character that reveals Renfield’s true nature underneath the vampirism. He wants to prevent her from being like him, and to keep her safe. Meanwhile, in Nosferatu, Ellen and Herr Knock never meet.

LIKE: Thomas’ Approach to the Castle

I do have to ignore the racism to the Romani people in this, because it is… prevalent. It isn’t shocking at all because unlike some people on Reddit seem to think, I do in fact have critical thinking skills and recognize the source material, time and place of the film, and cultural ideas and views still existing. It doesn’t mean that I don’t recognize it.

But. Aside from that, the approach to the castle is done so incredibly well. It’s frightening and eerie. You can really place yourself in Thomas’ shoes and understand his fear. It works so well to establish mood and foreshadowing for the actual castle. Plus, one of my favorite scenes from the novel is utilized.

When the woman gives Jonathan a crucifix “for his mother’s sake.” That scene always just stands out to me and has such an impact, so seeing a representation of it on screen was great. I turned to the friend I was sitting beside in the theatre with a big smile, pointing and mouthing “they did the thing!!”

DISLIKE: Ellen Hutter

To me, Ellen feels almost offensive in the face of Mina. Not saying Ellen is a bad character, but when she’s the Mina of the film, it just… rubs me the wrong way. Mina is smart, loyal, clever, loving. She’s faithful and dependable. She’s incredibly, impenitently strong. So incredibly strong.

Throughout the story, Mina keeps her wits about her. Despite what is happening to her, she remains collected and calculating, showing deep strength and love. She never falters from Jonathan’s side, and she fights for her friends. She plots and she plans. The entire downfall of Dracula is orchestrated by Mina. She tracks him, and allows Jonathan and Quincey to finally destroy him.

Ellen, yes she is the one to ultimately defeat Orlok, but it’s not the same. For one, she is the summoner of Orlok, attracted to his darkness. And she destroys him by getting with him. When she isn’t doing this, she’s having fits, completely out of lucidity, and acting manic and out of control. A far cry from the strong will and composure Mina manages to hold on to. Not to mention her relationship with Thomas which will be touched on later, let me assure you of that.

And then there’s the whole aspect of her relationship with Orlok. In the book, the interactions between Lucy and Dracula, and Mina and Dracula very much come across as allegorical to SA (same with the interactions between Jonathan and the three vampire brides, but that is a conversation for another time). Therefore, writing any sort of romance between Mina and Dracula in any adaptation tends to come off to me at least as distasteful. Dracula is not Mina’s dark lover who allows her to let free the darkness inside her, the chains from the stifling world of the roles of Victorian women. Dracula is her abuser.

While yes, it is made clear that Ellen wants Thomas, not Orlok, at the end she still saves the day by being the virginal sacrifice to him, and she still summoned him with her “darkness.” It may be a reach, which I will wholeheartedly admit upon and take on my chest, but it can almost feel like it’s saying Ellen was calling to be abused…

LIKE: Wolves

In the novel, Dracula does in fact surround himself and utilizes. Not many Dracula adaptations use these wolves and the fact that Dracula can bend their wills with his own. Which is sad in an era where werewolves and vampires are often seen as enemies in popular culture (thank books like Twilight). Seeing the wolves be used, and used well, was really great. I could totally understand the terror Thomas would have felt.

DISLIKE: The Lack of Teamwork

In Dracula, all the characters, moved by Lucy’s passing, Jonathan’s torment, and Mina’s turning into a vampire, work together in order to defeat Dracula. There is a sense of camaraderie between the characters, each using their own knowledge, skills, and experience in the fight. At the end of the novel, Mina and Jonathan have named their son after the party members, a testament to the camaraderie of the group. They’re a regular old likable band of unlikely heroes.

This… is not present in Nosferatu. The characters barely work together. There isn’t a sense of connection or partnership. Friedrich fights with the group the whole time until his death. Von Franz keeps things from everyone. Thomas and Sievers feel absolutely useless for the most part. I mean, as if the lack of Quincey wasn’t enough, you go and erase any semblance of teamwork too…

LIKE: I honestly… don’t have much else to say for any likes… at least, as a Dracula adaptation. There was more I liked about the movie standalone, but this isn’t the post for that. Maybe the rats scene, not in the sense of it being a Dracula adaptation, but in the sense that it reminded me of the rats scene with Renfield from the 1931 film.

DISLIKE: The Hutters Marriage

On of my favorite lines in all of Dracula is said by Jonathan. He says, “To one thing I have made up my mind; if we find out that Mina must be a vampire in the end, then she shall not go into that unknown and terrible land alone. I suppose it is thus that in old times one vampire meant many; just as their hideous bodies could only rest in sacred earth, so the holiest love was the recruiting sergeant for their ghastly ranks.” The holiest love. Their love and commitment to each other is so strong. Jonathan is willing to live an eternity with his tormentor, with the woman he loves basically lost to him forever, just to stay by her side. Even if she cannot recognize him or love him, and is simply as Dracula’s three brides. The holiest love.

Sure, Thomas and Ellen love each other. It’s present and clear. But it’s so lacking in comparison to Jonathan and Mina. They don’t communicate, there are few scenes of them together, and the ones with them feel rushed. Meanwhile Mina crosses the country for Jonathan to marry him on his sick bed. I just wish Thomas and Ellen offered us more.

FINAL DISLIKE: Orlok’s Death

Orlok’s death feels so rushed. Just… Ellen has intercourse with him until the sun rises and he dies. Let us not forget sunlight does not kill Dracula, merely weaken him. Which is the most minor complaint over this. The scene is horrifying and beautiful. It’s scary and gothic and thrilling and chilling. None of that I will deny. But it also happens so quickly it feels quite odd. Considering the rest of the pacing of the film, you’d think the final scene, the scene of victory, would feel more complete. It doesn’t. And it is nothing like it is in the book.

Overall, as a movie I rate Nosferatu 4/5 stars. As a Dracula adaptation? 2/5 if that. It’s not Dracula and it is loosely based, but I’m rating it here strictly as a Dracula adaptation. The movie has flaws outside of the sphere of Dracula as well, which I could get into another time. But I hope you enjoyed my ramble.

If this interested you, I would love to cover other Dracula adaptations, whether Coppola’s Brad Stoked’s Dracula, the 2020 TV series, or the original Nosferatu. Please let me know!

If you have any issues with my post or anything you’d like to add or comment on, please do so and please let me know. I love criticism and conversation. Now, I wrote this with no proofreading in my free time today, so it’s likely flawed. I accept that. For now, I’m going to go nap.

Wake me up when you have a good real estate deal for me.

#bram stoker #dracula #jonathan harker #mina murray #nosferatu #jonmina #dracula daily #quincey morris #ellen hutter #thomas hutter #van helsing #john seward #lucy westenra #friedrich harding #anna harding #von franz #robert eggers #movie review

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moonsdrs · 1 month ago

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JUSTICE IS A WOMAN...LAW AND ORDER DR INTRO.

— the no b.s judge!

alexandria anderson is the homicide unit's forensic psychologist and resident badass. she likes anything that involves fancy eateries, cowboys and...anti romance? self proclaimed romance hater, actually. she hates romance more than a pessimistic munch after his not-girlfriend, felicia, dumped all his shit on the front steps of their not-shared apartment. actually, y'know who she hates more than how much munch hates felicia? her ex-husband, neo! oh..and she *checks notes* likes muffins and iced french vanilla coffee.

— anderson's QUOTES...

⟢ - "god..what's that smell?" alexandria gags as she walks into the unit's kitchen. as she discovers the source she grumbles in disdain. "munch, stop ruining our perfectly good beans trying to make coffee! now i have to go downstairs for a cup."

⟢ - "oh, shi—" alexandria's voice is cut off as she collided with a strong chest. as she pulls back she looks up. "oh.." her voice trails off as she stares up at the rookie, tim bayliss, falling head over heals for the taller detective.

⟢ - "do you know why giardello always introduces me as dr. anderson instead of detective?" alexandria's head cocks to the side as she glances over to munch.

— the pessimistic cop!

john munch is one of the most annoying, attention seeking detectives within the whole of the homicide unit. at least, that's what his partner, bolander, describes him as. he likes black coffee, conspiracy theories and well...alexandria anderson. god, don't say that to him out loud! he's gonna deny, deny, and deny until he's red in the face and you recognize that he is not montel williams. huh, you don't know that means? well...just know that he is not montel williams and that's a fact! and you know what's not a fact? that he likes alexandria anderson! ah-hem. and he likes chocolate.

— munch's QUOTES...

⟢ - "hey, at least my coffee is better than whatever diabetic concoction you drink everyday, anderson." munch chastised as he snatched the pot of coffee from alexandria's hands.

⟢ - "dr. munch..." bolander says as munch punches away at his typewriter. after the fifth time the name rolls off his tongue, munch shoots him a glare. "dr. alexandria munch." bolander teases again as munch huffs. "i don't like her. why can't you guys let me wallow in self pity about my failed relations without instigating a non existent school boy cru-" munch's voice halts as he hears alexandria's distant laughter and bayliss's hushed tone. "how about dr. anderson-munch?" "shut up!"

⟢ - munch sighs as he places his coffee down, tilting his head in such a way that his and alexandria's faces were closer than normal. "because he knows people still see you as less than themselves so he wants to make sure that when they talk to you that they do so with respect."

last minute notes: oh my god, this took so long to do! i started it this morning and finally finished it tonight. if you have any questions about this dr then let me know. expect more about it anyway because i love this dr so so much. okay, bye!

#reality shifting #shifting blog #desired reality #black shifters #shifting community #shiftblr #shifting motivation #anti shifters dni #moonsdrs #law and order dr #l&o dr

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trulybetty · 1 year ago

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Stood Up | Frankie Morales x f!Reader

Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (no use of Y/N) Word Count: 1,668 Warnings: being stood up, torrential rain (always bring an umbrella), mentions of alcohol, a difference of opinions on Top Gun and some could call this fluff Summary: Stood up for a date that left you in the pouring rain, you seek refuge in a sports bar and before you can change your mind the man next to you strikes up a conversation AO3: Linked

A/N: so, I was supposed to be working on Bookstore Frankie as per the WIP poll the other day and technically (in my head at least) this is Bookstore Frankie, we're just meeting him a long time before he becomes Bookstore Frankie lol.

Also, consider this is my entry for @pedrostories’ celebration, enjoy! xx

Stood Up

The Seattle rain was relentless. It wasn’t even supposed to rain that day, the forecast ironically calling for sun and highs of warm heat, which had meant you’d left the house in a maxi dress and your flimsy denim jacket. So that meant no umbrella and certainly no practical footwear for the torrential downpour you found yourself in for the date you’d left the house over an hour ago for.

You'd been stood up, and now, thanks to All-Star Week, cabs were impossible to find.

You checked your phone once more, Uber was a wait of over an hour, said date had left you on read and Cat, your friend with a text. One that promised as soon as she could get out of dinner with her husband and his parents, would come and get you with a bottle of wine to commiserate the evening over at your place.

The door to the dimly lit bar slammed shut behind you, cutting off the relentless sound of rain pounding the pavement. You were soaked to the bone, rain dripping off your hair to your face, and in a less-than-stellar mood.

As you settled into a barstool and ordered a stiff drink, you tried to shake off the frustration. The bartender served you with an understanding smile and you were just beginning to relax when a voice from the end of the bar cut through the chatter of the bar.

“How would you like to ride home on a real cowboy?”

You looked up, and some guy in a ten-gallon hat made eye contact with you with a flourish of said hat and a wink. Based on the accent and the Texas Rangers shirt he was certainly from out of town.

Your eyes rolled at the cheesy attempt, dismissing it with a casual brush-off. The downpour seemed to amplify the irritation simmering within you. Tonight was not the night for clichéd pick-up lines, especially from individuals who seemed to believe they had some inherent right to your attention.

As you took a sip of your drink, you exhaled and began to second-guess coming into the bar. You prayed for Cat to show up soon and get you out of there. Looking through the window, you thought about downing your drink and fleeing for somewhere else less crowded. You were already drenched; what more could the rain do?

But before you could think on it any further from the other side of you, a deep laugh resonated, and you glanced over to find a guy wearing a ball cap labelled 'Standard Oil', a beer resting in his hand, his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

“Can't believe that line didn't work. What's this world coming to?” he joked, raising his glass in a mock salute.

Despite your mood, a reluctant smile tugged at your lips, “A horse did me wrong once, a cowboy and I would be destined for heartbreak from the get-go,” you replied, playing along.

“How about a pilot?”

You raised an eyebrow, you hadn't missed the aviation logo on the shoulder of his shirt, “I feel like I’m being set up for a Village People joke here,” you eyed him wearily, “how often does that line work for you?”

He laughed into this glass as he took another sip, “A lot less than you think.”

You took another sip of your drink, “What a surprise.”

“Frankie,” he said, extending his hand.

You took it, his grip firm and warm and gave him your name.

He gestured to your soaked clothes, “Rough night?”

“You could say that,” you admitted.

Despite your initial want to just drown your sorrows and maybe scroll through Instagram while you waited for Cat, you found yourself in conversation with Frankie. Turned out he was actually a pilot, a little elusive on the details of what exactly he did in the military, but a pilot nonetheless. That and he was currently stationed temporarily out of McChord Field, in Pierce County. He was up in Seattle for the weekend to meet up with some friends coming in from their own deployments.

Frankie's face turned playfully serious, his eyes widening as he said, “You're breaking my fucking heart, baby.”

You laughed, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, come on! You’ve got to agree with me?!”

He grinned, shaking his head. “I never thought I'd meet someone so smart and yet so wrong at the same time.”

You playfully swatted his arm. “I could say the same about you.”

Frankie's eyebrows shot up in genuine disbelief, and his lips curved into a playful half-smile as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “Not like 'Top Gun'? That's almost sacrilege in my line of work!” His eyes sparkled with amusement, revealing his lighthearted take on the situation.

When he’d mentioned he worked in aviation within the military, you’d jokingly asked if it was all like Top Gun and if he was a Maverick. Frankie had laughed at the question as he’d flagged down the bartender for another drink for you both. That had been before you’d voiced your true feelings on the 1986 cult classic.

You shrugged, sipping your drink. “I don't know, maybe it's the cheesy one-liners, or perhaps I just don't get the appeal of fighter jets.”

He gasped dramatically, clutching at his chest. “The appeal of fighter jets? Oh, you're really twisting the knife now.”

You giggled at his antics. The more you talked to him, the more you liked him. He didn't take himself too seriously. It was refreshing, especially considering your recent string of bad luck in the dating department.

“I'm sorry, I just don't get it,” you admitted, shaking your head.

Frankie's eyes softened, and he reached over to gently touch your arm. “It's okay. We can't all have perfect taste.”

“You think your taste is perfect?” you teased, enjoying the banter that had been flowing between you two all evening.

“In some things,” he winked, making your cheeks heat furiously.

When your phone buzzed with a message from Cat, signalling that she was outside, you found yourself a little reluctant to leave. It was strange, feeling a connection with a stranger on a night that had started with disappointment, and a part of you wanted to hold onto that feeling a bit longer. Frankie seemed to feel the same way, his eyes lingering on you as you gathered your things.

“Well Frankie, thank you for being a bright light in what was almost a terrible evening.”

“Pleasure is all mine,” he replied, his voice warm.

The two of you paused for a moment, the atmosphere suddenly more serious. He'd already mentioned that he was stationed temporarily and had hinted at an upcoming deployment. And though the good company and the buzz from the drinks had lightened your mood, you were still reeling from being stood up by the man you'd really thought you'd had a chance with.

You waved goodbye to Frankie and headed outside, the rain still falling heavily. As you approached Cat's car, thoughts of Frankie lingered in your mind, leaving you with a strange mixture of excitement and melancholy.

You were just about to open the door to the passenger side of Cat’s car when the noise from inside the bar broke through over the sound of the rain. Turning around Frankie was coming out of the door, you watched him look around before his eyes settled on you with a smile.

Throwing up the umbrella he had in his hands he dashed the short distance over to you, “Look,” he shouted to be heard over the traffic and the storm that was now brewing, “I thought maybe,” he paused looking a little at war with himself before he spoke again, “we could do this again? Maybe without the rain and the cowboy.” he joked and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Sure, I’d like that.”

He pulled his hand out of his pocket and pressed a napkin into your hand. Under the cover of his umbrella, you opened it to see his name scrawled with his phone number and you shot him a smile.

“Call me?” Frankie asked, his voice suddenly softer, more intimate despite the storm raging around you.

“I will,” you assured him, tucking the napkin safely into your pocket.

With a final smile and a lingering look, Frankie dashed back towards the bar, and you climbed into Cat's car, your heart still pounding in your chest.

Cat, ever the observant friend, was already eyeing you with curiosity. “Okay, spill. Who was that guy? And why are you smiling like you've just won the lottery?”

You looked over at her, your grin widening. “That is Frankie. We just spent the last few hours talking in the bar.”

“Frankie?” Cat's eyebrows shot up. “Also, you stayed in that bar with a stranger for hours? That doesn't sound like you.”

And it really wasn’t, even going out for the date that eventually stood you up had been a push outside your comfort level.

Cat narrowed her eyes. “You sure you're not being catfished by this guy?”

You rolled your eyes, a laugh escaping your lips. “Cat, that means online, not in person.”

“Same thing,” Cat retorted, not missing a beat as she started the car. “You never know these days.”

“Anyway, he's only here for a temporary assignment between deployments. Not like anything really is going to happen.”

Cat glanced at you, her expression softening. “It's okay to have fun here and there, you know. Doesn't have to be serious all the time.”

You sighed, leaning against the window. “I know. It's just… different.”

“Different is good,” Cat said, her voice softening as she pulled away from the curb, knowing all too well your past relationship history. “Different can be very good.”

You looked at her, realizing how much you appreciated her support, even with her teasing. “Yeah, maybe.”

Cat's smile widened as she focused on the road. “Of course I'm right. Now tell me everything about this Frankie guy.”

#pedrostories1k #frankie morales/f!reader #frankie morales/you #frankie morales/reader #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #triple frontier fanfiction

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delopsia · 1 year ago

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Stellar Ride | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 8,000 Cross Posted on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, AFAB!Reader, PBR!Rhett. Mentions of Rhett blowing up in the media, crowds, Maria flirting with Rhett in front of the Reader, Archie is a gem. Praise, grinding, mentions of past injury, unprotected sex, a dash of jealousy, post-coital snuggles. Please comfort and reassure your cowboy during sex. Brief Summary: When new fans and a childhood crush come seeking the hand of your cowboy, you take great pleasure in knowing that this cowboy is yours. Not Maria's. Not his fans. No, just yours.

The roar of the crowd is louder than the drum of your heart. Thrashing against your chest like a caged animal. The buzz of adrenaline jittering through your veins. Rattling what remains of your already shot nerves. That blinding jumbotron flashes a familiar name and face. But it's not what you can focus on.

And even the screams of a name you know too well aren't enough to rise above the deafening ring in your ears. A constant tone that makes your world blurry. Tunnel vision locked onto a mop of black hair lingering by the chutes. Beyond the sections reserved for fans, but not in the staff area. A familiar sight that has your heart beating harder. As frustrated as the bull thrashing in the chute.

Is that...

Thump.

...it can't be.

But then that head turns to speak to a friend. And the screams of Rhett Abbott's name floods your ears. No longer muffled. So loud that you jolt in your seat.

Maria fucking Olivares.

Two thousand pounds of pure muscle bursts out of the chute. Twisting counterclockwise. The big right hand of your beloved cowboy held high in the air. Muscles flexing as he clings to that thin piece of rope. Seconds spinning across the jumbotron screen.

Numbers that you can't bear to spare a glance at. You don't know if it's you shouting his name or if it's the fan next to you. Her shrill voice overriding all else.

The crowd shoots to their feet as the buzzer sounds. Blocks you from catching sight of him falling off the bull — always the scariest part. The familiar voice of the announcer blares across the speakers as if the victory is his own, crying your husband's name as loud as he can.

He's made it.

Rhett's going to the finals again.

...if he doesn't get disqualified for darting toward the fence.

On a one-way track to the stands, he hops up and swings his dirt-covered legs over the barricade, hat blowing off his head. Spurs jingle as his boots hit the ground. Darting through the collection of squealing girls that have congregated in front of you. A big, loopy grin sprawls across his scruffy face. Arms opening wide.

That's the last thing you see before a hundred sixty something pounds of adrenaline and excitement slams into you. Knocking you off your feet. His grimy nose burying into the crook of your neck, sweat dripping from the curls at the nape of his neck. Yelling something that you can only interpret as a "we made it!"

And you just know he's getting red dirt all over your new white t-shirt, but you're wrapping your arms around him anyway. Hanging on tight as he spins you in a circle, uncaring of the unfamiliar faces that crowd around you.

"My ring," he's already muttering into your ear, "where's..."

So impatient.

Your hand disappears into your pocket, producing a thin, golden band. Dented on the side from the time a bull stepped on his hand, broke it in three different places. That scarred ring finger of his crooks off to the left more than it should, but the ring slips over it regardless, hugging him just right.

"Can't go a second without it, can ya?" You're teasing, nose wrinkling as he leans in to steal a kiss. All sweat and grime and all the things that shouldn't be on your mouths.

The corners of his lips turn upward, wild blue eyes glittering, "nope."

Cute.

But fuck does he need a shower.

A flash is all it takes to break you out of your own little world. Cameras greedily snapping photos of a moment that wasn't anyone's to save or share. Hands are touching you; someone's behind Rhett, yelling for him to turn around and take a photo with her, the loudest amongst a clatter of voices that rattle around your skull.

It's the worst possible time for Rhett to be drawing away from you. Right at the start of the pushing and shoving, brought on by the rise in security surging into the stadium, frantic to get their photos and videos and everything else they could possibly get out of your cowboy. But he's grabbing hold of your wrist, downright hauling you underneath his sweat-drenched arm, safely tucked into his side as he shoulders through the crowd.

Rhett's head dips down, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers into it, "next time 'm makin' them put ya in the damn staff section."

"Don't let the win go to your head, cowboy," you tease him as if you don't know that you'll be in that section next time; at this point, you're surprised it hasn't happened already. These crowds grow with every rodeo, a sea of folks who had never heard of Professional Bullriding until they discovered the handsome mug of a small-town Wabang cowboy.

A familiar face emerges from the crowd, one over his hands cupped around his mouth, shouting as loud as his deep voice can possibly manage, "yer a goddamn fuckin' fool, Abbott!" That other hand waves a cowboy hat high in the air, the dark brown felt dusted in a light coating of dirt.

"I knew you'd catch it," Rhett's smiling, so drunk off the adrenaline that he doesn't seem to care when Archie slams that hat back on his head.

"Y' kiddin' me?" The edge of Archie's lip is rising, fighting a smile that is bound to work its way across his bearded face eventually, "I wrestled a gal fer this piece o'shit!"

You nearly wish that you had been present to see that. Big ol' Archie going toe-to-toe with a fan who had gotten her hands on the most iconic piece of attire your cowboy owns. "And you won," you don't mean for your tone to come off so snappy; the words nearly shoved out of your mouth by the collision of an elbow into your side.

"Damn straight I won," there's that grin, breaking out on its own accord, just as wild as Rhett's, "d' y' know how much them folks would sell that bloomin' hat on eBay fer?"

No, but you're still reeling from the prices that fanmade duplicates have been fetching. Hats crafted to look identical to Rhett's, with their deliberate tears in the felt and scuffs to high hell. Why someone would want to beat their hat to hell and back is anyone's guess.

You wonder if any of them have figured out about the polaroid of you two, taken on your first official date as a couple, delicately stitched into the inside of his hat. His good luck charm, he calls it.

Wading through the swarm is easier said than done; Rhett's squeezing you into his side, strong arm secured around you, and yet you can still feel yourself slipping out from his grasp. Forced away by the bustle of it all, unable to do anything but push forward.

Fuck, it must take an hour to get to the other side. Bursting from the flurry and into a small gap that a pair of grumbling security guards have created for you. Tumbling down the stadium floor, Archie perpetually a step ahead as Rhett leads you through unfamiliar gates and past bullpens. Such sweet, oversized animals these bucking bulls are. Intimidating at first. A massive presence that reminds you of your own mortality could hand your ass to you if they so desired but are almost always just looking for a good head scratch.

You could say the same for Rhett, now that you think about it.

It's so much quieter behind the chutes. Tucked away from the stands, its own private detachment in this oversized arena. Complete with a swarm of security and a thick, black curtain to keep out the occasional nosey fan who has yet to learn the concept of a boundary.

"Ah hell," Archie's arms flail. "That goddamn broad—"

"Hey, you two!"

Ugh.

You wish you didn't, but you recognize that voice all too well. The snappy click click click of Maria's heels across the stadium floor is all it takes to have your skin prickling. Shoulders rising with a tension that they've only just lost. Actively fighting the urge to grab Rhett's hand, drag him out of this damn arena entirely and pray she doesn't follow.

"How'd she get back here?" You're not sure if you're asking Archie or Rhett. But you might as well be speaking to a wall because all you receive are blank stares in return.

"I ain't fuckin' know!" Archie hisses, his thumb jabbing toward Rhett, "Ask this fool. He's the one she's 'ere fer."

But Rhett's got nothing more to offer than a shrug, teeth worrying his bottom lip, "I thought you let her in."

That's all it takes to get Archie's boots clicking across the floor, decidedly exiting this impromptu conversation before Maria can even enter it. Disappearing into the bustle of the rodeo once more, off to help another big-name bull rider get ready for his ride. Something. Anything that doesn't involve standing here and being forced into a conversation with someone you don't know.

"Oh my god, I didn't know you were gonna be here," there's something about Maria's big, overjoyed smile that just makes your stomach twist in ways that it shouldn't.

Did she...did she not notice you standing here at all?

She's here too fast. A freshly manicured hand rising to toy with the ends of her braid, slung over her shoulder, on display for the world to marvel at. Not too close by any means, and yet her sugary perfume still hits you like a brick wall. So up there and in your face all of a sudden that it sends you reeling.

"I uh..." Rhett's boot kicks the ground, like he might be able to scrounge words out of the tile, "Didn't expect to see you out here."

"Well, of course, I had to come and see the legendary Rhett Abbott ride," her tone is so bright that it ought to make the arena lights jealous. "Nobody ever believes me when I tell them we were friends in high school."

You're not sure if you'd count on and off ghosting a man for several years as being friends, but to each their own.

But you've got no time to think about the stories that have been relayed from Rhett's tongue because Maria's already sparking a conversation with him. Chattering away about his recent blow-up in the media, like this is some sort of one-on-one interview. You catch yourself trying to speak, a gentle correction about a detail; it wasn't a lucky fan who got a tour of the Abbott ranch. She broke in while his family was at church.

If Maria hears you, she deliberately ignores you. Her big brown eyes focused solely on Rhett and Rhett alone.

Biting your tongue, you let your attention wander. Better to be distracted than make an ass of yourself. Gaze raking over this side of the arena; the swarm of cowboys tucked off in the corner, stretching as they chat amongst themselves, warming up for their ride. All big names from small towns, with stories so similar to Rhett's.

The only difference is that they didn't get a sudden spike in fame over a video of them coming up to their significant other during a rodeo with their arms full of kittens.

A box of strays that Rhett had found discarded near one of the bullpens. Six kittens in total: three oranges, two calicos, and a tabby. Fussy little things, Rhett's still got a scar on his jaw from the tabby. You'd only intended to keep one, but Rhett's somehow convinced you on two, so the other one won't feel like she's lost her family.

There's movement in the crowd of employees by the announcer's booth. Black shirts emerging from the collection of folks working to keep the event up and running; security.

And there's Archie, meandering along next to them; if he had their matching get-up, he'd blend right in. Head held high, shoulders square as they march right toward you. His beard conceals the cockiness in his grin, but the glint in his eye tells all.

Rhett's hand bumps into your wrist as it slides down, thick fingers interlocking with yours. Maria's still talking, but that warm gaze of his is solely on you. A smile lacing his sweaty face as you lean against him.

Before security can say a damn word, Maria's fishing out a laminated card from her pocket, flashing it alongside her too-white grin. "I'm interning for one of the vets on standby."

...that's how she got in?

A hand settles on your shoulder, Archie's minty breath meeting your nose as he dips between you and Rhett. "I tried."

And again, he's gone. Disappearing just as quickly as he did the first time. Leaving you to bite back your frown as Maria's voice drones on once more, a constant irritant that you can't seem to escape. Strange, because the tone of her voice doesn't bug you at all. It's pleasant, actually.

What's bothering you is the fact that it's coming from her.

Popular belief would accuse you of being insecure. She was Rhett's childhood crush, after all, but it's not that at all.

It's the fact that she deliberately ignores you every time she comes around. Talking to Rhett, and only Rhett, with some starry-eyed twinkle that you can only identify as suggestive. Curious about all the things she may have missed out on when she rejected him all those years ago.

She spoke to you that first time you met her, back at the pit bar. When you'd offered her one of your drinks because they'd just sold out. Hadn't known her from any other person in Wabang, just another twenty-something with a story that you didn't know yet. It's a fuzzy memory, old and warped at the edges, but you remember laughing with her, telling some story about one of the guys in the bar.

And you remember the way you vanished from her radar, the moment a particular cowboy ambled up behind you, kissing your temple as he apologized for being so late.

She ignored your presence at Rhett's last rodeo in Wabang when he won that championship title for the third time in a row. Didn't say a word when you said hello at that dinner the Abbotts threw. Her ears tuned you out when the two of you ran into each other in the Casper airport, but oh, did she perk up when she realized Rhett was behind you.

Just like her face had fallen when the word "honeymoon" had left Rhett's mouth, her nose wrinkling as if that new golden band on his finger would burn her.

Hot breath tickles your ear, the scruff of a cowboy's lower lip tickling the skin there, "'m gonna head out for a shower," he whispers, "maybe I can get us outta here 'n to the hotel early."

"Don't get lost," smiling, despite knowing that you're about to be left with the one woman who refuses to acknowledge your existence for longer than a few seconds.

Rhett's lips press against your cheek, lingering in a sort of fashion that makes you wonder if he's purposely making a show of it. But then his eyebrows are shooting upward, eyes alight with a suddenly recalled thought, "Should I shave?"

It's been a while since you've heard that question.

And by a while, you mean at least a week.

Usually, you'd say yes, but the stubble on his cheek has only recently grown to the point of a gentle give rather than the prickliness that comes after a recent shave. Soft under the pads of your fingers, the right amount of scruffy, but not too much so. Doesn't poke you, even when you fully grasp his jaw, just to feel him wriggle and try to shake your hand away.

"Nah," concluding aloud, letting your arm fall back to its place at your side, "I like this look on you."

"Long as y' don't call me homeless again," those eyes of his roll, and then he's pressing a second kiss to your cheek, "Stay close. I'll come find ya when 'm done."

With that final stolen kiss, he's gone. Spurs jingling with every step he takes, shoulders straining against that old, red plaid shirt that he refuses to get rid of. The same one he's been wearing since you met him. Says it's one of his favorites, but then again, he says that about all of his shirts.

Maria is gone.

You suppose she took off the moment Rhett turned his attention to you because even as you twist your head, you can't seem to spot her. No clicking heels, no sparkling white teeth. Nothing. As if she was never here in the first place.

The sound of your name cuts through the air; Archie, again, waving you down, "y' wanna come see this 'ere bull calf we got?"

How are you meant to say no to such a thing?

"Rhett—"

Your back thumps against the wall. Railing digging into your ass. Jean-clad hips part your thighs. Oversized belt buckle digging into your skin as he rolls into you, a careful drag that sends heat rushing between your legs.

"I know it," speaking between open-mouthed kisses against your neck, the hair on his jaw scratching the sensitive skin there, "I know it."

The elevator shifts, only just beginning its upward climb to the sixth floor.

Greedy hands wander beneath your shirt. Callouses catching on the softness of your curves, burning up your sides like they can't possibly get enough. His mouth frenzied against your neck, poorly concealed bulge grinding deliciously against your core. Whittling away at your resolve until your hands are rising from his shoulders and tangling in his hair.

Tugging at the damp strands, forcing him to tilt his head up to meet your lips. Greedily drinking up the saccharine moan that whispers from the back of his throat. Open mouths lazily tangling in a dance that has your teeth clattering together. Wet, sloppy, his kisses trailing across your cheek, on his way to your ear. Only to be drawn back by his hair once more, keening, defenses melting away like sugar in the rain.

The elevator chimes. A pitchy tune that ends just as your feet hit the ground, doors squealing open to reveal a never-ending hallway. Too pristinely white, adorning frames and decor, nothing but a blur as the two of you stumble down it. Hand in hand, vision tunneled on your door.

You've hardly had time to pluck the key from your pocket. Fumbling with the slick plastic, as hands return to wander your sides once more. Drawing you back into a big, warm chest, Rhett's chin coming to rest on your shoulder. His hips bucking up against your ass, shamelessly distracting.

The simple swell of his cock against you is all it takes to set a shiver into you. Seeping through your skin, past muscle, straight down to your bones. And you can't...fuck, you can't keep hold of this goddamn card—

"Oh, what a coincidence!"

Your hand freezes. Caught halfway between sliding the card through the reader. Neck feels like it's been filled with cement as you turn your head to look down the hallway.

"Maria?" Rhett's chirp is brighter than anything you can produce. His hands slip from your sides in favor of curling an arm around you instead. "What are..."

"I'm in room six o' nine," this hallway may be white, but her teeth are whiter. So blinding that you nearly miss the flashing green light of the card reader. The handle gives way as you twist it, door creaking open on its own.

An eight-floor hotel, and yet you get roomed next to Maria Olivares.

Of fucking course, that's how things would work out.

Rhett's saying something, too polite to leave her hanging, but you hardly hear it. His voice nothing but a familiar hum as your eyes fixate on the edge of that oversized bed with its fluffy sheets and cozy sheets. Still messy from your earlier nap in them, the best mattress you've seen since this whole rodeo circuit started.

Oh, what the hell? It's not like Maria's talking to you anyway.

Stepping out of those big, warm arms, you head into the room. On a one-way route to the bed, succumbing to its siren call with all the grace and beauty of a bull rider being thrown. Face down, with a guttural noise strangled out of you by the painful ache of muscles as they finally, finally relax.

You almost think you can feel it. The way a pair of darkened eyes focus on your ass. Probably the only thing your cowboy can see from his place in the hallway. Stuck entertaining the thoughts and whims of a woman who hasn't spoken to him in at least two years. Can't do a goddamn thing about the way you squirm, raising your ass in the air just for the hell of seeing how far you can push him.

He had you in this position this morning; you wonder if he can still feel the way your hips trembled in his oversized hands as you came around his cock.

Because you can still feel the way his ring dug into your skin. Left an imprint that still brands you, even now. On their own accord, your hand rises. Fingertips delving past your waistband to find that sore indent of flesh.

The tip of Rhett's boot thumps against the wall; a soft thump, thump, thump that has your head tilting to gaze out the door. You can hardly see him, but it's impossible to miss the way his hands have folded themselves at the front of his jeans, politely concealing the way he strains against the fabric.

Riding a bull may be hard, but the look in those wild eyes suggests that standing in that hallway is even harder.

That cowboy's bound to break, eventually.

Maria's voice is nothing but a distant hum as you slip off the bed. Toeing off your shoes, uncaring of where they land. Too focused on hooking your fingers beneath the edges of your pants and nudging the fabric down your legs, falling into a messy pile that you're sure to trip over later.

Fire burns into your bare thighs, set alight by a burning gaze that eats up the way your shirt lifts off your body. Leaving you bare, if only for a second, because your hands are already reaching for the soft, oversized flannel that he once wore earlier in the day. Two sizes larger than what he actually fits because the material hugged his biceps too tightly. His cologne still lingers on it, something torn between apple and wood smoke. Sweet with the slightest nudge of earthiness.

You can almost hear it. The soft crackling of his resolve. Crumbling away like an old bridge, pieces falling faster than you can keep up with.

His voice rumbles. Saying something you don't care to comprehend. Spurrs chiming. Boots thumping closer. Door hinges squeal as it all but slams closed. Kicked. You suppose.

Your socked feet twist beneath you. Turning. Coming nose to nose with him.

God, he's going to eat you alive.

If he doesn't get to you first, that is.

One foot steps forward, slotting your thigh between those long, muscled legs. Palms rising to his chest, pressing. You're hardly expecting him to give as easily as he does. Such a strong presence that you hardly believe he's giving way to the gentle pressure. Your noses nudge together with every hesitant step backward, a silent dance until his back hits the wall.

Bold, one of your hands drop down. The heel of it pressing into a warm heat between his legs. Rhett's lips part with the softest inhale you've ever heard, the back of his head thunking against the drywall.

You wonder if Maria heard that.

"Can't talk all of a sudden?" You hum. So nonchalant and casual that it sounds like a part of normal conversation.

"Y' look—" Cut short by the way you grasp him through his jeans. That pink tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Y' look good in my shirt."

But his eyes suggest that there's much, much more that he'd like to say. So many thoughts and phrases fluttering through that pretty little head that he doesn't know how to get them to his tongue.

Makes it that much easier to lean closer, your lips ghosting against his as you speak, "Is that all, cowboy?"

Rhett's hips buck. Wild. Set off by the thigh that nudges upward against his balls and the heavy underside of his cock. A tremor has long since arose in his hands. Weakly clinging to your hips. Can barely hold on when you lean in and meet his open mouth. Drinking up the soft noise that boils out of his throat, your eyes drifting shut at the soft scratch of his stubble.

Arms curl around your waist. Heavy palm dipping beneath this old flannel of his, pressing into the small of your back. Gingerly drawing you up into his chest, and he's sighing into your mouth like you're a dream come true. God, you could melt.

Your unbusied hand rises, tangling loosely in those dark curls, still wet from his rushed shower. Tugging a little too hard. Yanking his head back, swollen lips parted with a grunt.

"Someone's gotten a lil' feisty tonight," that Adam's apple bobs, the veins in his neck putting on a show for you. Distracting, but nothing quite like the way he peers back at you from beneath half-lidded lashes. "I take it that it ain't 'cause of my stellar ride tonight."

Idly, your teeth sink into your lower lip. "I'm going to take you for a stellar ride if you aren't careful."

For a moment, the room is silent. No voices in the hallway, no clicking of heels out in the hallway. Not even an audible breath.

"...wouldn't mind that," he whispers.

You're not sure if it was you or Rhett who made the first move. But everything is spinning. A blur of color as your feet tangle together. Backing up. Dancing toward the bed. His hands crawling up your back. Your fingers clinging to those long curls. And his mouth is on yours, and his tongue is lapping at your lower lip, and your mouths are parting—

The mattress squeals beneath the weight of your bodies. And maybe it's the bounce that makes it so easy to throw your leg over his hips. Rolling over top of him before you can so much as comprehend what you're doing.

You've no recollection of it, but one of you has undone the buttons of his shirt. Revealing a broad, milky white chest, still marked by your earlier excursions. Bears the wound of a hoof to the ribs from last Sunday. A heart-stopping mottling of purple, blue, and yellow that has yet to fully fade, no matter how many times you've peppered it with kisses.

"I take it y' ain't gon' be easy on me," he says it like it's a hope.

A want.

A need.

"Did you want me to be rough on you, cowboy?" Your smile audible in your words; already know the answer to that question. Distantly, you think you hear his boots being pushed off his feet. Hitting the floor with two dull thunks.

Rhett's hips roll upward, muscles flexing, putting on a rippling show for your eyes only. "A lil bit."

That's all he needs to say. Those three little words setting you into motion. Scooting down his legs, your hands scurrying to pop open that obnoxiously large belt buckle. One of those things that felt like rocket science when you first met him, but now something you can do with your eyes closed.

Well-trained fingers popping it open and nudging it out of the way as you make a move for his button and zipper. Eager. Can't even bring yourself to waste time with fishing him out of his boxers. Instead hooking your hands into his waistband and pulling them down before he can finish pulling those lube packets from his pocket. Sends the little things scattering down his thigh and across the bed.

"Damn," Rhett grunts, fumbling for one that was practically ripped from his hand, "impatient."

Getting the bunched-up fabric past his ankles is the worst part. Stupid cowboy and his stupid long legs. Can't release the breath you're holding until it's finally sliding over his heels, belt clanking against the floor. Finally, finally, finally.

Only now, as you crawl back up his legs, do you remember to open your mouth, "I wouldn't be if you didn't spend the past few minutes entertaining Maria."

"Didn't wanna be rude—oh." Eyelashes flutter. His hips jerking up into your hand, wrapped firmly around his cock. Flushed red at the tip, precum shimmering in the dull light of the bedside lamp.

But it's not enough to wet him. The drag of your hand is rough. Firmly stroking, uncaring of whether he gets that lube open or not. Up and down, entranced by the way he twitches in your grasp. Thighs writhing against the mattress, squeezing together, only to spread apart again. A picture-perfect show of muscle, his heavy breaths like a melody.

"Too dry?" You know the answer to that.

He knows that you know the answer. Yet his hair bounces as he nods his head, the edges of two packets frozen between his teeth. "Uhuh."

But he's still not moving. In no hurry to relieve the discomfort that comes with your too-dry touch. Stomach flexing as he twitches up into it, chasing the touch of your hand, a soft noise emanating from the back of his throat. Rumbles out of his mouth and down between your legs.

"You'd better hurry up then," saying it to yourself more than anything. Can feel the uncomfortable wetness growing, a subtle throb begging you to do something about that. Only spurred on by the way he whines at you, fumbling with the packets.

The edges rip. Clear fluid spills out onto his lips and cheek as he pulls them away. Face wrinkling, pawing at his skin with the back of his hand. It's what he gets for opening things with his teeth.

"How many times are you gonna do that before you learn?" You whisper, the corners of your lips rising as you squeeze one of the packets over his length. Drenching him in a slick wetness that squelches when your hand passes over it.

He'd have something to say if you weren't starting to jerk him in earnest. His knees bumping into you, head tilting back. Can hardly focus on wetting two of his fingers with the other packet, dripping onto his heaving chest and running down his forearm.

"Quit—" his mouth opening and closing like a fish, "'m gonna cum if you keep—mmh, if you keep doin' that."

On its own, your hand freezes at his base.

He told you to stop. He knew you'd stop. And yet he jerks up into your fist anyway, keening high in his throat at the loss. Throbbing, balls flexing against your hand. So, so close, over something so little.

Rhett's shaky hand delves between your legs. Rough fingertips pass between your folds, over your clit. Shamelessly pressing inside without much warning, back into an open, dripping wetness that still aches from earlier in the day.

Your thighs shudder, fighting the urge to clamp together as he passes over a familiar bundle of nerves. Bumping into it on every deep thrust of his fingers. "Baby, you don't have to—"

"I know it," the lazy corner of his mouth lifts as he says it, an unnamed fondness sparkling in his smile, "don't wanna hurt you."

You can't argue. God, you can't argue. Not with him shallowly thrusting in and out of you the way that he does. Knuckles dragging sweetly against your walls, drawing your mouth open with a silent noise.

You've only just begun to adjust to it, but you're already catching him by the wrist, drawing those thick fingers out of yourself. All in exchange for scooting further up his lap, your other hand guiding his flushed length to your entrance. The head of him brushing against your entrance, burning hot.

But you're not sinking down on him yet. Aren't quite sure what's made you freeze. Is it the recollection that Maria is on the other side of this thin wall? Hesitance to take what you want so quickly?

Rhett's hands smooth up your thighs, peering up at you from beneath thick lashes. "Take me," he breathes, voice barely there, "please."

Fuck, you can't say no to that.

A calloused grip squeezes either side of your hips as you begin to sink down on him. Sensitive, sore cunt opening to take that blunt tip for the second time today. An aching stretch that has you holding your breath, caught in the way that he slowly enters you. Such a familiar thing that you've experienced time and time again, yet continues to feel so new.

Rhett's mouth is moving, but not a sound escapes his throat. Voice suddenly lost as you take him in, wound too tight by the feeling of splitting you open. Frankly, you don't think you're much better. Can't even begin to find the words that you wanted to say just moments before.

Your palms settle on his exposed chest, feeling the way his heart knocks back against you. Vicious little thump thump thumps that spur your own heart on, pounding in your ears, so strong that your arms feel like they begin to shake with it.

But then your hips are meeting, and the underside of his length is twitching into a particular little spot, and—

"Fuck, Rhett," you whisper his name like its a praise.

A television blares from the next room over. Maria's. So loud that it's hardly muffled, and yet you can hardly hear it. The droning of a news reporter washed out by the breathy whine of a cowboy. Your cowboy.

Not Maria's. Doesn't belong to the fans who attend every rodeo and buy every object with his name printed on it.

No, just yours.

Those brilliant blue eyes sparkle up at you as you lift yourself up until only his plush head remains inside of you, then sink back down once more. A pair of gasps twist through the air at the way that he fills you, at the way you wrap around him so perfectly.

"Jus' like that," Rhett's words punctuated by his heaving chest, "feels good, feel's so..." He can't finish that thought. Tongue limp in his mouth as you repeat the motion, a little shorter now. Quicker. Too impatient for the slowness that comes with lifting yourself all the way up.

And that's okay because his hips twitch up into you. Meeting you halfway with a lewd smack of skin on skin. Hitting a set of nerves that have your eyes unfocusing, the softest noise rattling out of your chest. Those lazy thrusts have no right to hit what they do. Has your quivering cunt savoring the way that his cock head drags inside of you.

His mouth snaps shut. Eyelashes fluttering shut, weakly muffling a moan that you wish you could have heard. Always has been a sucker for feeling you flutter around him.

"Come on, cowboy," you're gasping, can hardly keep your own eyes open as you reach up, pressing a thumb to his soft lips, "open up."

Hesitant, his mouth opens to wrap around the digit. Sucking gently, his tongue swirling around the tip, moaning into it like it's a damn pacifier. And fuck, it's not what you were going for, but he's whining as your hips meet once more, and the sound is vibrating up your arm, and, and—

Your fingers grip his scruffy jaw. Thumb pinning that wriggling tongue to the bottom of his mouth, forcing it open.

That sound he makes is garbled. The weakest little 'huh?' you've ever heard. Wide eyes peering up at you, gaze torn between confusion and intrigue. Poor cowboy has no idea what you're doing, and yet he seems up to whatever challenge you're about to present to him.

"Wanna hear you," Your sentence punctuated by a jerky snap of his hips up into you. Fuck, fuck fuck, he's hit that spot again. Sends you clenching around him once more.

Rhett sputters. Tongue flexing under your thumb, eyes darting to the wall behind the headboard. His protest doesn't make it past his lips, but you hear him loud and clear.

"It's okay," for a moment, your thumb loosens enough for him to escape if he wants to say something, "I'm the only one who can hear you."

Distantly, it hits you that Maria's probably maxed out her television volume as bait to make Rhett come over and ask her to turn it down.

But Rhett's not talking, and his protest dies there. Big hands running up your sides, palms curling around your breasts like he's been dying to do it all night. Gently holding on as you find your pace, riding this ol' bull rider in earnest now. Punching the breath out of your lungs, the sounds whittling out of your throat covered up by the deep grunts from below you.

"That's it," praising, adding flame to that rising confidence, "such a sweet boy for me."

Your unbusied hand slides across his chest, pinching at a nipple. Pulling on it, rolling the rapidly hardening bud between your fingertips, dusky pink blossoming into a raging red.

There he goes.

Jerking up into you with a garbled cry you haven't heard since you began this rodeo circuit. Baby blue eyes grow foggy, jaw slackening. Such a sight that you can feel yourself grow wetter around him, creating this sickly, loud squelch that bounces off the walls of this hotel room. And he's trying—God, he's trying to return the favor. Weakly catching one of your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, trying his best to roll it back and forth.

Your shaking hand rises, wrapping around his wrist, dragging it away. Still determined to keep your thumb pressed against his short little tongue, forcing those whimpered noises to hit the air.

But then he's trying to do it with his other hand, and you've got no choice but to yank your finger out of his mouth. Your knuckle bumping against his teeth as it flies up to collect his other wrist, pinning them above his head. Forcing you to shift your angle, letting that thick cock of his rub against those nerves with perfect, unrelenting ease.

"Wha...?" Rhett's eyes are wide open again, his head shaking, "But I want—"

His arms strain under your grasp, biceps rippling, and he could easily break out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn't. Stopping his efforts as soon as you don't immediately give way. Yet he's still jerking up into you, meeting your body halfway at the same lazy pace as before.

"What do you want?" Echoing his too-short request despite knowing what he was trying to say. If only to hear that deep voice grumble again.

"Please, I want—" Fighting for control over his speech, head swaying back and forth like he's trying to shake the fog from his thoughts, "wanna touch you."

But you're not letting him go. Collecting both of his wrists into one hand, letting your other one roam through his hair and across his cheek. Stroking that trembling jaw.

There's a glassiness in his eye that wasn't there before. Appearing so suddenly, yet already threatening to spill down his pretty cheeks. "'re you mad?" He croaks, bottom lip wobbling. "Was it—did I...? I didn't mean to..."

All at once, the room freezes. Bodies coming to rest against each other as you let go of his hands in favor of stroking those scruffy cheeks. And yet, his arms lay limp above his head. Unsure.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you whisper, lips brushing against his forehead, "I was just playing with you, sweetie; I'm not upset with you."

It's not much, but it's enough to get him moving. Hesitantly wrapping his arms around you, nuzzling into the hands that cradle his face. Your fingers stroking away the wayward tear that spills over until it's nothing but a damp sheen beneath his eye.

"What's got you thinking I'm mad at you?" Not sure if you should press it or not, but you're asking regardless as you press a kiss to the bridge of his nose. Peppering them across his cheeks in the way that always gets his face scrunching.

His eyes dart toward the wall, then down to the floor, "...Maria."

"Maria?" You echo. That's what has him upset?

"I know y' don't like her and, and I know it didn't feel good havin' her follow us around all night." That pretty mouth is going ninety words a minute, rambling like it'll take the edge off of his nerves. Sweet blue eyes watering the more he talks. "I tried sayin' something to her earlier, but she wouldn't listen, 'n I didn't wanna be an ass..."

"No, no, I'm not upset about that," you're saying it so quietly, nearly covered up by the drone of Maria's television, but raising your voice feels like it'll break another piece of him. "I would've told you if it bothered me."

He's still searching. Scanning for a hint of a lie, a shred of anger that doesn't exist.

He doesn't find it.

For a moment, he's still. Breath caught in his throat. But then he's leaning up, nose bumping into yours as he catches your lips in his own, the both of you sighing into it. Some simple lock that ends as quickly as it started. Sharing a heated breath, as unified as your bodies are.

But there's still a flame kindling behind his eye.

"C'n I flip us over?" His hands draw up your sides, stroking your skin. "Please?"

"Go ahead, cowboy," you've hardly gotten the final word out, and yet he's already moving. Arms firm around your waist as he rolls your bodies over, your back settling into the mattress. Unintentionally jostling his cock inside of you, bumping into something spongey.

Rhett's warm nose buries itself in the space beneath your jaw, hips already beginning to move. Searching for that same pace you'd worked up mere minutes ago. Heavy balls smacking into your ass, your legs split wide to make space for his sweaty body. Slow at first, but then—

"Ah!" Stars sparkle behind your eyelids, mouth agape. "There, there, good boy."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, he's only just started fucking into you, and yet his cock head is already kissing those nerves on each inward pass. Meticulously striking every little spot. Has your cunt growing wet once more. Your blunt nails bite into his flannel-covered bicep, dominant hand venturing down between your legs.

"Feels so good," Rhett's babbling, right into your ear, "fuck, can feel your lil pussy spasmin' 'round me."

The pads of your fingers find your clit. Neglected and swollen, so sensitive that your own touch is almost too much. "Rhett..."

"Uhuh," and then his head is rising, and his mouth is on yours again.

Your lips can hardly stay together. Breaking apart with every shaky thrust, yet always finding each other again. Over and over, gasping into his mouth, swallowing down his pitchy whimpers. Chasing a high that you can feel burning to life between your legs. A dull heat that's already sparking, sending your skin prickling and your head spinning.

"Wanna..." he's muttering against your mouth, searching for words he can't find"Can I—please can I—"

And yet he's cut off by his own cry. A shattered noise brought on by the way your cunt squeezes him, fluttering like a damn butterfly. Your fingers spiral around your clit, chasing a lone flame that blooms into a raging wildfire. God, his rhythm is falling apart, jerky thrusts slamming into you without synchrony.

All of a sudden, Rhett finds his voice, "'M gonna cum."

Fuck, you said this morning that you weren't letting him cum in you again this week. But the thought of the cleanup pales in comparison to the vivid memory of him snuggling into you as he fills your pussy with his cum.

Oh, oh, oh, you want to feel that again.

"Cum in me, angel," your hand flies off his bicep in exchange for tangling in his hair. Holding on tight, like you'll float up to the ceiling and out the window if you don't hang onto him.

The corner of his eye twitches. Keening high in his throat, head dropping down as his hips quicken. Short, rapid little thrusts. Chasing the heat of it all. Pushing your head higher and higher into the clouds. Grunting beneath his breath.

His hips stall.

A sputtered cry falling off his tongue. Head burying into the crook of your neck as his orgasm washes over him. Cock spasming inside of you, twitching, filling your sweet pussy with his cum for the second time today. Painting the inside of you with white. Panting heavy against your skin.

His hips jolt involuntarily

And that's all it takes to push you over the edge. Cumming around his cock with a noise that your ringing ears don't catch. Head tilting back. Cunt clenching around him like a vice. Spurred on by the pitchy, oversensitive whimpers that you draw out of him.

Your head might have fallen off of your shoulders. So light and airy that you think you might feel a cloud brush against your cheek.

Or maybe that's the feathery brush of a cowboy's lips against your cheek. One, two, three, four kisses. Working you down from your high, grunting at the way that you relax around his spent cock.

Unfocused, your eyes open. Blinking back at him. "Some stellar ride, huh?"

The corner of his lip rises with a smile as your arms wrap around his broad shoulders. Chuckling, his head dips down to rest against your chest, soft cock slipping halfway out of you. And you can already feel his cum beginning to spill down your walls, stopped only by that sensitive, plush tip. Even then, you think you can feel it running down your inner thighs.

"We should clean up before we get the bed dirty," you whisper, but just because you should doesn't mean you will.

Rhett's head shakes, dark hair bouncing with it. "No."

"No?" Echoing dumbly. Though you can't say that surprise is your primary emotion.

"Want y' to keep holdin' me," that voice of his is deep, but his smile is light. Sparkling eyes peeking up at you like he thinks it'll get him extra time, "jus' a lil longer."

You've always been a sucker for that soft, cozy gaze.

And maybe you fall asleep because the next time you open your eyes, it feels like forever has passed. Your bones heavy, thighs sore from your borderline workout. Rhett's heavy body still lays on top of you. His fingers walk across your naked skin, transfixed by the way your skin gives to his gentle touch. Lost in his own little world.

Lazy, your fingers comb through his hair. The ring on your finger glints in the light as your nails rake across his scalp in a fashion that always makes him purr.

"Would y' care if I called the front desk 'n changed our room?" His voice rumbles against your collar, its own little earthquake.

"I don't mind," your neck strains as you try to press a kiss to his forehead, his skin still sticky with sweat, "if it makes you feel better, then that's what we'll do."

He hums at that. Doesn't seem to have much more of a response cooked up. But then, the scruff of his jaw brushes against your skin, his mouth opening again, "C'n we take a bubble bath first?"

Your eyes flutter. Supposedly a habit you've picked up from your husband. "Now?"

"Uhuh."

As you clamber off of each other and make for the bathroom, you can't help but catch yourself wondering if any of his big-time fans are aware of his recent bubble bath obsession. Or if Maria and her not-so-subtle fixations know that Rhett is absolutely, one-hundred percent, the little spoon.

Because you sure do.

#rhett abbott x reader #rhett abbott #oneshot #OC: Archie Morton #delgato writes

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roseharpermaxwell · 1 year ago

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RWRB FirstPrince Canon Compliant Recs

Click below for some of my favorite fics that are book and/or movie canon compliant!

Every Version by @hgejfmw-hgejhsf. M, 1.1k. Alex does a magazine photoshoot, and the day that the magazine arrives, he wants Henry to look at it first.

Acts of Service by TuppingLiberty. E, 1.4k. After a vacation, Henry shaves Alex’s scruff off, because he loves taking care of Alex.

5+1 Times Henry Was Attracted To Alex (Texas Edition) by @absoluteaudacitywrites. E, 1.4k. Alex in a Stetson though. That’s the stuff of Henry’s most filthy dreams. He swears his husband gets even more Texan with it on, his drawl getting slower, more syrupy. He calls Henry darlin’ and tips the brow to him as he passes and Henry knows it’s stupid but he finds himself weak at the knees from being in proximity to his own personal cowboy.

A Hoarse I Love You by a_velvet_blazer. NR, 1.6k. Alex knew he wasn’t particularly… pleasant when he got sick.

Before, in the white house, June helped out. She had a container of Vicks in her room and would bring him soup from the kitchen. She had down the perfect mix of checking on him to make sure he was still breathing and leaving him alone to wallow.

The times he was sick in the brownstone were easy enough to play off, with (a different) tub of Vicks in their bathroom with a nice collection of Advil and Tylenol.

He has a system.

That is, until he doesn't.

boxing with no gloves by @littlemisskittentoes. G, 2.2k. Henry is pushing his arms through the woolen sleeves of a peacoat. He faces Alex and there’s no softness left in his features. He’s genuinely angry this time. None of the endeared exhaustion of his antics Alex is so used to seeing from him. None of the fondness that always plays hide and seek in his eyes when he looks at Alex. Henry looks blank and placid. His press face, edged with a hint of venom.

And Alex has seen versions of this face. He’s seen a calmer facade of it, one that had boarded a plane back to England by the time Alex woke up.

There’s something cold settling in Alex’s stomach. A kind of panic crawling up his throat. There’s ice dancing at his fingertips, but his hands are sweating, and oh God, Henry’s leaving again.

Or, Alex and Henry get into a fight. Henry tries to leave, Alex needs him to stay. So he does.

I'd Wanna Be Felled By You, Held By You by @sparklepocalypse. E, 2.3k. In hindsight, Alex should probably have known that letting Henry borrow his clothes for the weekend would absolutely wreck him. But Henry had fretted about his wardrobe being too formal for a casual visit to the lake house, and Alex has developed somewhat of a Pavlovian response to the way Henry’s brows furrow and his mouth pinches when he’s anxious. Once the words “You can just wear my stuff, no worries,” were out there, there’d been no stuffing them back into his mouth.

Here’s the thing Alex should’ve taken into consideration: Henry would look hot dressed in a garbage bag. So the morning after their lake house arrival, when Henry steps out of the shower and into a pair of Alex’s swim trunks and Alex’s Arrels Barcelona shirt, Alex takes one look at him and drops his phone.

(Movieverse; Henry wears Alex's clothes at the lake house and Alex reacts accordingly.)

i'm so in love (i might stop breathing) by vibrantsaturn. T, 2.4k. He looks so fucking gorgeous like this, eyes half-lidded as he looks at Alex. He rests his head on Alex's chest, tightening his arms. Alex can see the tips of his ears turning pink.

"It's ! H G E J F M W C D 2 4 !" he mumbles in embarrassment, hiding his face in the crook of Alex's neck again. A beat of silence.

Then, almost shouting in joy, Alex yells, "Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor- Claremont-Diaz! That's your fucking password?"

"Shut up!" Henry hisses and Alex feels so many butterflies in his stomach that he's going to throw himself off of a cliff. Really, teenage girls with celebrity crushes have nothing on him at this moment.

or,

Henry is drunk and Alex is so in love he could die.

it was you he gave me by @coffeecatsme. E, 2.5k. The tattoo artist traces Alex’s thigh with a gloved finger as she grabs the needle, brows furrowed as if she’s trying to make sense of the lettering. “This is beautiful,” she says, awe in her voice. Alex feels a sort of pride surge through him. “Who’s the poet?”

Alex smiles. “If I tell you, can you keep a secret?”

Or, Alex finds a pen in their sex toy drawer and Henry finds a use for it.

in sickness, and in health by softcinnamonroll. T, 2.5k. It all started with a slight niggle in Alex’s right side. He was at the library, face deep in one of his law textbooks as he studied for his midterms and he sat back to stretch, only to feel a sharp nip in the side. He frowned as a hiss left his lips, hand moving to grip his side slightly and rub the skin where it hurt. He didn’t think too much about it, after all he had been sitting in the same position for hours. It was likely due to lack of movement.

A Goddamn Fairytale by toffrox. T, 2.5k. Henry wants to be angry. He does. He wants to feel it simmering in his chest, wants to be sitting there like Alex is next to him with his eyes smouldering. He wants to be like Bea, pacing the room with her fists clenched, absolutely livid.

"You can't let her do this!" Bea cries.

"It's just one tiny part of the day," Henry says with a sigh. "Everything else will be exactly as planned. I'm just not sure it's worth having a big fight over."

Bea glares and looks like she's going to rant when Alex cuts in-

"Fuck. That."

A Lover's Embrace by septemberleaves. T, 2.6k. Alex realizes he doesn't know the name of Henry's cologne and has a slight crisis.

Asking For Permission by @cultofsappho. T, 2.6k. Henry knows he's going to ask Alex to marry him. And he knows its a ridiculous tradition, but he wants to ask the most important person in Alex's life for their blessing, just to be sure.

Behind a Locked Door by @rmd-writes. E, 2.8k. Alex glances at the celebrant who holds out the card with his vows printed on them. He looks at Henry as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his reading glasses. Henry’s eyes widen and as Alex puts his glasses on, there’s a sharp inhale from Henry. Alex winks. Henry looks like he might have stopped breathing.

What happens when Alex pulls his glasses out during their wedding ceremony? Henry finds a room with a locked door.

wake and shake by weather_stained. E, 2.8k. Alex wakes up to find Henry indulging in some...classical literature.

Just Say Yes by @everwitch-magiks. G, 3.2k. “Well,” Alex says slowly, “You look… marriable? I guess.” He lets his feet carry him a couple of steps closer, reaching out to adjust Henry’s tie even though it’s already perfect. “I’m not a hundred percent on this shade of blue, though.”

Henry’s bottom lip catches between his teeth as he meets Alex’s eyes, his expression one of carefully concealed amusement. “Heaven forbid that you marry a man whose choice of neckwear doesn’t convey a sense of adventure,” he says gravely. “Would you perhaps prefer something patterned? Why don’t we request one with little embroidered pictures of David?”

Alex grins widely. “A personal touch. I love that, baby.”

The royal stylist is glancing between the two of them with abject horror.

you look so good it hurts by greenandmoss. M, 3.2k. After Berlin, Alex can't find his sweater.

Or: English Princes are thieves and Alex doesn't have the strength to cope with seeing Henry wearing his clothes.

Favours by Veronae. E, 3.3k. Buttercream swirls haunt his nightmares.

Henry got Alex a cupcake for his birthday, and they do sexy things with it.

in bloom by rizcriz. T, 3.5K. This is all Nora’s fault. No, actually, it’s the fucking Crown’s fault. No, no, it’s homophobia’s fault. Fuck, okay, he doesn’t know who to blame but he’s pinning it on the lapels of the universe with a frown and a fuck you.

Because Henry, beautiful, wonderful, rosy cheeked Henry—the man Alex would fucking die for and who deserves the whole god damned world—has never been given flowers. It may seem small, innocuous, but the look in his eyes as June smells the bouquet of lilacs Nora brought to the bar for her says fucking otherwise.

Henry’s words are still hanging over the group of them; “I wouldn’t know,” he’d said with a small shrug and a smile that said he wasn’t too upset, but Alex saw the little crease in his brow, the way his gaze dropped to the table on the shrug, he knows it matters; “I’ve never been given any.”

Or, five times Alex bought Henry flowers.

when you say my name (i like the way it sounds) by kittentoes. G, 3.6k. When he looks back, he gives himself a moment to take it in. He basks in the sound of familiar laughter echoing around their kitchen in the simmering warmth and comfortability that comes with being sucked into Pez’s antics and lulled back by Bea’s steadiness. He revels in the swirl of Nora’s genius and calm of June’s kindness.

It’s not quite the same as LA all those years ago. It doesn’t take him by surprise or feel novel anymore. But it's still that feeling of rightness, a crystal clear understanding that this, these people, will always be a kind of home to him.

or, The Super Six take on a Halloween party. Henry, for once, let’s himself let loose. Drunk, uninhabited, and free to love Alex in public, Henry is happy. Alex stays sober to look after him, and he is so in love he could die.

give yourself away sometimes, sweetheart by @omgcmere. M, 3.8k. Tracing the evolution of sweetheart in five scenes over the years.

Everything’s Growing in our Garden by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 4k. Alex hums in contentment, turning his face in Henry's lap. "You haven't played polo for a long time now," he says casually.

"I haven't," Henry agrees.

"But your thighs are still so fucking strong," Alex says around a groan, and suddenly, Henry knows where this conversation is going very, very quickly.

In which Alex and Henry celebrate an anniversary with a picnic and some thigh worship.

L’Amour de Ma Vie by quill_and_ink. E, 4k. He studies his expressions like he'll be tested on them later, and he'll be damned if he misses a single question.

In other words, it's the Paris bed blooper.

Bisexual Disaster Alex Claremont-Diaz by TuppingLiberty. E, 4k. Five times Alex wears an amusing bi pride shirt to Brooklyn Pride, and one time both he and Henry do it.

to build a home by @indomitable-love. T, 4.1k. He loves the life they’ve made for themselves. It’s messy and busy – there’s always a cardigan of Henry’s thrown over a chair and a paperback open on the arm of the chair with the spine cracked; Alex’s notes on the dining room table, and three different loyalty cards for the coffee shop down the street on the table by the door because Alex keeps forgetting his in different pockets. His life with Henry is full of laughter and soft touches: David curled up at Alex’s side as he reads through class notes while Henry snaps a photo; Henry's arms around him when he gets in from class; the two of them bartering over whose turn it is to take David out when he needs to go out and it’s raining.

It’s mundane a lot of the time – something Alex never thought he would want – but he loves it.

Or, at least, he loves it when Henry is here.

Which, right now, he isn’t.

He hasn’t been here for five weeks. Which… like, it’s fine. It’s not a whole a thing.

Henry goes back to England and ends up having to stay far longer than expected. But he'll always come back to Alex.

Kiss and Tell by @dani-dabbles. M, 4.1k. “Now that is spine-melting, isn’t it?” Henry speaks in a dreamy, lascivious way that in any other context would be very flattering. But right now? With the current company?

Nora hums, barely avoiding sloshing wine as she raises her glass in the air, “No complaints. No notes. Ten out of fucking ten.”

Both sigh happily and eerily in sync, knocking back more wine.

Henry’s head lulls in Nora’s direction, “So the other night, we tried something new and we-”

No. Absolutely not. Alex can’t hear anymore. He needs to stop this.

First Monday in May by @three-drink-amy. E, 4.3k. “How do I get invited to the Met Gala?”

“If I knew that, Alex, I’d have been there before,” she says, looking back at her magazine.

Alex throws himself on her bed and tosses the magazine behind him to the floor. “June! Come on. Help me!”

“Why do you want to go to the goddamn Met Gala? When I showed you pictures from it before, you asked why they were dressed like that. Why do you want to go?” She laughs to herself. “What, did Henry get invited?”

He falls silent in reply.

The White House Trio, Henry, and Pez attend the 2020 Met Gala.

If You Love Something by allmylovesatonce. M, 4.3k. Alex calls Henry to tell him a funny incident from his day. When a miscommunication sends them both reeling, both of them are questioning if the other is wanting to end their relationship. Their friends take things upon themselves to get them to see eye to eye.

no one's gonna love you more than i do by peppermintpatties. G, 4.3k. 5 times Henry became Alex’s support system in law school + 1 time Alex made sure the whole world knows it

Backseat Serenade by bleedingballroomfloor. E, 4.4k. "You seriously don't remember?"

"Alex, for the life of me, I do not."

Alex's face splits into a devilish grin. "Oh, baby." His voice is absolutely sultry. "All I'm hearing is that I gotta make you remember."

'cause I love to watch you dream by Rainbow_waffles. T, 4.5k. “Don' turn off the light,” Alex mumbles again and Henry is really, really struggling not to laugh.

“Why?" he questions softly, inching his face closer to Alex so he could hear him. Alex doesn't answer.

“Why, love?” he presses.

“They need t'see,” Alex grumbles and shifts a bit.

“Who needs to see?” Henry thinks that if Alex mentions any other people or ghosts being around he's going to either wake Alex up or go sleep in the guest room, he's not having any of this.

“The bugs,” Alex mumbles exasperatingly as if it should be obvious.

Five times Alex talks in his sleep +1 time Henry does.

yrs. faithfully (if a little early) by @clottedcreamfudge. E, 4.6k. “You’re going to be over an hour early for your first lecture,” Henry points out from his seat at the kitchen table as Alex shoves an apple and a bottle of water into his bag, looking around for his shoes with a frown.

“Well, yeah,” he says distractedly, locating said shoes and squatting down to slip them on and tie his laces. “I was gonna cram some studying in at the library at the end of the day, but now I can do it before the day really starts. Efficient as fuck.” Henry snorts delicately into his cup of Earl Grey and puts it down on the table when Alex straightens and rolls his shoulders.

“Admirable,” Henry says.

a goddamn blaze in the dark (and you started it) by orionseye. T, 4.6k. “You had a thing with who?” Spencer asks, cocking an eyebrow.

“No one. It’s nothing.“

“Oh c’mon. We finally get to the juicy shit and you won’t tell me?“

Liam bites his lip, stifling a laugh. “I had a thing with my best friend. All through high school.”

“I thought you had a girlfriend?”

“I did! I thought I was a proud heterosexual until I came here and figured shit out. We–we just, didn’t talk about it. Somewhere in our minds, the whole “making out for an hour” thing was, like, straight or something.”

a.k.a, liam and spencer’s adventures through the tendency of a famous ex-boyfriend to cause international scandals.

How to save a life by dollarstoreannabethchase. G, 4.7k. “Henry,” Cash’s voice called from the other side of the closed door to their brownstone, and something in his voice set goosebumps to Henry’s skin. “You need to come with me. It’s Alex.” Henry had gotten up from the piano immediately and flung the door open, wearing nothing but a ratty old t-shirt and sweatpants. “What is it?” he asked, dread creeping down his spine in a slithering motion. “There’s been an accident.”

Or: Henry's day after Alex is in a car crash, not knowing whether or not he'll make it.

I Choose You by @cityofdownwardspirals. T, 4.7k. Finally, after a long moment, Alex speaks up. “So…he seemed nice,” he says, matter-of-factly. He still isn’t looking directly at Henry.

“He is. Not like we talk a lot. I haven’t seen him in years,” Henry admits, turning fully towards Alex to show him he has his full attention for this conversation.

Alex takes a gulp of his champagne before turning towards Henry as well. “And what happened all those years ago?”

Alex and Henry attend their first official event in the UK as a couple after the elections. Henry is proud to finally be able to introduce his boyfriend to the world. When Alex meets an unexpected guest, he gets an answer to the question of "which other famous boys Henry has shagged" and he seems to struggle just a little bit with it.

What If I Do? by colorfulmoniker. T, 4.9k. What was Henry thinking when he left Alex at the lake house? What were the days that followed like for him before Alex showed up at his door and forced him to face not only Alex, but himself?

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy by cmere. E, 6.3k. "Would now be the moment," Henry says, breath catching, "to tell you about a little fantasy I've had concerning you and horses?"

Alex snickers. "Uh, I don't know, babe. If this is going the way it sounds, I'm not sure you should say anything you won't be able to take back."

"Oh, Christ, shut it," Henry says, laughing, still not stopping the motions of his hand. "The horse aspect is nonsexual."

"Okay, well in that case. Yes. Obviously." Alex grips his own thigh, refusing to give in and touch Henry, or himself. For now. As long as he can stand it.

As it turns out, Alex isn't the only one who has a thing for his beloved on a horse. Henry's birthday seems like a good time to make use of that new information.

i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie) by matherine. M, 6.6k. The first time Henry sees it happen, he knows instantly that it is not the first time it has ever happened. They’re sitting in the living room of the brownstone, the two of them surrounded by their favorite people in the world, a night of board games long abandoned in favor of mocking the eighth season of Game of Thrones.

“God, don’t you have an off switch?” June groans, laughing as she chucks a piece of popcorn in Alex’s direction while he rambles passionately about the international legal implications of the Red Wedding. Nora cackles. “Whatever you do to thank Henry for putting up with you, it’s not nearly enough. Jesus, I can’t believe he put a ring on your loud mouth.”

Or: Alex is fine. Really, he’s fine — he just wants Henry to stay, even if Alex is too much. Henry just wants his husband back.

sink beneath the waves by indomitablelove. M, 7.1k He leaves the note in the kitchen, and slips back out into the dark morning and into the waiting car. He wonders if Alex will ever know quite how much everything truly means.

The lake house to Kensington, from Henry's POV.

A Stork Beneath London Bridge by MarvelMerlin G, 7.5k. Henry was supposed to be enjoying his first fully American Thanksgiving, filled with first hand witnessing of the Turkey Horrors and strangely sweet vegetable dishes. But in a single whispered phrase the world turns immaterial, Alex is his only anchoring point, and the black suit carefully packed over every single trip is being laid out on the pretty pink bedspread.

in wildest dreams (i never dreamed of this) by millsx. T, 8k. “H?” Alex asks, turning around. He’s been sitting with his back against Henry’s chest, listening to his low voice rambling about saltwater and coastlines.

Henry stops and looks at him, prompting him to go on with a tip of his head.

“You’re my favorite person ever,” Alex says quietly.

It’s Alex’s birthday in New York City, and life is just a little bit better than he would have ever imagined.

i will find you darling (and i will bring you home) by indomitablelove. E, 8.2k. ‘You’ve never had it from both sides of the ocean before, and– well, the devil works hard but the British tabloids work harder,’ he says with a sad smile.

The press and public opinion are fickle masters. One day they love you, the next they hate you. Alex struggles with the constant negativity of the news cycle, Henry makes him feel better.

A real fucking legacy series by @dreamsinthewitchouse. E, 9.9k. Alex drifts into consciousness in a bed full of tangled limbs and warm, sleep-rumpled skin. He’s lying half on his stomach and half on his side, the shoulder smushed against the bed protesting in a way that tells him he’s going to have a crick in his neck for the rest of the day.

But fuck if he cares, with Henry stirring next to him, one of his long legs draped over the back of Alex’s thigh. Alex doesn’t need to open his eyes to know the room is hazy with filtered sunlight, spilling pale yellow through the carelessly drawn curtains.

take me out and take me home by coffeecatsme. M, 10k. “Shh.” Alex presses a finger over Henry’s lips. Their corners twitch, as if Henry’s desperately fighting a smile. “This is our house, baby. We gotta make it our own."

Soon after Ellen's election, Henry and Alex move into a brownstone in New York. This is a story of how they make it home.

every day is a birthday by indomitablelove. E, 10k. Henry blinks a couple of times and sits up quickly. He gives a cursory glance to David on the back seat, checking he’s still there – as though he hasn’t been asleep since the second they pulled out of their street – and leans over to look out of the window.

‘Alex,’ he breathes. He’s quiet for a minute, then murmurs, ‘it’s beautiful.’ Henry turns to him with narrowed eyes, both suspicion and mirth glinting happily in them. ‘What are you planning?’

Alex simply reaches over and clasps Henry’s hand with his own, then brings them to his lips. ‘Happy birthday, baby.’

Alex surprises Henry with a belated birthday weekend away... with the help of a few visitors.

Every nation ought to have a right to provide for its own happiness. by imaginentertain. T, 11k. "And that's when Henry knows: He doesn't ever want to go back."

"This is very formal," she says eventually. "Sending a request for an audience with your grandmother."

"Yes, well, this needs to be done formally," Henry says, "it needs to be done right."

And in that moment Henry sees his mother stiffen a little beside him and he knows she's realised. She's put the pieces together. If he's not here to ask for permission to marry then—

Henry takes a deep breath, rolls his shoulders back to lift him up to full height, and draws on all the courage he can muster. "I have come to inform you that I wish to abdicate," he says, just as he'd written and rehearsed, "and I would therefore like to petition Parliament as soon as possible."

Title is from Alexander Hamilton's letter on foreign policy. Because what else could I use?

Book canon compliant.

behind the diamond-shaped glass by Celaestis. M, 11k. Five times Alex and Henry used tea and biscuits to communicate, and one time they don't need to.

Smiles Await You When You Rise by supernatural_mondler (starzinoureyes). T, 11k. It’s incredible, really; he spent almost all day trying, willing himself into slumber, but after less than an hour of listening to Alex’s soothing voice and looking at his beautiful face, Henry is just moments away from the most peaceful sleep he’s had in weeks. God, why don’t they just do this every night? Henry might be able to get his sleep cycle back to normal if he only had Alex talk to him whenever it was time for bed.

Or, five times Alex helps Henry fall asleep.

No Regrets by @uglygreenjacket. M, 11k. “I think we should have a royal wedding.” It’s a thing Alex says to Henry over breakfast one Saturday morning shortly after they get engaged.

And he really hopes he doesn't come to regret it.

Love, Pyramus by @sprigsofviolets. T, 15k. Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor has always been different, and he spends his life finding himself in the pages of a book, connecting with queer people through literature.

Alejito y Marimar series by th0ughts. T, 18k. He continues to mutter ramblings about high society and the impossible balancing act of keeping up appearances before he falters to a tapering quiet, brown eyes coming alight with a realization.

Martha’s stomach churns, sensing a grand idea that could either be pure genius or terribly ill-advised. (With most of Alex’s ideas, it’s usually both.)

Alex is Martha’s plus one at her high school’s pre-reunion soirée, and she learns a thing or two about gumption.

I love you, aint that the worst thing you ever heard? by dollarstoreannabethchase. E, 18k. Because Alex is Alex, and as they say in Scandal, he’s the kind of person who would blindly follow someone he loves over a cliff. All Henry can think about is that Alex doesn’t understand what’s waiting for him at the bottom of that cliff; that Alex is hopelessly optimistic—naive, even—but Henry knows they won’t survive the fall. And he cannot, for the life of him, figure out why, out of all the things Alex could choose to go over a cliff for, he seems so set on choosing Henry.

Or: Henry’s perspective of the lake house and the week he and Alex are broken up.

Las Flores series by 14carrotgold. M, 26k. Oscar gets in close and bluntly asks, “Earlier. In the bathroom. Did you do it?”

Alex scoffs, “No. Don't be a perv. Why would you wanna know that anyway?”

Oscar rolls his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, chamaco. Did you propose?”

Ah.

Henry is introduced to the extended Diaz side of the family at their matriarch's birthday. Shenanigans (and romance and feelings) ensue.

all that glitters (is not gold) by indomitablelove. E, 111k. Alex Claremont-Diaz has it all. His mom won the election, he’s got the perfect boyfriend. He gets to love Henry out loud. Everything is great. Perfect.

Except for the itch under his skin every time he goes outside, and the tightness in his chest when he goes online, and the fact that he can’t fucking sleep.

But it's fine. He's fine. Really.

Or: after the emails, Alex Claremont-Diaz isn’t fine.

I only tag an author once per post, but I'm still figuring out firstprince author handles. If you see one I may not know or find a broken link, please give me a heads up!

Master List of RWRB FirstPrince Recs

Master List of Recommendations

#firstprince #rwrb fic recs #rwrb #alex x henry #red white & royal blue

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loslentesdepedrito · 1 year ago

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I'm Your Wife- Chapter Six

Jack gif by: @coredrive My Masterlist

Pairing: Jack Daniels ‘Agent Whiskey’x Spanish-speaking f!reader and Javier Peña x Spanish-speaking f!reader (Spanish translations are provided.)

Previous Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Five

Next Chapter: I'm Your Wife- Chapter Seven

Word count: 4.3k+

Chapter summary: Jack visits Ángel in the hospital, bringing the gifts he bought. During the visit, you find yourself reflecting on your relationship with Jack—both before and after your engagement. Also, your husband, Javi, and your ex-husband, Jack, try their best to not kill each other. (Picks up directly from ch. 5. The flashback scene is bold and italicized.)

Rating: 18+ No explicit content, but this is an 18+ page. Warning contains spoilers, but please read if you'd like!!! They are below the cut, but if you don't want to read them, the story starts after the aviators.

Warnings: Angst, jealousy, light suggestive stuff, pregnancy, divorce, childhood disease, mention of death, mention of the death of a child.

You were abruptly pulled from that memory when you heard a soft “¿Mami?”

Your head snapped towards Ángel, who was awake from his nap, his hair adorably messy.

"We've been calling your name," Javi says, no longer in his chair. He's now pouring some milkshake from a third cup into a smaller one for Ángel.

"Sorry, nomas estaba pensando ([I] was just thinking),” you say as you get up to give your son a kiss.

“¿En que, mami? (In what, mommy?)” Ángel asks, tilting his head to look at you.

Before you can reply, a knock echoes in the room.

"Come in," Javi says, loud enough for the person behind the door to hear.

The door opens, and Jack enters with a blue bag in hand.

"Mr. Daniels!" Ángel greeted him, clearly happy to see him.

"Hi, buddy," Jack responded, glad to see that Ángel was taking a liking to him, even if he didn't know their true connection.

"How are you feeling?" Jack asks, genuinely concerned.

"Good, thank you," Ángel replies politely, lifting his cup to take a sip. "My dad gave me some milkshake," he adds with a small smile.

At the mention of Javi’s name, Jack turns to Javi. "Javier," he acknowledges with a slightly sour tone.

"Hi, Jack," Javi responded without bothering to look up from what he was doing.

"I got something for you," Jack says, placing a gift bag on his son's lap. Ángel's head instinctively turned to look at Javi with big questioning eyes, silently seeking permission.

“Puedes abrirlo (you can open it),” Javi said softly, granting him permission.

Ángel eagerly reached into the bag, pulling out tissue paper and tossing it over his shoulder onto the floor. He excitedly reached into the bag with his small arm and pulled out a boy's denim jacket. It was a dark blue wash with silver buttons and yellow stitching all along the jacket. The jacket had several pockets, and Ángel immediately started sticking his small fingers into them. The most noticeable feature was a deep red patch at the back of the neck area. In the center of the maroon leather, the word "Jean" was meticulously stitched in bold, white thread. The stitching wasn't perfect, nor was it meant to be; it almost appeared as if it had been hand-sewn. Near the bottom right corner of the patch, a quartet of squares appears, not arranged in a straight line, but it looked better that way. Each square bears a single letter, together spelling out "S-H-O-P."

“¡Qué chulo! (so cute!)” Ángel exclaimed in awe as he tried to put it on, getting halfway before realizing that his right arm had an IV.

"I love it! Thank you so much, Mr. Jack!" your son exclaims with genuine joy. It almost makes up for all the Christmases Jack missed with Ángel - almost.

"No need to thank me, buddy," Jack replies, delighted that Ángel liked the jacket. Kids usually prefer toys over clothing, but ever since Ángel met Jack, he's had cowboy fever.

"I have the same one," Jack adds, the idea of matching with his son warming his heart. Jack couldn't help himself but buy items identical to the ones he already had in his closet. "You can wear it when you get out of here and go to the ranch," Jack explains.

Ángel responds happily and giddy, his excitement bubbling over.

"Keep looking, there's more," Jack encourages his son to explore the rest of the gifts, eager to see his reaction.

“Muy bien (very well), Mr. Jack," Ángel says obediently, forgetting Jack doesn't know Spanish. He reaches into the bag and pulls out a book.

"One hundred fun facts about Horses," Ángel reads out loud and gasps.

"He loves books," you fill Jack in.

Jack was going to say, he didn't get that from me, but he held back and instead replied, "he got that from you."

"Can I read this now?" Ángel questions, clutching the milkshake in one hand and the book in the other.

"There's still more,” Jack points at the bag.

Ángel seemed astonished, asking as if he couldn't believe it, "More?"

"Just one more," Jack laughs at his son's excitement.

For the third time, Ángel reaches into the bag, his face contorted in confusion as he struggles to pull out the item with one hand. "Ma," he calls out and hands you his drink. You hold it for him, and with both hands, he successfully retrieves the last item from the bottom of the bag.

He takes out a black box with the word 'stetson' printed in white ink. Your son rattles the box, but his eyebrows pinch in the middle; he can't make out what's inside the box.

He finally reads the text and asks, "What is a stetson?" Not waiting for an answer as his curiosity got the best of him, he takes matters into his own hands and opens the box, revealing a layer of white tissue paper inside. This time, he's more careful. With his small fingers, Ángel gently grasps the paper from both ends in the middle and pulls it apart.

"Wow!" he exclaims as he sees a black hat upside down. He delicately removes the hat from its container and flips it over to examine it with wide eyes.

Ángel looks at Jack with a smile that warms Jack's heart, a smile he'd do anything for, even if it meant crawling to the depths of hell and facing Satan himself, just to keep it on his son's face.

He begins, "My grandpa gave me a hat—" but his sentence is cut short when he eyes Jack's own hat. He then turned his attention back to the smaller hat in his hands, his face contorted with intense concentration. "Wait... it's just like yours, Mr. Jack!"

The smile that Jack offers in response is just like Ángel's. He can already envision his son wearing everything he's given him. The prospect of having his son resemble him, even in a small way, fills Jack with emotion. Tears prick Jack’s eyes at the thought of his son looking like a little version of himself, without the mustache, of course. He can’t wait for the day his son will be his spitting image, from head to toe, or more appropriately, from the top of the hat to the tip of his boots. Now he just needs boots, Jack thinks, making a mental note to purchase them soon.

"Do you like it?" Jack asks.

"I love it!" Ángel exclaims.

Without hesitation, he places the hat on his head and grins when it fits perfectly. "My glasses didn't fall this time!"

Laughter envelops the room, and you can't help but wish for this kind of co-parenting relationship with Jack.

“Papi, look, it looks a little like the one grandpa gave me,” Ángel says not resisting showing his dad, as he does with everything.

It was indeed true; Chucho had gifted his grandson a straw hat. The moment Ángel received the hat, he'd given his grandpa a giant hug and then raced to show his dad.

Javi had never shared his son before, so watching him interact with Jack was a bit difficult for him. But he knew it was for the best, and he held onto the certainty that Ángel would always be his son, no matter what.

"Sí, mijo, te ves lindo (Yes son, you look nice)," Javi honestly praised Ángel's appearance, trying to focus on the happiness of the moment.

Jack, in the same boat as Javi, felt his heart chip ever so slightly every time Ángel called Javier "dad." He made a conscious effort to push aside these feelings and to fully enjoy the present.

"It’s perfect, right?” Jack asked, wanting reassurance.

“Yes, Mr. Daniels. Thank you,” Ángel replied, gratitude in his eyes, and he invited Jack to sit down next to him.

Jack complied happily, impressed by Ángel's ability to win him over so quickly.

“Can you tell me more about your ranch, please?” Ángel gazed at Jack with puppy eyes, and Jack couldn't resist.

He chuckled at how quickly his son could melt his heart. "Sure thing."

“Wait! I want a picture first,” Ángel suddenly announced.

“I’ll do it,” Jack offered before you or Javi had a chance to react.

Jack stood up from his chair, retrieved his phone from his pocket, and started setting up the camera. While he was busy, Ángel adjusted his jacket to make sure it wasn't slipping off the shoulder where his arm wasn't through the sleeve.

“Ready?” Jack asked, his finger poised over the top right button to take a picture.

Ángel didn’t reply with words. Instead, he looked up at Jack and said, “Cheese,” remembering to smile. He held the pose while Jack's phone captured several clicks.

“Thank you, Mr. Jack,” Ángel said gratefully.

“Thank you, buddy.”

Jack moved to his gallery to look at the pictures he had just taken and let out a sigh of frustration when he noticed the quality wasn't what he had hoped for.

“Maybe I need to get a newer phone,” he grumbled, slightly annoyed.

At that moment, Javi's voice came from behind him, growing nearer. “Probably because I heard the Smithsonian wants to contact you to make a deal so they could display your phone for their 1930s collection,” Javi deadpanned, handing his own phone to Jack. “Here, use my phone. I'll make sure you get the pictures.”

Jack accepted the phone with an eye roll, gave a begrudging nod, and muttered a terse 'thanks' before asking his son to smile once more. This time, Jack was satisfied with the pictures he took and returned Javi's phone.

A palpable tension lingered between the two men as they settled back into their respective chairs, the strained atmosphere refusing to dissipate but remaining held in check within the confines of the hospital room.

Sipping on their milkshakes, Jack raked his brain for a story to share, while you removed your son’s jacket to allow him to lay back more comfortably.

Once Ángel was nestled against the pillows, Jack began his story. “During nights at the ranch, the stars are beautiful. The most beautiful starry nights…”

starry nights

“And that is The Big Dipper,” you pointed at the sky and traced the constellation with your finger. It was a collection of seven bright stars in the shape of a ladle, its handle stretching out across the sky like a long handle on a giant celestial spoon. It was a clear, beautiful night, and the stars seemed to shine especially bright.

“Over there is Orion,” you traced with your finger again. Orion was one of the most recognizable constellations, with its three stars forming Orion's Belt.

“and there-” you turned to look at Jack, expecting to find him gazing at the stars as you had been. Instead, he was looking intently at you.

“What are you looking at?” You asked, puzzled as to why he wasn’t following your descriptions. “Am I boring you?” You wondered, a mix of genuine concern and offense in your voice.

“Nunna that,” he replied in his thick drawl.

“So?” You prodded.

“I just love you,” he said, his expression filled with adoration. Jack looked at you as though you were the most incredible thing in the world.

You couldn't help but laugh, maybe at the intensity of the moment, or maybe at the expression that sent your heart racing, or perhaps a combination of both. You reached out, ran your fingers through his hatless hair – a rarity – and pulled him in for a kiss.

A few months later, he proposed to you, and just like that, it seemed that overnight, he had changed.

The night Jack proposed, the air was filled with the scent of love and the promise of a shared future. Bodies exhausted from the intimate celebration, you both drifted into sleep with the utmost excitement for your upcoming wedding and the prospect of spending the rest of your lives together.

As you dreamt sweetly about your wedding day and all the plans you and Jack had lovingly discussed, Jack had an entirely different dream – one that would alter the course of your lives. In this dream, he was visited by his high school sweetheart, his first wife. She came to him, tearful and broken, a ghost of heartache, accusing him of replacing her with you. Over eight hours of sleep, Jack relived every shared moment, each memory etched into his mind, right down to the devastating memory of burying her along with their unborn son.

In his vivid dream, Jack meticulously compared the two of you, scrutinizing and contrasting your every feature, your every virtue. He reached the conclusion that his first wife was his one true love, his happily ever after. He placed her on an unattainable pedestal, and you, unfortunately, received the short end of the stick. In his altered and frantic mindset, still within the dream, Jack reassured her that you could never replace her because you could never be her. Jack decided that you could never measure up to the ideal woman he had built in his memories of his first wife.

Life had cruelly snatched her away, and in a perverse twist of fate, you became a living and painful reminder of everything he had lost and everything he could never regain. The woman he had lost became an unattainable ghost of perfection, and you, no matter how wonderful and loving, were forever held hostage by the shadow of her memory.

As the morning sun streamed into the room, you opened your eyes, anticipating the warmth of his presence beside you. When he wasn't in bed, you thought he might be in the kitchen making breakfast, so you searched for him happily, looking forward to sharing a bath to relive the delicious soreness from the night before, with thoughts of another round lingering in your imagination. However, your excitement turned to disappointment when he wasn't anywhere in the house.

Hours later, when he finally returned home, his behavior was curt, and he vaguely mentioned having something to do. Initially, you brushed it off, blaming his behavior on the stress of work, assuming it was a one-time thing.

Then, a week passed; Jack distanced himself even further, rejecting your touch and avoiding PDA, which he used to love. The warmth that used to define your connection was now replaced by a chilling void.

Conversations about his day once shared openly, became scarce, and when you broached planning your wedding, he conveniently found errands or claimed overtime at work—anything to avoid the topic.

Your once lively conversations dwindled, and the late-night talks on random topics became a distant memory. Your hopeful wishes for Jack to return to his previous self remained just that—wishes. Instead of reverting, Jack's behavior worsened. Thinking back on that post-engagement morning, it was as though a different Jack had awakened: someone you wouldn't recognize in the years to come, leaving you confused about what you might have done to bring about this change.

Unbeknownst to you, Jack had finished his story. You returned from the memory you had tried so diligently to bury, only to realize that Jack was explaining to his son that he needed to leave.

“I’ve gotta go to the pharmacy and pick up my medicine," he told Ángel. Although Jack didn't specify the medicine he needed to collect, both you and Javi were well aware that it was the injections he needed.

Ángel's face fell with disappointment, evident in his now-diminished smile. But he quickly bounced back before Jack could offer more apologies.

"It's okay, Mr. Jack," he said with a brave smile, even though his eyes betrayed his disappointment.

"Medicine is very important," Ángel added matter-of-factly.

Jack smiled at the boy's maturity. "You're absolutely right."

"I'll see you soon, right?" Ángel asked with a hint of concern in his voice.

"Whenever the hospital allows," Jack replied cautiously, refraining from disclosing his procedure, as Ángel wasn’t aware of the pending surgery, and Jack didn't want to lie to his son.

Ángel accepted Jack's answer and thanked him for the wonderful gifts before saying his goodbyes.

"I'll see you out, Jack. The exit you normally use is closed, so you'll need to go through the sky bridge," Javi offered.

"Sure," Jack agreed without protest.

He was just about to say goodbye to you when Ángel suddenly exclaimed, "Oh-uh…”

All three of you turned your heads, concern etching your features.

“Tengo que ir al baño (I have to go to the restroom),” he said anxiously. Typically, he didn't need assistance, but the IV made it complicated to go to the bathroom by himself.

Javi immediately offered, “Lo llevo yo (I’ll take him).” Given your pregnancy, taking care of Ángel was challenging, and Javi didn't want to jeopardize the well-being of all three of you. So Javi had willingly taken over the physical tasks of caring for him. He didn't mind – he loved looking after his son. Besides, he didn't want you walking Jack out, given that he remembered Jack referring to you as his wife. A part of him would always hold some resentment toward Jack, but his priority was his son.

As you focused on helping Ángel with the sheets, Javi approached Jack, his jaw locked, and in a low tone, he leaned in, warning, "If you try anything..." His stern expression and brown eyes bore into Jack's, conveying a clear threat. The warning only reached Jack's ears, and Jack remained silent, reminding himself to behave in front of Ángel.

Javi then forcefully bumped shoulders with Jack as he moved past him to assist Ángel in the restroom. You missed this interaction, and when you eventually glanced at Jack, he was seething. It had been years since you had seen him so angry – precisely nine years, to be exact. Confusion clouded your mind, leaving you standing there, staring at him, and he did the same. Your attention was drawn away from him when Ángel said his final goodbye.

"Let's go," you told Jack and proceeded towards the door.

Jack gives his son one last look and sees Javi guiding him to the restroom inside the hospital room.

With that, Jack is on your heels. You are five steps ahead of Jack. As you walk ahead of him, you find your mind drifting to your relationship with Jack. You classified your relationship with Jack in two phases: pre-engagement and post-engagement. Pre-engagement Jack would lace your hands together every time you were out in public or have his arm wrapped around your waist or shoulder. He wanted everyone to know that you were his, and he was yours.

Post-engagement Jack underwent a drastic transformation. He no longer held you in public, except for that one instance when there was construction on a street that had forced him to help you across a blocked and narrow sidewalk. He also began to walk ahead of you, not just a step or two, but so far that you sometimes had to wait for the traffic light to change and he would be on the other side of the street. After several attempts of trying to catch up with him, you eventually stopped trying to keep up and accepted this new reality.

Now, ironically, the roles had reversed, and you were walking ahead of Jack, with no intention of slowing down once you crossed the skybridge. Jack used long strides to catch up to you. Fortunately, the two of you were the only ones crossing the bridge that connected the children's wing to the parking lot, or else it might appear as if he were following you. Desperately, Jack wished to be by your side and engage in conversation. About what? Anything, really. He wanted to talk about the weather, the stars (something you once loved discussing but which he had grown annoyed with), or even something as random as worms, as long as it led to a conversation. He hoped to make you smile and laugh, even if it meant discussing the most mundane topics. Jack briefly wondered if this was how you had felt during your marriage – always yearning for his presence and conversation. He was already aware of the answer: yes.

As he rounded the corner, he saw you and swiftly pressed the elevator button. The doors opened with a soft ding right in time for Jack to step inside. You promptly pressed the button marked G1, initiating the descent. Jack's mind raced as he desperately sought the right words, knowing he had only a few precious minutes before you returned upstairs. Once you were outside, he finally summoned the courage to speak, but you broke the silence first.

“I’m begging you, Jack, do not flake on this. You heard Ángel's doctor. If you back out while he’s on chemo-”

“Do ya really think I would do that?” Jack's hands went to his waist, his eyebrows furrowing with anger and surprise. “To my own son?” He sounded genuinely shocked that you would even consider such a possibility.

“No...” After a pause, you decided to be honest, “Yes, Jack. I’m sorry if that hurts you, but it's the truth. I don’t know if I trust you. I want to. But I know better. I need to keep my guard up. I can’t risk it, not when Ángel is on the line. I did once, and look how that turned out.”

“Ya think I don't think 'bout that often?” Jack's voice rose. “Okay, I know what I did…” He paused and took a deep breath. “I won’t do that again. I will never abandon him. Ever. I will not fail him again.”

You repeated to yourself, Don't cry, don't cry.

“And you think it was easy for me to forget?” you continued, voice trembling. “I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together. After you proposed, you... you changed!”

"I remember that once, I dropped off lunch at your office because I got out of work early, and I wished I never left work." The tears welled up in your eyes as you recalled the painful memory. "I was in your building, on my way to your office, when a guard stopped me before I got to the reception. I explained that I was going to drop off food for my husband, and he asked me who I was married to." You continued, “Of course, I said your name, and you know what he said?" Without giving Jack a chance to speak, you added, "He said he was under the impression that your wife had passed away."

The color drained from Jack's face.

"It was so embarrassing, Jack. I didn't know what to say." You covered your eyes with both hands. "He and everyone on the floor thought I was crazy and making shit up." After a moment of silence, you continued, “At least Ginger was there, and she took me away into a hallway. I begged her not to say anything. I just went back home and cried my heart out."

Jack looked like a fish out of water, struggling to find words.

You pointed your index finger at his face and said, "Yeah, do that for like two minutes with a Tupperware of food, and you'll look exactly like me." Your dry laugh turned into a scoff.

"I'm sorry. Jesus, Sugar, I'm so sorry."

You heard the emotion behind his words and snapped, “Oh, don’t you fucking dare cry.” You were furious that he wanted to cry when you were the one who had gone through this. Years ago, you would've never dreamt of him feeling the burden of your pain, one that he had caused. You would've shielded him and shouldered everything, but you had changed too.

“I already cried enough for the both of us,” you add.

That made Jack want to cry more, but he quickly composed himself and fought back the unshed tears.

He comes closer to you, cupping your face in his hand. You shiver. Not because you feel any warm feelings you used to. Quite the opposite; you shiver because his hand is so cold.

"I'm sorry for hurtin’ you, baby," he says sincerely, looking into your eyes.

“Don’t,” you say, smacking his hand away. “Don’t call me that and don’t ever touch me again.” It's as if the palm of his hand gave you a freezer burn.

Suddenly, you hear heavy and hurried footsteps behind you.

From the corner of your eye, you see one of the security guards from the lobby.

“Is there a problem?” the security guard asks.

Jack looks at the guard annoyed as if he interrupted something. “I’m talking with my wife.”

“Oh my God, stop saying that! I’m not your wife!” you exclaim, frustration lacing your voice.

“Ma’am, is this man bothering you?” The security guard is about to intervene, concern evident in his tone.

“No! He was just leaving, sir.” You manage to give the best smile you can muster to the guard, doing your best to reassure him.

Jack, still looking irritated, takes a step back, giving you some space.

You grab Jack’s jacket and spin him around so he could look onto the parking lot. In a hushed voice, you whisper-yell, “Jack, don’t make a scene. If you get in trouble, you won’t be allowed into the hospital, and then Ángel won’t have a donor.” You didn’t know that would happen if the security guard kicked him out, probably not, but you were just saying things to make him leave.

Shit, shit, shit, why do I keep doing this? he asks himself.

“We’ll talk another day, Jack,” you sound deflated.

“Right now I have to get back and explain everything to Ángel since he’s getting surgery tonight,” you say.

That sobered him up.

“Okay. Call me with any updates. Text me too. It don't matter what time.”

You nod and turn to go back to your family.

A/N: I've created an account exclusively for reblogging my writing: @loslentesdepedrito-library . Feel free to follow me there if you'd like to be notified about anything and everything I write!

This is the fastest I've ever created a graphic (even though it took me a week 😳), yay! The next couple of weeks will be busy for me, but I hope to upload the last chapter before the end of the year. I know! I just have a lot to catch up on since I went on sick leave :(

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @kchavez666 @ttupelohoneyy @mishasminion360 @ilovetaquitosmmmm @stileslvr @pedrostories

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duckprintspress · 7 months ago

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Yeehaw! Queer Western Book Recs!

What’s the occasion? There is no occasion! We just thought it’d be fun to make a list of queer cowboy/girl/enby books and westerns! Say “Howdy, pardner” to our 8 picks. The contributors to this list are: Shadaras, Meera S., hullosweetpea, Nina Waters, boneturtle, and two anonymous contributors.

American Hippo (River of Teeth series) by Sarah Gailey

Years ago, in an America that never was, the United States government introduced herds of hippos to the marshlands of Louisiana to be bred and slaughtered as an alternative meat source. This plan failed to take into account some key facts about hippos: they are savage, they are fast, and their jaws can snap a man in two.

By the 1890s, the vast bayou that was once America’s greatest waterway belongs to feral hippos, and Winslow Houndstooth has been contracted to take it back. To do so, he will gather a crew of the damnedest cons, outlaws, and assassins to ever ride a hippo. American Hippo is the story of their fortunes, their failures, and his revenge.

Done and Dusted (Rebel Blue Ranch series) by Lyla Sage

She’s off-limits, but he’s never been good at following the rules.

For the first time in her life, Clementine “Emmy” Ryder has no idea what she’s doing. She’s accomplished everything on her to-do list. She left her small hometown of Meadowlark, Wyoming; went to college; and made a career for herself by doing her favorite thing: riding horses. But after an accident makes it impossible for her to get back into the saddle, she has no choice but to return to the hometown she always wanted to escape.

Luke Brooks is Meadowlark’s most notorious bad boy, bar owner, and bachelor. He’s also the unofficial fifth member of the Ryder family. As Emmy’s older brother’s best friend, Luke spent most of his childhood antagonizing her. It’s been years since he’s seen her, but when she walks into his bar and back into his life, he can’t take his eyes off her. Despite his better judgment, he wants to do a whole lot more than just look at her.

Emmy’s got too much on her mind to think about romance. And Luke knows he should stay away from his best friend’s younger sister. But what if Luke is just what Emmy needs to get her spark back? Or will they both go up in flames?

Outlawed by Anna North

The day of her wedding, 17 year old Ada’s life looks good; she loves her husband, and she loves working as an apprentice to her mother, a respected midwife. But after a year of marriage and no pregnancy, in a town where barren women are routinely hanged as witches, her survival depends on leaving behind everything she knows.

She joins up with the notorious Hole in the Wall Gang, a band of outlaws led by a preacher-turned-robber known to all as the Kid. Charismatic, grandiose, and mercurial, the Kid is determined to create a safe haven for outcast women. But to make this dream a reality, the Gang hatches a treacherous plan that may get them all killed. And Ada must decide whether she’s willing to risk her life for the possibility of a new kind of future for them all.

Prize Money by Celeste Castro

Eva is saved from impending disaster by a tall, dark, and handsome bullfighter–a woman. Toma Rozene is an equestrian stuntwoman fresh off the set of a blockbuster film when a family emergency calls her home to help run the family business: rescuing fallen rodeo riders before blustering bulls and bucking broncos trample their dreams. Eva and Toma’s shared passions and competitive spirits make friendship easy, but, as their feelings deepen, they must decide if the divergent futures they seek will stand in the way of love.

Wake of Vultures (The Shadow series) by Lila Bowen

Nettie Lonesome lives in a land of hard people and hard ground dusted with sand. She’s a half-breed who dresses like a boy, raised by folks who don’t call her a slave but use her like one. She knows of nothing else. That is, until the day a stranger attacks her. When nothing, not even a sickle to the eye can stop him, Nettie stabs him through the heart with a chunk of wood and he turns to black sand.

And just like that, Nettie can see.

But her newfound sight is a blessing and a curse. Even if she doesn’t understand what’s under her own skin, she can sense what everyone else is hiding—at least physically. The world is full of evil, and now she knows the source of all the sand in the desert. Haunted by the spirits, Nettie has no choice but to set out on a quest that might lead her to find her true kin . . . if the monsters along the way don’t kill her first.

Trigun: Deep Space Planet Future Gun Action!! by Yasuhiro Nightow

Somehow the past has placed a sixty billion double dollar bounty on Vash’s head, and the gunslinging pacifist can’t seem to get away from money grubbing, itchy-trigger-finger citizenry. Find out why Vash is worth so much money dead! Feel the clumsy worry of the unfortunate citizens of the pulverous planet! Follow the follies of an unlikely hero in a forbidding world! Join Vash the Stampede – with his troubled past and an uncanny ability to dodge a gazillion bullets – and a cavalcade of unlucky characters on a dusty, desert planet in the distant future.

Frontera by Julio Anta

As long as he remembers to stay smart and keep his eyes open, Mateo knows that he can survive the trek across the Sonoran Desert that will take him from Mexico to the United States. That is until he’s caught by the Border Patrol only moments after sneaking across the fence in the dead of night.

Escaping their clutches comes at a price, and lost in the desert without a guide or water, Mateo is ill-prepared for the unforgiving heat that is sure to arrive come sunrise. With the odds stacked against him, his one chance at survival may be putting his trust in something, or rather someone, that he isn’t even sure exists.

If you’d asked him if ghosts were real before he found himself face-to-face with one, Mateo wouldn’t have even considered it. But now, confronted with the nearly undeniable presence of Guillermo, he’s having second thoughts. Having spent his afterlife guiding migrants to safety, Guillermo knows things about the Sonoran Desert far beyond what could be explained by a mere hallucination. But even as Mateo forms an uneasy partnership with Guillermo, survival is still uncertain.

The Sonoran Desert, with its hostile temperatures and inhabitants, is teeming with danger as the Border Patrol, rogue militias, and animals prowl its deadly terrain. As his journey stretches on, Mateo will have to decide exactly what and who he’s willing to sacrifice to find home.

Bitter Springs by Laura Stone

In 1870s Texas, Renaldo Valle Santos, the youngest son of a large and traditional family, has been sent to train with Henry “Hank” Burnett, a freed slave and talented mesteñero—or horse-catcher—so he may continue the family horse trade. Bitter Springs is a sweeping epic that takes themes from traditional Mexican literature and Old Westerns to tell the story of a man coming into his own and realizing his destiny lies in the wild open spaces with the man who loves him, far from expectations of society.

Bonus Recs:

Caravan by Whisperforge – audiodrama

First rule of Wound Canyon: No one who gets in, ever gets out. So when a brilliant, ghostly specter flies through the sky amid the rain and lightning, Samir stumbles off a steep cliff and into a hidden world, one in which demons, vampires, and all other manner of paranormal creatures take sanctuary.

Second rule of Wound Canyon: No one makes it alone. Samir’s decided to tag along with Argeaux’s Caravan, a band of supernatural bounty hunters and vigilante peace-keepers. Together with an ever-expanding train of fantastical tagalongs, Samir and his new friends venture deep into the bowels of the canyon to find a way out of the magical boundary that imprisons all who cross it.

Cowboy Bebop – tv series

A ragtag crew of bounty hunters chases down the galaxy’s most dangerous criminals. They’ll save the world – for the right price.

What are your favorite gay cowboy books?

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#duck prints press #queer book recommendations #book recs #queer book recs

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creedslove · 2 years ago

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Hey its the anon that wrote about pedro character types. I meant more about what they look like e.g, their hair, personality etc! Sorry I wasn't clear enough😭✋

A/N: Hey anon, it's totally alright, I mean, it was completely understandable, I was the one going through a dumb wave and simply didn't get it 🤣 but now I did (sorta, I guess) and I turned it into ✨ HEADCANONS ✨

Javier Peña: Javi likes girls who can handle themselves, he has nothing against protecting you, he is a protective person and of course he will always make sure you are okay, but just so many people rely on him, it feels nice to know you are not helpless

As for looks, Javier likes well-groomed women, he likes them like a Christmas gift: beautifully wrapped, and that translates into women who take care of their appearance, does their hair, always smell nice, maybe a little makeup too and obvious with the nails done

Joel Miller: Joel wants… no, Joel needs a woman who's there for him, someone he knows he can count on, and it's not gonna bail on him. He's had enough with Sarah's mom and he seeks that intimacy and companionship in someone who will stick around for him and for his daughter

Physically, let's say Joel is an ass man and he will worship your ass. He loves those tight jeans of yours and your short skirts that give him access to it. He also likes when his girl takes care of her appearance and looks nice for him, overall, Joel has some low self-esteem and he already thinks you're too good for him, but he is not gonna complain when you doll up for him

Agent Whiskey: our sweet love broken cowboy… he is touch-starved because after losing his wife, he engaged in only one nightstands here and there, and they're usually all about sex and nothing else, so his type of woman would be a cuddly, warm and affectionate girl. Someone who responds well to physical touch and is able to show that through hugs, kisses, caresses, and well, sex. Jack loves when you sit on his lap and rest your back against his chest

As for the physical part, he doesn't like women who resemble his dead wife, it disturbs him and he will always keep away from them. He is also a classy man, and he likes his girl to be classy, so it drives him insane when you wear a beautiful and sexy nightgown to bed, the silkier, the more transparent the better. Also, idk why but I feel Jack would have a preference for long hair, as I can picture him gently brushing your hair and even braiding it he's in the mood - a skill he learned when he had to babysit his little sister when he was a teen

Javi Gutierrez: Javi is such a pure soul, he is kind, sweet, goofy and that's what he expects from his partner, he straights up believes in soulmate and love at first sight, and he will definitely have that with you if you are kind-hearted and nice to everyone around and of course, if you love movies as much as he does. Jk, no one loves movies as much as he does, but if you like movies and if you are open-minded enough to sit through the movies he would like to show *ahem* The Cabinet of Dr.Caligari, anyone? He will appreciate it

For looks, I don't know if Javi would have a preference, he strikes me as the kind of guy who would fall for someone's soul, no matter how cheesy that is, our Javi is cheesy and that's beautiful because he is beautiful.

And he also has a thing for taller girls, don't judge me

Frankie Morales: Aww Frankie is a good husband and good dad and he needs a girl who will take care of him. He also needs someone patient who will be understanding of his coke habit and believe he can do better. And he also likes someone who cooks because that shit he has to eat during missions is just terrible

For looks, Frankie is a boob man and he will die every time he sees you in a revealing cleavage, he just loves to rest his face in there and enjoy his time

Dave York: Dave likes a woman who's the opposite of his wife, hence he wouldn't be cheating. He likes a woman being fierce, kinky, someone who defies him and frustrates him at the same intensity it makes his cock go hard, he doesn't want the domesticity, he wants the danger, the risk and the thrill of doing something bad and knowing about it

And Dave likes any woman he considers prettier than his wife, if you got better ass, better tits and a prettier face, your in, and well, he obviously loves the tighter pussy but just to be sure, he needs to try yours first ;)

_____

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crystlizabeth · 1 year ago

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Will we get a pt 2 of Cowboy Cassanova? 🥹

Cold without you…

Phillip Graves x Blackfem!Shepard!reader

Warnings: angsty, cursing, self neglect, arguing, age gap(24&32), fluffy. Again not proofread.

Summary: months later winter seemed colder and now sad what used to be your favorite time of year was now your most dreaded. But everybody gets surprises during the holidays.

P.1 cowboy Casanova

You were so angry with him, you wanted nothing more than to scream and cry. Your father tore him away so fast just as you had him so close. How could he seek to hurt you so much your own father, he watched you fall apart and he knew it was because of his doing. He did it wanting to keep his little girl from heartbreak but he was the one that broke it he knew that as soon as you arrived back to your family home. Still in your outfit from the night your tear stained face and bloody red eyes, your broken tone.

You cried and cried to him pushing him away when he came up to comfort you acting stupid as if you didn’t know, yelling all he could say it was for your own good. That Graves isn’t a man to be involved with let alone he was ‘to old for you’. That you needed to accept this and theres so many people in the world for you that school should be your main priority not some man who was taking advantage of you. He made you seem so naive and he knew better he knew that you know what you wanted what situations you got yourself in and that if he really was taking advantage of you, you would have sure as hell known.

Right there was when he knew he lost is babygirl. That he broke her heart into a million pieces not Phillip. Him. He watched as you wailed into your mothers arm mumbling out to him ‘how could you..’, ‘why would you do that..’ and ‘im not your little girl anymore.’ . Your mother comforting you not knowing the full situation but knew her husband had fucked up bad.

Now it was December you where back in Texas from school. The southern winter was different, it used to be your favorite the memories of playing in the snow with your siblings staying home from school and Christmas. But you had a feeling Christmas was going to be different, quite even.. the streets covered in inches of snow the night colorful lights on the trees and buildings around it as the snow fell from the sky. Eventually your older brother picked you up from the airport to take to home.

“You ready to go, see dad?” Caleb asked, the sound of his daughters in the background talking to one another singing the carols that came from the radio.

You sighed softly looking away from the window to face him, the street lights shiny on his face sometimes you forget how easily he lost his color in the winter his freckles becoming lighter his hair short the curls still noticeable. “Not exactly who I want to see.. but everyone is home right now so I don’t just have to see his face.” You laughed lightly knowing all of your siblings were gonna be there.

He hummed in response. There was the silence everyone knew what you dad pulled and why you were so mad at him even after the months passed.

“You know sis, you do look I dont know— good I guess?” He said quietly.

You pressed your lips together. “Im fine just school is hectic.. just be a break..” you mumbled looking down checking your phone.

“Has he tried getting in contact with you.. I gave him you new number.” Caleb said.

Oh? You faced him your eyebrows frowned, “no.. no he hasn’t has he said he’s going to..?” You asked.

Your brother shook his head unsure “I don’t know but he ask about ya, specially since I bring you up near him iv been tryin’..” he spoke.

Phillips been asking about you. But he hasn’t even reached out knowing that you wouldn’t hesitate to pick up the phone, well how could he? You’ve been away for collage and he had been deployed.

“ I have to be honest, your face looks sickly thinner, and you just don’t seem like you..” Caleb spoke.

Winter could be rough sometimes but you had been falling apart just a soon as the wether started to get colder. You had more than enough people around you that gave you comfort and all the love you needed yet it was still so cold without him. This was about the time Phillip and yoh started messing around talking more, going out, eventually sleeping together to him coming to your family’s Christmas party. Spending the new year together and soon enough becoming a couple. But now he wasn’t with you anymore, you never hated the cold as much as you did right now the Christmas light that’s hung from the houses and the music that played it made you want to cry and curl up in a ball.

Upon arriving to your family home the big white farm house decorated, walking in you were welcomed by everyone your sisters and other brother. Your mother happily taking you into a hug kissing your face, then your father he smiled lightly at you hoping to maybe get a hug maybe even a hello but you just nodded at him giving him a half smile.

“I know mama but I’m tierd and have a raging headache.” You spoke to your mother as she tried getting you to get some food, saying the same as your brother that you looked sickly and food was what you needed. She soon gave up letting you escape to your room for the rest of the night.

Opening your doors it looked the same besides the white Christmas lights hung around your room giving it a little bit of light, but in your bed laid a small present and letter with a note on top of it ‘made sure your daddy didn’t get to it - love mama’. Made sure he didn’t get to it? Putting the note to the side you took off your big jacket hanging it on your closed door along with your boots.

Walking up to it it was a small gift wrapped up in sparkly blue paper with a gold ribbon. There was a letter under it so you opened that first it read.

“With you I was so warm you were the source of my warmth and just as I knew it you were gone. It got so cold, did it for you? I have so much I was to ask and tell you I know, everything reminds me of you I find you in every small thing. But this was my favorite, something that reminded me you were my warmth my Sun. So every time you feel cold remember this gift. Merry Christmas My dear.

-Lip”

You read through the note the small tears falling off your face onto the paper, you analyzed his cursive written so delicately. Slowly placing the letter down you grabbed the box unwrapping it slowly, you wanted to savor this moment. The blue paper tarring off revealing a little velvet box, opening it your eyes met a gold necklace. The necklace having a sun on it.

Pulling the necklace up you pulled its cushion revealing another small note.

“may you shine brighter than the sun ever could.”

Oh Phillip.. the way he could break your heart all over again. You brought the necklace up to your mouth your lips pressing a kiss against the cold material. You sat there for a moment trying to pull yourself together soon enough being able to get up and put the letter and not on your night stand with the box, you had put the necklace on it sitting a little past your collar bone.

For the next week that’s all you could think about, you sat wondering if he was in the country maybe you could get into some sort of contact with him. Your brother was your only option to go to, but you didn’t exactly know how to approach him you weren’t sure if Caleb had Phillips number. But it never hurt to ask right?

Pulling your brother to the side you asked. “Do you have Phillips number? Email? Anything Caleb please.” You pleaded.

He looked at you, you could sense the light feeling of worry, “I don’t..” he spoke. You groaned out in frustration knowing he had changed his number as well but you never thought of getting Phillips email.

“But I do know he’s home.” Caleb said holding his daughter.

He haven’t moved, you mentally screamed at yourself of course he hadn’t moved and you knew where to find him. Was is risky yeah but he definitely couldn’t come here. After hours of mentally preparing yourself you grabbed the two notes along with an old box that held more letters that you had written and he had written. you borrowed your sisters keys walking out the door. The drive seemed so dreadfully long you began to think maybe you should go back doing this all you would be doing is causing more problems. But you couldn’t let the thought of your fathers disapproval hold you back anymore. You were grow and able to make your own decisions either is be physically or mentally, your love life had both to do with your father. But as of now you risked throwing away your relationship with your father for a man. A man that treated you so gently, a man who even spent months away still communicated so damn well, a man who made sure you stayed focused on the things you wanted to do, a man that loved every inch of you and could handle your mood swings. Maybe it would all be worth it in the end, maybe your father would turn out to be right to remove him from your life that was a risk you were willing to take.

Glancing over at the clock it was almost 10 when you pulled you to his gate. His property was covered in snow a path way could been seen of his truck coming in and out, you could see the light in his house but there were no Christmas decorations on display. Opening the door the cold air hit you as you opened the gate quickly getting back in the car driving up next to the his GMC.

Taking one more deep breath you turned off the car. Getting out walking up his porch, the sound of the dogs barking made you smile light you finally heard his voice telling them to quiet down and ushering them into the side room. His footsteps quickly came back the sound of the locks of the door being unlocked.

His face soften as soon as his eyes meet yours, silence not a word. The cold December air blowing but it didn’t seem as bad as before, it wasn’t freezing. His blue eyes looked over you gently taking you in his hand reaching out he pulled you inside quickly closing the door behind you. He’s hand didn’t leave your arm, he just continued to look at you he looks as if this was his breaking point that he had been just a cold with out you.

“You can’t be here..” he whispered, his brows frowned.

You stood there looking at him with big eyes that if you were to look away he would disappear. “I got you gift Lip…” you said quietly watching his face closely looking for any signs he didn’t want you here. But there wasn’t anything.

“Surprised your dad didn’t get to it first…”

“My mom did, she put it on my bed.” You reassured.

You saw the corner of his lips rise a bit. His hand didn’t leave your arm you felt his thumb start rubbing against your sleeve lightly. Neither of you needed to speak as of now just needed this to be in each others space, the comfort of each other was all you needed.

You felt his warm hand touch you, the coldness that covered your face absorbing his warmth. “You’re not taking care of yourself are you..?” He asked his eyes running over your features.

He could saw how full you’d become you didn’t have that glow he saw you with last, the bags under your eyes still noticed under your makeup. He could tell your habits of self care had changed, he let his other hand leave your arm touching your face. He was so gentle with you his calloused hand held your face close, you wanted nothing but to pull him in and feel his lips on yours but you controlled yourself just letting the moment pass.

“Lip..” you spoke softly.

He hummed, “Do you think we can try again-” you said he quickly gave you a look.

“You know what your dad-”

“No, no I don’t care what he thinks I will make sure you keep your rank. I’m old enough to make my own decisions especially when it come to my love life. Phillip your all I want, I mean that I can’t see myself with anyone else we both know this would happen me right back on your front step.” You said your hand laying on top his forearm.

He knew you where right he’ll you both said I love you when he left. He knew sending you a gift would bring you right back to him, shit if he could have done it the other way around he would’ve been on your front step as soon as you got back from college. Little did you know he had fallen apart just as much as you, but he managed it differently. You both knew that being with each other right now was enough to build that warmth once again.

Five months that’s how long you both went without eachother, but it wasn’t the same no letters, no calls nothing. And you where right your father had no reason to control your love life, and Phillip knew how much you meant to Shepherd he wouldn’t let his little girl leave compromise was something he could work with.

His lips came close to yours, your lips quivering just to feel the touch of his chapped lips. He waited ther watching you hold back from kissing you “Are you sure?”

You nodded, “No darlin’ I need you to use your words..” he whispered his hot breath hitting your lips making you lick them slightly.

“Yes, Im sure.”

That was all he needed to hear his lips touching yours softly letting himself sink into your kiss, you put the box to the side letting your hand wrap around his neck him adjusting moving his hands dow to your waist holding you in a tight embrace as you both kissed. God did you miss his taste, the strong coffee and whisky always seemed to linger on his lips such a different combination but so addicting.

To put it simply you didn’t go home that night.

His arm wrapped around you as you laid on his chest. For once you were warm again, warm with him. But the peace has to me distrusted at some point, you phone buzzed again groaning you realized you still have your sisters car your location is off and you’ve been gone all night.

Quickly getting up you rushed over to your sweat pants grabbing your phone out of the. ‘23 missed called Mama’, ‘16 messages Nessa’ and ‘54 missed calls Daddy’. Shit..

For all they knew you where dead. “Whats wrong Darlin’?” You heard lips voice say.

“Nobody knows where I’m at.” You spoke sending a text to your mother and Sister quickly.

“You didn’t tell them where you were goin’? What bout nes?” He asked sitting up.

You shook your head wiping your eyes putting your phone upside down on his dresser giving your full attention back to you.

Through out the morning you both caught up, the two of you catching up. So much had happen in the last five months you opens up about your mental health throughout it and the downfall of your and your fathers relationship that you had turned 24 and lived in campus now your apartment from before empty and most of that stuff in a storage unit and at home. Also That you even made a attempt to move on failing horribly, he admitted the same that he couldn’t find a smile that lit him up. That he was going down mentally as well this made you two realize that maybe you two were co dependent on each other but also just heart broken.

“What do you plan on telling your father?” Phillip spoke sipping on his coffee his hand on the small of your back.

“Well he’s not gonna like what I have to say honestly but I could careless and I plan on taking you if that alright?” You explained picking at your breakfast.

He hummed “ I wont get shot on sight right?” He half joked.

You slapped the back of your hand to his chest playfully. “Shut up. Plus mama keeps them locked away when we have guests because she has curious grandbaby’s for their safety and now yours.” You smiled at him kissing his cheek softly.

“Let do this yeah?” He said giving you a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, as long as your with me.” You said softly your voice slightly shaky.

“Always.”

You both had driven separately him following behind you, he did the same while walking into your family home stayed behind you as you gave your keys back to your sister. Nessa giving you a look as she saw the man, your mother shaking her head slightly “he’s in his study upstairs.” She said he face turning to Phillip giving him a sympathetic smile. She knew all hell was about the break loose.

Walking into your fathers study he saw you the relived happy look quickly changing.

“What is-”

“He’s here because I asked him to, because I went to go see him after 5 months of no contact.” You said cutting your father off.

He stood up going to say something but you quickly spoke before him.

“Sit down. —For a man who raised me to be independent you hind me back. It was never him, or me is was you. Because your scared to lose me and if you couldn’t tell when you told him to leave me I lost all sorts of respect for you you lost me right then and there.” You said, you heart racing.

“I want to make this clear i really do dad. I am 24 years old, one of the highest and hardest worker in my classes and through out the years. I have done everything to please you and when I finally have something of my own you take it from me. You— you threaten his rank a rank he’s spent years to get to something that means so fucking much to him I made sure he picked that because if I didn’t he would have dropped that job turned in his rank and gone home to me. But you couldn’t come to that fact that I a grown woman had found someone I loved I’m not naïve dad.” You spoke sternly you didn’t want to cry but god was your heart beating out of your chest.

“I need you to understand that if you want to continue to see me you will treat him with respect in and out of the base. You will not make any remarks about my relationship about him you will keep your negative opinions to yourself because you are the only one that has a problem. And if you don’t I will leave, I’ll keep in contact with mom but I will not. I will not fucking speak to you do you understand.” You spoke looking into your fathers eyes.

His brows frowned but he nodded “I understand.” He spoke softly.

“I really hope you do..” because if he didn’t you wouldn’t talk to him maybe ever and that hurt you. But he can’t control you and you had to make that clear.

You walked around his desk hugging him your fathers arms holding you tightly. Even if you were a daddy’s girl he was the only man that had broke your heart, and that’s what hurt the most. He knew how bad he had hurt you yet didn’t regret what he did but now he had to come to terms with it, you weren’t his babygirl anymore.

But that you were Phillip Graves, that man would hold your heart gently never seeking to break it.

Winter wasn’t sad anymore, yet the joy had come back to it. Spending the remainder of Christmas break with Phillip and your family, everyone officially meeting him as your boyfriend. You had your glow back, crazy how one person can bring you back so quickly. There was no thought of him leaving again he wanted to down every last moment with you, and he planned on it. The winter once again had become your favorite.

And you weren’t cold without him anymore.

Soo here’s part two I know it’s not alottt of Phillip and reader but I wanted it to be dramatic and I love a Christmas/winter themed fic!

#x black reader #phillip graves x reader #phillip graves x black!reader #phillip graves cod #cod philip graves #philip graves #phillip graves #graves call of duty #graves x you #philip graves x reader #graves mw2 #graves x reader #phillip graves x you #cod graves #shepherd cod #black fem reader #black female characters

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