#Light Beer Forecast

[lietogirlsss]

COULDN'T MAKE IT ANY HARDER !

joaquin torres x fem!reader

: in which you and joaquin have known eachother as teenagers. You thought he was a pain in the ass and he spent everyday proving you wrong. Now that he's Captain America's protege, you've gotten a call that he was in the hospital after falling into the Indian Ocean, you'd do anything to go back to those days again.

: this was hardkey inspired by danny's interview in a talkshow, the coincidences are WILD. For the purpose of the plot, you and joaquin grew up in Miami.

: use of petnames, swearing, blood, implied death, implied murder, police chases, sort of spicy scene, reader speaks spanish. Lmk if I translated any of the words wrong!

MIAMI, 2017

"CHECK IT OUT! I'M GUNNA DO IT!"

"JOAQUIN YOU ASSHAT GET DOWN FROM THERE! WE'RE GUNNA GET CAUGHT!"

You push your sunglasses above your eyes as you whirl over your shoulder to see Joaquin and another one of your friends Javi clamber on top of a second floor balcony overlooking the pool where all eight of you had broken into instead of attending 7th period on a particularly sweltering Friday afternoon. The news forecast advised everybody to stay inside and to hydrate frequently, but then again it was Florida, so naturally it fell on deaf ears.

The entire hotel, was closed off because of a bedbug infestation reported by a couple of tourists flocking to Miami because of summer, it's been a month since they fumigated the entire hotel and all you had to do was dodge a couple security guards. Which wasn't hard at all, you and your friend Sofia who was in your AP Physics class just fluttered your eyelashes at them long enough so that the others could get in.

Sofia who was currently in the water waded towards you who was propped up on your elbows, glancing up at Joaquin and Javi in the distance with stupidly wide grins on their faces, illuminated by scattered rays of golden sunlight shining through the trees from the penthouse. "We're gunna be busted thanks to them."

"Hey, why do you look so worried? I thought you wanted to skip class with us?" You wondered, raising a quizzical brow at her.

"I did, but now I think I shoulda just sat this one out. Listen to a white man teach me a language I already know." Sofia professed, taking a swig of Bud Light. "What if we get caught, man? If my parents find out about this i'm screwed."

"No pasa nada, If your parents are gunna chew you up so are mine, alright? We're in this together." You reassure her, laughing through your nose. "Besides, school ends tomorrow, they shouldn't get their panties in such a twist." Your statement then earns you a poke in the side making you cringe and let out a cackle. Don't worry about it.

You watch as Joaquin and Javi shimmy in front of the handrails of the balcony clearly preparing themselves to jump, in Joaquin's hand was a can of PBR, the cloud like carbonation from the beer was fizzing out from a slit on the side so that he and Javi could shotgun before diving into the pool. You watch how the liquid runs down Joaquin's arm, eventually making an unattractive splattering sound on the floor below.

"WHO WANTS TO SEE ME AND JAVI SHOTGUN THIS BEER BEFORE DIVING INTO THE POOL?!?"

The rest of your friends cheered and hollered. But you scoffed, immensely unimpressed, you always thought Joaquin was incredibly full of himself and was the main reason all of you kept getting caught. Sure, you shouldn't be there in the first place but sneaking into them would have been a hell of a lot easier without Joaquin roping in Javi to do stupid stunts with him. You scoffed once more as you turn your attention back to your phone to choose another song from your playlist; But before you could shove your earbud back into your left ear you hear Joaquin yell,

"WHAT DO YOU SAY Y/N? YOU THINK I CAN MAKE THE JUMP?"

You shoot him a disdained look, scowling from your spot by the pool. "Hopefully not, maybe then your mother would actually be proud of something you did."

Joaquin jeers playfully, even going as far as pouting at you from such a distance. "Oh come on angel! Have some faith in me!"

"Yeah Y/N! have some faith!" Javi chimes in, delighted as ever.

You shift your body in such a way that your front would be fully facing him. "I don't wanna have to explain to your mother her son nose dived onto solid concrete, I don't think I'd be able to keep a straight face."

Joaquin in return makes a face at you, half in disbelief, half in amusement whilst on the brink of laughter yet again. "Oh trust me, you'd be devastated if anything happened to this face." He replies all bold and cocksure.

You hummed. "I don't even think you can spell devastated if your life depended on it."

"¡Carajo, can too!" He riposted confidently. "How about this, every time I get a letter correct is how long we gotta kiss." Damn it.

You laugh through your nose as everyone around you started hooting and hollering. "Where are we middle school? Please, if I wanted a kiss that badly I would've just stuck my face in front of a slobbering dog, even then it would be less sloppy."

Joaquin then makes a face, almost like he's just been stabbed. You roll your eyes at him for the umpteenth time. "I can't tell you how hurtful that is to me, especially since we've never even kissed before so you're basically going off of nothing here."

"And I'd like to keep it that way." You drawled as a matter of factly.

"If you two end up killing yourselves before graduation I'm actually going to burn you alive!" Another one of your friends, Isabelle, yelled from the edge of the pool before your other friend Mason grabs her by the waist and leaped into the pool with her. Everyone erupts in a chorus of laughter.

"What do you say Y/N? You up for it???" Joaquin hollers.

"In your-"

Your statement was short-lived when all of you hear shuffling from one of the farthest hallways almost like running. Your head snaps towards that direction just seconds before you heard the security guards yelling expletives and empty threats. All 8 of you scampered off with your shit, some leaping out of the pool, some even leaving their shoes behind. You sling your bag over your shoulder and start running towards the exit, in your peripheral you spot Joaquin and Javi climbing back onto the balcony as you follow Sofia out of there.

The guards were relentless despite their physique, being able to stay hot on your tail as you, Sofia, and Mason dart off in different directions, not before agreeing to meet up at a local mom n' pop shop a couple blocks from there that sold "naturally flavored" slushees. As you tiptoed your way through the barren outdoor bar, you found yourself constantly looking over your shoulder as the blazing afternoon sun battered it's unforgiving rays onto your face which made your hair cling to your skin uncomfortably, not a gust of wind blowing past.

Then you suddenly felt a hand wrap its fingers around your arm making you whirl around in shock, only to be met by Joaquin shooting you one of his signature shrewd yet saccharine smiles, a lone finger resting atop his lips as the sun illuminated his skin like it was glittering gold. Glittering gold? What are you? a fucking poet?

You tugged your hand forcefully out of his grasp, snapping yourself out of it. "You asshole! What the fuck were you thinking?!?"

Joaquin chuckles at your face, how your narrowed eyes expressed both disdain, relief and also an intense blaze of hatred. "That's a little hurtful don't you think? Whatever happened to 'hey joaquin?' or maybe even a 'sup sexy', hmm?"

You shoot him a deranged look as you jab him in the side causing him to recoil in pain. "I thought I was caught! What the fuck man?!?"

"Do you really think a guard would hold your arm the way I did?" Joaquin wheezed out, a certain sourness to his face as he kneads his gut. "Some fucking guard, I was being gentle as hell."

You roll your eyes at his excessive dramatics. "Oh come on, I didn't hit you that hard... Did I? "

"You definitely didn't." He says, making your face crease even more. "It's just that while we were running away I fell down a flight of stairs tryna get away from the guards, landed on my side, heard a crack. They almost cuffed my ass."

Your eyes widen, shame and regret overcoming you as you realize maybe you shouldn't have punched him. "Oh shit-! Oh my god I'm so sorry... Lemme take a look-" You babble abashed, eyes zeroing on the area where Joaquin had his hand pressed against.

"Hey, no, it's alright." He insists, a coy smirk tugging at the edge of his lips. "I'm alright angel I swear-"

"The hell you are, just lemme take a look, coño." You counter. "Here, lift up your shirt, I gotta see if it's swelling-"

After all that he still manages to laugh. "Can't a girl take a guy out to dinner first? Damn."

"Shut up." You say, focused, swatting his hand away. "Let me look at it, Joaquin."

"Dawww, look at you all concerned about me." He crooned, giving you a dopey smile. "Makes me actually wish I threw myself down a flight of stairs."

You take a step back, glaring at him in disbelief. "Oh you're sick."

"I think you mispronounced 'devilishly handsome'."

You scoffed, walking away from him before he jogs up to you, facing you as he starts walking backwards. "Hey, look, it isn't funny I got it. Apology accepted? Great! thanks. I knew you'd come around, angel."

"I actually thought I hurt you, dumbass."

"Hey, you could never hurt me, not for lack of trying but definitely because you don't know how to throw a punch for your life."

"Oh my god!" You exclaim in irritation.

"Look at you all hot and bothered." Joaquin guffaws at your face. "I wasn't the one that wanted to see me strip myself shirtless out in the open like this."

You pinch the bridge of your nose. "I swear to fucking God you're gunna wish-"

"HEY I CAN HEAR SOME OF 'EM OVER HERE!"

You and Joaquin turn your heads towards the voice before glancing at each other. "You wanna hold onto that sentiment?"

"Actually, I think this argument can wait. Part 2?"

"Jesus, just can't get enough of me, can you?" Joaquin accuses, shaking his head at you in disbelief. "I hate to say it, I think you're obsessed with me."

"You wish." You say biting down a grin with everything in you whilst pushing him away, hearing his raucuous laugh as both of you ran off as fast as you could. You don't realize he grabbed your hand and pulled you along with him this entire time until the both of you managed to run 3 blocks in the summer heat and he lets go of your hand to open the door to the mom n' pop store.

WASHINGTON, 2027

After hours upon hours of surgery Joaquin finally wakes up. His eyelids fluttering open as if it had been the first time in a long time, to a fancy hospital room with scattered beams of sunlight streaming in through the windows.

The last thing he recalls is him flying over Celestial Island, a misunderstanding with Sam which led to a sudden outward burst of bright orange engulfing him, and the faintest feeling of being pulled downwards from the sky. But he didn't expect you sitting on the armchair beside him with your head rested on your hand, eyes shut, and lips parted as he picks up on your soft snoring

Still incredibly lethargic, Joaquin couldn't help but grin at the sight of you. Oh, if only he had the strength to reach over to the bedside table to get his phone and take a picture. He would never let you live it down. In fact he'd probably print multiple copies of it and give them to you every Christmas moving forward, until when who knew.

Just as he was entertaining the thought in his mind, he sees you stir in the chair; letting out a large yawn, you blink repeatedly as your eyes try to get used to the brightness of the room.

"Wakey, wakey." Joaquin teased, causing your head to snap up at him in surprise. His voice still evidently hoarse never lacked the amusement it held wheneve he was a conversation with you. "you came all this way just to visit me huh tonto?" Moron.

You smiled, laughing through your nose. "I didn't have any plans for the weekend." You shrug, rubbing your eye free of the film that stuck it together. "Thought I'd drop by, see how terrible you look."

"Oh yeah? What's your verdict?" Joaquin implored.

"You look like if a sock monkey was put through a meat grinder." You say, punctuating your statement with a giggle that made Joaquin's internal organs do a somersault. "Then again you always look this chopped."

"Wow, way to kick a man while he's down." He replies, fake hurt. "I fell outta the sky a couple days ago, don't I get a day off from your... colorful opinions?"

You shook your head at him. "Nah, not when you made me your emergency contact." You shift in your position, boxing your arms over your chest as you look down at Joaquin with an almost cocksure expression. "Although I do have to say thank you, I met Captain America AND The Winter Soldier. On the same day."

Joaquin tilts his head back against the pillow, grinning at the cieling in disbelief. "See? And you're still convinced I don't do anything for you."

Your snort, chuckling loudly. "For a moment I nearly forgot I ran three red lights for you, all I could think about was how well Bucky fit in that suit-"

"-Three red lights? " Joaquin echoes suddenly, furrowing his eyebrows at you. "Damn, see this is why I made you my emergency contact, you're not afraid to break traffic rules."

"I could think of a dozen other people that you covuld've thought of before you chose me." You retaliated.

"Oh yeah? Do you think they had the guts to run a red light let alone three?"

"All three of your siblings maybe?" You suggest comically. "I dunno, just choose one. They'd be more than willing to run every red light possible."

"Red lights sure, but they weren't ballsy enough to break into a skate park with me at 4am on a school night just to hang out." He argued, smiling at you. "And of course there was that whole fiasco with the hotel on Hibiscus Avenue-"

"Irrelevant, we did that with a ton of friends."

"Yeah sure, let's leave out the fact that we made out twice afterwards." He rolled his eyes. "We didn't do that with 'a ton of friends'." He emphasized, almost mocking you.

You gawk at him in disbelief. "Low. We were 18."

"Hey, at least you can say you made out with The Falcon." Joaquin laughed at you. "Not many people can say that. Now that everybody knows about me because I fell into the stupid ocean you can pull that card whenever you like."

A moments pause.

"Captain America said they had to restart your heart." You brought up, staring at the ECG monitor before sighing. "What were you tryna prove now?"

"That I could do it." He says honestly, the answer practically lunging out of his mouth. "That I could be the next Falcon."

"Except you nearly died." You tell Joaquin, he takes note of your posture, sitting stiffly in the chair as the conversation takes a turn.

"I came back." Joaquin reasoned weakly. "The man upstairs let me off on a warning, says I still got some shit I gotta finish."

"Clearly its because He didn't want anyone face-planting into pillars or pissing off any of the cherubs." You sneered, causing him to let out a huff of laughter. "Its not like you've matured much since we last met. You're still crashing into shit, leaping off shit."

"-Excuse you, that's called falling with style." Joaquin insisted as a matter of factly. "If i learned anything about watching Disney movies everyday when I was a little kid is that Buzz Lightyear would be stinkin' proud if he could see where I am right now."

You don't roll your eyes at him or scoff at him or make yet another witty remark, what you did do surprised him and even you. Your eyes suddenly appeared to be more glassier than usual, you scratch the inner corner of your eye as you frowned at him. "I thought I lost you." You say, the instability of your tone was what made Joaquin's throat tighten.

"I'm still here, I'm right here." Joaquin assured you. "You know a little tumble can't stop me."

"What if next time you don't get so lucky, huh?" You wonder quietly. "What if this is the last time you injure yourself and I don't get to see you wake up high as a fucking kite and grinning at me like I just told you I introduced you to Antman?"

He manages to laugh through his nose. "Angel, have a little faith in me, would you?"

You bristle in your spot, feeling fully awake now. "I hate the fact that you keep putting yourself in situations where you can get hurt. What if eventually my faith just won't cut it anymore? You can't fucking blame me for living in fear." You argue with him as you wept, tears coursing down your cheeks as you chased at them with your palms.

"We aren't kids in Miami anymore, you're not in the air force, you're a superhero. You've got two feet in the grave at this point and I think you're just waiting for someone with a shovel."

Joaquin eyes begun to sting. "That's not fair." He says quietly, shaking his head. "I'm trying to make a difference in the world, a real difference." You knew he was, the both of you grew up watching the Avengers fight crime in New York, then in Sokovia. Now several years later they've got someone that looks like Joaquin helping out the common man. Sure, it was a huge difference. Representation came a long way. But you couldn't deny how terrified you were every time you got an update from him saying he was on a new mission with Captain America

"It wouldn't matter, not when I lose you in the process." You tell him honestly, seeing a tear escape the corner of his eye. "Look we're friends, I- I care about you."

"I care about you too." Joaquin replies, almost a little too quickly, possibly to mask the overwhelming ache in his chest when you bring up the fact that you are just friends. "Maybe a lot. Hell, you're the reason I'm here right now."

You stop to glare at him. "Okay, rude."

"Remember when I told you I only enlisted in the air force because my family couldn't afford to send me off to college?"

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

"We still didn't, but the real reason why is that I wanted to impress you." Joaquin professed, looking back at you with a half-smile, like he didn't just throw you in for a loop. "I know it's stupid-"

"It is, it really is." You interrupt him mid-speech.

"Look, all I wanted is for you to think I'm great..." Joaquin admitted loudly silencing you. Though he regrets it a second later as he wets his lips, lost in thought before speaking once more. "I thought that- that if I made something of myself then maybe you didn't look at me like I was just someone you grew up with that pissed you off all the damn time."

"Why?" You wonder, your brows still furrowed.

Joaquin opens his mouth, then closes it and lets out a huff of laughter. "I dunno, maybe cuz I sort of had a big fat crush on you in highschool."

"Oh yeah, I didn't pick up on that at all." You drawled sarcastically causing Joaquin to laugh at himself in embarrassment prompting you to chuckle at his face.

"Now this is the part where you say you liked me too."

"Is it?" You wonder, drying your eyes. "Huh... too bad."

"Huh... so this is the feeling of getting shot a hundred times." He says with realization.

"You gotta get used to it. You're The Falcon now, you can't cry if you stubbed a toe while trying to do the Michael Jackson lean."

"Hey that toe actually broke, you know."

"You're not helping yourself in this situation." You shook your head as you find yourself laughing at him again. "We really can't have one serious conversation."

If it was possible, Joaquin's smile grows wider. "Admit it, I make you laugh and you love it."

"Never in a million years." You enunciate. "And it dosent count because you're high."

"Me??? High???" He wonders almost scandalised. "Pshhh watch this, D-E-V-A-S-T-E-D."

That gets the tiniest chuckle out of you. "Well done, does somebody want a treat?"

"Nah, I want something better." He says, almost like he was alluding to something you're clearly not aware of.

You shook your head at him as it finally dawned on you. "Hell no, Joaquin."

"Come on!" He insisted as you hide your face in your hands. "You remember that day in the Hotel, right?"

"I'm not kissing you, your breath smells terrible."

"Ahhh so you haven't forgotten. I knew it." Joaquin guffawed, nodding.

"How many times do I gotta say no before you actually listen to me?" You clapped back, almost challenging him.

"D'you wanna find out? Because pucker up buttercu-"

He is swiftly silenced by the sudden collision of your lips onto his, he shuts his eyes closed as you re-angle your face, deepening the kiss. You feel his cold hands cup the side of your jaw, you flinch. He grins against your lips, he's definitely noticed. In return, you gently nibble on his lower lip making him let out a low groan that made you quiver, you lean in closer as if the pair of you weren't close enough at this point, your chest and his near centimetres apart, your heartbeats melding into one.

An intense fervor flourished to life within you as he tucks a strand of hair behind the shell of your ear, the strand of hair being draped over your face on account of having to lean closer to him. Joaquin moved his hands to grip the base of your neck just as his tongue entered your mouth, you allow him in as both of you passionately duel against eachother as if there was a battle to be won. No, Joaquin had to remind himself the fighting was in the past, all he could feel, all he could touch, all he could smell was you. All there was, was you. And that was a thousand victories on its own.

"Shit- angel... you're tryna kill me." He mumbled so quietly it made you chase at his lips, effectively shutting him up.

"That enough not to make you leave?" You answered, the kiss intensifying a hundred fold. Teeth clashing together, the sound of you and Joaquin gasping for air without having to pull away, laboured breaths in between the sound of poppysmic, and the sheets shuffling.

Suddenly the door knob turns and you and Joaquin pull away instantly, it was almost comical. It was the nurse with a concerned look on her face and a clipboard in her hands. "Is everything alright in here?"

Joaquin clears his throat, glancing back at you who was slouched in the armchair, scratching the side of your mouth. "Uhhh- y-yeah, yeah everything's uhm... fine."

"You two sure?" The nurse reiterates. "His heart rate spiked up all of a sudden, gave us all quite a scare out there."

You finally spoke up. "Sorry, no, we were just... laughing at the birds... outside."

"Uh-huh, you shoulda seen them... one of them was doing the Russian folk dance." Joaquin supplements, his statement falling apart mid-sentence. He makes a subtle face at you in confusion to which you mirror.

The nurse raises a quizzical brow at the pair of you, she takes note of the flushed cheeks and the apparent yet awkward looks you had on your faces that you two failed at hiding. She glances back at the monitor, Joaquin's heartrate wasn't as rampant as before as it began decreasing by the second.

"I'll come back in a while, keep that heart rate of yours in check pretty boy."

"Isn't that kinda your job?"

"Excuse me? "

"That was outta line... that's my bad." Joaquin replies quickly, offering an apologetically cheeky smile as the nurse shuts the door behind her, muttering to herself.

You and Joaquin then look at eachother.

"You know... that's three now." He suddenly says.

"Oh, so we're keeping count? " You bounce back, sitting up.

"Yeah, so we can keep breaking that record..." Joaquin paused. "If you're interested." He suggested coyly causing you to roll your eyes at him again, trying your best not to let him see the red tint blossoming from your cheeks.

You hummed out a laugh. "Try and get outta that hospital bed first, let's see what happens."

[diazsdimples]

After the lightning, Buck downloads just about every weather app he can find. He doesn’t tell anyone - because he knows they’d immediately become concerned - he’s terrified of thunderstorms. If it’s forecast to be rainy, he’ll check, double check, and triple check that it’s only rain, and not a storm too. What he doesn’t know, is Eddie’s done the same thing.

The first storm happens a couple of months after Buck goes back to work, and he's ready for it. It's one of their nights off, so he gathers all the blankets in the loft, makes himself a little nest with his laptop, a hot water bottle, and some noise canceling headphones and he hunkers down for the night. He's just squeezed his eyes shut after the first flash of lightning when his phone rings. It's Eddie. Initially he doesn't want to answer, because he doesn't want to have anyone asking him how he is right now, but he also knows Eddie will just keep on ringing until he picks up. So he does.

Not once during that call does Eddie ask how Buck is. He immediately lauches into a long tale about Christopher's new crush, which turns into a story about the main characters on the telenovela he watches and "how the fuck have they not figure out they're in love yet", and finally they end up debating the pros and cons of having a smart fridge that shows you what's inside without having to open the door. Buck hangs up feeling a little confused, wondering what the occasion was for such a call, but the storm has passed and he didn't have a panic attack.

The next storm is in the dead of winter and Buck has been watching it brew for days, his anxiety mounting as it builds. He's planning on doing the same as last time, but then Eddie invites him over for dinner. It's not their usual night, and Chris is away with his grandparents in Texas, so Buck is a little confused but he says yes nonetheless. He's looking forward to some time with Eddie - the two of them have been toeing the line between friends and something more ever since the lightning, with long lingering touches and late night phone calls. When he gets there, Eddie has ordered them pizza, there's a case of beers on the coffee table, blankets on the couch, and a new sound system that looks like it could blow the windows out of the Sistine Chapel if given half a chance.

They have a really nice evening and Buck manages to ignore the way the clouds are churning outside, how the wind picks up and rain begins to splatter against the windowpanes. He's comfortable on the couch, with Eddie a warm line against his side from how closely they're pushed together. When the room lights up from the first strike of lightning, Buck jumps. He looks around wildly, just barely fighting the urge to clap his hands over his ears as the thunder booms. Eddie looks up from their movie, and turns up the sound on the TV until the thunder is inaudible. He places a hand on either one of Buck's shoulders and gently guides him down until he's settled against Eddie's chest. Eddie's arms wrap around Buck, holding him from behind and Buck can feel the fear slowly receeding.

"It's okay," Eddie whispers in his ear. "I've got you. You're safe."

The storm rages outside, but Buck doesn't panic. He's safe, in Eddie's arms, and though he might jump and his breathing might speed up every time there's a flash, Eddie strokes his arms and pets his hair and finally, almost nervously presses a kiss to Buck's forehead.

"Is- is this okay?" he asks Buck, so quietly that if it weren't for the fact that his lips were brushing Buck's ear, Buck wouldn't have heard it.

"Yeah," Buck replies, burrowing closer into Eddie's chest as his heart blooms with love, the warmth spreading down to his toes. "I'm safe."

[tropes-and-tales]

For Good News, Read Front

(Frankie "Catfish" Morales x F!Reader)

CW:  Mostly fluff; some crude language.

Word Count:  3313

AN:  This was requested by the lovely @justreblogginfics for the April Showers event!

Civilian life hasn’t been kind to Frankie Morales.

Addiction, divorce.  Nearly bankrupted dealing with both.  He only sees his little girl half of the time, and each time he drops her off at her mom’s house, he feels like he’s been lanced through the heart.  He lives alone in a shitty apartment, and if it wasn’t for his job, he might go entire days without seeing or speaking to other people. 

More immediately, though, he hasn’t been taking care of himself.  He’s lost the rigor of military life.  He’s put on some weight and barely exercises.  According to his annual physical, he’s got high blood pressure, high cholesterol.

He wouldn’t care so much except for his daughter.  He wouldn’t bother if it was just for himself.  The thought of checking out early and not being there for her big moments—graduations, marriage, whatever—is enough to spur him to action.

He eats better, or tries to.  He cuts most of the red meat.  He cuts much of the mindless beer drinking he does at night in front of the TV.  He takes a multivitamin each morning.

He starts running for the exercise.

At first, it’s pathetic.  He’s winded almost immediately, his knees ache, and his muscles burn.  What happened to the Frankie who breezed through Basic Training?  What happened to the young buck who could hoover down four cheeseburgers and run with a loaded rucksack like it was nothing?

He got old, Frankie thought.  He got old and used up and left behind.

But it gets easier.  The running gets easier.  He starts to chew up miles on his long runs.  He wears out a pair of shoes and needs another.  He buys a stupid reflective vest so he can go out early mornings and run to race the sunrise.  As the running gets easier, so do other things:  he sleeps better, breathes better.  His mood improves marginally.

Maybe civilian life can work after all.

-----

He still makes stupid choices all the time. 

Like this evening:  the weather forecast showed rainstorms.  He checked it three times, but he still laced up his running shoes, queued up a playlist, and left his apartment.  In a surge of unfounded confidence, he figured he could outrun the weather.

Frankie figured wrong.

He’s almost exactly as far from home as he can be when the skies open up.  His favorite running route takes him into a quiet neighborhood full of old Florida-style homes with rambling lawns and big trees.  It’s usually charming, but now?  In the middle of a rainstorm that is increasingly dangerous—thunder rolls overhead, lightning cracks in the distance—it’s foreboding.  The light in the sky takes on a pearl grey cast, washing everything in a funereal pall.

Sheets of rain soak him in seconds.  He turns around, pounds back down the street, his waterlogged sneakers squelching with each stride.  His clothes cling to him uncomfortably, and a moment later, his phone dies, his playlist cutting off mid-song.

Then a bolt of lightning splits the sky in front of him—way too close for comfort—and Frankie knows he has to find cover.

He thinks of who he knows nearby.  He comes up short when he goes through the obvious:  Pope is somewhere in South America, both Benny and Will are on the other side of town in the opposite direction.  Frankie has a cousin nearby, he thinks, but then he remembers that she moved to Virginia last year, according to his mother.  He doesn’t know where any of his coworkers live, or anyone from his NA meetings—

The only person he can think of is you.  He’s only met you a handful of times, one of those flimsy acquaintances situations.  You were friends with a girl that Benny was dating a while back, and you had come to some of the group hangouts with her.  You had been quiet, hung at the margins like Frankie, and the two of you had shared some pleasantries.  Not enough to be friends, but you had also hosted a cookout a few summers back and invited the guys, so Frankie remembers where you live.  Nearby, thankfully.

It'll have to be enough, those handful of paltry conversations he shared with you.  Hopefully you’re home.  Hopefully you’ll answer the door to the near-stranger soaking wet on your porch.

It’s Frankie’s lucky day, it turns out.  You are home, and you do open your door to him, first with a look of puzzlement, then with a bemused smile as you usher him inside.

-----

“I’d offer you a shower, but you probably shouldn’t since there’s lightning,” you tell him. 

He’s standing in your kitchen, dripping all over your tiled floor.  You hand him a towel and watch him, that smile curving your lips as you watch him dry off as best as he can.

He’s also interrupted your cozy evening in.  You’re already in pajamas, contacts out and glasses perched on your nose.  The TV in the other room is paused, and the screen shows what looks to be a period drama of some sort.  The entire house has the warm scent of something delicious recently baked, and when Frankie glances over at the counter, he sees a pan of brownies cooling.

“I appreciate this,” he replies.  “Sorry to bust up your evening.”

 “No worries.  It’s just solo movie night.”

“Good weather for it.”

You chuckle.  “Certainly better than going for a jog.”

Frankie smiles.  “I thought I could outrun it.”

You smile back at him, then shift your gaze over his shoulder and to the window.  The storm is only picking up in intensity; the smaller trees bend in the wind, and rain comes in sideways with each gust.

“I’d also offer to drive you home, but I’m not good at driving in bad weather,” you say, the smile ceding to a grimace.  “I’m kind of a baby about it.”

“Or you’re just sensible,” he counters.

He runs the towel over his head.  Instead of being soaked, now he’s uncomfortably wet—his clothes stick to him, and he feels clammy and gross.

“I could call Will, maybe.”

Frankie shakes his head.  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, which was already outdated and nearing its end of life.  “I don’t have his number memorized.”

“Maybe Benny?”  You pause.  “Though since he dumped Emma, I’ve been sworn as his enemy.  You’d have to keep it on the down low.”

“I don’t have his number memorized either.”

There’s an uncomfortable beat of silence, then Frankie says, “if I could just wait out the worst of the storm…if I could just even sit on your porch and not bother—”

You cut him off.  “Of course you can hunker down here.  Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I don’t wait to ruin your evening—”

You cut him off again.  “You aren’t.  Solo movie night is flexible on the ‘solo’ bit.”  You gesture to the pan of brownies behind him.  “There’s plenty of snacks to go around.”

Frankie should feel bad, but now that you’re in motion, he doesn’t quite have the time to sink into any bad feelings:  you snatch the soaked towel from his hands, and you take his elbow lightly and lead him down the hallway to your bathroom.  You push him gently inside, then pivot to snag some fresh towels from the linen closet.  You toss those at him, and the entire sequence happens so fast that he blinks in surprise.

“Go ahead and dry off,” you tell him.  “I think I have some clothes that will fit you.  I can run your wet stuff through the dryer.”

“You’re sure you—” he starts to say, but you’re already closing the door on him, giving him privacy, and he hears you padding down the hallway away from him.

It’s only a few minutes later that you knock on the door again.  He opens it—still fully clothed—and you’re standing there with spare clothes for him.

“Okay, so you won’t get style points,” you say.  “But these should fit you.”

Frankie makes sure to look you in the eyes when he thanks you.  He wants you to know he’s appreciative.  You didn’t have to let him into your house at all, yet here you are, clothing him, offering to feed him, and you don’t really even know him beyond the handful of conversations you had at group events.

“I appreciate it,” he says.  “I owe you one.”

You wave that off.  “No worries.  Dry off, get changed.  The washer and dryer are off the kitchen.  You can throw your wet stuff in, then we can relax and wait out the storm.”

-----

Frankie has questions.

Firstly, there’s the grey sweatpants.  Obviously men’s sweatpants.  Obviously they belonged to some guy, though Frankie has only ever known you to be single.  He knows that sometimes women keep their guy’s shirts after a breakup because they are typically bigger and cozier, but he can’t picture you wearing these sweatpants yourself.  You’d be swimming in them—yet they seem to be lovingly preserved, scented faintly of fabric softener, and folded neatly when you hand them over.

Secondly, there’s the t-shirt.

It’s big, and while it’s clearly been worn, it’s not worn.  It’s a joke t-shirt, obviously, but Frankie is dying to know the context behind it.

The back of the shirt reads “For good news, read front.”

When Frankie flips it over, he is startled by the laugh that it draws from him.  It reads, “Big dick is back in town,” and an unsubtle red arrow underneath the text points downward.

So Frankie has questions.

-----

“Okay, so the t-shirt is from a bachelorette party,” you tell him around bites of brownie.  The two of you are on the couch, and the tray of brownies is between you.  There’s also a bottle of Merlot, which Frankie would have never thought of, but it pairs really well with the brownies.

The movie plays on the TV, but it’s long forgotten:  first, from laughing at him when he emerges from the bathroom, then from his barrage of questions that you answer diligently.

“The maid of honor got us all joke t-shirts, and we had to do a blind pull from a bag.  That’s the one I got,” you continue.

“And you had to wear it out in public?” he asks, incredulous.

You nod.  “In Vegas too.”

“Brutal.”

“Could’ve been worse.  One girl pulled a t-shirt that looked like a concert shirt with dates and locations on the back, right?  But the front read ‘Chlamydia World Tour 2008.’”

It’s strange how easily the formality between the two of you melted away.  It’s probably just the perfect blend of elements:  the raging storm outside, the coziness inside, the wine and sugar, the ridiculousness of Frankie’s outfit.  You each sit turned towards each other on the couch, far closer than Frankie’s been to you before, but it feels natural.  It feels nice, in fact, to be with someone like this—comfortable, joking.

And maybe a hint of flirting.

Frankie takes another sip of wine.  “So was it?” he asks.

“Was what?”

“Was it back in town?”

It takes you a beat, but then you get it.  Your laugh—Frankie’s never really heard it, he guesses, but it’s delightful and contagious, makes him chuckle along with you. 

“Obviously,” you reply.  “When big dick comes back to town, you even go to the effort of printing up a shirt about it.”

Frankie could get used to this, he thinks.  He likes how easy it feels to talk to you, and he really likes the glint you get in your eye when he makes the joke.  He never really noted you before, when you turned up to group events, but Frankie never really noted anyone back then.  He was too busy trying to stay afloat in his life.

“Makes me wonder where big dick goes when it’s not in town,” he muses.

“I have to imagine it’s like a carnival.  Goes town to town.”

“Winters in Florida when it’s cold.”

“And like a real carnival, when you know it’s in town, you’re excited to go see it, but also a little scared because you just know everything about it is under the table and off the books.”

Frankie laughs.  “Big dick can’t be regulated.”

You laugh too, and you swallow down the rest of the wine in your glass.  “Nor should it be.  Big dick deserves to run free.”

There’s a hundred different, filthy things Frankie could say to that.  Maybe you have the same thought because you glance at him, catch his eye, then look away.  And maybe he’d drop one of those filthy lines on you if he knew you better, but suddenly he feels like he’s behind with you—that he should have taken advantage of all those group hangouts to get to know you better. 

“What about these?” he asks instead, gesturing broadly to the sweatpants he’s wearing.  “Another bachelorette thing?’

The story of the sweatpants is sadder, but more revealing to your history.  The atmosphere turns a shade more somber:  the sweatpants belonged to your ex-husband.

“I didn’t know you were married,” Frankie says.

You shake your head.  “I haven’t been, for a long time now.  We married young and divorced young.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It happened.  It’s old news.”  You shrug, but Frankie can see you turning a bit sad, maybe introspective. 

It’s a chance to build a connection.  Frankie nods knowingly; he knows this sort of pain.

“Still hurts though,” he tells you.

Another shrug, but you look at him like you’re considering him in another light.  You make the connection.  “Yeah, that’s right,” you reply.  “You’ve been through it too, huh?”

“Two years since it was finalized.”

You settle deeper against the back of the couch.  “How are you doing?”

The question warms him.  No one ever asks him how he is.  Pope, the Millers…they have a unique closeness that comes with being brothers-in-arms, but they don’t ever probe each other’s lives or feelings.  They check in with each other, but they suffer in silence.

“I’m okay,” he replies.

You narrow your eyes.  “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”  He smiles, and he reaches for the bottle of wine on the coffee table.  He pours you another glass, and he tops his own off too.  “It’s only tough with my daughter.  Not seeing her every day, you know?”

It warms him even more, how you nod sympathetically but then encourage him to talk about his little girl—you ask a ton of questions about her, and Frankie finds himself suddenly chatty, talkative, his free hand not wrapped around the stem of his wine glass gesturing as he relates stories about his daughter, and you laugh at the funny stories, coo at the cute ones.

The evening cedes into night.  The hours melt away like nothing.  The movie on the TV ends, and the streaming app switches automatically to some reality show about rich people on boats, but you and Frankie talk.  You break away to pull together a dinner cobbled from what you have on hand:  grilled cheese, a salad of mixed greens.  Then you both settle back on the couch with another bottle of wine, and the hours unspool into the early morning.  Frankie doesn’t even notice because he’s too busy marveling at how easy, how unexpected this all is. 

He only wanted a moment of shelter from the storm—which has gentled down into a light, steady rain.  What he got was dry clothes, good food and drink, and better conversation.  He considers it a gift, this moment:  he’s gotten this chance to know you better, and he finds that you’re someone he wants to know.  Someone he wants to count as a friend, and he can see a future where he might want to count you as someone more.

You’re the one who cracks first.  You yawn, and it makes you check your phone.

“Shit, it’s late.”  You run your hands over your face and look at him.  “You wanna just crash here for the night?”

“I don’t want to put you out.”

You smile and glance at his chest, say “Big dick never puts me out,” and it takes Frankie a too-long beat to remember what he’s wearing.  It’s embarrassing that for a too-long moment, he thinks you’re blatantly coming onto him.  He gapes at you before he catches on, but then he flushes because you are flirting.

He flushes too because you realize exactly what he’s thinking.  “You forgot about the shirt for a moment, huh?” you ask.

“I did!”

You laugh, and you stand up.  You stretch a little, twist at the waist to unkink some tightness in your back, and then you look down at him.

“The couch is pretty comfortable.  You okay with that?”

He nods.  “You sure I’m not putting you out?”

Another laugh.  “I think you probably worry too much, Frankie.”  You disappear for a moment, then come back with pillows and blankets. 

“I can drive you home in the morning,” you offer.  “Whenever you need to be back.”

Frankie takes the bedding from you, and the moment has a charge of intimacy:  you’re standing close together, separated only by an armful of blankets and pillows.  The rain drums steady outside, it’s dark and late, and it feels like you’re the only two people awake in the world at the moment. 

And he hasn’t felt this good in a while.  Usually, an evening of nonstop talking would leave him drained, his social battery low, but this is different somehow.  He feels like he’s peeled back a layer of himself, exposed an inner bit of himself to you, and it doesn’t horrify him at all.  It makes him feel seen.  Conversely, he feels like he knows you far better now, and he doesn’t want any of these good feelings to evaporate when the sun rises.

“Can I take you out for breakfast?” he asks.  He drops his voice in volume, reluctant to break the spell of friendly intimacy that’s been woven.  “There’s a really good cafe if we take the scenic route to my place.”

You seem to misunderstand him.  “Oh, you don’t owe me anything,” you say.

In his civilian life, Frankie has often played it too close to the vest.  He’s let life carry him along, too passive with things both big and small.  He’s let thing happen to him rather than trying to drive the direction of his life.

He knows this moment can tip either way.  He can let the chance pass, and you can go back to being just someone he knows, someone he passed a pleasant evening with while a storm raged outside. 

Or he could lean into his Delta Force days, maybe just a little.  He can be decisive.  He can be clear in his objective.

“No,” he replies, shaking his head.  “I’d like to take you out.”

Your reaction is enough to bolster him.  First you say, “oh” and blink at him, but then you smile and add, “I’d like that.”

-----

Frankie never seems to sleep very well, but you are right:  your couch is comfortable, and the sound of the rain soothes him too.  He finds himself dropping right off, his sleep deep and restful.

His last thought before he does, though, is I can’t wait for morning.

And then it is morning, dawn about to break and the sky a pearly grey.  Frankie stands up and stretches, and he stands by the big picture window by the couch and watches as the sun breaks the line of the horizon and brings the new day with it.

It brings something else too:  for the first time in his civilian life, Frankie feels something like anticipation.  Something like hope.

[rizlowwritessortof]

Ride the Storm

This is just an excuse for smutty smut with Dean in a thunderstorm, because storms just send me to that headspace. Bringing all of you to smut jail with me. Hope you enjoy the ride! 😏😉

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2678

Warnings: SMUT. Oral (male and female receiving), tit-fucking, did I mention there's smut?

Beautiful storm dividers by @firefly-graphics

You walk into the library, tossing your still-damp hair over your shoulder. You’re fresh from the shower, dressed in just a thin, clingy t-shirt and a pair of sleep shorts, since Sam is gone, chasing down a vengeful spirit in Des Moines with Eileen.

Dean is focused on his laptop, and you slide up next to him, his arm reaching out the circle your hips as you stand beside him. “Whatcha doing?”

“Just waiting for you,” he says, glancing up at you, then really looking, his eyes roaming over your barely-there clothing. He lets out a low hum, hugging you close as he snuggles his face into your side. “God, you smell good,” he says, his voice muffled, and you grin, your fingers scratching gently through his hair.

You look at his laptop, nothing there but the weather forecast. “Storms tonight?”

He sits back up, nodding. “Yeah, no warnings or anything, just thunderstorms pretty much all night.” He closes the laptop and pulls you close as he looks into your eyes. “Remember that job in Oklahoma, the stormy weather? That was a good night,” he says, his voice warm with the memory. “I’ve always loved how storms make you a little crazy.”

You slip your arms around his neck. “Unfortunately, you can barely hear them down here in the bunker.” You shrug, bending down to kiss him. Your kiss is slow, gentle, his hands drifting down to cup your ass. Then he tilts his head, slanting his lips against yours, the kiss deepening as he kneads at your soft flesh and pulls you closer. When he stops, he meets your smile with one of his own as you speak softly. “I have an idea. How about we take Baby out. Park out in the open, in the middle of the storm. I’m in the mood to be a little crazy.”

“Mmmmmm,” he hums as he leans in to nibble at your neck, sending goosebumps skittering over your skin. “Let’s do it.”

A few minutes later, you’ve slipped into your Nikes, and Dean comes back into the room with a couple of blankets, topped off with two bath towels. “In case things get messy,” he grins when you look up at him, and you laugh. “I’m gonna grab some beers, meet you at the car.”

“And some water. In case we get messy,” you reply, and he flashes a grin at you over his shoulder as he leaves the room.

In no time you’re on the road, a six-pack cooler loaded with beer and ice (and two bottles of water) on the passenger side floor, next to the shoes you’ve already kicked off. You sit next to Dean, your legs curled up on the seat beside you, his arm around your shoulders. It hasn’t started raining yet, but there is a dazzling light show already beginning in the skies around you.

Dean knows exactly where he’s going – a wide-open field a couple of miles from the bunker, a fenced-off pasture nearby with cattle off in the distance. He pulls up in the middle of the wide-open space, sky visible on all sides, and parks just as the first raindrops begin to fall.

He shuts off the engine, then turns to you and leans in close, his lips barely brushing over yours. You hold your breath, your eyes drifting closed as he kisses you for real, his tongue teasing at the seam of your lips, and you grip handfuls of his shirt as you respond with a sigh.

Dean manhandles you over to the middle of the seat and pulls you over to straddle his lap, his hands gripping your hips and pulling you flush against his rapidly hardening cock. Your hands caress his face before moving down to rest on his broad shoulders, giving you leverage as you grind against him.

You lift your head and look down at him, watching his jaw clench at the pleasurable friction. “Baby?”

“Yeah,” he growls back, teeth clenched.

“Turn around, lean back on the door for me.”

He looks into your eyes, his tongue darting out over his lips as he realizes your intent. You move off his lap and let him move to pull one leg up to lay straight against the back of the seat, the other foot braced on the floor. You bite your lip and then smile at him before unlacing his boots, helping him take off the one on the seat as he pries off the other one. Then you crawl up between his legs and reach for his zipper, easing it down and popping the button, pulling down his jeans and boxers as he lifts up to help you.

The lightning is almost constant now, the thunder low and rumbling. Thunderstorms have always touched something almost primal within you, made you feel wild, unchained. You want to take him with you, make him feel the same way.

You lean in to give him a hungry kiss before lowering yourself down to slowly lick the tip of his cock. He lets out a harsh breath, one hand flying to grip the steering wheel and the other clutching at the back of the seat as you drag your tongue up the length of his shaft, then take him into your mouth.

His head thumps against the window as he rears back, his hips rising as you take him in deeper, sucking and laving at the slit as you pull back. You gently tease at the head of his cock with your teeth, then suck him down again, reaching between his thighs to fondle his balls. You hum with satisfaction as you begin a slow rhythm, taking him deeper with each bob of your head, reveling in the sounds forcing their way from his lips.

He breeches your throat, and you fight the urge to gag, swallowing around him. He swears, a string of broken, incoherent words as his hand flies to your head, fingers tangling in your hair. His grip tightens as you bring him closer to the edge, until he’s finally unable to keep from bucking up into your mouth.

His fist tightens in your hair until it stings as he loses control, plunging in deep and causing tears to leak from your eyes. You brace a hand on his thigh, trailing a fingernail lightly over his perineum, startling a strangled cry from him as he comes, spurting hot and thick into your throat and mouth.

You clean him off gently, moving back as he removes his hand from your hair, breathing hard as he recovers. You reach down for a bottle of water from the cooler, taking several swallows before replacing the lid. When you put the bottle down, Dean moves to pull you close, kissing you as he crushes you to his chest. You finally break apart, both of you needing to breathe. “Fuck, I love when you get like this,” he says, his hand cradling your face as you smile. “How about we get in the back so I can return the favor?”

Dean grins at the needy noise you are unable to suppress. You pull back from his arms, turning to lean over the back of the seat. As you slide your way over, he hooks his fingers into the waist of your shorts and yanks them down, leaving you to land bare-assed on the back seat. “Very smooth, Winchester,” you laugh, shaking your head at the proud smirk on his face.

“I thought so.” You spread one of the blankets over the seat, placing the other near the door as a pillow. Dean does an awkward dive over the front seat, grunting in pain as his knee hits the floor.

“That was graceful,” you laugh at his landing. He groans as he rights himself, then smirks at you as he grabs your hips and pulls you towards him.

“Smartass,” he responds, dropping a kiss to the inside of your knee before propping your leg up on the back of the seat and arranging the other with your foot planted on the floor, legs spread wide. He glides his fingertips up the inside of your thigh, his lips parted as he stares down at you. “This wet just from sucking me off? So fucking hot, baby,” he mutters, then settles himself, somehow, into the space remaining and begins to place warm, open-mouthed kisses on your pussy before his tongue darts out to taste you.

A rumble of thunder all but drowns out your moan as he goes to work on you, hands holding you open to him when your legs fight to close around his head. He drives you to a shuddering orgasm quickly with his tongue and lips, then begins to fuck you with his fingers, twisting and stroking over your sweet spot with his usual unerring accuracy until you’re on the edge again. He sucks on your clit and you come hard, pulling at his hair and shouting his name, finally pushing him away when you grow too sensitive. He drops kisses to the soft skin of your thighs and stomach, then pushes back and strips off his shirts, then his pants. You watch, your eyes roaming over his body, letting out a breathy sigh of appreciation.

He’s hard again, and there is heat in his eyes as he moves back over you, pushing your shirt up and pulling it over your head as you raise your arms to help. “God, I love these,” he whispers, then bends to tongue a nipple between his lips.

He’s so good with his mouth, the way he flicks his tongue over your nipples, sucks with just the perfect amount of pressure, nips and tugs with his teeth just enough to add a sharp edge to the pleasure. He has you writhing underneath him as he moves from one breast to the other, teasing you until you whimper his name. “Dean, need you, now.”

He latches on to your soft flesh, sucking a mark onto the upper curve of your right breast before he lifts his head and moves up to kiss your lips, hungry and demanding. “Want me to fuck you, sweetheart?” he mumbles against your lips, nipping at your bottom lip. You whine and nod, and he sucks on your lips one last time. “Roll over for me, on your knees.”

His callused hands smooth over your ass as you adjust your position, and you push yourself back as you feel the head of his cock prodding at your entrance. Dean torments you, dragging the tip through your folds, nudging at your clit as you make an impatient noise. “So demanding,” he teases, then lines himself up and presses forward, bottoming out with some help from you. You let out a pornographic moan as he fills you to the limit, gasping for air as your body adjusts itself to his girth.

He rocks his hips, barely moving, a low groan in his throat as he basks in the feeling of being inside you. “God, you feel good, baby.”

“Mmmmmm. Yeah,” you answer. “But if you don’t move, Winchester – I’m gonna…” He chuckles softly, then draws out and slides back in, slowly at first, then harder as you say his name again in a warning tone. He hooks an arm around your hips, one hand pressed against your lower belly, the other hand pawing at your bouncing, swaying breasts as he begins to drive into you hard and fast.

You stare out the window, eyes unfocused with pleasure, the lightning flashes in the raindrops on the windows glittering like jewels, the thunder vibrating deep inside you. Dean is fucking into you deep, and the combined sensations of the storm raging outside and his cock slamming into you are mind-blowing in the best possible way, incoherent sounds forced from you both with every powerful thrust. He’s hitting that spot that makes you see stars, and he’s nailing it hard, the tension building inside you steadily until it’s almost frightening, but you welcome the inevitable explosion. He shifts his hand lower so he can rub at your clit, and it ends you.

You wail out his name as you come hard, your head spinning as every nerve ending fires, as white hot as the constant lightning in the sky surrounding you. Dean slows, grunting at the vise-like grip you have around his cock, easing back the friction on your clit as you buck and whimper your way through your climax.

When you finally take a deep breath and blow it out, he pulls back, ready to rail into you again, but you shake your head, your voice rasping and breathless. “No. Wait.” You put your hand over top of his, the one that has a grip on your breast, your nipple caught between his knuckles. You turn your head slightly, still panting. “I want you to fuck my tits. I want to watch you come.”

“Uhhhhhh, fuck.” The words are punched from his gut, and he moves his hand quickly from between your thighs. You can feel him wrapping it around the base of his cock, clamping tight as he pulls himself free from your still-pulsing cunt. “Jesus, baby.” He doesn’t loosen his grip as you move slowly, adjusting your position until you are lying flat on the seat beneath him, looking up at his face as he fights back the urge to come. It’s so fucking hot that your clit throbs almost painfully again, and you let out a soft whine.

He looks down at you, his chest heaving as he blows out breaths between his lips. When the urge finally releases its grip on him, he shifts himself into position, and you snug your breasts up on either side of his throbbing cock, cradling it in the valley between them. He’s hot and velvety smooth against your skin, and the look on his face is worth everything.

“Go ahead, baby – come for me,” you say, and he begins to move, the slick from being inside you letting him glide smoothly between your tits. His hands are braced, white-knuckled, on the door and the back of the seat, and he groans long and low as you tilt your head up and tongue at the head of his cock on every upstroke.

You keep your eyes on him, your cunt pulsing, on the edge again at Dean’s expression, a cross between desperation and bliss. His teeth clench hard as the first wave hits him, and you manage to catch most of it on your tongue as he growls your name, and you shudder as another mild orgasm washes through you. Three, four more thrusts between your breasts and he is finished, both of you messy and sticky, spent and sated.

After a few exhausted seconds, he straightens up, sitting back on his haunches as he looks down at you, a weak smirk curving his lips. “You’re tryin’ to kill me,” he mutters, and you answer with a weary grin.

“Definitely more fun alive, Winchester,” you quip as he reaches into the front seat for your bottle of water, then for a towel from the back window well. He wets it and leans up to gently clean a bit of come from your eyelashes, then the rest from your neck and chest.

“That was hot as fuck,” he says. “And now I need to sleep for about 4 days.”

You laugh softly, turning to your side on the seat and patting the area behind you. “Well, c’mere.” You hand him the other blanket from under your head, and he spreads it out, then crawls underneath and tucks himself behind you, pulling you into his arms. He nabs the other towel and jams it under his head, and you use his arm as a pillow, breathing a contented sigh as you rest back against him, listening to the rain still pelting the roof of the Impala.

“God, I love storms,” you whisper, and he drops a kiss on your neck as you drift off in his arms.

Tag List #1:

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma  

[megalony]

Early Arrival

This is an Evan (Buck) Buckley imagine requested by Anon, I hope you like it I had a lot of fun writing this.

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911 Masterlist

Summary: During a bad storm that delays services and keeps everyone trapped in their homes, (Y/n) goes into labour with only Evan there to help her through it.

Enjoy.

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

Raising the bottle to his lips, Evan took a large swig and leaned his forehead against his other arm that was smudging into the fogged up window. It was getting so bad outside that he couldn't see the street anymore. The rain was beating down against the window like bullets spraying down so hard and fast they looked as if they would break the glass.

It was supposed to be two in the afternoon but it looked more like two in the morning. The sky was a dark blue and grey haze and cars were whizzing past with full beam lights shining through the blackness. Although there weren't a lot of cars out in this.

Evan could hear the forecast blaring from the tv and it was telling people to stay inside unless they urgently had to leave the house. People were advised not to drive in this weather, buses were being delayed and stopped. Emergency services were stretching thin from the amount of accidents being called in.

God, he was glad he wasn't at work today.

He hadn't been at work all week and he wasn't going back for another month yet. Evan could just imagine the phone call he was going to get from Eddie tonight, telling him what a lucky bastard he was for missing the amount of callouts they were going to get today.

Pushing away from the window, Evan drained the last of the beer in his bottle and moved to sit down on the sofa.

He quite liked how cosy the apartment felt with the lamps on and the candles (Y/n) had lit earlier. There were over ten candles spread around the living room, dotted in front of the tv, on the coffee table and along the shelves on the wall. If they experienced a power cut today at least the couple would be alright.

He just changed the channel over to a movie when he heard footsteps coming down the stairs. He dropped his head on the back of the sofa and glanced over to the stairs and a gentle, warm smile flooded his face when his eyes set on his wife.

"How do you feel, babe?" His eyes followed her as she took very slow steps down and padded across towards him.

"Rough,"

"Come're,"

A warm, if pained smile pulled at (Y/n)'s lips when she watched him rest his left leg up on the sofa and open his arms wide, waiting for her to fall into his embrace. She eased herself down onto the sofa between his legs and slumped back into his chest as he wound his arms around her waist, resting his hands on her bump. She could feel his lips pressing to the top of her head and his arms pushed into her sides, squeezing her lightly.

"You look a bit better," He commented quietly as he slouched back into the sofa so they were practically lying down in the den of pillows littering the sofa.

Evan had been worried this morning when (Y/n) started to feel sick and couldn't stomach breakfast. She'd felt worse when a headache formed behind her eyes and the only good thing was the sound of the storm outside had sounded soothing and relaxing to (Y/n) for some odd reason. For the last hour and a half she had tried to sleep off her unease and left Evan downstairs to his own devices.

"Your child is a handful," (Y/n) closed her eyes and nuzzled her face into Evan's neck. She moved her hand and held his wrist, slowly moving his hand lower down her abdomen so he could feel the movement that had been persistent for the last week.

"They take after me, what do you expect?"

He began rubbing his hand up and down her stomach, pressing his fingertips a bit firmer against her skin like some kind of massage when he noticed (Y/n) shifted like she was in some sort of discomfort or pain. Every time he felt the baby wriggling or kicking he stopped his movements and rested his palm against her stomach. Her stomach was hurting and it felt like she was going to turn stiff but Evan’s massage was helping.

(Y/n) wasn't sure how long they laid there in a comfortable silence, her mind kept cutting off and dozing for a while. Her face was burrowed into Evan's neck and every now and then her fingers would graze up and down his bare arm.

But after a while, (Y/n) moved her hands to his thighs that were caging her in and tried to push up so she could sit up properly. She felt his hands graze up her sides until he was holding her chest and he gently nudged her forwards to help get her sitting up. When she was sat up, (Y/n) kept her hands clenched down on Evan's thighs and she tilted her chin down into her chest as her eyes closed.

"Babe, you alright? Do you feel sick?"

When a spluttering 'Oh God' left her lips, Evan shot upright and his hands clamped down on her hips. He leaned his head over her shoulder to try and see what was wrong but he couldn't figure it out. Her eyes were snapped closed and her nails were onw puncturing into his thighs, but when she opened her eyes, he followed her line of sight.

Her eyes were downcast to her thighs.

(Y/n)’s waters had broken.

Tears started to fall from her eyes and she couldn’t find it in herself to wipe them away as she just stared down at her thighs like there had been some kind of mistake or like she was waiting to wake up from a dream.

Why was this happening now? Right in the middle of the storm?

The only silver lining (Y/n) could think was that Evan was actually here with her when this happened. They had both been nervous that she would go into early labour before he finished and went onto annual leave and he would be on a callout when it happened. Bobby had given him his time off starting from this week since (Y/n) was thirty-seven weeks pregnant now and labour was going to be anytime soon. Her pains and feeling sick for a few days was a sign labour might be early.

Evan just didn't think it would be this early. His child had impeccable timing to decide to arrive when they were overtaken by a storm raging through the city.

"Oh fuck! babe I- I can't drive you out in this, it's too risky. Let's get you settled and I'll have to call 911 for backup." There was no way Evan was driving the truck out in this, he never drove the fire truck when the weather was bad because he didn't trust himself.

He couldn't go out with his wife in labour because if someone crashed into them or the tyres skidded in the rain and went off the road, help would be delayed. It would be the safest bet to stay home and call for the emergency services to come out to them. This way, (Y/n) was somewhere warm and safe and Evan had helped Bobby deliver a few babies, he knew the basics.

"It's your choice where you want to be, up or down," Evan motioned to the stairs before he very carefully eased himself from behind her so he could kneel down on the floor.

"What?" Why would she want to go and try to get settled in bed when an ambulance would soon come out to take them to the hospital? It seemed more practical to stay downstairs and wait here.

"Baby… help won't get here as fast as it usually would, the storm's causing crashes and makes the teams go slower. You've just got me,"

He started to smooth his hands up and down her thighs when she started to cry. This wasn't what she wanted when she envisioned having their baby. (Y/n) wanted to be in the hospital with Evan holding her hand, not delivering their baby. And she wanted Maddie here with them and the midwife they had been seeing since they found out about this pregnancy.

This wasn't fair.

"I can't move,"

"Sofa it is then." His smile was calming and (Y/n) felt one of the hundreds of burning nerves within her calm down at his pouting smile. "I'll call 911 now and go grab towels and everything we need. Just to be safe."

Deep down, Evan knew it was more than just wanting to be safe in case help took a while. He knew how long it could take emergency services to reach a situation and he didn't want to just sit and wait for them like a sitting duck. He wanted everything ready so if his wife started to push, he would be prepared to deliver his own child.

Evan rummaged around in his pocket for his phone as he bolted up the stairs and went towards one of the cupboards. He grabbed a pile of towels and some flannels and a sheet, and took a handful of (Y/n)'s hair bobbles in case he couldn't find anything else to use as a clamp for the cord.

"911, what's your emergency?"

"Hi, this is firefighter Buckley, I'm at twenty-one Hill court and my wife is in labour. I need whatever service you can get out to me."

"How far along is she?"

"Thirty-seven weeks." Evan stayed stood at the top of the stairs, just out of earshot of (Y/n) because he knew what was coming next.

"Okay sir, all of our dispatch teams are currently busy or being diverted but someone will be with you as soon as possible. Try and make your wife comfortable and keep a track of contractions, they should be a while apart and labour can take a few hours-"

"Her water already broke and contractions are coming quick, I think she's been in labour since last night."

Evan could see in hindsight that (Y/n) had most likely started labour during the night when she had been restless and uncomfortable and feeling sick. He couldn't be sure how long she had been in labour for but he needed help soon, the baby was coming now.

"I've updated dispatch of your situation, they will be there as soon-"

He hung up. He didn't need that bullshit that wasn't always true. They couldn't give him a time frame because teams were currently being told where to go and being changed from one scene to the next. When things started to progress Evan would call them back and see if Maddie was on shift so she could talk him through it. Until then, he would do what he could and wait for any sign of a dispatch team.

***

"Evan, fuck!"

(Y/n) closed her eyes and buried her face in her arm and dug her nails into Evan's thighs. She could feel his hands smoothing up and down her shoulders and he nudged his knees into her sides, silently telling her that he was listening.

She was knelt down on the floor in front of the sofa, resting uncomfortably between Evan's legs as he sat on the edge of the sofa, holding her up. The old bedsheet Evan had found was spread out on the floor beneath (Y/n) and she was left wearing her bra and Evan's button up shirt, having kicked off her underwear and leggings earlier.

(Y/n) took as many deep breaths as she could manage but her lungs were on fire. They were burning like she was breathing in smoke and she could feel her lungs inflating and deflating which was something (Y/n) never normally felt and it was horrible.

She stayed limp and let him move her so he could ease from beneath her so he could move beside her. Her arms fell onto the sofa and she pressed her forehead into the seat, arching out her back as Evan bent down to try and see if she was dilated or not and how far they had gotten.

"Alright, I'm calling back, I think you're ready."

(Y/n) was past the point of caring about that now, someone would turn up to help them eventually but right now Evan was the only one here who was able to do something and to help so he needed to help. When another contraction tore through her already broken body, (Y/n) pushed her head further down into the cushion as she let out a scream. Her eyes snapped closed but a small wave of relief shot through her when she felt Evan’s hand taking her own.

"911 what's-"

"This is firefighter Buckley, again, put me through to dispatcher Maddie Kendal. Now."

He wasn't playing around anymore, someone should have been here by now he didn't care how bad this storm was. His team should be out there somewhere and they should have heard all the dispatch calls. They should be on their way to him to help deliver his first baby. He needed his sister on the phone to walk him through this.

"Buck? What's going on?"

"(Y/n)'s in labour, like, pushing! I need someone to walk me through this I'm on my own here." He reached over and set the phone down on loudspeaker on the sofa so (Y/n) could have some peace of mind too.

He had seen Bobby deliver a few babies but Evan had never been alone in this situation to do it himself and he didn't want to be doing this alone. If something happened or went wrong he had no medical team here to take over or rush in with advice and do it for him. If something bad happened to his family, Evan was the only point of help and he didn't like that.

"Oh God… alright, whereabouts is (Y/n) right now?"

"I'm- I'm in-"

“Baby, baby stop pushing.” Evan’s words confused (Y/n) and she opened her eyes to look at him but she could see something in his eyes that worried her but she couldn't do what he asked. The pain was excrutiating but it felt better when she pushed, she wanted this over with.

“It hurts.” (Y/n) breathed through the words as she finally stopped pushing when the pain subsided for a moment.

"I know baby but you need to trust me. Maddie I can't see the head… I can see the feet. The baby's breach."

The look on Evan’s face made (Y/n) shudder because she could see all the emotions he was feeling and she knew each of them too well. He had sorrow and fear glistening in his eyes. The times he had seen labour, the babies hadn't been born breach. They came the normal way, head first, feet last like this baby should be. Evan knew this complicated matters.

A sob left (Y/n)’s lips as she relaxed all of her muscles instead of holding them tensed, feeling like she was sinking into the floor that she wanted to swallow her whole. She remembered reading about babies being born breached like this, they could get stuck or they could try and breathe whilst their head wasn’t born and suffocate. (Y/n) felt like she was going to be sick at the thought of the baby getting stuck when there was no professional here who would be able to help.

“I c… I can’t just wait here Evan.” (Y/n) whimpered as she felt her lips pulling down at the corners trying to release another sob. She could already feel her stomach tensing and the muscles tearing, it was going to be physically impossible for her to not push on the next contraction. She couldn’t just lie here and wait for help, she had to push.

"(Y/n), how are you positioned, are you lying down in bed?"

"She's knelt on the floor in front of the sofa."

"Good, that's good, okay Buck I need you to move her up onto the sofa, get her sitting on the very edge. Trust me, this will be a safer and easier position, gravity will be on your side. I can walk you both through this until help arrives and I've put you as a code red someone will be there soon."

"Alright," Evan slowly held (Y/n)'s arms and looped them around his neck, twisting her body so she was facing him instead of the sofa.

He felt her muscles go limp for a few seconds and she let him move her around. He pulled her up onto buckling knees and shaking legs before he turned her around and perched her on the very edge of the sofa, just like his sister said. Once Evan was sure (Y/n) was alright and wasn't about to collapse or scream in agony, he knelt down on the sheet on the floor and held onto her thighs for a few seconds.

Evan could see the logic here; if their baby got stuck, gravity would hold onto them and help pull them down.

"I need to push!"

"(Y/n), you start pushing again that's good and Buck, you'll need to help unhook the feet and let the legs dangle once they're out."

When (Y/n) cried out and tucked her chin into her chest, Evan grabbed a few towels to place around and have ready before he dared look again and see if the baby was any closer to being born yet. (Y/n) dug her hands into the sofa to the point she could feel her nails scraping through into the fabric as she tried hard to hold herself steady but she felt like she was going to fall forward into Evan.

His hands were both shaking horribly as he reached out and held onto the newborn’s legs that he could see. He tried to be gentle and uncurl them so they dangled down and didn't get caught or stuck.

“Maddie the legs are born. You okay baby?” Evan tilted his head up to lock eyes with her but his hands stayed shakily holding onto their baby’s lower half. He didn’t like it, he didn’t want to be doing this. Evan felt like his hands were covered in glue or slime that was sticking them to the baby and it made his stomach churn. He could handle blood and guts when he had to help others but this was something else entirely. This was his own wife and he didn't want to be the one to fix her and hold their baby like this.

“Hmm.” (Y/n) hummed back, nodding her head as she closed her eyes, digging her hands a bit more into the cushion to stabilise herself as she felt another contraction building up.

(Y/n) shivered, feeling her stomach muscles tightening when Evan had to pull on the baby’s arms to make sure they too didn’t get stuck or bent or caught in the way. The moment Evan let go of the baby with one hand to reach out for a towel, his head snapped back to look at (Y/n) as she cried, her foot beginning to tap against the carpet as she squirmed like she couldn’t manage to sit still.

"Buck, how are we looking?"

"I'm holding the body, just the head left."

"Okay. (Y/n), you need a really big push as soon as a contraction hits, we don't want baby waiting long in case they try and breathe too soon."

(Y/n) pulled her legs up a little as she continued to squirm around. It was like there was a weight tied to her and it was pulling on her insides and causing pain. When another pain hit, (Y/n) hit her hand against Evan’s shoulder to grab his attention and nodded that this was it.

"Almost there, keep going baby." He held a towel in his hands and curled it around their baby, trying to keep them stable and warm while he waited for (Y/n) to push again.

As soon as the weight felt like it had been dragged down, (Y/n) let herself flop back into the sofa and braced her weight on her tiptoes so she didn't slide down onto Evan. That was it, she just knew that was their baby out and in her husband's arms. She had done it.

"Maddie I've got them- fuck!"

“What? W-what’s wrong?” (Y/n) leaned her head down to try and see what was happening as Evan took their newborn baby into his arms and set them down on his lap. Her stomach tensed as she watched him quickly unravel the cord that had pressed around the baby’s neck but (Y/n) didn’t know if it had been tight or rather loose. She didn’t know if that had happened during the struggle of labour or if possibly it had been like that before. But it couldn’t have been, she felt the baby moving so it couldn’t have been strangling them for very long.

"Buck what's going on?"

“It’s alright…” Evan seemed to be speaking to himself more than to (Y/n) or his sister as he fumbled to grab the pair of scissors he had found downstairs earlier. He hastily clamped and cut the cord before he turned the baby on their side so he could rub his hand up and down their back to get them breathing.

(Y/n) felt her chest heaving as she tried to regain back the breaths that she had lost but her eyes were focusing on Evan as much as they could with the tears beginning to distort her vision. The moment a small cry flooded through the air, both parents felt like they were going to faint.

“She’s okay.” Evan wrapped the towel tight around his baby girl, rubbing his hands over her frame to make sure she wasn’t cold or still in some state of shock.

When he tilted his head up to look at (Y/n), the grin on his features was like nothing (Y/n) had ever seen before.

Pushing himself up on his knees, Evan leaned over and ever so gently settled the newborn into (Y/n)’s arms before he grabbed another towel ready for the placenta. At least this part was easier and Evan knew to keep the placenta so a doctor could check it was all there. The last thing they wanted was (Y/n) having a retained piece of placenta and needing surgery to get that out.

"She's alright Maddie… you've got a baby niece."

Evan’s legs were the ones to turn to jelly this time around as he slowly sat down on the sofa next to (Y/n), his eyes focused on the bundle in her arms who was well worth the wait. Turning her head, (Y/n) leaned her head on Evan’s shoulder as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. His arm wrapped around her back so he could rest his hand on their girl’s head, brushing his thumb over the small tufts of hair he could see.

“We did it.”

[intheorangebedroom]

Can we just pretend that this is Frankie whispering I love you to you?

I hope you are feeling better. I miss harrassing you with asks 🧡

@deadmantis my LOVE, I always feel good when you’re in my notifs. This one has kept me awake and drove me crazy, but anything for you. They’re so stubborn, and when they don't want to cooperate... Anyway. I'm not entirely satisfied, but I don't want to keep you waiting any longer. I did my very best for you, I always do, I love you so, so much 🧡 Happy Frankie Friday to you 🧡

Summary: Three words. It's not that complicated.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Gabrielle Tourneur (OFC)/French fem!Reader.

Rating: explicit but no filth, just my gothic heart 🔞

Word count: 1.5k

[series masterlist]

Drabble: To Bring You My Love

He enjoys driving home to you nearly as much as he loves staying home with you. 

Tonight’s no different, and when Mick Fleetwood’s voice comes up on the truck’s stereo, Francisco Morales smiles to himself in the bright city night. 

He kept his promise. He fixed it. Fixed everything. Or close enough, anyway. 

Friday evenings are spent at the bar again, the same dim yellow lights, the same moist, yeasty cheap beer smell. The same table.

And Tom’s chair, loudly empty. 

Most likely thanks to Will, if he had to guess, and probably on your account more than his. But even Ironhead’s unwavering loyalty can only abide that many faults before his hard, cold rationalism takes over and prompts him to take action. 

If Tom’s absence is a consequence Frankie hadn’t anticipated, it’s one he doesn’t regret. He’s heard the man has moved down to Florida, but he doesn’t really care. The further away from you, the better. 

Pope doesn’t seem entirely dissatisfied with this new order of things, either. 

As for Benny, well Benny just follows suit, like he always does. 

The air is still a bit chill between him and Frankie, but they’re getting there, step by step. Frankie’s resentment receding along with his friend’s heartbreak, one drink at a time. 

It’s been only two years, and overall, there’s a refreshing, easy balance to their group. 

And yet, however meaningful, Tom’s departure is not the most important change.

On Friday nights, like tonight, he’s driving back to you. Whether he’ll find you already sleeping or parking your small Ford after an evening out, you’re here. For real. For good. 

He’s nearly home when his phone lights up on the empty passenger seat. His gaze rapidly flickers between the road and the screen, that glares in celadon green in the cabin’s relative darkness. It’s weather alert, forecasting heavy rainfall tomorrow, he’ll have to fight the urge to drive you to the bookstore himself. Maybe he can get away with picking you up at the end of your day? Maybe you’ll let him. You can be stubborn.

He should change that impersonal default lock screen. Put a picture of you, like Santi suggested. Santi, who proudly exhibits Yovanna’s gorgeous smile and luminous beauty to just about anyone who might look at his phone’s screen. 

Well, Frankie tried. Turns out he can’t. Not that he doesn’t have any pictures of you in his camera roll. At this point, he has hundreds. And you’re dressed in most of them. 

But putting you on display simply feels inappropriate. For years, you’d been his secret. A ghost, a memory. A feeling akin to a curse. He had kept your name silent, protecting the possibility of your existence and the reality of what had happened in the orange bedroom. 

Distracted, he re-emerges from his recurring thoughts to find himself at the front door. He considers retracing his steps to check if he locked the tuck before getting into the house, but he can’t bring himself to care. He needs to see you. The living-room’s dark but the bedroom lights are on; he takes off his jacket and gets rid of his boots before walking briskly down the carpeted corridor. 

He finds you sitting in bed, the warm glow from the bedside table casting soft orange hues on your soft face. You’re leaning over a thick book, wearing your favourite t-shirt of his, a shapeless grey cotton tee with red letters that spell “Buenos Aires” across the chest. A gift from Izzy, when he was still in the military. 

He pauses briefly on the threshold; a broad smile dimples his cheeks. 

Your eyes are still lowered on the page when you greet him in a light, happy tone. 

“Hey, gorgeous!”

“Hey, querida.”

Your head shoots up at the unusual term of endearment. He steps quickly into the room and turns his back to you to hide his embarrassment, wincing as he undoes his watch and places it on the dresser across from the bed. 

“How was the evening? How’re the guys?” you ask, and he can feel your eyes boring into his back. 

“Good. All good. Will asked me to tell you Sunday works for him. Apparently you’re supposed to know what that means,” he adds, pulling his plaid shirt above his head. 

“Oh, neat!” you exclaim, lying your book face down on the table, wiggling your feet excitedly under the sheet. “The Guggenheim has an exhibition about early 19th century Parisian painters,” you explain. 

He smiles to himself again, and proceeds to take off his belt. The heavy buckle produces a metallic thud when it hits the wooden top of the dresser.

Behind his back, your voice comes in suddenly very thin. 

“You don’t mind, do you? I never asked.”

He turns, frowning, “Mind what?”

“Me. Being friends with Will. You’re not… jealous or anything, right?”

He’s about to laugh it off, a quip on the tip of his tongue, but something stops him. Something striking, unsettling in its past familiarity and its recent scarcity. It’s in the earnestness of your tone, the sudden solemnity of your gaze.

“What if I am?” he asks instead, pivoting to face you. “What would you do? Would you stop hanging with him?”

“If you asked me, yes, I would.”

“Jesus, Gabrielle, no,” he sighs, and the sting in his chest is equal part anger and regret. The consistent stab that tears at him whenever you unwillingly reveal what you put yourself through.

He crosses the bedroom in two strides to come sit by your side on the edge of the bed.

“I’d never even consider asking you something like that, baby. Why would I–”

He trails off at your hardening face. 

You’ve straightened up in his t-shirt, and his eyes dart to your legs; with two fingers, he pinches the white sheet covering them to pull it down, revealing your underwear, and a purple mark in the shape of a pear that his mouth drew on your inner thigh this morning. 

He looks at it when he says, “You’re a free woman. And I know you’re mine.”

The contradiction settles like placid water in the amber light between your two bodies, inexplicably logical, perfectly natural. 

And the words come up in his chest, from his gut, an ancient rising tide. 

“I love you, Gabrielle.”

They ring out around you in the quiet bedroom, incongruous, not unpleasant. Warm, intimate, orange.

He loves you. Of course, he does. You know he does, you’ve always known. You’ve always loved him too. 

You’ve loved him young and carefree when it was easy and it was just the two of you. You’ve loved him to safety through countless godless nights. You’ve loved him back to you, you’ve loved him sinful and hurt, you’ve loved him without shame.

Yet, your breathing stops, your eyes widen. You remain silent. 

He lets out a disheartened chuckle, before the crease in his brow deepens and his whiskered jaw gives that telling tick that you dread. You follow his dark gaze, it’s strained on the mark on your thigh, and he swallows thickly, licking his lips and you can’t feel your legs.

“Please,” he murmurs, so low, nearly silent, and it’s right there, bright and burning against your ribcage, but it won’t come out, your mouth is too dry and your lips won’t open. 

He doesn’t lift up his eyes, instead his hand goes to your hip. He gives it a little squeeze, and you register the sensation, it travels up your body in slow ripples.

He pulls you in, sits you in his lap in a straddle, his hands roaming over your sides under his t-shirt. You let him seek the contact of your skin, how many times have the two of you sat like that? On the bed, on the floor, on the couch. In the truck or under a tent...

His denim feels too rough under your soft flesh. You recoil from the heat of his palms when he cups your face, but he catches you, firm and strong and he will never let go. 

His eyes are alight with unshed tears, or perhaps it is yours, because your vision blurs when they finally meet.  

“I need to hear you say it back. Please.”

In that tiled bathroom with the yellow light, all those years ago, you had nearly said it. To tame the wild look in his dark eyes when he had realised and briefly got scared. So early but not too soon, and the words had felt far too small in comparison to the feeling itself. You had chosen to soothe him with your touch. 

You’d been the hopeful one, then, trustful and fearless.  

Today, he is guiding you. With a light pressure of his thumb on your lower lip, the sharp edge of his nose brushing along your temple, his hand at the base of your neck grounding you, so you won’t go missing again. 

“It’s ok, baby,” he says, and you feel his words more than you hear them with the white noise filling your brain, “I know you do. Just say it. I got you.”

You close your eyes, inhale his scent. You take his hand.

“Je t’aime.”

****

[simoncardonefishes]

Port Lincoln Island hopping

By Simon Cardone

I love the places that fishing can take you. Getting as far away from the suburban grind as possible and connecting with nature is the best feeling. I have been fortunate enough to fish all over Australia, both inland and offshore, but it’s only in the past few years that I realised there was a lot of the great state of South Australia I had overlooked when it comes to fishing. So I set myself a goal of fishing as many new locations as possible every year going forward – I call it ticking the boxes and making memories!

With all fishing, especially the offshore kind, weather always dictates whether you go or stay at home. For example, my first trip chasing barrel bluefin tuna out of Port MacDonnell in 2021 was blown out, I had to wait until 2022 to tick that box. And so it was with a multiple day mission off Port Lincoln aboard good mate Tod’s seven metre trailer boat. The week we set aside in 2022 was a write off weatherwise, but a year later a window opened in February for us to get offshore.

The Plan

My last visit to Port Lincoln was in the 1990s and during my stay I had a day trip out to Dangerous Reef to hopefully see a great white shark. Unfortunately, we missed the shark by 24 hours, however we caught a great mixed bag of fish which kind of made up for the lack of shark activity.

With me being a complete greenhorn to this part of South Australia, Tod was the perfect skipper to show me as many of the sights as possible in the few days we had available, as he has skippered boats out of Tumby Bay and Port Lincoln for well over a decade.

In the days leading up to departure we watched with nervousness the forecast going from one extreme to another, with the Bureau of Meteorology, Windy.com and Willy Weather all predicting little windows of good conditions surrounded by longer periods of average conditions.

It was decided 48 hours before departure that we would make our way to Thistle Island, pushing into a 15 knot South Easterly then spend the night in Whalers Way, which should protect us from the ocean swell. We could then spend a couple of days fishing the inshore bays for whiting, squid and snook, as well as free diving for abalone. If the winds relented, we would push wider to chase some tuna further to the south before returning to camp and fish the waters around Memory Cove which lies within the Lincoln National Park.

Departure was set for Monday afternoon, with a return date of Friday morning.

Monday

I departed Adelaide for Port Lincoln at 530 am, having loaded up the Hilux the night before with the fishing gear and tackle supplied by Jarvis Walker and Tackle World Adelaide Metro. Tod was already in Lincoln as that is where he stores his boat at this time of year. He had already been out to Thistle Island with a mate for an overnight trip a couple of days prior to my arrival, so the boat was already setup for live aboard fishing, complete with bedding, eskies, fridge/freezer, gas stove, camp kitchen, 250 litres of fuel, 80 litres of water, hot shower, dining room table, toilet and of course all of the safety gear required and in date.

On arrival early afternoon I loaded in the fishing and camera gear, bait and a backpack then  we had a quick drive into town for ice, beer and fresh food before hitting the Billy Lights Point boat ramp at 330pm ready for the two hour run down the coast to Thistle Island.

As predicted, we were pushing into a two-metre sea, but travelling at around 20k/h per hour the Trailcraft 680 cut through the slop comfortably. We hugged the coast passing Taylor and Grindal Island on our port side before cutting across to Thistle Island where we found some relief from the washing machine seas once we rounded Observatory Point. The giant cliffs on eastern side of Thistle cast an impressive shadow as we made our way further South to Whalers Way for the night.

Arriving with enough daylight left we were able to pick out a good-looking piece of bottom suitable for whiting and squid so we dropped the pick then got setup for fishing and dinner.

A few squid hit the deck which would be our whiting bait for the trip along with some good sized snook casting Daiwa Double Clutch lures before it was decided to turn in for an early start.

Tuesday

During the night we had a change of wind direction and an increase in velocity too, which basically meant offshore fishing was off the cards for the time being. This necessitated a slight change in our position within the anchorage for the following night.

The fishing inshore however kept us very busy. The day started off with a giant school of huge salmon interrupting our cooked breakfast. We had multiple hook-ups on these acrobatic greenbacks as they peeled line off our whiting outfits that we were using to cast our Double Clutch lures.

We then spent the rest of the morning moving around fishing the sand patches and weed for a nice bag of squid, king george whiting and a few good-sized flathead. Fresh squid was getting the nibbles on the bottom rigs while a purple Yozuri jig in 3.0 was slaying the Kraken.

Fresh snook seasoned with lemon pepper with salad in wraps was devoured for lunch before we made our last shift for the day to an area which gave more shelter from the wind and swell and an opportunity for Tod to do his first dive for abalone. This turned out to be a resounding success, so it was planned to crack a bottle of shiraz to wash down our beef and reef dinner on Wednesday night at Memory Cove. I managed a couple more giant snook and some silver trevally on the lures, the latter which ended up being a sashimi entrée that night.

We decided to send out some big cut baits of fresh barracouta under balloons on the heavy gear that night for kingies and sharks, but unfortunately the only hook-up we had was brief.

Wednesday

Finally, the wind had abated enough for us to push back up the eastern side of Thistle Island then back down and across to Memory Cove passing between Lewis and Hopkins Islands. In all his years of traversing Thorny Passage Tod said he had never seen it so calm, so we took the opportunity to mark a couple of ledges and reefs for further investigation at a later date.

Tod had been talking up Memory Cove as one of the most picturesque places in South Australia so I was very eager to spend some time there and to say this place is magnificent would be a gross understatement. A pristine white beach bordered by rocky outcrops at either end with a magnificent canopy of green tree covered hills as far as the eye can see. Heaven on Earth for sure.

Early afternoon was spent nearby diving for more abalone and catching more squid. We then shifted to a likely whiting spot within Memory Cove and enjoyed our hard-earned steak and abalone dinner before we set about catching some more whiting and squid. I predicted a hot bite on dark being a full moon, and that’s exactly what we got, with literally a whiting every cast on my side of the boat while Tod was cleaning up on the squid on his side.

Thursday

By the time I had woken up Tod already had another six squid in the bucket so I entered the fray and completed our bag before turning our attention to processing our catch. The weather was looking mint, so given we had our fridge/freezer now full of fish and the ice had run out in the eskies, the call was made to pull in the lines in and make our way back to Port Lincoln with a following sea enabling us to cruise at a pleasant 50 km/h.

We arrived back at the ramp just after midday, gave the boat a thorough washdown, then headed back to base to unload.  I arrived back in Adelaide in the early hours of Friday morning much to the delight of my family who were expecting me back much later. This gave me the opportunity to vacuum seal my proceeds of the catch and fill the freezer with a nice basket of South Australian seafood to share. If you haven’t got a vacuum sealing machine I can highly recommend this piece of equipment just as much as owning a decent filleting knife!

The Wrap

This trip was a real eye opener for me in many ways, it is amazing what you can do in a small boat in capable hands if it is well setup. Our next mission is to head out to the Sir Joseph Banks group and Spilsby Island out from Tumby Bay in autumn.

I can highly recommend multi day trailer boat adventures in South Australia. We have so many great anchorages which can give you the opportunity to fish remote waters even if it is only for a day or a few hours. To have the ocean seemingly to yourself is a far cry from metro fishing or the line-up at the Bluff ramp during tuna season!

[rkive2020]

Always Yours

CHAPTER 1

“Just because it wasn’t wrong… doesn’t mean it was right.”

“Lies are neither bad nor good. Like a fire they can either keep you warm or burn you to death.”– Max Brooks

Y/N had made a name for herself in the industry—one brushstroke, blueprint, and broken night at a time. Known in elite film and fashion circles as the girl who could design a set that made emotions breathe, she was every creative director’s secret weapon. They said she had an eye for intimacy, that her spaces felt like stories. What they didn’t know was that all her work came from the heart of silence—rooms she built in her mind when she needed to hide.

And she had learned to hide a lot.

At 26, she was an orphan with no living relatives and no sense of home. Her parents had died in a car accident when she was only nine. After a short stint with distant relatives and colder foster homes, the only warmth she ever truly remembered came from Min Yoongi—her childhood friend turned savior. He was the first person to visit her after the funeral, the first to hug her without making her feel small.

And the only one who kept showing up, year after year, long before either of them were famous.

But love? Love had always been trickier. And for the past five years, that love had looked a lot like Jackson Wang.

Dating Jackson was like forecasting London weather—unpredictable, moody, and easy to romanticise from far away. He was charming, successful, and at times heartbreakingly sweet. He'd bring you flowers after a fashion show and hand-written notes before flights. He could seduce a room with nothing but a smile. But those moments were like glitter: beautiful under light, but sharp and painful when rubbed in too deep.

Lately, all you'd been feeling was the sting.

The night it truly shifted—the first night she stopped making excuses—started in a familiar setting: his recording studio. Jackson had been arguing with his manager about tour dates, pacing the room like a tiger. You had barely spoken when he turned to you, voice brittle and eyes wild.

"Why are you even here right now?"

You blinked, caught off guard. "I just... I brought you food. You said you didn’t have time to eat."

"Did I fucking ask you to do that?" he barked.

You stepped back, fingers tightening around the takeout bag. "Jackson, I didn’t mean to—"

Before you could finish, he shoved the mixing console off the desk. The crash of buttons and glass was loud enough to make you flinch. You instinctively reached out to touch his arm, hoping to calm him.

That was your mistake.

The back of his hand connected with your cheek so fast your ears rang. The impact sent you stumbling, and your ribs slammed into the door frame with enough force to take your breath away. You collapsed onto the floor, a hot spike of pain shooting through your side.

The silence afterward was more terrifying than the blow.

He froze instantly, eyes wide with horror as if his own rage had startled him. "Fuck—no, no, baby. I didn’t mean—"

You were still on the ground, gasping for air.

He knelt beside you, pulling you up gently but with trembling hands. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I just—"

You wanted to scream, to cry, to say something—but your throat had closed up. You let him hold you, stroke your hair, whisper apologies into your temple. The words were soft. But your ribs felt sharp.

The second time, there were no accidents.

He came home late, drunk and seething with jealousy. You were asleep on the sofa when his footsteps woke you. You rubbed your eyes and sat up groggily.

"Yoongi texted you again," he muttered, standing in the bedroom doorway with his phone clenched in one hand and a beer bottle in the other.

Your stomach dropped. "It was about the set I'm designing for their winter album shoot. Yoongi asked me—"

"You really think I’m that fucking stupid?"

His voice was low and slurred, but laced with venom.

"Jackson, I’m not lying—"

He grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you off the couch roughly enough to make you yelp. You stumbled against the coffee table, sending magazines flying.

"You think I don't see it? The way you talk to those guys? Smile at them? You want everyone to think you're this perfect little artist, but you're just a slut like the rest of them."

The words hit harder than the first slap that followed. Then the second.

By the time he pushed you on the bed and shoved his hand up your shirt, you weren’t even crying. You had learned not to give him that satisfaction. "Say you’re mine," he hissed into your neck. "Say it." You stared at the ceiling and let him grope you, rough and mechanical. He didn’t ask. He didn’t stop. You just lay there, numb, until it was over. Until he fell asleep beside you with one arm draped across your bruised body like a trophy.

A week later, you were packing your things to join BTS at their In the Soop retreat. Yoongi had called the invite “casual,” but you knew he meant get away. He always knew when you were breaking.

You wrapped a scarf around your ribs—they were still sore—and layered two sweaters over them. You knew what you looked like in the mirror. You just hoped no one else would notice.

Your phone buzzed again. Jackson (2 missed calls). Jackson (1 voicemail).

You ignored it and zipped your suitcase.

The drive to the In the Soop retreat was a blur. Y/N stared out the window, her thoughts a whirlwind of anxiety and anticipation. The scenic landscapes did little to calm her nerves. Her phone buzzed incessantly, each notification a reminder of the control Jackson still held over her.

Jackson (3 missed calls)Jackson: "Answer me."Jackson: "Don't make me come there."Jackson: "You belong to me."

She silenced her phone, the weight of his words pressing heavily on her chest.

Upon arrival, Yoongi greeted her with a warm smile, his eyes scanning her face for any signs of distress. "Glad you made it," he said, pulling her into a gentle hug.

She forced a smile, nodding. "Thanks for inviting me."

The retreat was nestled amidst nature, a serene escape from the chaos of city life. The members of BTS were already settled in, their laughter echoing through the trees. Y/N was assigned a room in a separate cabin, sharing it with Jungkook.

Jungkook greeted her with his signature bunny smile. "Hey, Noona. It's been a while."

She chuckled softly. "Yeah, it has."

Their shared cabin was cozy, filled with the scent of pine and the soft hum of nature. As they unpacked, Jungkook noticed the way Y/N winced when lifting her suitcase.

"Are you okay?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

She quickly masked her discomfort. "Just a muscle pull. Nothing serious."

He nodded, not pressing further, but his eyes lingered on her a moment longer.

Over the next few days, Y/N immersed herself in her work, designing sets and coordinating aesthetics for the retreat's activities. She maintained a cheerful facade, laughing at jokes and engaging in conversations. But behind closed doors, the cracks began to show.

Late at night, she'd sit on the porch, her phone in hand, reading Jackson's messages.

Jackson: "I know you're with them."Jackson: "Do they touch you like I do?"Jackson: "You're mine. Don't forget that."

Tears streamed down her face as she deleted each message, her hands trembling.

One evening, as she sat alone, Jungkook approached, offering her a cup of tea.

"Couldn't sleep?" he asked, sitting beside her. She shook her head, taking a sip. "Just... thinking." He glanced at her, his eyes filled with concern. "You know, if there's ever anything you want to talk about, I'm here."

She looked away, the weight of her secrets threatening to crush her. "Thanks, Jungkook. That means a lot."

He reached out, gently placing his hand over hers. "You're not alone, Noona."

The warmth of his touch broke something inside her. She leaned into him, allowing herself a moment of vulnerability.

As the days passed, Jungkook became her anchor, his presence a balm to her wounded soul. But the shadows of her past loomed large, and the facade she maintained began to crumble.

[fictionsoul]

A mermaid's voice

Singer Fem!reader x Yesung

Synopsis: An enigmatic encounter ends with a pleasant agreement between two souls committed to music.

Warnings: Just fluffy fluff, Yesung is a sweetheart, reader is all shy, written with femmale pronouns and maybe you will find grammar mistakes

w/c: 2.8k

A mermaid's voice

People rushed to hide under the awnings of some establishments.

Street food stalls were crowded as customers placed orders and enjoyed a bite to eat while waiting for the storm to pass.

The weather forecast had been slightly wrong. What had been announced as a cool breeze soon turned into a raucous thunderstorm.

Yesung was in no better position than the rest of the passersby. He carried in his hand what was left of the umbrella that had been dismantled while he was doing his duty.

The gusts of wind had flipped the waterproof fabric along with its ribs and the springs flew off in all directions. Now he only had it as a reminder to throw it away as soon as he got home.

The idol stopped his gait under the roof of a small establishment that kept the outside illuminated with a bulb that radiated a warm and welcoming light.

For a moment he thought about knocking on the door to ask where he was. He had lost his way as soon as the staff ran to the vans and he kept walking until he found himself caught in the rain and far from the filming site.

An older man, old enough to be his father, opened the door and entered the premises without a word to the person inside holding the door.

The guardian of that entrance exchanged glances with him without blinking, without looking away and without inviting him in.

Curiosity was taking its toll on his being. He sharpened each of his senses to get an idea of whatever was going on inside.

His nose immediately picked up the aroma of beer and tobacco mingling in the air. His prodigious hearing picked up the chords of an acoustic guitar and the female voice pronouncing some phrases that he could not understand.

Unconsciously his feet moved forward another step just to be able to hear the melody better.

The chords of the guitar resounded inside and the echo of that sound was what reached the outside in a dull way.

One chord followed another and, in the midst of all the noise pollution, he finally recognized his own song.

"She's singing Fly," he whispered to himself.

He quickly moved from curiosity to surprise, culminating in the determination to cross into the establishment.

"You need an invitation to enter," commented the giant guarding the door.

It seemed to him the most ridiculous answer he had ever heard. That place was a full-fledged bar, and to enter one all he needed was the desire to drink and a little money. And he had the latter, enough to get in without any problems.

"I just want to know who's singing," he answered calmly despite being in a hurry to see the person who was masterfully interpreting his song.

"Then enter our social networks, send a message and next week we will send a code to see the show."

He unconsciously ran his fingers through his hair, shaking out the water droplets that were running through it and trying to alleviate his nervousness.

Never in his life had he been denied access to a bar, never had he dealt with such a strange system to be able to enter to drink in a simple and plain bar that surely had nothing good to offer.

He was about to continue complaining until the keys of a piano burst into the silence, as if they wanted to be heard by him.

He could get a mental picture of what was going on inside, of the wooden tables scattered with men and women chatting, of the service team carrying food from the bar to the tables. And on a small stage that stood out among the patrons, there was a band entertaining the evening.

Your soft voice caressed the lyrics of the song, syllable by syllable mesmerizing the idol waiting outside.

He thought then that this must be how pirates felt on the high seas when the sirens sang and made them shipwrecked to their death.

"What page should I send a message to?" he asked, pulling his phone out of the inside of his leather jacket.

He hadn't realized how needy he seemed, how urgently his fingers were typing the message wishing for an invitation just to see the woman who sang his songs as if they belonged to her, as if he had never performed them before.

"Does the same singer come every week?" he asked once the message had been sent.

"Try to do it."

There was no more exchange of words, only the silence of the night and the small, almost inaudible sounds coming out of that establishment.

"See you next week," he said goodbye, making that promise, wishing that time would move quickly so that he could see the person who was singing inside.

The next day came and it brought him good news. A code had arrived on his phone and with it the invitation to enter the bar in six days.

His mood had completely changed. The entire staff of the photo studio had noticed it.

The new photographs for the magazine he was collaborating with were supposed to be taken in a dark environment, the feeling of sadness and hopelessness was to be reflected in the idol's expressions.

How could they work with him in that state? The darkness surrounded him and yet the man seemed to shine with his own light.

He couldn't hide his smile, he couldn't stop fiddling with his fingers absentmindedly, he didn't even refrain from checking his phone every ten minutes just to sigh looking at the picture of the code.

Sure, he felt like a silly teenager, but he allowed himself to have those kinds of emotions because they were completely justified in his mind.

He had hoped to meet the owner of that soft voice, the woman who without even knowing what she looked like had bewitched him.

Intrigue was normally an unwelcome feeling, but now it seemed to be the perfect garnish to go along enjoying the daily wait.

"Could you stop smiling?" said the director of the session, looking resignedly at the idol.

Yesung wished he could stop, but at this point it was impossible. The grimace appeared unconsciously, the corners of his lips pulled upwards and the smile appeared again.

"I'm trying," he replied, massaging his cheeks to relax his facial muscles.

The photo shoot dragged on, it wasn't just a matter of hours, it was days at a time that they had to manage to get the shots they needed.

Time seemed to run in slow motion as he waited near the bar to get in. The anxieties continued to force him to look carefully at the code of dots and lines, as if it was his task to figure out the pattern under which it had been elaborated.

The chill of the night wind helped him to keep cool even though his body could burn in combustion from the heat that his nervousness radiated.

His feet involuntarily pounded the ground with impatience. His hands clenched into fists, he rested them on his legs, kept them busy texting… anything was good to keep them busy.

The opening time came and the idol waited for some people to enter before him so as not to look so desperate.

When he finally crossed the door, he couldn't help but throw a victorious smile towards whoever was guarding the door. He had finally entered the bar after being denied entry.

In front of him was a small staircase illuminated by a dim yellow light. A total of six steps led down into the bar.

The place was nothing like what he had imagined.

The space looked like an old garage that had been restored and converted into a band rehearsal room. There were chairs and a few tables, but they were spread out so as not to get in the way of the band warming up before their performance.

There were no waiters, nor was there any food or beverage service. Whatever people consumed had to be brought from somewhere else and at their own expense.

He had no idea where he was or what he was supposed to be doing there. For the first time he had followed the impulse to do something silly to meet a woman and the result was being very strange.

"Did you buy the strings?" you asked the drummer, slapping his back in greeting.

"I found two and I also brought fried chicken."

"That's why you're my favorite" you caught his cheeks with one hand, pressing them between your thumb and the rest of your fingers.

Your band mate smiled and looked away to continue cleaning the drumsticks.

"In twenty minutes we start!" You announced to the audience that was beginning to arrive to the small place destined to be a rehearsal room.

Fortunately you had some audience and a good atmosphere that encouraged them to keep playing. Now you just needed to spruce up a bit and go out and put on a light show so that people would keep spreading the word.

Your purpose with those weekly performances was none other than to build up a large fan base and, if everything worked out, perhaps attract a production company that would want to work with newcomers like yourselves.

Yesung's eyes watched your every move, how your hand patted your partner's back, how your hair waved around you as you turned around.

His throat went dry as soon as you laughed at the comment of one of the many people walking around as if the space belonged to them.

His hands clenched into fists as he watched that scene.

The feeling that twisted his stomach was immediately recognized, the sensation of jealousy crackling inside him could not go unnoticed by anyone.

While Yesung was trying to quell that feeling, you were leaning against the wall at the exit door, inhaling hard to slow your heartbeat.

You had seen him. The singer you admired, the reason that space existed along with your band was there. There, in the garage with the other people.

You wondered if maybe someone else had told him about the shows, or if he found the place through the algorithm of one of his social networks… you had so many questions and so many nerves that you were afraid you would lose your voice for a moment.

You needed to calm down, fix your appearance and finally get out there to entertain the audience.

The selection that night had to change. You couldn't sing Yesung's songs in front of Yesung himself. You needed to change your repertoire urgently.

You came out of your hiding place only to call out to the rest of the group with signs and gestures.

Yesung watched you move your hands to call the attention of one of the musicians. Your face gesticulated as if the message to be delivered was life or death, but judging by the way your band observed you, none of them understood the message.

"Change of plans," you commented without moving your lips, shouting in a low voice so that only the group could hear you.

"What's going on?" asked the bass player, a little desperate for the sudden decision.

"He's there," you squealed barely managing to contain your euphoria.

Your eyes turned to him as they widened and your head pointed discreetly towards his place, clearly indicating that you were talking about the person sitting there.

Yesung smiled and looked away, trying to hide the smirk behind the phone he held to pretend he was talking to someone.

"The original singer of the songs" you whispered on the verge of dying from tachycardia.

An "oh" was heard in unison as they nodded.

They didn't understand why you wanted to change the musical selection but they accepted the challenge. No prior practice, no rehearsal to tune the instruments…nothing. They would face the audience with the natural talent they all possessed.

Yesung left the site only to get a bottle of water.

You had managed to capture his attention with your interpretation of his songs, but that feeling of his heart hammering against his ribs had little to do with your talent.

The gangly look you sported was cute, the childlike way you communicated with your group was genuinely tender.

There was something about you that compelled him to keep his eyes fixed on you, analyzing your movements and losing himself in your every gesture.

It wouldn't surprise him to start acting like you after he had been staring at you for so long.

When he came back from the tent you were already center stage, microphone in one hand and holding the guitar arm with the other.

The change in appearance had definitely turned you into a rock star.

"Ready guys?" you muttered, on the verge of losing the air you had accumulated in your lungs.

The drummer hit one of the cymbals, the bass player brushed the strings with his fingers and the keyboard player pressed a key. It was their way of checking in, the audible communication that indicated they were ready.

The keyboard sounded and Dear cloud's "Like you like rock n' roll" began to play.

Your voice carried through the refurbished garage and the audience applauded as they recognized the song.

Each phrase was interpreted with precision, each note achieved with mastery while your movements and gestures were adapted to what you were singing.

Yesung's gaze was lost in yours, contemplating you in depth, as if he could see inside you and even read your thoughts.

You didn't mind being his center of attention, it didn't make you feel bad that he didn't look away from you. That feeling only empowered you, made you feel like the best performer in the world.

Yesung's heart stopped beating for what seemed like minutes, the vital organ had stopped so that it could beat to the rhythm of the music, to the beat of the band.

That you didn't look away when the two of you made eye contact made him shudder. It seemed as if you were singing the song just for him, as if there were only the two of you in that place.

The rest of the evening passed like that, with his gaze following your every move, his voice chanting your songs, his ear listening to you over the sounds of the musical instruments and his hands begging to reach out to you.

He could imagine a future with you, with both of you exchanging ideas, with both of you making duets inside that space. With both of you being happy side by side.

The four songs usually performed by the group came to an end, but Yesung was still there and he was not willing to leave that place without at least listening to one of his songs performed by you.

He could aspire to ask about your interest in a collaboration with him, but if he couldn't even get close to you, he couldn't even make that request.

"Thank you for joining us today. Remember that next week we will open the doors of this rehearsal room again," you said goodbye, bowing completely to the people who were starting to leave after having enjoyed the music.

Yesung gasped and his limbs acted before his brain allowed him to process what he was doing.

Without wasting any time his legs made him advance towards you and his hand imprisoned your wrist, preventing you from leaving the stage.

Instinctively you pulled your hand away forcefully, but his grip did not loosen. The singer's touch didn't hurt your skin, it only stopped you firmly.

"What do you want?" you asked with feigned indifference as the rest of your band laughed at your reaction.

Your racing pulse was noticeable under his touch but he was upset enough to ignore it.

"I don't know," he admitted, obnerved by your presence.

Your skin was soft, your essence sweet and your presence overwhelming. He didn't understand how he had managed to live without you until now, how he hadn't found you for so long.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sorry―" he stammered awkwardly "I wanted… that, I wanted to know if you are willing to record a song with me."

You were surprised by the question, but more surprising was the fact that you didn't faint after hearing his offer.

"We accept!" shouted the drummer with a wide smile.

He couldn't afford to miss that opportunity just because you, the vocalist, had remained mute and staring at him as if he had lost his mind.

Yesung could finally breathe calmly, finally perceived your accelerated pulse. He had finally gotten close to you, he could finally feel that there was a connection between the two of you, and he wished that it would last forever.

"I'll come next week to make an agreement."

"Of course, I'll wait here, I mean, I'll see you here."

Both of their faces reddened, waiting for the other to be the one to turn around so that you could allow themselves to breathe without difficulty.

A small reminder that requests are open, if you don't feel good sending messages in english, you cand send your request in spanish too (since I can work properly with that language).

If you only wanna fangirling or make any question my messages are open for you too

[billscheft]

Damn. I knew I forgot to post something yesterday. From TIME WON'T LET ME, p. 224....

Manhattan the day before St. Patrick’s Day is a giant guest bathroom, perfunctorily tidied up and waiting for the world to hang over the bowl. Any bar within a square half-mile of the parade route quadruples its prudent reserve of beer, whiskey and whatever fad concoction the kids are throwing up these days. Walk inside and quaff the giddy scent of anticipation. Tomorrow’s forecast, same as last year: A tsunami of cash amidst a light undertow of broken glass and vomit. 

[rumyarabella]

The sound of heels echoed through the empty room as the woman paced back and forth. Her world was meticulously organized, as controlled as her cold, calculating mind demanded. The coat, the keys, the phone, the folders—everything in its place, exactly where it should be. Routine was her refuge, her only certainty in a chaotic world.

The television was on, but muted, a silent presence in the corner of the room. The news flashed across the screen, but Courtney, as usual, paid it no mind. She hated noise, hated interruptions, and the damn device was only there as a substitute for an alarm clock that had broken weeks ago and hadn’t been replaced. Nothing new disturbed her, nothing unexpected.

She glanced at her watch, her movements precise like a machine. Six o’clock sharp. Not a minute more, not a minute less. She left the house without noticing the headline announcing the disappearance of several hikers.

A few minutes later, Courtney was in her usual café, opening one of her folders and reading diligently. The scent of coffee hung in the air as she read. Outside, the rain tapped against the windows, but she had come prepared. Another benefit of her meticulous planning: she always brought an umbrella when the TV forecasted bad weather.

As she waited for her drink, she overheard two young people at the next table chatting at a noticeably loud volume.

"Have you seen the newspaper?" one of them asked, waving a sensationalist front page. "There’s a story about a group of hikers who disappeared in the mountains."

"Yeah, I saw it. It’s tragic. I don’t know how so many people can get lost on a single hike—the media’s been flooded with it for days."

Courtney thought it was just another piece of news that would pass by in her life. After all, who had time to follow every sad story in the press? If it didn’t involve a case, it wasn’t worth her attention.

"Then you don’t know yet! They just confirmed that on that hike were—MS. REYES?"

The young people jumped slightly in surprise, apparently too absorbed in their conversation. She simply gathered her things and went to pick up her drink.

Miles away, in a small neighborhood store, around 2 p.m. that same day, the sky remained gray and the air damp as Duncan, wearing his worn leather jacket, stepped inside. The overhead lights flickered with an irritating hum as he made his way to the refrigerator to grab a beer. The murmur of shoppers filled the air, blending with the strong smell of fish.

As Duncan picked out a brand of beer, he overheard fragments of a conversation between two older women standing in line at the checkout.

"Have you heard about the hike?" one asked, her tone filled with concern.

"Yeah, they say they’ve found bodies, but they’re not sure who they are."

Duncan barely paid attention. He had heard similar stories before—people lost in some remote corner, victims of fate or their own stupidity. There was no room in his life to worry about those poor souls. He didn’t know their names, nor did he intend to learn them.

Later that same day, as night fell, DJ was at the gym, sweat dripping from his brow as he pushed his limits during his workout. Over the gym’s loudspeakers, the radio broadcasted a news bulletin about the same tragedy.

"Recent reports indicate that the search for the missing hikers continues without success. Authorities have identified several of the missing, but are still working to confirm if any of them match the bodies found this morning," the announcer said, his voice grave and professional.

DJ paused his arm reps to reach into his pocket and quickly pull out his phone. He needed to change the song and get back to work. He briefly removed an earbud to let the coach know he’d be taking a bit longer in that section.

And this is the first part of chapter 1

[darkangel1791]

GLOBAL RETAIL // JUNE 4, 2024

Queer influencers are feeling the Pride marketing squeeze

By Allison Smith

https://www.modernretail.co/marketing/queer-influencers-are-feeling-the-pride-marketing-squeeze/

For many queer influencers like Alysse Dalessandro, Pride is the biggest month of the year for brand sponsorships. Throughout the month of June, Dalessandro — a plus-size fashion and lifestyle blogger — posts videos on TikTok or Instagram featuring sponsored products that cater to her LGBTQ+ followers. 

In 2022 alone, Dalessandro worked with 35 different brands, and one-third of her annual income came from Pride sponsorships. 

But this year, those figures are looking a lot smaller, and Dalessandro says it’s because brands’ appetites for Pride marketing have weakened amid widespread pressure from anti-LGBTQ+ conservatives. 

“This year’s Pride will just be a regular month,” said Dalessandro in an interview. “Whereas I used to make one-third of my yearly income, I would say I’ll make one-twelfth of my income this year.”

The pullback comes just after Target announced earlier this month that it would be scaling back its Pride Month offerings. The retailer said its Pride products would only be available in about half of its nearly 2,000 stores in the U.S. and online, and it would no longer sell LGBTQIA-themed merchandise for children.

Protests against brands with Pride Month products and marketing campaigns reached a fever pitch last year. Target reported “gut-wrenching” attacks of violence in its stores against employees, prompting the retailer to pull some of its LGBTQIA-themed merchandise. Target’s earnings took a hit, which the retailer partially attributed to the controversy.

Meanwhile, Anheuser-Busch’s Bud Light faced boycotts last year after the brand worked with transgender influencer Dylan Mulvaney for a marketing promotion. The boycott was so severe that sales plunged, and Bud Light was dethroned as America’s best-selling beer by Mexican lager Modelo Especial.

While some say the protests have cast a pall across corporate America that is still being felt this Pride Month, others say brands are continuing to celebrate Pride with merchandise and promotions – but it’s being done more quietly and in moderation now. 

A majority of corporate executives and Fortune 500 leaders reported to Gravity Research that they are not planning changes to their Pride strategy for 2024. Thirteen percent were unsure, and only 9% said they were definitely planning changes.

Indeed, grocery store giant — and Target’s biggest rival — Walmart has plunged ahead with its LGBTQIA-themed merchandise for Pride this year. 

Still, Dalessandro isn’t alone in reporting a slowdown.

Matt Skallerud, president of Pink Media, expects more brands will sit on the sidelines this Pride as companies try to navigate an increasingly fraught socio-political landscape. 

“Typically, we have several Pride projects in the works that we would have had ready for a June 1 launch. But this year, there’s nothing. Zero,” said Skallerud. “When I talk to others in the industry, whether they’re smaller LGBT media companies or other marketing firms, they say they’re all suffering the same thing.”

In the U.K., a similar chilling effect is also being felt, according to Chris Dunne, co-CEO at Outvertising, a non-profit that helps marketers connect with LGBTQ+ audiences. 

Although Pride Month is officially underway as of June 1, “you’d be excused for not knowing that by walking the streets or walking through the mall, or any of the touch points where you usually see retail support for Pride,” said Dunne. “It’s suspiciously quiet, and I think all the indicators are that it will be a quieter Pride month from a commercial and brand point of view.”

Yet, total marketing budgets in the U.K. reached their highest levels in almost a decade in the fourth quarter of 2023, according to a report. In the U.S., ad spend is similarly resilient. Three major ad forecasters have predicted improved U.S. media spend totals for 2024, Digiday previously reported. Retail is especially robust, with a 9% uptick in spend expected, according to IPG’s Magna unit. 

Brands, however, risk missing out on crucial dollars if these healthy budgets aren’t directed toward LGBTQ+ communities. Queer-identifying Americans represent $1.4 trillion in U.S. spending power, according to investment advisor LGBT Capital. 

“With one in five Gen Z identifying as LGBTQ, companies are really recognizing that it’s more important to have a relationship with this consumer segment than to perhaps respond to a vocal percentage of the population that’s actually quite small,” said Matt Tumminello, founder and president of Target 10, an agency that specialize in LGBTQ+ consumers. 

Moreover, many consumers support a swath of LGBTQ+ issues. For example, an Outvertising report found that 60% of queer-identifying people and 41% of non-LGBTQ+ people in the U.K. believe that brands should express their views on political and social issues. Meanwhile, 74% of Americans are neutral or positively impacted by knowing a company offers Pride merchandise, according to GLAAD, which advocates for positive portrayal of LGBTQ+ people in media and culture.

Despite this, marketers’ investment in the LGBTQ+ community is minuscule at only 2.5% of all advertising spend, according to ANA’s Alliance for Inclusive and Multicultural Marketing.

“We know that there’s a fringe minority that is very loud, so brands’ messaging and tone has been modified because marketers don’t want to get caught in the middle,” said Carlos Santiago, co-founder of ANA AIMM. 

According to Meghan Bartley, senior director of agencies, brand and engagement at GLAAD, brands aren’t pulling back so much as they’re retooling how they engage with the LGBTQ+ community. 

“Brands are reconsidering how they show up for our community. That may look like a change to a Pride campaign rather than the complete removal of a Pride campaign,” said Bartley. For example, she said brands are increasingly looking at how to invest in queer-identifying communities all year round as opposed to just Pride month. That can translate to fewer rainbow logos on LinkedIn, to appear less opportunistic, and investing more in LGBTQ+ causes rather than merchandising, she said. 

Bartley cited iHeartMedia and Procter & Gamble’s fifth-annual “Can’t Cancel Pride,” an event celebrating the LGBTQ+ community, as an example of how brands are supporting the community in ways other than merchandising.

When Target said it would be selling less Pride merchandise this year, the retailer touted its year-round investments in the LGBTQ+ community, including donations to organizations such as Human Rights Campaign and Family Equality. Target also said it would participate in local Pride events across the nation and that it would continue to spotlight LGBTQ-owned brands throughout the year.

“There are some brands that are doing the work behind the scenes because they’re aware of a growing backlash,” said Outvertising’s Dunne. “But I don’t think that’s the majority. I think that’s the slim minority.”

Bob Witeck, a consultant who helps companies such as Walmart develop their LGBTQ-friendly policies, also hasn’t seen a pullback from his clients. In fact, he said some were doubling down on Pride Month in light of last year’s backlash. 

“In all of my conversations with the clients I work with, they have not shrunk at all,” said Witeck. “In fact, the conversations internally are more like, ‘We feel a deeper need to amplify what we say.’”

[contentment-of-cats]

We were bitching about hot and dry.

So, now we in SoCal are on track to receive the first tropical storm warning in history. Yes, in history, because the last time this happened the NWS did not yet exist.

Here's the deal.

Meet Hilary, she's currently southwest of Cabo San Lucas, Mexico as a Category 4 hurricane.The red track is her projected course - and yep, she's heading right for Los Angeles.

*prays to dear baby jeebus for a direct hit on any properties owned by Elon Musk, Jeff Bezos, Peter Thiel, and assorted studio heads while also praying for it to rain money into the actors' and writers' strike funds*

My boss picked the wrong weekend for a romantic Catalina Island getaway for his 25th anniversary. Then again, he's from Florida. He's probably going to sit out on the balcony drinking beer, taking bong rips, and hollering at the store, "THAT ALL YOU GOT?"

Anyway, we might look screwed, but honestly... we are. Just not completely screwed. See that down there? That's water temperatures.

Hurricanes need to get their feet into warm water to be powerful, which is why Hilary is a hurricane now. In contrast, once you get off the tip of Baja, you get into colder waters the hurricanes don't like. Cold slows them down, so that's the only thing saving us from a hurricane our infrastructure is not designed to handle. We have had some 'bomb cyclone' storms - cold and wet with up to 75 MPH winds. Lots of damage, but the lights stayed on. We have Santa Ana winds, and what most people call a windstorm we call November. Still, winds are forecast between 40 and 60 MPH.

Lets go to the scary part - rainfall and flooding.

From Sunday night, my area is looking for between 3 and 6 inches of rainfall. We normally do not get that much in a year. The strongest storm I can remember dumped an inch and a half over 24 hours. This is a minimum doubling of that amount. Some areas could see as much as 10 inches.

According to my local forecast, the rain will start about 6:00AM on Sunday and ending on Monday afternoon. The heaviest rain and winds will tale place Sunday evening.

I ought to be okay. I'm on the 2nd floor, so no flooding, and the building has a new roof.

Here we go!

[snaillamp]

Lantern Man

Enjar lifted the surfboard from the water, wading back into shore. He had spent the afternoon catching waves on the beach nearby, enjoying the summer warmth, if you could even call it that. He shivered, his thick wetsuit still not shielding him entirely from the cold bite of the ocean.

Looking up at the cloudless afternoon, he admired the deep cobalt blue of the sky. Wrapping a blanket around his shoulders, he flicked his hair out of his face before hiking the short trail back up to the car. Strapping his board up, he jumped in the driver’s seat, turning on the engine and reversing out onto the small trail leading home. Turning up the heater, he blasted warm air on his face.

The wind picked up as he drove, buffeting the car. It howled around him as he grinned, it was amazing how fast the weather could turn up here, he would never be quite used to it. As he parked beside the lighthouse, he grabbed the radio, the object he always took everywhere with him, before unpacking everything from his day.

He finally made it back inside, hurrying to his bathroom for a hot shower. The wind, despite being a warm summer breeze before had turned into a cooler, stronger gale.

~~

When he finished his shower, he shrugged on a jacket and walked to the small desk in his bedroom. It was huddled away in the corner, most people wouldn’t even notice it, but on top lay a computer and a small monitor, kept company by a few nick nacks: sea glass, cool rocks, some feathers, just fun things collected by all keepers over the years.

Enjar slid into the stiff chair and logged on, staring at the computer screen. He checked the maps and weather forecast, clear night, no need to turn the light on yet. It looked like it would be quite windy tomorrow though. He checked coast guard reports, before sighing and clicking off.

He was happy, on one hand nights like this were nice. He didn’t often get time to be lazy, but on the other hand, he didn't like being lazy either. Standing from the chair, he yawned, deciding to go outside. The wind had died down enough that he could sit outside with a drink and enjoy the peaceful evening.

Walking to his fridge he grabbed a ginger beer, cracking it open and taking a long sip. The cool, refreshing liquid bubbled on his tongue as he savoured the slight burn of the ginger. Reaching into his pantry, he grabbed a bag of potato chips, a treat he only afforded himself on relaxing nights like this. Grabbing a chair, he dragged it outside and sat a way aways form the cliff edge. Watching the sun set on the horizon, he smiled, remembering the stories the former keeper, and his mentor, Johaan would tell him.

The short man, who looked like Santa if he had taken up residence in a lighthouse, patted his gut, leaning back with a chuckle. His red cheeks, flushed from the already large amount of whiskey he consumed would crease as he smiled, regaling stories of shipwrecks and myths.

Enjar’s favourite had been the story of the Lantern Man.

“You know, boy, there’s a reason you don’t run along these cliffs here, see.” The fat, stubby finger of the lighthouse keeper would trace along the cliff edge. “You see, there was a man, once. He was an old keeper, like ourselves, years and years ago. Over 100, but no one knows completely for sure. The story goes that he was always rushing around, too brave for his own good.”

Johaan took another large swig of whiskey, coughed a little and continued. “People always told him, ‘Boy! You mustn’t run along the cliffs. Take your time of the cliffs will take you!’ and he would laugh in their faces, saying that he had work to do and that he would be careful.

One day a freak storm washed over the area, largest that had happened in living memory. The waves were so tall they could reach the balcony of the tower.” The man would scoffed into his glass, pouring another serving of booze. “I call bull on that part, aye?”

Enjar nodded, grinning at the absurdity of the claim. The cliffs were quite high, and he had only seen large waves reach high enough to barely brush half of the ancient stone. “Course, the keeper didn’t listen, or there’d be no story!” Johaan cackled loudly, before continuing.

“Well that night, the wind was blowing hard, and he was coming home from the tavern in his big leather coat. This was before them motor cars and shit so he would just grab his big storm lantern and walk along the cliff edge to find his way home. Course, that was dangerous, but he didn’t care none.” He would sip his booze thoughtfully, going distant.

“Anyway, story goes he was running along home, when he slipped and tumbled from the cliff, plunging into the sea and rocks below. Some say the waves actually grabbed him straight off the edge! Anyway, he was swallowed up by the ocean, never to be seen again.

Years later, the new keeper was in a rush one foggy night, presumably in a similar situation to the first one. He was running along the cliff line when he saw a light glimmering in the distance.”

The old keeper glanced at Enjar, leaning back in his chair and listening intently, and grinned a toothy grin.

“The man kept running along the cliff line, ’n the light was getting closer an closer, yeah? He swears he hears the creaking of a rusty storm lantern as he nears it. When he finally reached the spot he thought it was, he looks up and it’s gone. The wind is howling and he’s looking for this light, before he feels a hand grab his shoulder and rip him from the cliff edge.”

Enjar’s eyes would widen, as he smiled at the ghost story. “Well the poor young keeper practically jumps out of his skin when he looks at the cold, wet, grey hand gripping his shoulder. He glances around to see the face of a drowned man staring at him, holding the storm lantern aloft, before the figure turns around and disappears into the mist...

Since then, people have sworn on their life that they seen a man, walking along the cliffs, holding a lantern aloft. Some say its the keeper, walking along with his light to protect others from the same fate, others say he’s there as punishment, forced to walk along the cliff edge, taking his time but never making it home.”

They sat in solemn silence for a second before the man would cackle. “Nah, I think it’s bullshit, mostly it anyway. But I won’t say it ain’t all real. All stories are based in a little bit of truth, aye, Enjar?”

Enjar nodded, ruminating on the point made by the old man until one day he couldn’t resist any longer.

“Have you ever seen him? The Lantern Man?”

Johaan, always the easy, laidback man, suddenly went very still. Turning slowly, he nodded, holding up a finger. “Once... I was walking along the edge, looking for yacht that had reportedly run aground one the rocks. It was misty and cold, and in the wind I swore I could hear the creak of a lantern.

I brushed it off, assuming it was my imagination... Then in front of me I see a light, small, yellow and shrouded in mist. When I get closer, I see something, the outline of a figure pointing down the ways, silent as anything, before it turned and walked into the dark.

Turned out where it had been pointing was the direction of the yacht. The people down there swore they saw a light on the cliff edge, watching it wander along before tumbling off the cliff. Coast guard and I looked the next morning couldn’t find anything… I don’t believe the whole story, but I believe every story has a bit of truth. They exist for a reason, hmm?”

The old an shuffled, his voice growing stern as he waggled the finger at Enjar. “And you’d be in good mind to heed the warning. Ain’t nothing on them cliffs worth your life, aye?” Enjar nodded, slightly alarmed at the sudden shift in tone. The keeper nodded at him and had continued his day like nothing happened. Enajr had always kept an eye out after that… Just in case.

He shivered, realising that the sun was pretty much set and the cold wind was picking up again. Going back inside, he glanced along the cliff line for a second, before shutting the door and getting ready for dinner.

~~

Enjar had just tucked himself into bed, getting comfy when he heard the radio chatter to life in the next room. Groaning in annoyance, he got out of bed and shuffled across the cabin to the small radio perched beside the front door. “Tower 4 do you copy? This is Base, Tower 4, do you copy?”

“Tower 4 receiving. What’s up?” Enjar spoke, sleepily mumbling as he rubbed his eyes. He stifled a yawn.

“Yeah, do you see that flare? Should be west of you.”

Enjar frowned, grabbing the radio and some binoculars before shuffling outside. In the dark, he could see a red flame drifting slowly towards the sea.

“Yeah, I see it.” He replied, lifting the binoculars to his eyes. There wasn’t much he could see in the dark.

“Want me to check it out?”

“Not right now, Tower 4. But, uh, just stick around, we may need your help if we send out a rescue party. You know the fastest route to get there?"

“Yeah, follow the cliff from the lighthouse, shouldn't take more than an hour from where you are.”

“Copy, Tower 4. Base over and out.”

Enjar was feeling a little more awake now, the adrenaline starting to kick in. He traced the illuminated trail of smoke to the side of the cliff, frowning. He knew there were lots of climbers around these parts in summer, the cliff faces were perfect for it, but at this time of night? The person must be nuts. “Well, that makes the flare make sense.” He muttered, going back inside.

He began to prepare, changing into his climbing gear and loading the car with his rope. He too enjoyed climbing, even if he spent most of his time dangling from the tower, doing maintenance on it instead of the cliff faces. His radio crackled to life.

“Base to Tower 4? Do you copy?”

“Tower 4 receiving.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna need to to check out Klintro Point. Just got a PLB signal. Can you get there?”

“Klintro? Yeah, that shouldn’t take me long. I’ll be over in 10 minutes. Tower 4 out.”

“Be careful, Enjar. Base over and out.”

~~

As he drove over the rocky trails, Enjar glanced towards the cliffs. The flare had faded, but he knew where he was going. Rounding the corner, he spied an SUV, parked between the trees. Screeching to a halt, Enjar jumped from his car, examining the abandoned vehicle.

It was dark and empty, doors locked. Looking inside he couldn’t see anything, his eyes unable to make anything out in the dark.

“Hello?” He called out as the wind blew harder. “Do you need help?” He called into wind, but it snatched his words and carried them away. Grabbing a torch from his kit, he scanned the surrounding area, catching a faint trail in the corner of his eye.

Following it a little way, he finally came across a boulder jutting out of the ground a few metres from the abdanodned SUV. Wrapped firmly around it was rope, pulled taught. Following it along to the cliff edge, being careful not to fall, Enjar peeked over and spotted a man, dangling from the ropes. “Hey!” He called down to him, his voice breaking with strain.

The man below him looked up, yelling back. “Down here! Help!” Enjar squinted down in to the dark, trying to get a good view. “What’s wrong?!”

“I’m tangled in my ropes! My shoulder… my arm… I think they’re broken!”

“Hold tight! Help is coming!” Enjar moved from the edge, the wind buffeting his body as he staggered against it. As he opened the door of his car, it was ripped from his hand, flying open. Jumping in, he grabbed the door with both hands and grunted as he pulled it shut.

When it finally did shut he was shivering, the cold wind chilling him to his bones. With shaking hands he grabbed the radio from his belt and spoke into it.

“Tower 4 to Base, do you read me?”A tense moment of silence, with the exception of the howling wind filled the air, thick with tension.

“Base to Tower 4. We read you. What's the situation?”

“I’m at the site, there’s a climber, his arm is broken and he can’t climb up. He’s tangled in his ropes… I can try and get down to get him free.”

“Negative Tower 4, we can’t ask you to put yourself at risk like that. Wait for backup and monitor the situa-”

A scream ripped through the air, cutting through even the wind. Enjar jumped from the car running towards the cliff as he saw the backup rope go taught. The first rope had snapped completely.

“The rope is snapping, I have to go down!” Enjar yelled into the radio.

“Tower 4 it’s too dangerous!”

“Screw this.” Enjar whispered as he hooked the radio into his belt, rushing to his supplies and slipping on his harness and a headlamp. He grabbed a length of rope, before running to cliff, looking for an anchor point anywhere. Spotting a large tree a little way back, he tied the rope around it, making sure it was secure. The wind had died down a little, but it was still strong, being exposed on the cliff like that was going to be dangerous.

Attaching himself to his line, he walked to the edge of the cliff. “Base to Tower 4, respond.”

Enjar grabbed the radio, holding it in his shivering hands. He wasn’t in warm clothes and the weather was only getting worse again.

“Tower 4, I hear you loud and clear.”

The voice of the manager at Base cut through the wind. “Enjar, listen to me. Don’t risk your life for this. Wait for help.” At the same time, the man screamed again, the rope jerking as he dropped a little.

“His rope is giving out, I’m not going to sit around and watch him die!” Enjar growled into the radio, reattaching it to his belt. “Enjar please…”

Ignoring the pleas of the manager he muted the radio, then slid down the smooth, wind swept cliff to the man. He was pale, shaking. Enajr glanced around at the ropes, looking at the mess i were in. The man’s forearm was caught in a tangle of rope that had been pulled tight. It was pale, no blood getting through and it was bent at a strange angle, hanging from his shoulder in a strange way.

“Hey, I’m Enjar. Hold till for me okay?” Enjar yelled into the screaming wind. The man looked up at him with teary eyes, “Andre”. He looked terrified. “Cut me free, please! I’ve been here for hours! I don’t want to die!” He cried wriggling in the rope. “Okay, Andre, hold still!” Enjar reached for the good arm, grabbing it and pulling the man close, hooking him up to his own rig. “If I cut you free, you’ll die anyway! Hold still!” He pulled the shaking man against his body.

Enjar watched the man’s eyes go wide. “Wait, why won’t you cut me out?!” He screamed into Enjar’s ear, hurting his ear drum. “Crush syndrome.” Examining the tangle, he pursed his lips. This was going to be hard. If he carried the man up, the ropes might loosen and then… The man wriggled against him, the carabiner brushing against a belt. Enjar looked down at Andre's waist. “Hey. I need your belt!” Andre looked at him strangely. “Why?” Enjar grimaced before looking at him, slightly frustrated. “Tourniquet!”

Andre leaned back a little as Enjar fiddled with the clasp of his belt, pulling it free. He reached up and wrapped it tightly around Andre’s arm pulling it as tight as he could. “Ow, ow stop!” Andre screamed, but Enjar kept pulling until it was secure. Fastening the belt as best he could he checked it, it seemed to be tight enough. Looking to Andre he nodded.

“I’ve got you! Hold tight.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small pocket knife. Trust his stupid head to bring a knife but not a first aid kit. He reached to the tangle of rope and began sawing at it. Andre began to scream and kick again.

“Stop moving, your ropes will give!” Enjar yelled as his tried to calm Andre, who looked at him in fear. The wind died down for a second. “Am I gonna die, Enjar?” Enjar shook his head, resuming sawing at the rope. “I won’t let that happen.”

As the wind picked up again, the ropes came free and Andre’s arm dropped heavily against his side. It has hanging from the shoulder joint at a strange angle. Andre screamed in pain as Enjar checked the belt. It was still tight. At that moment, Andre’s backup rope snapped, causing him to jerk downwards, before Enjar’s hand caught him. Andre screamed again.

“Andre, look at me!” Enjar pulled him close to his face. “You’re attached to me, you can’t fall. I have to climb up but I can’t do that unless you stay still okay? Conserve your strength.”

The wind masked a crumbling sound, only heard at the last second by both men. The rock that Andre had used as an anchor point tilted and cracked, breaking from the cliff and tumbling towards them. Enjar and Andre both jumped sideways, their feet pushing off the cliff face as they swung clear of the falling rock. But what they couldn’t dodge was the quickly approaching cliff as they swung back towards it... fast. The thought flashed through his mind the second before he hit the wall. ‘Shit, no helmet.’

Enjar felt his right shoulder smash against the stone, before the weight of Andre followed, throwing him into the wall even more.

His head cracked against the stone and everything went black.

~~

When he awoke, the world was spinning and his head was pounding. Warm blood was pouring down his face. Enjar groaned, wiping it with his arm before looking over his shoulder. Andre seemed to have passed out. “Shit. Andre!” He called out to the man, the sound of his voice hurting his head. Shaking the limp man, he checked the tourniquet, it seems to be working, but Andre was ice cold. Probably hypothermic. Shaking him, Enjar couldn’t seem to make him wake up.

Checking himself over, Enjar was relieved to feel the headlamp still on his face. It hadn’t occurred to him that it was the reason he could still see until he felt it with his hand. The wind was less strong, but still whipping around them, chilling him to the bone. With a shiver, he glanced down to the bottom of the cliff, noticing the jagged rocks and swirling ocean below. “And it was such a nice summer afternoon.” He mumbled, looking up again.

They weren’t too far from the top, Enjar could probably carry them to the top. That was when he saw the rope sag and begin to fray. “Shit.” The wind had been swinging them against the sharp rocks… His rope was being sliced to bits by the sharp rocks above.

Desperately grabbing at the smooth cliff face, Enjar’s fingers found purchase on a small rut. He gripped it, pulling himself up and feeling for something else to grab. Working his way up the cliff, he grew nearer and nearer to the top, but as the rope seemed to be getting weaker and weaker, he was too. His hurt shoulder was screaming in pain with every movement.

They were so close to the top and Enjar felt his muscles burn as he reached up for another grip. His arms felt like jelly as they shook, trying to grip onto something. His fingers curled around a small knob and he pulled up again, feeling the muscles under his arms strain. His legs burned as he barely managed to push up.

“Just a few more to go…” He gasped, reaching for another grip. The wind buffeted them as Andre suddenly jerked awake. He immediately began to thrash in panic as he tried to figure out where he was. “Hey!” Enjar barked, causing him to look up. “You’re okay, I’m climbing up, just stay still.” Andre shook. ‘Best not tell him about our… predicament…’ Enjar thought as he grunted, pulling himself up the wall again. After a few seconds, he looked up, panting. They were so, so close. Glancing at the rope, he grimaced. They could make it. They had to…

Enjar’s fingers closed around the top of the cliff as his feet searched for anything to push off of. He had grabbed the rock with his bad arm, his shoulder aching as the rocks sliced at his skin with every movement. He tried, couldn’tfind the strength to pull himself and Andre up. Eyeing the tantalisingly slowly fraying rope, he grunted in pain.

He tried to push against the wall but his feet slipped, the sudden movement causing the rope to finally break, the excess length dropping into the dark below them. Somehow, with all the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Enjar managed to get a grip on a rock, holding them up as the rope gave out. He cried out in pain as Andre went stiff with fear, before murmuring into the wind, something Enjar could barely hear. “It snapped didn’t it. We’re going to die…”

“Not if I have anything to do with it!” Enjar grunted, barely able to speak and grip onto the rock, his shoulder shaking as it threatened to break too. His other hand managed reach up and grip the grass as they hung from the edge, his fingers slowly slipping from the rock. His shoulder ached as it threatened to tear from the weight it was holding.

Enjar’s eyes grew wide as something cold and wet slid around his wrists, giving him a slight tug. With a sudden surge of energy, he kicked and managed to pull himself up a little. His fingers brushed the rope that was still attached to the tree and he grasped it tight, wrapping it around his hand and pulling himself up. He crawled forwards, hoisting Andre over the edge, before he dragged them both on his hands and knees away from the edge of the cliff.

Panting, Enjar collapsed into the dirt lay there for a second, before he pushed himself up onto his weak, shaking knees. He unclipped himself from his harness before he staggered over to his car to grab the first aid kit. Returning to Andre, who was still splayed on the ground and breathing heavily, Enjar wrapped an actual tourniquet around Andre's arm, pulling it tight before removing the belt. As he undid it, he bit his lip, the belt had come a little loose in the climb.

Andre gasped in pain as he sat up, looking at his arm. He compared it to his undamaged one and then began to cry. “Will I loose it?” He asked through sobs as the wind picked up again. Enjar shook his head, “I don’t know…” He stopped suddenly as Andre wrapped his good arm around Enjar’s body, sobbing into his shoulder. “Th-th-ank you…” He babbled as Enjar grimaced, tensing up. His shoulder hurt so much, now the adrenaline was no longer able to mask it.

Securing Andre’s arm in a sling, Enjar packed up the first aid kit and took it back to his car. He could barely stand at this point, his energy and strength all but drained. As he closed the car door, he felt strange, like something was watching him. Turning around, he looked into the darkness, listening to the howling wind. He could have sworn he heard a slight, rusted squeak. Looking around, he spotted nothing. “Must be the adrenaline…” He mumbled, staggering back to Andre and sinking to his knees. He felt his eyes sliding shut as he fainted on the cold, wet grass.

~~

A blinding light broke into his mind as he was shaken awake. Maria, a coast guard was shining her light directly in his face. “He’s awake!” She called out, looking over to someone else. The clearing was engulfed in the lights of coast guard vehicles, people milling around them. Groaning as he sat up, he shielded his eyes, only for Maria to grab the arm he was using and wrap it over her shoulders and help him stand.

A white hot pain ripped through him.

“AH! Stop!” He cried out, collapsing to the ground. Maria frowned. She gently pulled him up by his other arm and guided him to a flashing van, sitting him in the seat as another coastguard checked him over. “What happened to you two? That guy was completely mangled and you...” Maria asked, looking at him in concern.

“I managed to get us both up before my rope snapped…” Enjar whispered through heaving breaths, as let his head fall back against the car seat. A coast guard came over and prodded his shoulder, causing him to wince. “I don’t like that. You need an X-ray.” He mumbled to Enjar, who tensed up. “Come on, I know what you’re like. I’m driving you in.”

The guard slid a sling around Enajar’s arm and clicked the seatbelt in before he could find the energy to protest. The door slammed shut as he lay back against the seat, feeling drained. Maria sat in the back with him and kept patching him up on the drive in, checking his head would before cleaning it with a damp wad of gauze. During the drive , Enjar felt his eyes begin to slide shut and before long, he was slumped against Maria’s shoulder, fast asleep. He awoke to a sharp jolt and the sound of the car’s breaks screeching as they were thrown forward.

“Shit. Idiot!” The driver yelled as Enjar and Maria glanced out the windscreen. The wind howled as they both leaned forward, looking puzzled at what was in front of them.

Inches from the hood of the car, a man in a thick, soaked, leather coat stood, holding an old fashioned storm lantern aloft. His skin was a washed out grey, and he almost glowed in the reflection of the headlights. His long, dripping beard didn’t seem to blow in the howling wind as his piercing eyes stared at the occupants of the vehicle for a moment, before he nodded once and walked off into the dark.

“Damn hunters walking around at night in black. What, does he want to get hit?” The driver complained. "Weird, it hasn't rained, why was he so wet?" Maria mumbled as they drove off.

Enjar glanced around and watched the light bobbing in the distance, before it seemed to stop, near where the cliff edge would be and blink out… he knew why…

That was no hunter.

~masterlist~

[ruvviks]

idk what emojis have or havent been sent anymore so if there are any you REEAAALLLYY wanna answer for either of your guys here is your opportunity hehe [:

oc asks!

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

heavenly likes keeping a journal! he writes in it a lot and also keeps several notebooks full of vampire encounters and any new information he can gather on them. he enjoys making list and gathering data and this is a very nice and organized way of keeping his brain busy in quieter moments. he also likes to code in his free time, building websites and online games and stuff! also enjoys drawing a lot but he sucks ass at it but he doesn't care, he's still having fun with it

🩸 DROP OF BLOOD — what is your oc's blood type?

heavenly's blood type is AB- :^) it's a rare blood type in the united states which makes his blood very attractive to a lot of vamps which is kind of a bummer for them since heavenly is one of the best vampire hunters in the united states. but also he likes getting his blood sucked so if the vampires would just ask him nicely instead of attacking him they would have a much better shot at getting a taste of that

💤 SLEEPING SIGN — is your oc a light sleeper or a heavy sleeper? how are their sleeping habits?

heavenly is a pretty light sleeper but can very easily fall right back asleep when he's been woken up by something. he tends to sleep throughout most of the morning, wakes up for some lunch/dinner type meal, goes back to bed to take a nap and then spends most of the night up and moving either on a job or running errands and such. sometimes a job will take him into the early morning hours and then he tends to stay up to get some breakfast, and then he will sleep from late morning to early evening instead

🚫 PROHIBITED — does your oc drink/smoke? do they do it regularly, or is it more on occasion or for special events?

heavenly drinks a lot more than he probably should but doesn't smoke because it makes him nauseous. he doesn't like beer or wine so he never touches any of that but he likes cocktails a lot :^) or a good old cola and rum or some other mixed drink. he rarely drinks strong liquors straight from the bottle but if he had to pick something it would be vodka to give his brain a reset

🍝 SPAGHETTI — what is/are your oc's favorite food(s)?

heavenly loves a good stir fry or some really good pasta. adds entirely too much cheese and garlic on almost everything he eats. absolutely addicted to garlic bread. would probably put hot sauce on most things as well and also loves tossing pineapple through meals. he's got interesting eating habits but it's essentially all his comfort foods mixed into one and it fucks severely every single time

🤒 FACE WITH THERMOMETER — does your oc get sick easily?

heavenly gets sick pretty regularly but usually nothing more than a common cold and he gets over it pretty fast as well. it's mostly due to him being outside a lot especially at night and he's not always properly dressed for the occasion because he never checks the weather forecast

💍 RING — does your oc have any piercings? do they want any (more) piercings?

isaac has an earring in his left ear! he rarely wears it anymore but will occasionally put it in again for special occasions :^) he hasn't actively thought about getting more piercings but if he would think about it he would spin around the idea of getting his nipples pierced for entirely too long. baby girl you are a priest

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

isaac has asthma, recurring sciatica in his right leg, and autism. he had hoped being a vampire would fix the first two problems but it has not :/ he's got medication for his asthma but never sees a doctor for the sciatica because it goes away on its own most of the time anyway. the autism is undiagnosed and i don't think he would be aware of it himself either but it's there alright trust me

🐶 DOG FACE — does your oc have any pets?

isaac does not have a pet right now but i'm planning on giving him a cat during the story events :^) cats usually don't mix well with vampires but this is a very brave little kitty who will not leave isaac alone so he has no choice but to adopt it

💙 BLUE HEART — does your oc have any cool/special powers and/or abilities? how are they with magic, if it exists in their world?

i still don't have a name for isaac's bloodline but his bloodline has a couple of traits that make it unique. for starters, they're the most dangerous bloodline when feral because of their speed and how many victims they leave behind. their eyes go white entirely when they're feral which has something to do with their eyes adjusting to their surroundings so they can target victims easier. while they cannot transform into a bat or any other animal for that matter, they ARE capable of flight and also possess slight telekinetic powers :^)