#Mens American Flag Tank Top

[noisycowboyglitter]

Cat & Witch Riding a Broomstick: Iconic Duos in Halloween Lore

Cat & Witch Riding A Broomstick is a classic Halloween image that combines two iconic symbols of the spooky season. This whimsical scene depicts a witch soaring through the night sky on her magical broomstick, accompanied by her faithful feline companion.

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The witch is typically portrayed wearing a pointed hat, flowing robes, and a mischievous grin. Her cat, often black to symbolize mystery and magic, perches precariously yet confidently on the broomstick. Sometimes the cat sits in front of the witch, while in other depictions it clings to the back of the broom or even rides on the witch's shoulder.

This image captures the essence of Halloween magic and adventure. It evokes a sense of freedom and rebellion against the laws of nature, as the pair defies gravity and conventional transportation methods. The silhouette of the witch and cat against a full moon or starry sky has become an enduring symbol of Halloween festivities.

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The Cat & Witch Riding A Broomstick motif appears on various Halloween decorations, from window decals and garden flags to costumes and cake toppers. It's a versatile image that can be rendered in styles ranging from cute and cartoonish to eerie and gothic, appealing to both children and adults alike.

An American Flag Halloween Tank Top offers a unique fusion of patriotic spirit and spooky season flair. This distinctive garment typically features the iconic stars and stripes of the American flag reimagined with a Halloween twist.

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The design might incorporate traditional Halloween elements such as pumpkins, bats, or ghosts cleverly integrated into the flag's pattern. For instance, the stars could be replaced with tiny jack-o'-lanterns, or the stripes might transition into a silhouette of a haunted house.

Made from lightweight, breathable fabric, this tank top is perfect for warmer climate Halloween celebrations or as a layer under costumes. It's an ideal choice for those who want to showcase both their American pride and their love for Halloween.

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This versatile piece allows wearers to embrace the holiday spirit while maintaining a patriotic edge, suitable for various October events from casual parties to themed runs.

[wardenparker]

American as Apple Pie

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12k Warnings: Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mention of shooting/guns but the context is carnival games, cheesy flirting, Jack being Jack. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex. Summary: Going to a Fourth of July party with your girlfriends turns out to be an unexpected whirlwind. Notes: It wouldn't be a holiday without a little fic to celebrate. Independence Day seemed best acknowledged with a heavy dose of Jack's good natured charm. 🎆🎇💗🤍💙

The Statesman Fourth of July celebration in Louisville, Kentucky is one of the biggest and loudest in the area. It was an excuse to drape everything in red, white and blue, perfect your Uncle Sam costume, and play Lee Greenwood’s ‘Proud to be an American’ on repeat. There is a special whiskey barrel that is opened every year since its founding in 1919. Huge grills are rolled out to cook hamburger and hotdogs by the thousands as it’s an open party for everyone. Ending in a spectacular fireworks show that lights up the sky.

Some friends wanted to go. Girls from the office who were looking for a more festive holiday celebration than watching their siblings' kids play in the pool and playing cornhole while their aunts bitched about grocery prices. Not having anything better to do, you had thrown on the only red, white, and blue clothes you had in your closet and punctuated the look with red lipstick just for fun. Maybe you'll have one too many and flirt with a cowboy. That wouldn't be too bad.

The bolero he normally wears around his neck with the button down and sports coat had been traded for an open collared shirt, a print of U.S flags on them. His normally painted on jeans exchanged for white shorts and cowboy boots changed out with boat shoes. Still, the black Stetson is firmly on his head, although the mustache was still impeccably groomed and no one would mistake him for anything but a cowboy as he drinks from a long neck bottle to beat the mid afternoon heat.

The music filtering through speakers all over the Statesman Distillery property is obviously country, but the actual number of Stetsons in the sea of guests is staggering even to a Louisville resident. It's that time of the year, you suppose, making your way toward one of the many drink carts with your friends as you scope out the crowd.

“Weeeeeellllll, holy shit.” Tequila whistles, twisting his neck as he looks over at the margarita cart, smirking at the choice of drink. “Get a good look at the shorts on those legs.” He nods, making Jack follow his gaze to the group of women who obviously just arrived.

"God bless the USA." Rum pronounces solemnly, only lifting his Stetson from his head to place it over his heart in salute to the group of four ladies in the tiniest shorts he's ever seen that are now getting their drinks.

“Goddamn I love the summer.” Jack whistles, winking at the one in the red top when she looks over at them. “Happy fourth ladies!” He calls out, lifting his beer towards them.

"Happy Fourth!" You call back, raising the frozen margarita you've just been served in their direction as you friends giggle mercilessly around you. The three men who are not bothering to censor their ogling are dressed in some of the worst outfits here. Tiny white booty shorts on one, a stars and stripes Kiss the Cook apron on the tallest, and the third wearing neon red shorts and a muscle tank depicting a bald eagle wearing sunglasses that says You Free Tonight? underneath.

"Rocks Paper Scissors for the tall one?" You friend Madi proposes to the group, eyeing the youngest and buffest of the men like he's the snack she didn't know she was craving.

“No, you can have him.” Tina snorts. “I’ve got my eye on the one with the eagle on his shirt.” She admits, drooling herself at the virile display of man, who can also enjoy themselves.

“Have fun,” you snort, shaking your head and focusing on your drink. “I came here to drink and to line dance very poorly, not to get picked up.”

“Why can’t we have it all?” Madi asks, giggling when the one in the apron motions the group over when no one has looked away.

“I’m not sure white shorts is the guy to break my dry spell,” you mumble to them with an amused grin as the four of you strut over to the men who were watching you. “And you two already called dibs on the others.”

“If you don’t want him, I’ll ride his mustache.” Sandra snorts, smirking slightly at the group of men. “I’m sure my fiancé wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure.” Tina giggles. “We’ll just call Brad up and let him know you’ll be late for dinner because you found a cowboy at a party.”

“He’ll understand.” All of you laugh, knowing that he definitely would not understand. He loved her completely and was lucky enough that she was just as crazy about him. Their wedding is only three months away.

“Ladies.” Kiss the Cook tips his hat gallantly and lets his eyes sweep over every single one of you. “A very happy Independence Day to you beauties.”

All three men clock the ring on the statuesque brunette’s hand and immediately understands that she is off limits. The other two tip their hats as well and Jack grins. “Can we offer you something to eat?”

There is a split second before you look over to fully take in the third man of the group that you’re apparently now hanging out with, and instantly regret the snap judgement made from yards away just a minute or two before. He’s only smaller by comparison, broad shoulders and a strikingly cut jaw accented by the aviator sunglasses he’s wearing and leading down to biceps as thick as his neck and hands that — fuck, if you’d seen his hands beforehand you wouldn’t have said a damn thing, he makes that beer bottle look like a doll accessory. “Ah—We—um, sure,” you manage to blurt out, nodding self-consciously and absolutely aware that your friends are never going to let you live down getting flustered in front of the cowboy.

Madi grins at the way you are suddenly tripping over yourself to accept the offer of a burger. “If we’re gonna eat, maybe we can know who is offering us a plate?” She asks, smiling flirtatiously at the taller man holding the spatula. The three men chuckle. “We go by our work nicknames.” Jack offers, pointing at Rum to start. “Ryan, also known as Rum. Because he can get any party started.” He introduces him with a grin. “Next, we have our ‘kiss the cook’, Luke, who we call Tequila. He thinks he can make clothes come off.” Tequila rolls his eyes and shoves Jack slightly as the older man tips his hat towards you girls. “And I’m Jack, otherwise known as Whiskey.” Tina grins. “Why do they call you that?” She asks, making Jack chuckle. “Because I go down as smooth as the finest whiskey.” He boasts, tipping his aviators down so his eyes find you again and he shoots you a confident wink.

“So you work here then, I assume?” Guys who work for a distillery having boozy nicknames it’s so far off base, but Jack’s declaration that he ‘goes down like the finest whiskey’ has you thinking mustache ride thoughts all over again and if you could do it you might just slap yourself for something so obvious. On the other hand? No man should be able to make a wink look as smooth as he just did.

“Only if you want us to.” Rum smirks at Tina and tips his hat back slightly. “Otherwise we can be whatever you want. Spies, cowboys, hell, maybe all three.” Tequila huffs a cough and slaps Rum on the back. “Are you ladies burger or hot dog kind of women?” He asks, changing the subject.

“I think there’s a rule that you have to have a hot dog on the Fourth of July, isn’t there?” Tina replies, batting her eyelashes pointedly.

“Absolutely.” Tequila agrees. “Now the question is-“ he points the tongs at all of you seriously. “Are you a chili cheese dog person or a peppers and onions person?”

The question sparks a full culinary debate, as Tina insists only mustard is necessary, Sandra and Madi are fans of peppers and onions any way they can get them, and you just shrug over it all because there's no point in trying to be dainty with a hot dog. A chili cheese dog is the only way to go.

Jack chuckles as the girls are chattering, except the one in the red. “You are awful quiet, sugar.” He comments. “Not choosy?”

"Very choosy," you tell him, laughing a little about how involved your friends are getting in this debate with the other two guys. "Chili cheese dog every time. But my friends like to pretend that it's possible to be dainty while eating a hot dog. I'd rather enjoy something delicious."

Jack grins at your answer and points a finger up to tip his hat back on his head. “No, you just gotta jump in and devour it.” He hums, his smirk slightly dirty.

"Whoever put you three in one place today is a menace," you inform him with a deeper, rounder laugh. "But I totally agree. The only way is to jump in."

Jack chuckles, leaning in a little closer to you. “Not true.” He coos. “We were brought together for a good time.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

It can be both," you concede, getting a whiff of an expensive, musky cologne under the grill and sunscreen smell that hangs all around this booth.

“Well then.” Jack snorts, tapping his bottle against your margarita glass. “To being a menace.” He offers with a smirk.

"Here." A long sip of your drink hides a flustered grin, but you don't mind having run into someone this charming and handsome right off the bat. You and your friends will wander away in due time, and they'll become a fun anecdote for the office, and probably material for the spank bank of each and every member of your group as well.

“So what made you decide to join our little celebration?” Jack asks without any sense of irony despite the bash being massive. There are bounce houses and carnival style game booths set up. Along with all kinds of food and drink.

"Girls' day out." Ordinarily you might feel bad for Sandra, being slightly singled out while the other three of you are being shamelessly flirted with, but she's chatting with Kiss the Cook as well and having a grand time. "When your day is office, home, and back again, sometimes a party is just what you need."

“Oh I understand.” He promises, even if his work is not as traditionally boring all the time, there are plenty of days that the paperwork tedium gets to him.

"Your days are probably a lot more fun than ours." Without knowing that you're reading his thoughts, you just decide to make conversation and enjoy whatever comes from it.

“Some days. Others it’s slower than molasses dripping off a spoon.” He likes the fact that you aren’t just flirting, there’s interesting conversation blooming. “Although I’m enjoying right now.”

"This must be one of the more fun workdays each year." Why wouldn't it be? There are half-dressed women all over the places, and whatever the orientation of these three might be, they're all definitely interested in women. You sip your drink again and find that your head tilts slightly in his direction instinctively. "We're not going to get you in trouble, are we?"

“Nah.” Jack waves away your concern, secretly touched that you would be worried about that. “Well just call this….public relations.” He teases, winking at you again. “How does that sound, sugar?”

"Like you should be a politician," you snort, but honestly you don't mind. It's been a while since you just flirted for the hell of it and it's fun.

Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Sugar, you are breaking my heart.” He groans. “I would never want to be lumped in with those lyin’, thievin’ scumbags.” He shakes his head and puts his beer down to lay his hand over his heart. “I’m a patriot.”

Somehow that only makes you laugh more, and when you meet his eyes again it's with warm cheeks and a bright smile. "My apologies," you hum, tipping your margarita in his direction again like a salute. "We'll stick to drinking and flirting. No filibusters today."

“Now hold on….” Jack leans closer and chuckles. “Depends on what kind of filibuster we are talkin’ about.” He drawls. “Some of them can be a good time.” His eyes slide up and down your body suggestively.

Raising one eyebrow at him, sip your sour-sweet vacations through the bright pink straw and smirk. “You want to have a prolonged speech that stalls all activity about my body? Seems counterintuitive, cowboy.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand darlin’.” He leans in even closer. “We ain’t talkin’ during my filibuster, we’re just prolonging the main event.” He explains.

One second your head is tiled and the next second you're clamping your mouth shut on a bitten lip. He's just gone from casually flirting to casually painting a mental image that will last you weeks. "You're pretty sure of yourself, cowboy," you hum when you remember how to speak again.

“Have to be.” He admits, truth more than cockiness in his words. “You don’t have to accept, but….” He smirks. “You could always consider it your patriotic booty.” His pun is horrible and he knows it, but he uses it proudly. With the same confidence he wears his Fourth of July outfit.

You snort before you can stop yourself, shaking your head at him as you wave off the laugh as good natured. "That's awful." The play on 'patriotic duty' is absurd, but somehow he manages to make it circle back to charming in a way that is fairly impressive. From most guys it would just sound cheesy or plain bad.

“It is, isn’t it?” He agrees with a grin. “Really awful.” He reaches for his beer again and finishes it in one long swallow.

"Worst line I've heard in a very long time." Even though you're agreeing, you chuckle and shake your head. Why the hell not? When was the last time you just cut loose and had some fun? Can you even remember? "It's...not a no, though."

“Hmmmm.” He lifts a brow and smirks at you again as he reaches into the cooler next to him for another beer. “Well then, I better make sure that you are fed, sugar.” He tells you. “‘Cause you might be in for a hell of a night.”

"You promise a girl a hell of a lot." But for some reason you don't think he's lying, or even exaggerating that much. Maybe it's wishful thinking, you can't tell, but Jack fixes up your hot dog with flare and hands it over just as you finish your margarita.

He takes your empty glass and chuckles. “Would you like another frosty margarita? Or perhaps the blackberry old fashions that are being made?” He asks, pointing to another stand just a few feet away, featuring the ‘87 single barrel that Jack loves.

"I think I have to have whiskey this time, don't I?" Given his nickname, it would almost seem rude not to. Especially when you've decided to encourage him. At least you've been polite enough not to let your eyes wander down and inspect those tiny little shorts he has on.

“Right away.” Jack gives you a two fingered salute before he spins on his heel and hurries towards the booth to collect you the best blackberry old fashion you’ve ever had.

Sandra scrambles over during the momentary pause, searching your face for anything besides the focused attention you're paying to the cowboy's ass as he walks away. "Are we rescuing or retreating?" She murmurs, hot dog in hand but ready to bounce in a heartbeat if you need it. "Actually?" Glancing up at her, you offer a sideways grin of defeat. "I think I'm gonna hang out a while. Hot-but-cheesy cowboy kinda got to me. I wanna see how this plays out."

“Really?” Her brow shoots up and she grins at you. “Takin’ that mustache for a ride?” She teases. “I’m jealous. He’s got a fantastic one.”

"I'll tell Brad to grow one before the wedding," you tease, barely managing not to snort again with laughter as Jack heads back your way.

“Ladies.” Jack smiles with a charming aplomb as he hands you the old fashion he had made for you, and offers Sandra the one he had gotten for himself.

"Oh, I'm alright." Sandra insists, smiling her thanks but not taking the drinks. "Designated driver. I had my one and now I'm set for the day." That smile flashes over at you, and she squeezes your hip gently but encouragingly. "I think we're going to wander. You want to come?"

It's a clear chance to break away if you have suddenly changed your mind and you want to, but you shake your head and lean over to kiss your friend's cheek. "I'll catch up with you guys later," you tell her, though at present you aren't actually sure if you will or not.

“I’ll keep her entertained.” Jack promises when your friend’s eyes turn towards him and he can read a slight warning in them. “And return her to you when she’s bored with me.” He adds.

“You have our numbers,” Sandra reminds you. “One text and we come running.” She blows you a kiss before stepping away, satisfied that Jack will at least be respectful as well as pretty, and that’s worth its weight in gold.

“You don’t have to stay.” Jack hums. “But I’ll make sure you don’t regret it if you do.”

"Promises, promises," you sing song, but rather than letting the moment get heavy you take a first bite of your hot dog and groan happily.

He chuckles and lets you enjoy the hotdog, admiring the way you save a dollop of mustard before it escapes and takes a sip of his drink. “After you eat, are you wanting to dance or maybe play a few games?”

"Either." Pleased with the idea that he might put a little more work into this than just fucking you and having a nap after, you end up smirking a little before the last bite of your food. "Both?"

“Done.” He agrees easily, holding out a napkin for you like a gentlemen. Other agents have taken over the grills because Tequila and Rum have magically disappeared with your friends. “Games first, let your hotdog settle.”

Gone in mere minutes, you make sure you haven't smeared your mouth with mustard or chili before picking up the drink he brought you and motioning ahead of you toward the rest of the fair. "Lead the way, cowboy."

The first booth is one that all the agents have been warned to throw. It’s the shooting gallery. He grins as he cocks his head to the side. “Whatcha think?”

"I can't say I'm much with a gun. Besides maybe a Super Soaker." The big plushies and toys behind the counter look just as inviting as they're supposed to, though, and you shrug. "But what the hell. Think you can give me a few pointers?"

“Let’s see how you do and maybe I’ll help you win a prize?” Despite the warning, Champ won’t be too mad if he shows off just a little. Especially since all the prizes have been paid for by Statesman already, leaving the game free to play.

"I have a feeling I'm about to embarrass myself for your amusement." Despite that, you laugh and take your place at the booth. The moving targets are fairly standard — bright yellow duck-like figures that do not resemble the actual animals but look more like rubber duckies that will fall over on the track when shot. "Here goes nothing," you decide, figuring that if you get even two you'll be extremely proud of yourself.

Jack uses this to his advantage and presses close behind you, holding your elbow up. “Steady.” He murmurs in your ear.

"Hell of a thing to say to a girl when you're that close," you mumble, but the smirk in your voice is obvious.

“I can always say more.” He teases playfully, nudging your arm up slightly. “Be a good girl and take a deep breath.”

It's almost frustrating how well that works on you, making you inhale sharply and shallowly at the words and completely giving yourself away before you can follow the direction and inhale slowly like he's told you to.

You miss, but it was actually closer than Jack had figured the first shot would be. “Good job!” He praises, reaching for your hips and shifting your core slightly, brining you back against him more. “Try again, sugar.”

Whatever the cologne is he's wearing, it reminds you of a campfire in the middle of a forest and that might be fogging your mind more than helping you concentrate. Again, you inhale deeply and squeeze the triggering, putting far more work into this silly shooting game than you need to but finding that you actually clip one of the targets this time and manage to almost knock it over.

“Almost got it.” Jack hums in approval. “Let’s see you knock that same one down.”

Utter concentration isn't possible with him pressed up against you, but you breathe again and call yourself to order, managing to breathe and aim and drop your elbow and all of those other things in just the right harmony to actually knock over one of the targets on the next try. It's not enough to get you a prize, but it's enough to have you doing a little wiggled dance of celebration that all the effort paid off.

Jack chuckles, happy with your achievement. “Good job, sugar.” He praises. “You did a good job.”

"Not bad for an accountant," you joke, turning a little to beam at him.

“Not too bad at all.” He winks, nodding to the game handler as they set the target back up. “Now I want you to pick out which prize you want.” He tells you, taking the gun from your hand.

"Cocky." You smirk at him but glance back at the booth and consider the options hanging from the top of the booth. Right in front, there is a white teddy bear with blue and red stars wearing a Statesman t-shirt. "How about that one right there?"

Jack hums in approval and looks towards the attendant. “Ten shots in a row.” The kid, who can’t be more than seventeen explains. “Knock all ten down and you win the prize.”

There's no way he'll do it, but you step far enough away to give him room and wave one hand toward the little metal duckies. "Show off for me, cowboy."

Jack settles his hat more firmly on his head and since it’s ten shots, he picks up another gun to have one in each hand. “Oh I will.” He promises as he sends both weapons twirling around his trigger fingers in a smooth gun trick.

Despite literally asking him to show off, your eyes still widen with the trick and you're left half-giggling and half-staring as he knocks down every single target with grace and seemingly no effort at all.

The targets are easy and Jack might have been showing off just a tad by alternating shots with both hands, making sure that you know he’s just as accurate with both hands. The targets are down and he turns towards you with a grin. “Your prize, sugar.” He bows as the stuffed bear is handed to you.

More than a little surprised by the display that was just put on for your benefit, you choke out a laugh, thank the kid running the booth, and positively curtsy to Jack in exchange for the bow. “Alright, I admit it,” you laugh in utter surprise, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek like a fairy tale princess bestowing a token. “I’m very impressed.”

“Good.” Jack smirks slightly and looks at the bear. “I think it’s always important to impress a lady.”

“Consider us deeply impressed indeed,” you joke, holding up the bear beside you like it might have had an opinion in the matter all its own.

Jack smirks slightly. “Do you want to play some more games or dance?”

“I don’t see how we could do any better at the games.” ‘We’ here meaning him — your own performance was dismal but that hardly matters. He’s smiling at you like he wants to make you scream in the best way possible and you want to see if he moves as well on the dance floor if he claims to in bed. “Let’s go dance.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack takes the hand that is holding your drink and carries it for you. Looping his arm through yours so you can still hold your bear. “We’ll let him watch and learn.” He jokes, motioning to where other stuffed animals are resting while couples cut up the large dance floor.

“For when all the other bears decide to have a hoedown of their own?” That’s about the cutest thing you can think of — aside from him — and you grin at the idea. “I like that. Teddy Bear Hoedown is like a sequel to the Teddy Bear Picnic.”

He chuckles and you go over to the large table, setting down your bear in a particular spot. “He will be safe.” Jack promises you.

“So full of promises today.” The little coo in your voice is teasing, but maybe that’s just how he is? Reassuring and protective is not a bad combination in a man. Not at all.

“My momma always said never make promises you can’t keep.” Even with your drink in your hand after he presses it to you, Jack sweeps you up in his arms to take you out to the dance floor.

“And you always do what your momma tells you to, like a good southern gentleman.” It’s just a guess, but as he twirls you around to settle against him, cradling you in his arms so you can drink and dance while you away with the slower tempo song that’s playing, you just have to grin. “Very smooth,” you admit without a hint of begrudging in the compliment.

“Sugar, all my moves are smooth.” Jack boast, smirking as he gently glides around the floor with you, taking special care not to jostle your drink. The next song will be faster, but right now, the breathless couples are resting slightly with the bluesy sounds of Patsy Cline crooning to them.

“I’m starting to get that.” Not that you mind. Coming to this whole big carnival for the holiday was just for fun after all. But you glance over at Jack after taking the last sip of your drink and find your smile going a little lopsided. It isn’t the booze. He is that handsome.

He hums, his voice a little rusty as he starts to quietly sing along with the song. Only slightly off key as he serenades you with a grin on his face. One that tells you he’s well aware that he’s not the best singer, but he enjoys being a little silly.

Maybe it’s silly. Or maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s because it’s both, you start singing along with him, quietly and just a tad off key. Two silly, awkward, imperfect little people out there on the dance floor swaying in each other’s arms and singing ‘Walkin’ After Midnight’ to each other like a chest moment from a 90s romantic comedy. It’s impossible not to look at his lips at least a few times, both of you grinning when one of you flubs a lyric. And at the end of the song when he twirls you around again to land tight against his chest? The only possible place you can look are his eyes or those lips again, like a magnet pulling you in.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips, basically asking for him to kiss you. He leans in slightly right before the song changes and is incredibly peppy. A song to line dance to. “Oops.” Jack smirks.

One another day or with another man it might have annoyed or frustrated you to be more or less cockblocked by a deejay. Today? With Jack? Your answer to it all is just to snort in amusement at how pleased with himself he looks and let yourself get all swept up in the dance. It was barely an hour ago that you met him. It does no one any harm to spend a little more time together before things get frisky.

The beat is easy to dance to and despite the fact that you might not know all the steps, Jack does. “Just follow me, sugar.”

The trouble with line dancing is that if you don't know every move you end up looking like an idiot, but you nod and decide to put a little bit more trust in him for the time being. If you were about to kiss the guy, you should at least be able to do that, right? "I'm with you," you promise him, knowing you can keep up.

Jack files into the natural line that forms, partners slightly in front of their men and everyone starts to move together. ‘Heel, toe, dosey doe, come on baby. Let’s boot-scoot.”

Able to pick it up step by step, you follow Jack's lead for movement and watch the couple in front of you the once or twice you get confused, until you're very smoothly and easily moving through the dance with glee. It's such a simple thing but so welcome, and utterly fun to boot.

You are laughing and that is all that matters as Jack grabs your waist to pick you up and spin you around before setting you back down in time with the other couples on the floor. “Having fun?”

“Every second I possibly can,” you answer with a light, bubbling giggle. He’s a strong lead — which is wonderful in a dance partner but gives you ideas about what he could be like in bed. Not to mention how strong he is…

“Good.” Jack is almost ninety-nine percent certain that he is taking you home tonight, but he wants you to enjoy yourself.

"And I hope you are, too?" Glancing back at him as he turns you, you raise one eyebrow at him in question.

“No doubt, sugar.” Jack is a shameless flirt, but oftentimes it’s not leading to more than that. Unless it’s his mission to seduce a target. This- this is just for him and he likes that you are having fun with his corny nature. “Best damn party I’ve been to in forever.” He promises. “Company makes it good.”

“Company is what matters.” And maybe it’s the silliness of it all again, but you throw him a wink before the dance has you turning again. He seems to like a like cheese with his flirting, and frankly that just makes it more fun for you.

The song finishes up and Jack decides that he will twirl you around once more and dip you down low, just to make you giggle. People clap and he grins at you over his aviators. “Another dance, or another drink, sugar?”

“One more dance?” He’s far too much fun like this, with moves even you have to admit he can be proud of, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to give that fun up just yet. Besides which…it might be a bit embarrassing for the guy whose nickname is Whiskey to find out you’re a bit of a lightweight.

He waggles his brows when the song turns to another slow one, meant to press bodies together. “Never turn down a chance to hold a beautiful woman close.” He promises as he tugs you in.

“I don’t believe you do.” It may be a small moment of teasing but the fact that he doesn’t take himself too seriously speaks volumes to you. Relaxed and confident are too things that don’t always compliment each other well — it can come off as pure arrogance whereas he’s cocky in a way that is a bit cheeky and fun. Everything about the man is over the top. “But then,” you hum, winking for good measure. “Neither do I.”

“Really?” Jack’s grin blows into a fully devilish smile and he looks around speculatively. “And which beautiful woman would you choose?” He asks with a chuckle.

For his amusement, you make a show of surveying the room even while you’re pressed tight up against him, and nudge him slightly when you spot a cute girl in the corner being talked at by some other guests she doesn’t seem to be too interested in. “Do you see the cute little redhead over there?” Your own nose points the way to him when you nod. “In the corner? She’s at a table with a blonde, but these two guys keep trying to flirt with her. I think she’s talk rather be flirting with her blonde friend.”

“Good call.” Jack snorts. “That’s Grenadine.” He explains. “She works at Statesman too.” It’s interesting that you seem to have an eye for agents.

“Does everybody get a booze related nickname?” You ask, amused at the idea of it. If you all got accounting nicknames, things would start sounding weird very fast at the office.

“Mixers count.” Jack chuckles. “It makes it easy when there’s twelve John’s working around the place.” He reasons.

"Fair enough, I guess." That does, logistically, make a bit of sense. And frames Statesman as a fairly whimsical place to work in the process. After twirling around the dance floor a little more, you hum softly to yourself and lift your head, raising one eyebrow in question. "Did you always want to work in the booze biz?" He seems silly enough to appreciate the phrasing, and you grin. "Or do you want to be something else when you grow up?"

“Just wanted to raise some hell.” Jack admits with a chuckle. “Was in the Navy for a little bit. Found out I like the freedom of the private world better.”

“Rules.” You huff dramatically, blowing a raspberry to make him laugh. “Who needs ‘em?”

Jack laughs, a full belly laugh of good humor. “Exactly.” He agrees. “Plus the pay is better.”

“There’s that too.” A nod of agreement comes on the end of your own laughter. “Distilleries pay well? I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”

“Good enough to buy corny outfits for the Fourth of July picnic.” He jokes, taking his aviators off and turning them around to perch on your nose.

“That’s what your shorts need!” You tease, cackling out loud and pushing his sunglasses a little further up your nose. “Ears of corn! The perfect symbol of Americana.”

Jack laughs again. “I’ll have to see if I can order some for next year.” He hums.

"Perfect." The grin you aim at him is almost blinding. "I guess I'll have to come back and see if you found any."

His smug smirk deepens and he waggles his brows. “Yeah?” He asks. “Maybe I’ll have to model them for you.” He suggests. “Make sure they are cheesy enough. Rum talked me out of my Daisy Dukes of Freedom.”

"Oh my god..." You barely manage not to snort with laughter over that image. "Do I want to know?"

“Silkies.” He explains. “Running shorts in the military are…brief.” He hums with a grin. “I had some American Flag ones but then Rum was complaining my upper thighs were too white to wear them.”

"Your friend's objection was your lack of tan?" That only makes you laugh harder, and by the end of the song you're practically clinging to each other as you share that laughter between you. "I dunno, Jack." With your lips pursed, you correct yourself. "Whiskey." He's sure as hell smooth, so why not just use the nickname? "I think you might have to do a little tanning so you can wear them again."

“Well I left my speedo in Italy.” He chuckles. “So how do you suggest I tan?”

That opens up a whole new line of questioning, but in this moment you just flash him an even bigger grin. "Nude, hopefully."

He pretends to be shocked, mouth opened and he reaches for his chest as if he is clutching pearls. “Why I declare!” He drawls. “That is such a scandalous suggestion.” His lips curl into a smirk. “I love scandal.”

"I had a feeling you might." The song is over, your revolving has stopped, and as the next — much more upbeat — song begins, you tilt your head slightly to the edge of the dance floor. "You wanna go be scandalous, Whiskey?"

“Is that an offer?” He asks, lifting a brow and giving you a chance to change your mind. He loves to flirt and have a good time, but he wants it to be enthusiastic.

Hadn't he caught you staring at his lips maybe fifteen minutes ago? Was it really only just a few dances since then? It seemed like days spent basking in his energy and charm. Ah well. Why the fuck not? The Founding Fathers were all freaks anyway, might as well celebrate their way. "Yes."

Well, sugar…” Jack sweeps his hat off his head and holds it over his heart. “You just made my damn year.” He promises with a wink. “And I guarantee I’ll make yours.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, cowboy.” Something tells you he’s bragging with plenty of proof to back him up, but you still give him a crooked smile as you dig your phone out of your pocket. “I’m going to tell my friends not to wait for me.”

“I’ll go collect Mr. Bear for you while you do that, sugar.” He nods and sets his hat back on his head and moves away so you can text your friends privately.

Sliding open your phone, the group chat you have with your friends is full of photos, videos, and excitement shared between them during the day. You’ve been apart from them longer than you expected but they seem to be having a ball — though Rum and Tequila don’t feature in any of the photos or videos so it seems like you’re the only one who stuck with an interested fella today.

Don’t wait up for me, ladies. You type out, and send along a selfie of you wearing Jack’s aviators with him picking up your prize bear off the table in the background. Gonna save a horse by riding that cowboy.

The answers that come back are swift and all congratulating you. Teasing you about your quick change of mind.

Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all the gossip tomorrow. You write back, barely smothering a grin and you have to bite your lip to keep it at bay. I’ll send you guys a photo of his place and the address when we get there. If you never see me again, tell the cops it was the cheesy pickup lines that convinced me to go with him.

Jack watches you giggle as you put your phone away and walks back to your side with the bear. “See? Safe and sound.”

"Both of you." And something tight and gnarled in your heart seems to breathe more easily in a way you don't quite understand. It's an excitement you haven't felt in a very long time. "Lead the way," you say, accepting the bear happily when Jack deposits him in your arms.

“Did you ride with your friends, or do you want to follow me?” Jack’s Bronco is close to the party, having been here for hours bringing in coolers and helping to set up. He pauses by it and taps the side. “Give you a ride to your car if you want?”

“We all rode together, so I guess I have to beg a ride with you.” Saying it out loud makes it feel very real, but for some reason you’re not nervous. There is a tingle of anticipation and excitement but no worries.

Jack nods and opens the door to the passenger side for you. “Then let me give you the address of where we are going.”

“Thank you.” For both the door and for his understanding, you offer him a soft smile as you climb into the Bronco. So many men these days take the sensible precautions of women they’ve just met as an insult. It’s nice to not have to skirt the line and simply be upfront with him.

He smirks at you as he whips out his phone and opens it up to air drop you a location. “Nothing but details, sugar.”

“Which is the same thing the girls are gonna say to me tomorrow,” you tease, sitting back in the buttery soft seats as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Then I better make sure you got nothin’ but good things to say.” Jack chuckles.

“I guess you’d better.” And you wink, even though the promise makes you squirm slightly in your seat.

“I don’t live too far.” Jack converses as he drives, wanting to you at ease. “That way I can be in the office easily in an emergency.”

“Like oh no, the whiskey isn’t old enough yet?” You ask, confused as to what kind of emergency a distillery could possibly have.

He chuckles. “Or the storage tanks collapsed and flooded the complex in raw, unbarreled whiskey.” He counters. “Thieves. Corporate spies.” He doesn’t get into the extra security Statesman has, that would be a little much for you to understand.

“Corporate spies. Thieves. You make it sound so…” Searching for the word, you notice he never even gets on a highway to get back to his place. He’s simply driving through a suburb as ramblingly as he pleases, and then turns down a long country road. “So very much like the beginning of a self-discovery novel, where the main character is just a lowly employee who finds out their job is really just a cover for something illegal or magical.” Grinning at him, you turn in the front seat and look at him instead of the drive. “Need an accountant? The place sounds fun.”

“Never know, maybe we could.” He chuckles, knowing he would enjoy seeing you around the office more. Might actually want to sit behind his desk more often if he could expect a view like you.

“Never know,” you agree, but your attention is quickly diverted by the little white-painted farmhouse with its picket fence and big shady trees outside that he pulls up beside. “It’s so cute!” You exclaim, having expected to see him living in something huge or deeply masculine. A house you’d see on Yellowstone or picture Clint Eastwood outside.

“Thanks.” He shoots the house a proud smirk. “My great-grandaddy built the place with his own two hands.”

“I love it even more now.” Madi would point out that you’re a sucker for a family story, and she would be right.

Jack is proud of the restoration and tasteful updates that have been done to the old place, an homage to the past. “Then you’ll love it when I tell you that they are buried up on that hill.” He chuckles, pointing to a little fenced off area around a large magnolia tree.

“Being a sentimental man runs in your family. I do like that.” When he pauses in sliding out of the Bronco to open your door and raises an eyebrow at you, you fluster. “Not that I assume you might be sentimental about me,” you clarify immediately. “Just that I appreciate a man who isn’t afraid to be passionate.”

“Sugar, that is something you’ll get to witness firsthand.” He promises as he climbs out and saunters around the front to help you out.

It’s a beautiful little place he’s got, and when he helps you out of the car you can see the wrap around porch does go all the way around, and that the house has been added on to in back. Maybe the second level was an add-on as well, you can’t quite tell. But it speaks to generations of love and stubbornness to stay here and add to this old place instead of moving or building new, and you like that. Loving and stubborn isn’t a bad combination by any means.

“Do you want a drink?” Jack offers. “Water, Coke?” He doesn’t just want to ply you with alcohol, so he offers other things, even though he is walking towards the bar cart in the corner.

“You can make two of whatever you’re drinking.” Whether that’s alcoholic or not, you have a feeling you’ll be putting your glass aside in favor of paying attention to other things soon enough.

“Hmmmm.” The countertop ice maker is put to use after you tell him this and Jack adds a little flair to his movements as combines orange vodka, pineapple juice and peach schnapps into a shaker and mixes it up before straining the cold alcoholic drink into two glasses and floats some blue raspberry vodka onto the top. “Here you go sugar.” He hands it to you with a wink.

“Do you have friends called Vodka and Schnapps, too?” It’s just a light tease, but he poured and mixed and assembled the drink so deliberately that you found yourself mesmerized by his movements. “Or one with the same name as whatever this drink is?”

“There are colleagues by those names.” He admits with a grin and takes a sip of his drink and groans in approval. “But this one was made just for you.” He hum. “I call this ‘Lick Her Right’.”

“Shit, Jack.” You end up smothering flustered giggles as you have your head at him and try a sip of the fruity sweet cocktail. It’s every bit as delicious as you expected and doesn’t taste a thing like alcohol — which probably means it’s the strongest drink you’ve had all day.

He chuckles at your cute little giggle. “Sweet with just a touch of twang,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you and leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek next to your ear. “Just like the best pussy.” He murmurs in your ear. “Like I’m betting your pussy tastes.”

“Need you to do one thing for me before I let you find out,” you murmur, finding that just as you expected you’ve only had a few sips of the drink before something much more enticing has been presented to you.

“And what’s that, sugar?” Right now, he will offer you the moon. Give you whatever he needs to be able to strip off those tiny shorts of yours and drape your legs over his shoulders for a private Independence Day celebration.

“You’re gonna need to kiss me, cowboy.”

He laughs, tossing his head back and reaching up to take off his hat. “Much obliged to, sugar.” He promises before he swoops in for a kiss, his tongue still cold and fruity from the cocktail as he slides it into your mouth.

He’s playful and enthusiastic, two things you all but demand from a lover, and your arms slide around each other with greedy intensity as the rest of the room goes blank around you.

Jack’s drink is all but forgotten when he sets it on the table and pulls you closer, letting your body press against his as he plunders your mouth and groans in happiness that you accepted his invitation to come back to his place.

The half-wall behind you becomes the perfect thing to lean back against as Jack presses in, holding you as close as he is holding the last shred of decency you’ve got as you plunder each other’s mouths eagerly. You’re damn lucky your glasses didn’t get so thoroughly tossed aside that they fell over and stained his rug, but right now all you care about is chasing that sticky sweet taste from each other’s tongues.

His hands slide under your tiny little tank top, fingers pinching the back of your bra strap and unhooking it with one hand while the other slides under the cup to posses one breast. Keeping his tongue tangled with yours as he moans at the soft fullness of it, the hard nipple against his palm.

It's so smooth you might have barely noticed the movement at all, except his hands are hot and callused and the touch of them on your skin makes you moan into the messy kiss with enthusiasm. Nothing but the perfect heat and heaviness of him can penetrate your mind at this point — and that includes the heaviness growing hard in his own shorts as you both do your best to stay as pressed against the other's body as possible.

Jack presses his cock against your tiny shorts, grinding into you as he paws and plucks at your tit, pulling the most beautiful sounds from your throat as he slides his other hand to your neglected breast to give it the same treatment.

Pressed between Jack and the wall, your own hands wander freely. Mapping his body from broad shoulders down to slim waist, there is no hesitation there when you slide one hand into the back pocket of his shorts and pull him forward, inviting him to grind into you just as much as he likes as he swallows your moans.

There’s nothing wrong with a little over the clothing humping in Jack’s mind. Grinding against you and squeezing your tits as he kisses you is just the warm up for the night, although it feels pretty fucking good as you pull him closer.

The world has gone the most gorgeous shade of blank, narrowing down to just Jack, and when you finally can’t breathe in any more of him and have to break the kiss for air, the matching groans you let out are sweeter than any other sound.

You’re gorgeously giving and soft. Yielding to him. He reluctantly releases one breast and pulls back just a bare two inches to slide his hand between to you pop the button open on your shorts. His hand immediately sliding inside to delve into your panties.

“Fucking—” The rest of the curse, whatever it is, gets swallowed up by your moan as his thick fingers make quick work of finding your slick and swollen clit to draw circles around it that have you seeing double.

You’re wet and nothing is sexier to Jack than a wet pussy on an eager woman. He groans into your mouth. “Already so wet.” He rasps. “Want to see how much wetter you can get.”

“Before I dehydrate?” You huff, growling into a kiss with ferocity and angling your hips to try to get him to slide his fingers inside you. Not that it’s been very long at all since he first kissed you, but you’re on fire with wanting him and have been for hours. “Or before you finally fuck me?”

He chuckles into your mouth and bites at your lower lip. “Both?” He teases, rubbing your clit again before he finally gives you what you want and slowly sinks two fingers into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Shaking as he twists his wrist and presses the heel of his palm against your clit, you’re even more pinned against the wall behind you than you were a second ago. Far from finding it confining, your fingers dig into Jack’s broad shoulders with enthusiasm as you cling to him in that moment.

“That’s it.” He groans, feeling your walls pulse around his fingers and he hums in approval. “You’re little pussy likes my fingers.” He coos. “Why don’t you cum on them for me?”

If you could ever cum on command, it would probably be right now. It would be for the pair of thick fingers curled so perfectly inside your cunt every time he pumps them inside you that your vision whites out a little at the edges. It would be for the man who makes you simultaneously tense and limp with need. As it is, your toes are curling in your sneakers and you're about damn ready to flood his hand any second while the only sound you can make as an incoherent moan.

“Sugar, sugar, sugar.” He groans. “You’re so close.” He continues to finger you, loving how your eyes are rolling back. “Just let go and give it to me.” He begs. “I want to strip you down and eat your pussy, but I can’t until you cum for me.”

The absolute whimper of frustration on your lips and hearing what's coming next mighty really be what does it. What has you moaning his name into the warm evening air and holding onto him so tightly that your fingernails leave neat little half-moon shapes at the base of his skull. When you cum it's full force, with shaking legs and an arching back, and all you can think — when you eventually get your thoughts back after the fireworks subside in all your nerves — is how fucking glad you are that you took a chance on going home with this man.

Jack loves to see a woman cum. Always beautiful and you are no exception. The hollow of your throat is the perfect place to moan his praise, the white shorts he’s wearing becoming damp and showing it as he leaks pre-cum into the material. His fingers are soaked and making the most obscene sounds as he pumps them into your cunt until your entire body sags against the wall and is only held upright by his pinning you there. Then he slows his wrist and ease you to a stop as you pant his name. “Good girl.” Jack rasps against your throat. “Now I want to see what kind of mess your pussy made.”

“You’re gonna have to give me a second,” you huff, giggling under your own breath and a little dizzy. If he can do that with his hand, the rest of him is going to reduce you to a puddle. “Stripping is tricky when my legs are wobbly.”

He chuckles and pulls his hand out of your shorts to grab your thighs. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” He promises, pulling you up into his arms and guiding your legs around his waist as he pulls away from the wall to carry you through the house to his bedroom.

It only encourages you, which you’re sure was his intention, you steal kisses and swoon at this strength as you carries you down a hallway. By the time he turns into his room you’ve found the spot on the long column of his throat that makes him moan when you suck on it, and the bruise you’ve left there will be sure you remind of you every time he looks in a mirror for at least the next few days.

Jack’s bed is large, inviting and it’s not as heavily masculine as you might expect. The comforter is pillowy when he lays you down and smirks as he pulls back to look at you. “Now it’ll be easy to strip you down and not worry about those legs, except for how they look on my shoulders.” He boasts.

“I think I’m past the point in my dignity where I can dispute that,” you tease, wishing he hadn’t stood up fully because now he’s too far away for you to grab.

Jack unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. Revealing the shape of his hard cock pressing through the white shorts and he grins down at you. “We will just have to have an undignified time then.”

“Deeply undignified, I hope.” You agree, letting your eyes wander down the length of his body and darken all over again at the sight of what is waiting for you.

“Is there any other kind of sex?” Jack snorts, quickly unbuttoning and stripping down his shorts to groan in relief when his cock bounces free.

If you were going to debate with him, whatever argument you had gets lost on your tongue. He's a mouthwatering sight — veiny, cut, and curved just right so you know you're not only going to have him pulsing against your g-spot later but you're going to be cross-eyed and breathless while he's at it. "Fuck I hope not," you grin, licking your lips. "At least not tonight."

He smirks proudly and kneels on the bed, shuffling closer to reach for your shorts. He drags them over your hips along with your panties while you lift your hips so he can slide them down your legs and toss them on the floor. Eager to spread your thighs and get a good look at that slick pussy.

Sure it was only five minutes ago that your legs were shaking in his living room, but when he very surely moves your ankles to open your legs wide on top of his bed, your fingers drop between your spread legs without hesitation. His eyes on your pussy have you craving touch all over again.

There’s only your shirt left and Jack hates for the material to conceal your tits from his eyes, so he slides his hands up, grabbing the hem of it to pull over your head, unable to resist dipping his head down and lapping at a hard nipple.

It was barely a scrap of a shirt and this is so much better — tits free for his attention and back arching up to meet his mouth just as eagerly as he dips his head. The cool air in his room makes your already hard nipples peak even tighter, but all you can think about is the heat of his mouth and the heaviness against your thigh. Every inch of him feels incredible and he's not even inside you yet.

He lavished attention on one, then the other before he pulls away with a pop and a grin as he starts to slink back down your body. Intentions clear as he scrapes his teeth over the top of your mound and pulls your legs up onto his shoulders to cradle his head.

"Jack..." his name is a whine from your lips as he kisses the insides of his thighs, and one of your hands fists in his hair to tug encouragingly at the short strands.

He chuckles and blows a little air on your pussy to hear you whine again, your hips jerking up to try to meet his mouth. “Now, let’s get down to the business at hand.” He intones seriously. “You’ve got a pretty pussy that is begging to be eaten.” He looks up into your eyes and winks. “And I’m just the cowboy for the job.”

He dives in like a man starved, making you feel like every single woman whose pussy he tried to eat over the years must have denied him otherwise there wouldn't be any reason to be this voracious. That first lap at your slit has you gasping sharply, eyes rolling back in your head and tugging tighter on his hair in needy, silent gratitude. You'll be lucky if you can form any words beyond his name in all this. His name and endless repetitions of 'yes' or 'fuck'. But that's all you need.

Anything that Jack sets out to do, he does with vigor and eating your pussy is no different. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling your hips up to his month as he devours you. Wanting to feel the sting of your hands pulling at his hair while his tongue carves a path through your folds.

He means to overwhelm your senses entirely and he's doing a damn good job, right down to how tightly he manages to hold you in place while he leaves no part of your soaking wet pussy untouched. Maybe at another time you might have fought of wrestled or taken some of the lead, but he's swept you away so entirely today that all of your usual sass is reduced to whimpers and moans under his attention. Probably because the attention of that long tongue of his is well worth submitting to.

He had been right, you do taste delicious. Making him even more ravenous as he explores what makes you whimper and whine his name as his tongue laps at your swollen clit.

Every time your hips twist or roll to beg for a specific kind of friction. he seems to be anticipating it. He reads the waves of your body like it's a second language, intuiting what you need and giving it to you with growls and groans of his own that vibrate through you and make you see wave after wave of stars.

His mustache is coated with your juices, his chin slick with them, and still he continues to devour you. Licking into you and pushing his tongue into your pussy like he is starved for you, his hooked nose pressed against your clit as he groans in pleasure.

It doesn’t matter how long you lay spread out like this. Or how long Jack spends devouring you like you’re his new favorite dessert. The walls could crumble down around you and you would still be begging for more.

Jack can feel your body start to tense, your thighs tightening around his head briefly and then relaxing only to do it again. He holds them loosely, wanting you to squeeze him and he rolls his tongue back up to your clit to lap at it.

The second time you cum for him isn't like being carried away on an ocean wave. Even the arch of your back is like being washed out to sea, and the roaring of your blood in your ears making you feel like you've just crashed on top of a wave in some dramatic engraving. It's like all of your senses are both being hugged tight and being blasted wide open and you're drowning in every sensation but your nerves are tingling with life as you float back down to earth in his bed.

Humming softly, the pads of his thumbs rub your inner thighs, soothing you as your breath starts to slow down. You had screamed loud enough to wake the dead. A feat that has Jack feeling mighty smug as he watches your closed eyes bounce around under your lids.

"Fucking hell," you manage, once you stop panting and have the presence of mind to push up on your elbows to be able to see him more fully.

Smirking up at you, he winks as he unfurls himself from between your thighs to rest on his knees. “How are we doing so far?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Feeling patriotic yet? Or should we really make you see fireworks?”

"I think we'd both be missing out if we gave up now." After all, you've barely done a thing for him. And if his cock feels half as good as it looks, you refuse to miss out on that.

“I have to admit, I’m dying to know what you feel like around my cock.” Jack confesses, his hand squeezing his cock and pumping it lightly.

"I think it's time for you to find out." There is a smirk curling in the corner of your mouth as you sit up, and with one hand beckon him closer. "Don't you?"

“Yes ma’am.” He hums. “Do you want to save or horse, or see if I can hold on for eight seconds?” His brow arches in question and he wonders what you will say.

“On your back, Jack.” You grin up at him, already shifting over to switch places. Even if this isn’t where you end up, you want to ride that handsome cowboy for at least a little while.

“Never say I don’t follow a lady’s orders.” Jack drawls as he lays down, tucking one hand behind his head and the other still pumping his cock languidly.

“Not if you know what’s good for you.” That smirk stays in place as you straddle his hips and lift yourself up, braced for your cunt to be so wet from his attention that he slides inside you right up to your throat.

Jack helps, holding his cock up for you line up. “Take your time, sugar.” He coos, watching you with a predatory gaze. “It takes time to make sure you are seated right.”

“Not too long.” A moan escapes your lips as you sink down, but you take him at a slow, steady pace. “I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.”

“And here I thought I couldn’t be the one to break your dry streak.” He teases, having read your lips from the margarita stand with the assistance of his glasses. He had turned off the special features before he put them on your nose earlier.

“Were you spyin’ on me earlier?” The best you can do with him halfway inside you is to raise one eyebrow as if you vaguely disapprove, but it doesn’t hold a single drop of water when you let out a shuddering little gasp and take more.

“I can read lips.” He admits with a grin. “Don’t worry, sugar, I didn’t hold it against you. Just made me want you more.”

"Now I feel like I ought to have made it harder for you," you purr, but the truth is that he'd had you from the first real smile. Not the smirks, not the intrigue of just being handsome in general. The first time Jack genuinely smiled at you, you had felt your heart beat a little faster. Now it's your pussy that's reacting to him, though, and you shift your weight to lean back and give him a long view of your whole body as you start to bounce on his cock. Whatever his reason for being interested in you, it is well worth it.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack hisses, sliding his hands up to your tits again. “You are such a pretty thing, so fucking beautiful.” He groans, admiring the view as you use him.

"View can't be as good as mine." Panting between each word is the only way to get them out, because your mind is so fuzzy all over again from how good he feels that all you can focus on is how well he fills you.

He would have to disagree, but you steal his ability to speak when you roll your hips and squeeze him tight. All he can do is groan and squeeze your tits harshly before sliding his hands down to your hips.

"Hold on, handsome." It doesn't take more than a few movements of your hips to establish a rhythm, and one that you're both thoroughly enjoying. With Jack's fingers curling insistently into your flesh, you pick up the pace and let your eyes slide shut in bliss.

Jack groans your name again and again when you fully seat him inside you. Giving you the encouragement and praise through the panted words.

It's a damn good thing that his bed isn't an antique like his house. Once you get going, with his encouragements and your own seemingly insatiable thirst for this man, it would be a damn shame to sacrifice an heirloom to your shared lust. The sheer power and force of your enthusiasm with his strength makes it feel like you're going to fuck each other into the stratosphere to begin with, there's no reason to lose furniture.

“That’s it, sugar.” Jack slaps your flank in encouragement and moans when you roll your hips down at little harder. “Fuck, you do know how to ride a man, don’t you?” He counts his lucky stars you wanted to come home with him. “Ride me hard.”

He might have been the one to make the joke about lasting the length of the ride, but you have no intention of getting bucked while you're on him. The prominent veins of his cock scrub your walls like they were made for you, bringing deeps moans and shuddering growls of his name from your lips with every bounce and rock of your body on his.

Bracing his feet on the bed, Jack tilts his hips up, changing the angle and he chokes out a sound of approval when you squeal in pleasure. “There it is.”

It's the exact angle you need to have the head of his cock battering against your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure, and right now you're prepared to swear that no one has ever managed to find the spot that perfectly before. Just like his fingers curling against it earlier, your vision whites out as your eyes slide shut again and you could swear this is what being on fire feels like as you cry his name out in that quiet little farmhouse.

When your pace stalls, Jack picks up the slack. Driving up into you while your walls convulse and you shake on top of him. Groaning out your name raspily as he works himself towards that same peak you are currently cresting.

It's so easy to fall forward, bracing yourself on his chest with both hands and letting him take over the pace. Your third orgasm ripples through you so sharply and definitively that you practically scream, but his arms are there to catch you and pin you to his chest while he races toward his own pleasure.

It only takes a few driving thrusts until his holding you tight, locking his arms around you and grinding up into you. Your name is moaned into his ear as he floods your fluttering pussy with his cum. “Fuck sugar.” He groans. “Little pussy is milking my cock like a dream.”

"I'm afraid..." You're both panting, and you rest your forehead on his rising chest for a beat and giggle to yourself. The flow of endorphins is making you feel so light you could fly. "I've been neglecting her. She was hungry."

“Pussy like that needs to be seen to frequently.” Jack chuckles breathlessly and strokes your back as the sweat clinging to your bodies starts to dry and cool. “I’ll be happy to make sure that happens.”

"Oh yeah?" In the bliss of the moment, when you pull back to look him in the eye, it's like you're seeing a completely different side of the needy and addictive man who was pushing you up against a wall a mere hour ago. This Jack is soft at the edges, boyish and gleeful, not to mention beautifully relaxed as he cradles your body against him. "Thinkin' about asking me out, cowboy?"

“Considering it.” He admits before that soft smile curves into more of a smirk. “I think it would be my patriotic booty to keep you satisfied.” It’s the repeat of the joke from earlier, but completely worth it because of how cheesy it is. “What do you say, sugar?” He asks. “Want to make everyday Independence Day?”

"I think it's only right." Stretching slightly, the tip of your nose nearly touches his and you dip your head barely lower to hover above his mouth. A single centimeter of movement and you would be kissing him. "It'd be a damn shame to never ride my new favorite steed again."

“Damn shame.” He agrees. Since you’ve been in his house, the sun has slipped below the horizon and he reaches up to cup your cheek just as the first muted boom of the fireworks from Statesman is heard. “Happy Fourth of July, sugar.” Jack murmurs before he crushes his lips to yours, happy that he had decided to go to the celebration rather than taking a mission. He had never had a better Fourth than this one.

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

My Masterlist!

[centrally-unplanned]

Atomic bombing of Hiroshima & Nagasaki: Based or Cringe?

Hiroshima = based, Nagaski = cringe, we having it both ways today baby!

But okay to not meme, this is a very complex question. Fundamentally, the mass-scale strategic bombing of civilian targets in World War Two was a dubiously effective policy that killed millions of innocent people. I judge no one for strategically bombing tank factories with the accuracy you had in 1943, that is just the harsh realities of that war, but that is not a description of what Allied strategy was (or not just, they also bombed tank factories). There were legions of air power proponents executing a strategy of "maximizing civilian casualties to break the back of the enemy", killing babies was the point, and the horrors of things like the firebombing of Tokyo are literally inconceivable to those who have never been in such times. Morality is not divorced from results - if it worked, if it made Germany & Japan surrender after a night of bloodied streets, then I would be hard-pressed to fault them. But that isn't what happened. It probably did something, sure, but the calculus is grim.

From that lens you can see Hiroshima as a culmination of a horrible strategy; but I don't think that is the only lens you have. World War Two was, in my opinion without peer, the highest stakes conflict humanity has ever fought. Nazi Germany's combination of dystopian vision and backed-by-steel ambition makes it the worst government to ever exist; Japan is certainly in the top 10 as far as these things go. And while we with our tables of GDP and steel output can say the Allies had it in the bag, that is never how people fighting a war see things.

Additionally, the methods of World War Two emerged from the almost-as-cataclysmic horrors of World War One; a conflict that utterly destroyed the governments of half the countries that fought it in. And their replacements were...not great! It was not a war that broke imperialism to usher in liberalism, even if steps were made that way. After WW1, people were desperate to find a way to fight the next war in a way that wouldn't condemn themselves to endless trench warfare they had gone through, one that wouldn't bring them to the brink of collapse, even if it fucked over the other guy.

Strategic bombing was born from this impulse - its founders truly hoped it would break the back of opposing nations, that once you "won air superiority" and started smacking Berlin the white flag would be raised. This didn't happen, but you didn't know that in 1941. Or in 1942. Or in 1943. Maybe it's just around the corner in 1944? You really want to stop now? 90% of Strategic Bombing Commands quit just before their enemy's will is finally broken, don't you know? In hindsight it is easy to say, in 1944, that they should have taken to foot off the pedal, that the war was won, and that this strat wasn't the way. And to be clear, they should have, they should have done that. Better men would have done that. But that is the high bar I am holding them too, not the floor. In this time period most people just didn't think civilians got spared in war, it was a different time. Morality's aim is universal, but the steps of the individual towards them can only be contextual. I think they were wrong, and to be clear by 1945 it was becoming quite obvious that the war was over and this was unnecessary. But few of us are so immune to the sins of inertia in a war.

From that lens, Hiroshima is the most justified civilian-targeted strategic bombing conducted in the entire war. Because unlike the inertia-creep of the Dresden firebombing, it had a very clear purpose - compel the Japanese government to surrender by demonstrating a weapon they could not hope to defeat, something that would save tens of thousands of American lives and likely hundreds of thousands of Japanese lives. I believe it did do that - not only do I think it was at least as important as the Soviet declaration of war, but the one-two punch of timing them together was a calculated psychological blow that certainly didn't hurt.

But more importantly Truman was not privy to the sessions of the Supreme Council for the Direction of the War, he could only guess where they stood. Within that context Hiroshima was a calculated gambit that makes sense; because strategically bombing civilian targets was the order of the day at that time, and that all the big solo-military targets were essentially bombed away at that point, the idea of some kind of "display" against a dummy target or something - to a government the US had barely any communication with, wasting a scarce resource - was just not politically in the cards. Hell, neglecting to bomb Kyoto for cultural reasons, and doing things like dropping leaflets warning civilians ahead of the attack to flee, were already tail-end of the humanitarian practices of the time. I cannot armchair judge Truman for making hard calls with the stakes as high as they were.

However, Nagasaki was a classic interia case. It was done because the US had the bomb and we were bombing cities. It made even less sense than campaigns before, because now the US had a "reason" to think surrender might be imminent, so giving it a few days had far more logic. This one I judge much more harshly. It was the decision of a system that just did violence by default. Which of course it was, it was World War Two. But results are morality - Hiroshima probably saved Japanese lives. Nagasaki did not. Them's the breaks.

[fagfictions]

National Anthem

Every 4th of July, the Wayne throw an infamous annual independence day party. This seemed out of character for them, especially since they weren't really known for being a patriotic family both as civilians and as capes. However, without a miss, the Wayne family threw an exclusive party every year, thus rendering them unavailable for the rest of the day.

If you find yourself in attendance of this infamous 4th of July party, you'll be met with very generic decorations as sparse red, blues and white were found in some room - decorations not fitting of those in the same caliber as the Waynes. There was not grandeur or splendor found in the way the party was decorated, yet nobody seemed to mind as the main event of the party has yet to unfold.

If you were to spot the Wayne family butler, he would give off a resigned sigh, and explain that this was how his masters liked it - which vindicated the last minute borderline sloppy supermarket decorations that littered the halls of the grand estate.

Once you finally find everybody, don't be shocked if all you'll be met was a congregation of men around a swimming pool while a lone Timothy Drake wearing a white bikini, splashed around in the pool. It would be jarring to see a barely legal boy be shamelessly ogled by almost all the men in his life, yet one can't deny the absolute joy found in his face as he showed all his Bruce's friends his tricks.

"You're here to celebrate America's Independence Day?" A new guest asked older guest.

"Certainly." Ra's brushed him off, eyes not leaving the exposed pale expanses of the sweet boy in the pool.

One year, Jason decided to join Tim in the pool, much to the dismay of the other guests. However, once Jason convinced Tim to play wrestle with him, which led to Tim's bikini top coming off after their roughhousing, everyone seemed to be okay with the idea.

After Tim inevitably tires out, he goes into his room to change, leaving some time for guests to go grab a bite. This grace period was usually the only time where guest can finally interact and catch up with one another.

When Tim finally comes down, he's dressed in tacky outfit of short shorts and an skimpy American flag tank top that barely covered his little tits. Usually, Tim wouldn't get caught dead in such a dreadful outfit, but it's all in the spirit of celebration. Or at least that's what Dick tells him as he helped Tim get cleaned up and dressed upstairs.

Tim usually then shares a vegan hotdog with Damian since he didn't want him feeling left out with everyone eating grilled meat. If that involves sharing a hotdog every single time instead of having their own and Damian slowly hand-feeding it to Tim, nobody seemed to mind. Call it whatever you want, but it's definitely a step up from actively killing each other all those years ago.

When the sky finally turns dark, make sure you leave some space in your lap as you may get the lucky chance of having the sweet boy in your lap. Tim who was usually now tipsy off mimosas, will climb into the lap of one of the guest, and stay there for the entire evening. There was no discernable pattern on who Tim chose, one year it was Commissioner Gordon as he nestled into his hairy dad-bod body, the next year, it was Roy Harper as he settled into that hard ginger body as Roy shameless started groping his little tits the moment he sat down. Last year, it was Clark Kent, despite Tim ignoring him all day.

As everyone settled in their lawn chairs, they could see Tim's slightly swaying body moving around the chairs, only for him to plant himself on top of Bruce Wayne's lap.

"Hi, B." Tim giggled as he looked up at his mentor.

"Hello, Ducky." Bruce greets back with the same enthusiasm.

When the fireworks show begins, you'll be able to finally enjoy the sweet boy in your lap - and that's what Bruce exactly did as he devoured Tim underneath the beautiful night of fireworks.

Everyone could only look in disappointment as Bruce reaped the benefits this year, maybe, they'd have better luck next year.

God Bless, Timothy Drake 🫡

[jamisonwritestf2trash]

[resting in bed, kicking their feet and slaying the fluffy pink pajamas as well as bright fluffy pink socks —for real—] Teehee, I have a writing prompt for you!

Which kind of pajamas the mercs use? How do they sleep with them?

Take care! ^-^

What Kind Of Pajamas Do The TF2 Mercs Wear?

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Sometimes I forget people have nice pajamas, I wear a pair of thrifted men's pajama pants with holes and a hoodie 😭 (I love it dw)

Mutual appreciation comment time! Love seeing you pop up! I'm always like ❗️that's my mutual! They're so cool!!!

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Demo- This man wears wine mom pj's and I will die on this hill. He wears a shirt that says "wine o'clock!" And has pajama pants with little wine glasses and bottles on them. Has multiple other wine pun-themed pajama shirts, each time he wears one you can feel Scout physically cringe. He's just so silly like that. But I don't think he sleeps in the wine shirts, he just wears them when he has to put a shirt on after he's ready for bed. Also has wine socks, to match his whole outfit ofc.

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Engineer- Wears dad pajamas. I'm sorry. But like? He seems like the kind of guy to wear thick ass flannel pajama pants with an equally as thick matching button-up. He's got fuzzy slippers (also flannel). Wears socks with those silly dad socks. Wears the entire get up to bed every night. Such a silly goose!

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Heavy- Genuinely wears old man pajamas. Wears a plain T-shirt, some warm pajama pants, and a robe. Has bunny slippers, please let me give this man bunny slippers. I don't know guys, in my head, he's so cartoonish. Sleeps in a bed with a patterned comforter has his slippers on and likes handing out the blanket bc it's too small. Ough, silly guy.

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Medic- I'm frothing at the mouth. But I'm also torn. I want to say he dresses up in that goofy-looking "Christmas Carol" nightgown with a nightcap and everything but at the same time? I can imagine this man in either white, pink, or red, silk pajamas, you know the ones. In my mind, fits his whole teen girl vibe. This all implies he sleeps, which is a rarity, but when he does it is very glamorous.

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Scout- Minecraft pajamas. Kidding! Half kidding? I think he sleeps in a t-shirt and boxers instead of actual pajamas. Minecraft t-shirts and themed boxers? Yeah. Has some thick pairs of clothes for colder nights. Mainly just some nice pajamas pants and a thick hoodie.

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Sniper- No pajamas. Wears jeans and a tank top, and a T-shirt if it's chilly. I don't think this man has ever worn pajamas. But in fairness, I don't think he ever continuously falls asleep. Just works and works and ends up passing out in whatever he's wearing. If he ever does finally decide to actually get some rest he has been known to just sleep in boxers.

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Spy- Old Hollywood robe. All I need to say. Has an intense sleep routine, wears an eye mask, puffs up all his pillows, and flops onto his bed dramatically with a sigh after a long day. Dramatic bitch. (loving) Sleeps with a blanket pulled up to his chin, and has like eight fans going. Has to have specific conditions to sleep. Crazy man.

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Soldier- I can't tell if this man respects the flag code with every fiber of his being or if he'd wear an entire American flag-themed pajama set. I'll go with a mix of both. Wears sweatpants and one of those cliché 4th of July t-shirts that every beer drinking white dad wears. Or he doesn't wear anything, the TF2 fandom has seemed to deam this man someone who doesn't understand the importance of clothes.

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Pyro- Unicorn onesie! Or some other form of onesie. They aren't particular. They like comfortable clothes and bonus points if it's really cute too. Has a collection of them. One time Pyro saw Ppy wearing an eye mask and bought one to try. Looks very silly on top of their gas mask. Overall, all these guys are really silly.

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Used the word silly way to much. Probably used goofy too much too. I was in a mood you could say.

I hope you like this! This was a favorite to write:) Sorry it took so long, I got way too tired last night to finish this. Also, hope I answered the question right because I kept second-guessing myself halfway through each one 😭

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[fredwkong]

Hey I loved the bull story but I’m still curious what would’ve happened if he had chosen rainbow

The bull was super hot, but what would’ve happened if he chose the rainbow card?

The day after choosing the rainbow card, Eric has trouble finding anything to wear in his clothing drawers. “Ugh, this is all so boring!” he texts to Blair, with a picture of the piles of bro-y clothes thrown together in one drawer.

“Go shopping?” Blair replies. Ugh, he wears boring clothes too. He’s not gonna be any help.

Before he can go out, Eric has some serious work to do. None of these clothes are up to standard. He takes a pink T-shirt and carefully crops it to show off his belly, and puts on the shortest shorts he has. Looking in the bathroom mirror, he has to admit that he looks… adequate. Soon, he’ll look fucking fantastic.

When Blair comes to his room in the evening, it’s to find Eric, naked, sorting through at least five bursting bags of thrifted clothes, most of it in eyewatering neon colours.

“Help me pick something, we gotta be at the club by 12,” Eric says.

The bouncer barely even looks at Eric’s fake ID before nodding him through. He feels electric on the dance floor, revelling in the feeling of other men’s hands on his nearly bare body. He’s wearing a tight, cropped tank top under a mesh vest, and cutoff denim shorts. He’s never felt so powerful.

Scratch that, it feels even better when he facefucks a bearded daddy in the bathroom.

Blair begs off the next night, because he has to study. Lame. It’s the 4th of July tomorrow, this whole week is basically for partying and pissing off hets. He puts a cowboy hat on over his perfectly coiffed blond hair. Was he always blond?

Tonight, when the club lights come on at 3 AM, Eric groans. He still has at least three hours of partying left in him, and at least two more loads. Some hunk overhears him. “Hey, we’re headed to a house party if you wanna come,” he says, gesturing to his friends, a gang of shirtless guys of various sizes and colours.

Eric definitely wants to come. His cock’s already leaking in his American flag jock.

Eric spends the 4th of July dancing until he’s ready to fuck another boy, fucking someone until he cums untouched, rinse, and repeat. Around 10 PM, Blair comes to join the party with a new outfit Eric told him to grab. Eric gets changed, kisses Blair hard, and then guides him down to suck on his cock. Blair hums appreciatively at the taste of Eric’s well-used cock, running his hands under Eric’s pink open front jacket.

By the time Eric collapses into his bed the next morning, still wearing his hot pink pants, he’s barely conscious enough to notice that the box of cards is gone.

[octuscle]

Go to rack and ruin

At the prompting of @maletfwitch, here is a sequel to an older post.

The Abbas were glad to be rid of their unpleasant neighbor. Instead, they had a hardworking and faithful new employee. Unfortunately, the house in the neighborhood did not remain empty for long. And if the Abbas had believed that the old neighbor had been a scourge of God, this one was the apocalypse made flesh. The house was decorated with American flags and MAGA posters downright grotesque. At every prayer time, the neighbor played the American national anthem over outdoor speakers. Not only for the Muslim neighbors, for all neighbors in the immediate vicinity Mr. Carson was an absolute burden. Nevertheless, he had managed to organize a neighborhood watch and become the head of it himself. Needless to say, he preferred to position people in front of the Abbas' property and made no secret of the fact that they were the threat to security and order. Fortunately, the Abbas knew how to help themselves again this time.

When Mr. Carson awoke the next morning, he was not wearing freshly laundered pajamas. Instead, he was wearing a sweaty wifebeater and a pair of worn-out underpants that might have been white at some point. Bleary-eyed, he went to the refrigerator and grabbed a cold Bud light. Fuck, where had he put his chewing tobacco? The kitchen was a mess again. Peter Carson filled a garbage bag with beer bottles, the contents of various ashtrays, and the pizza boxes from the last few days. He went outside, tossed the garbage bag to the others in the front yard. The last ones had been tampered with by those darn rats or raccoons. Miserable vermin. Like the filthy terrorists next door. Still in his underwear, Peter raised the American flag, saluted, took a swig of beer and belched. Old Mrs. Price across the street turned away in disgust and pushed her walker a little faster.

Peter went back into the house. So slowly he had to get to work. His hardware store was opening soon. After a quick shower and a rather sloppy shave, Peter, in his lumberjack shirt, not-so-clean jeans and old work boots, left the house and got into his swank Mercedes. Did not really fit him and also not to his job. He could not even remember when and why he had bought this car. But it was a good car and it had been built by good people. Not by those dirty gooks. In his store, he also only sold things that were built in America. America first!

When he returned home after a long day at work, he cursed his old car. Yes, 30 years ago the Mercedes had certainly been a good car. But the repairs would have been expensive, now neither the air conditioning nor the right turn signal worked. The Teutonic steel was slowly turning into a rolling pile of scrap metal. Oh well, Pete thought to himself as he pulled into the cluttered driveway. Fits the house with the rotten porch and broken fly screens. Pete sat down on the porch with a not-very-cold beer from the decrepit refrigerator, picked up his air rifle and shot at the possums rummaging through his trash.

As they did every night, the police came. The stuffy neighbors would have complained about him again. Pete slurred that the cops should fuck off. The cops fucked off and took him to the drunk tank.

Fuck, if he was late for work again today, he'd lose his roustabout job at the sawmill, too. Just like he had already lost the house and his store. But he loved his life in the trailer park. All good American men here. Always someone around who had a cold beer or a can of chewing tobacco. Just the damn rats! Pete took his rifle and tried to take out some of the beasts. Hehehehe, four had to go down. A swig of beer on top of that. And then off to work in his German sweetheart, which he had tuned so impressively himself.

[glvlvukcan]

What Could Happen

(SOPA Images / Getty)

 

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Ukraine is fighting for the lives of its people and its very existence, and it is running out of ammunition. If the United States does not step back in with aid, Russia could eventually win this war.

Despite the twaddle from propagandists in Moscow (and a few academics in the United States), Russia’s war is not about NATO, or borders, or the balance of power. The Russian dictator Vladimir Putin intends to absorb Ukraine into a new Russian empire, and he will eradicate the Ukrainians if they refuse to accept his rule. Europe is in the midst of the largest war on the continent since Nazi panzers rolled from Norway to Greece, and the Russian invasion of Ukraine is by far the most important threat to world peace since the worst days of the Cold War. In a less febrile political era, defeating Russia would be the top priority of every American politician.

The Republicans in Congress, however, remain fixated both on their hatred of Ukraine and on their affection for Russia. Their relentless criticism of assistance to Kyiv has had its intended effect, taking a bite out of the American public’s support for continuing aid, especially as the war has been crowded out by the torrent of more recent news, including Donald Trump’s endless legal troubles and Israel’s campaign in Gaza.

And so it’s time to think more seriously about what might happen if the Republicans succeed in this irresponsible effort to blockade any further assistance to Ukraine. The collapse and dismemberment of a nation of millions is immediately at stake, and that should be enough for any American to be appalled at the GOP’s obstructionism. But the peace of the world itself could rest on what Congress does—or does not do—next.

First, what would it even mean for Russia to “win”? A Russian victory does not require sending Moscow’s tanks into Kyiv, even if that were possible. (The Russians have taken immense losses in manpower and armor, and they would have to fight house-to-house as they approached the capital.) Putin is reckless and a poor strategist, but he is not stupid: He knows that he doesn’t need to plant the Russian flag on the Mother Ukraine statue just yet. He can instead tear Ukraine apart, piece by piece.

The destruction of Ukraine would begin with some kind of cease-fire offered by a Ukrainian leadership that has literally run out of bullets, bombs, and bodies. (The average age of Ukraine’s soldiers is already over 40; there are not that many more men to draft.) The Russians would signal a willingness to deal only with a new Ukrainian regime, perhaps some “government of national salvation” that would exist solely to save whatever would be left of a rump Ukrainian state in the western part of the country while handing everything else over to the Kremlin.

The Russians would then dictate more terms: The United States and NATO would be told to pound sand. Ukraine would have to destroy its weapons and convert its sizable army into a small and weak constabulary force. Areas under Russian control would become, by fiat, parts of Russia. The remaining thing called “Ukraine” would be a demilitarized puppet state, kept from integration of any kind with Europe; in a few years, an internal putsch or a Russian-led coup could produce a new government that would request final union with the Russian Federation. Soon, Ukraine would be part of a new Russian superstate, with Russian forces on NATO’s borders as “peacekeepers” or “border guards,” a ploy the Russians have used in Central Asia since the 1990s.

Imagine the world as Putin (and other dictators, including in China) might see it even a few years from now if Russia wins in 2024: America stood by, paralyzed and shamed, as Ukraine was torn to pieces, as millions of people and many thousands of square miles were added to the Kremlin’s empire, and as U.S. alliances in Europe and then around the world quietly disintegrated—all of which will be even more of a delight in Moscow and Beijing if Americans decide to add the ultimate gift of voting the ignorant and isolationist Trump back into the White House.

The real danger for the U.S. and Europe would begin after Ukraine is crushed, when only NATO would remain as the final barrier to Putin’s dreams of evolving into a new emperor of Eurasia. Putin has never accepted the legitimate existence of Ukraine, but like the unreformed Soviet nostalgist that he is, he has a particular hatred for NATO. After the collapse of Ukraine, he would want to take bolder steps to prove that the Atlantic Alliance is an illusion, a lie promulgated by cowards who would never dare to stop the Kremlin from reclaiming its former Soviet and Russian imperial possessions.

Reckless and emboldened, emotional and facing his own mortality, Putin would be tempted to extend his winning streak and try one last throw of the dice, this time against NATO itself. He would not try to invade all of Europe; he would instead seek to replicate the success of his 2014 capture of Crimea—only this time on NATO territory. Putin might, for example, declare that his commitment to the Russian-speaking peoples of the former Soviet Union compels him to defend Russians in one of the Baltic states. After some Kremlin-sponsored agitation close to the Russian border, Russian forces (including more of the special forces known as “little green men”) might seize a small piece of territory and call it a Russian “safe zone” or “haven”—violating NATO sovereignty while also sticking it to the West for similar attempts many years ago, using similar terms, to protect the Bosnians from Russia’s friends, the Serbs.

The Kremlin would then sit on this piece of NATO territory, daring America and Europe to respond, in order to prove that NATO lacks the courage to fight for its members, and that whatever the strength of the alliance between, say, Washington and London, no one is going to die—or risk nuclear war—for some town in Estonia.

Should Putin actually do any of this, however, he would be making a drastic mistake. Dictators continually misunderstand democracies, believing them to be weak and unwilling to fight. Democracies, including the United States, do hate to fight—until roused to action. Republicans might soon succeed in forcing the United States to abandon Ukraine, but if fighting breaks out in Europe between Russia and America’s closest allies—old and new—no one, not even a President Trump, who has expressed his hostility to NATO and professed his admiration for Putin, is going to be able to keep the United States out of the battle, not least because U.S. forces will inevitably be among NATO’s casualties.

And at that point, anything could happen. The world, should Russia win, will face remarkable new dangers—and for what? Because in 2024 some astonishingly venal and ambitious politicians wanted to hedge their bets and kiss Trump’s ring one more time? Perhaps enough Republicans will come to their senses in time to avert these possible outcomes. If they do not, future historians—that is, if anyone is left to record what happened—will be perplexed at how a small coterie of American politicians were so willing to trade the safety of the planet for a few more years of power.

From The Atlanic Newsletter Feb 9th 2024

[sassyandclassy94]

Yesterday at work I was decked out in all USA clothing as a way to kick off Memorial Day weekend (gratitude toward the military has always been important to me but ANYWAY) my co/worker commented on my American flag necklace and shoes along with my USA sweatshirt.

Me: “That’s not all!!! Look!! *lifts up my sweatshirt to show her my USA tshirt underneath but it gets caught in my sweatshirt, exposing my tight black tank top* Oh shoot!!! Sorry! Ignore that, I didn’t mean to show you my fat.”😭

Co/worker: “Oh, Abby don’t say that to me. I’ll show you fat. But honestly you know what woukd fix that? Go pick up rowing.”

Me: “HA!! I WOULDN’T LAST A SECOND. Have you SEEN how those girls and guys work out?!”

Co/worker: “It would take care of your fat, wouldn’t it?”

Me: “Yeah, and everything else with it. You’ve never seen a girl rower have you?”

Co/worker: “No you’ve only shown me men. BUTS SPEAKING OF ROWING!! Did you know there’s rowing in college?!”

Me: “Yeah!!😂 That’s what the Boys in the Boat is all about!”

Co/worker: “OH. Well I saw Syracuse’s rowing team on the tv and I thought of you and almost sent you a text. I had no idea!”

Me: *giggles and thinks of Bobby saying ‘GO TO HECK, SYRACUSE!!’*🤭 “You should’ve. I would’ve appreciated that.”

[mariacallous]

What Could Happen

Ukraine is fighting for the lives of its people and its very existence, and it is running out of ammunition. If the United States does not step back in with aid, Russia could eventually win this war.

Despite the twaddle from propagandists in Moscow (and a few academics in the United States), Russia’s war is not about NATO, or borders, or the balance of power. The Russian dictator Vladimir Putin intends to absorb Ukraine into a new Russian empire, and he will eradicate the Ukrainians if they refuse to accept his rule. Europe is in the midst of the largest war on the continent since Nazi panzers rolled from Norway to Greece, and the Russian invasion of Ukraine is by far the most important threat to world peace since the worst days of the Cold War. In a less febrile political era, defeating Russia would be the top priority of every American politician.

The Republicans in Congress, however, remain fixated both on their hatred of Ukraine and on their affection for Russia. Their relentless criticism of assistance to Kyiv has had its intended effect, taking a bite out of the American public’s support for continuing aid, especially as the war has been crowded out by the torrent of more recent news, including Donald Trump’s endless legal troubles and Israel’s campaign in Gaza.

And so it’s time to think more seriously about what might happen if the Republicans succeed in this irresponsible effort to blockade any further assistance to Ukraine. The collapse and dismemberment of a nation of millions is immediately at stake, and that should be enough for any American to be appalled at the GOP’s obstructionism. But the peace of the world itself could rest on what Congress does—or does not do—next.

First, what would it even mean for Russia to “win”? A Russian victory does not require sending Moscow’s tanks into Kyiv, even if that were possible. (The Russians have taken immense losses in manpower and armor, and they would have to fight house-to-house as they approached the capital.) Putin is reckless and a poor strategist, but he is not stupid: He knows that he doesn’t need to plant the Russian flag on the Mother Ukraine statue just yet. He can instead tear Ukraine apart, piece by piece.

The destruction of Ukraine would begin with some kind of cease-fire offered by a Ukrainian leadership that has literally run out of bullets, bombs, and bodies. (The average age of Ukraine’s soldiers is already over 40; there are not that many more men to draft.) The Russians would signal a willingness to deal only with a new Ukrainian regime, perhaps some “government of national salvation” that would exist solely to save whatever would be left of a rump Ukrainian state in the western part of the country while handing everything else over to the Kremlin.

The Russians would then dictate more terms: The United States and NATO would be told to pound sand. Ukraine would have to destroy its weapons and convert its sizable army into a small and weak constabulary force. Areas under Russian control would become, by fiat, parts of Russia. The remaining thing called “Ukraine” would be a demilitarized puppet state, kept from integration of any kind with Europe; in a few years, an internal putsch or a Russian-led coup could produce a new government that would request final union with the Russian Federation. Soon, Ukraine would be part of a new Russian superstate, with Russian forces on NATO’s borders as “peacekeepers” or “border guards,” a ploy the Russians have used in Central Asia since the 1990s.

Imagine the world as Putin (and other dictators, including in China) might see it even a few years from now if Russia wins in 2024: America stood by, paralyzed and shamed, as Ukraine was torn to pieces, as millions of people and many thousands of square miles were added to the Kremlin’s empire, and as U.S. alliances in Europe and then around the world quietly disintegrated—all of which will be even more of a delight in Moscow and Beijing if Americans decide to add the ultimate gift of voting the ignorant and isolationist Trump back into the White House.

The real danger for the U.S. and Europe would begin after Ukraine is crushed, when only NATO would remain as the final barrier to Putin’s dreams of evolving into a new emperor of Eurasia. Putin has never accepted the legitimate existence of Ukraine, but like the unreformed Soviet nostalgist that he is, he has a particular hatred for NATO. After the collapse of Ukraine, he would want to take bolder steps to prove that the Atlantic Alliance is an illusion, a lie promulgated by cowards who would never dare to stop the Kremlin from reclaiming its former Soviet and Russian imperial possessions.

Reckless and emboldened, emotional and facing his own mortality, Putin would be tempted to extend his winning streak and try one last throw of the dice, this time against NATO itself. He would not try to invade all of Europe; he would instead seek to replicate the success of his 2014 capture of Crimea—only this time on NATO territory. Putin might, for example, declare that his commitment to the Russian-speaking peoples of the former Soviet Union compels him to defend Russians in one of the Baltic states. After some Kremlin-sponsored agitation close to the Russian border, Russian forces (including more of the special forces known as “little green men”) might seize a small piece of territory and call it a Russian “safe zone” or “haven”—violating NATO sovereignty while also sticking it to the West for similar attempts many years ago, using similar terms, to protect the Bosnians from Russia’s friends, the Serbs.

The Kremlin would then sit on this piece of NATO territory, daring America and Europe to respond, in order to prove that NATO lacks the courage to fight for its members, and that whatever the strength of the alliance between, say, Washington and London, no one is going to die—or risk nuclear war—for some town in Estonia.

Should Putin actually do any of this, however, he would be making a drastic mistake. Dictators continually misunderstand democracies, believing them to be weak and unwilling to fight. Democracies, including the United States, do hate to fight—until roused to action. Republicans might soon succeed in forcing the United States to abandon Ukraine, but if fighting breaks out in Europe between Russia and America’s closest allies—old and new—no one, not even a President Trump, who has expressed his hostility to NATO and professed his admiration for Putin, is going to be able to keep the United States out of the battle, not least because U.S. forces will inevitably be among NATO’s casualties.

And at that point, anything could happen.

The world, should Russia win, will face remarkable new dangers—and for what? Because in 2024 some astonishingly venal and ambitious politicians wanted to hedge their bets and kiss Trump’s ring one more time? Perhaps enough Republicans will come to their senses in time to avert these possible outcomes. If they do not, future historians—that is, if anyone is left to record what happened—will be perplexed at how a small coterie of American politicians were so willing to trade the safety of the planet for a few more years of power.

[rissararity]

Little Soldats - Bucky Barnes/OC

By RissaRarity

(Dead dove do not eat. Rape/forced breeding, unprotected P/V sex, Non-consentual drug use, abuse warning - 18+ only)

Fic masterlist:

CHAPTER FOUR

The following morning, Vanessa practically floated around the motel room as she dressed for the day- opting for skinny jeans, knee high combat boots, a grey tank top and green military style jacket; her options at the goodwill they stopped at were rather limited.

She put her wavy hair up in a clip and tied a black scarf like a headband- a look James seemed to like. The woman was excited to get some dollar store eyeliner and mascara, her prized possessions that she wielded expertly.

James found he was very much a fan of these cosmetics on her too, making her eyes pop in contrast. As bad as it may sound, he was glad they’d chosen such a stunning woman for him. It could have been worse.

Hydra had given them a fair amount of American funds for this…road trip. She had no idea how much but James never seemed to hesitate to slide the credit card.

Still they kept things on the cheap side, trying to not raise any flags and only buy things they could argue would aid in their disguises or the missions.

For their trip to the grocery store, he’d opted for dark wash jeans, a fitted grey t shirt, black zip up hoodie and leather gloves to cover his hand.

They eyed each other as they stood in front of the door, she showed him her left hand to prove the tracking ring was still on and promised she wouldn’t leave his side.

Hand in hand, they locked their motel room behind them and headed down the street to the closest grocery store- a small local shop with only baskets and no carts.

James immediately grabbed one and followed Violet as she went up and down the aisles, happily dropping things into the basket including a bread pan, mixing bowl, and cheap silverware pack.

The woman behind the counter smiled as Violet chattered away while her husband smiled dumbly and listened, seeming entranced by her as he followed with the basket.

For James, this moment brought more happiness than he could remember experiencing. It was delightfully domestic and while it may have been boring to the average man, it was a sliver of the life he’d missed out on. He got to pretend he really was a happily married man, trying to start a family with the woman he loved. To imagine that they’d go home to the little house they owned and bake banana bread together while their cat chased mice in the field.

The life never got to have, but deeply wanted in his subconscious.

Before he knew it, he realized she was starring at him.

“W-what?” he asked, shaking his head a little. She sighed and held up two spatulas, one shaped like Mickey Mouse and the other was normal.

“What one do you like?” She asked again.

“Whatever you want is fine, Doll.” The word rolled off his tongue naturally, and she was visibly taken off guard by it, blinking rapidly as her cheeks flushed.

Suddenly bashful, she dropped the Mickey Mouse one into the basket, put the other back and moved on to the spice section of the store.

He picked up on her mood change and a slightly arrogant smirk crossed his face as he followed behind her. He’d noticed woman and even some men looking at him before but he never cared enough to realize why.

He looked at his reflection in a glass bottle and admired his face, wiggling his nose a little at his shaggy hair and combing his fingers through it to push it back, holding the rapidly filling basket with his metal arm.

Violet noticed this from the corner of her eye and walked over to stand beside him, wrapping her arms around his torso from the side. “You’re very handsome, you know.” She said softly, “I’m sure you had the ladies fawning over you at one point.”

He knit his brows as he got a flash back of chatting up girls in pinup dresses at dance clubs. “I think I did. But I’m a married man now, and I only have eyes for you.” He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, wrapping his flesh arm around her while he did it.

“Do you think…” he asked quietly, “Do you think they’d care if I got a haircut? It wouldn’t really effect anything. We could say it was for the cover.”

They got quiet as another customer walked by.

“I like it long. Maybe a trim though.”

He nodded as they made their way to the register and paid for their items.

They headed down the street with their bags and returned to the motel room in comfortable silence. When they entered she asked, “So you think he’d let a stranger come near you with scissors?”

James got a mental image of sitting down in a barber chair only to grab the scissors and shove them in the barbers eye.

“No, actually.” He frowned, “I don’t think I could stop him.”

“I could try. Would he trust me?” she asked as he set the bags on the counter and hesitated.

“He’s under orders to keep you safe so…he wouldn’t kill you. But…I can’t promise he wouldn’t incapacitate you.”

She pouted, clearly disappointed.

“You know it’s not me that doesn’t trust you.”

“I know. I just…” she sighed, “never mind.”

“I could do it myself. What do you think would look good?”

She lit up a little, “With your face, anything. But if we’re keeping it on the longer side, maybe just cut these here…” she reached up and grabbed small sections on either side of his face. “Your hair would wave a little if it weren’t so heavy, I think it would look nice.”

“just a minute.” He reached into his boot and pulled out a small knife, she took a half step back in surprise.

“Always prepared, huh?”

“Always.” He winked, smirking as she blinked rapidly again before he turned to the dresser mirror and leaned close, expertly using the knife that had killed countless people to delicately cut his hair while she washed the new dishes in the sink and prepped her ingredients.

By the time she was done, he was shuffling his hair with his hand until it arranged its self in a way that looked lightly feathered.

He turned toward her and offered a smile, “Better?”

She looked over and smiled back, nodding. “You’re very handsome, James.”

His smile became genuine as he slipped through blade back into his boot.

He watched her mash bananas in a bowl, cringing slightly at the sound. “Sounds…like something else.”

She laughed, “You keep those dirty thoughts to yourself, mister, or no banana bread for you.”

“As if you could eat a whole loaf of bread yourself!” he chuckled.

“To spite you, I could.” She lifted her chin defiantly mushing the bananas especially loudly now.

“Ohhh I’m sure you could.” Not. He backed a way a little, putting his hands in his pockets and watching her eye ball the other ingredients expertly.

“Brown sugar and white sugar?” he asked.

Vanessa nodded, “white sugar runs the risk of making to come out dry, brown sugar can make it too moist and it falls apart and takes longer to cook. So…half and half is what Juliette and I found works best.”

“It’s a lot of sugar.”

“And bananas so….it evens out.”

He chuckled, “No, I don’t think it does.”

“Is that a complaint, I hear?” she pointed the spoon at him threateningly.

James stood a little straighter, “No ma’am.”

“Better not be!” she returned to her baking and wasn’t disturbed again as she put the prepared pan into the tiny oven she didn’t fully trust.

They chatted for the hour it took to cook, the last ten minutes was just about how good it smelled.

“It has to cool before we can eat it, or it’ll fall apart.” She told him as she opened the oven and the delicious scent spilled into the room.

“Damn.” She said after a moment, heading to the bathroom.

“What?”

“I forgot to get pot holders. I’ll just grab some wash cloths to take it out.”

James stood “I got it.” He reached in with his metal hand and retrieved the pan with no hesitation, setting it on the cold burner.

She paused mid-step and came back, grinning, “Thanks. I always forget that has other uses.”

He chuckled, “Honestly, so do I. I don’t always think of it first, I’m right handed.”

She joined his laughter, rubbing his back a little.

The mood died down when he looked at the time. “I’ve gotta head out soon. We leave tomorrow, remember.”

She nodded, trying not to show her disappointment that he had to go be The Winter Soldier again. That was the whole reason they got to leave the Hydra base, after all.

Vanessa hated knowing that death followed them everywhere they went. But on the other hand, with the bringer of death being tasked with keeping her alive…she’d probably never been safer- as long as no one followed him back to her and she complied with his orders.

They were currently in Arkansas heading North-east. He’d told her the last target would be the most dangerous one, and would be in New York.

After the mission was completed they had to return to Russia together where he would be reset again, and likely forget the good times they had and bonding they’d done.

They’d be back to being the asset and the vessel. Her life would likely be a loop of being bred, pregnancy, childbirth, then probably having her children taken away and the cycle beginning again.

And so, Vanessa was determined to squeeze what enjoyment she could get out of the next two weeks, because it would have to last a lifetime.

--

When it was time for him to go, she gave him a hug before he left. She could already feel his programming had taken over as he stood stiffly while she wrapped her arms around his torso.

“Come back safe to me, that’s an order.” She tried to joke but he only rolled his eyes and waited for her to let go- yeah, James was definitely gone for the evening.

Feeling daring, she got on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek before releasing him and taking a step to the side. “Stay here.” He said numbly, waiting for her to nod before leaving the room and locking the door behind him.

--

Vanessa packed her bags to be ready to go the next day, glad she also bought ziplock bags to keep the banana bread in.

It was early morning when the Soldat returned, clutching his side that bled in a couple of spots.

She ran over, hesitating for a moment when the look in his eyes told her this was definitely the Soldat and not James.

She slowed her run and put her hands up in surrender as his icy eyes snapped to her like assessing a threat.

Being injured had him locked in to survival mode.

“Easy, it’s just me. I want to help you.” She offered a nervous smile, slowly pointing to the first aid kit on the counter.

He eyed her skeptically, leaning on the wall.

“Come on, you need to lay do-“ she tried to rush him and help him over to the bed but he immediately grabbed her and shoved her into the wall, slamming the side of her face.

“H-HEY….” She kicked at him but he easily avoided her, glaring at her while one hand still put pressure on his side.

“Y-you can’t hurt me. You’re under orders to keep me safe and alive, remember?”

His one handed pin on her slowly loosened.

“That’s it. Now let the winter wife help you.”

His knee slowly released the back of her legs and she refrained from rubbing her red cheek as she went to get the first aid kit.

He dropped onto the bed and watched her like a hawk as she opened the kit and put on the gloves in it.

Vanessa carefully helped him remove his vest, trying to keep in any reaction to anything under control. She’d never seen him injured before, it looked like a through and through gun shot. Two of them.

“N-nothing major, hit.” He panted slightly.

“I would assume that based on the fact that you made it back.” She quirked a smile, trying to comfort him how she would James.

But the winter soldier only rolled his eyes.

She snickered at his reaction as she cleaned the what blood she could off for better line of sight. “We couldn’t afford the hospital back home, so you’re lucky I’ve done this before. Gave my family two years of gang protection.” She admitted, making him raise an eyebrow a tiny bit in surprise but he didn’t detect any lies.

She offered him a towel, “Might wanna bite down on something.”

His eyes glazed over a little more and he went to lean toward her only to grunt in pain when she punched near one of his wounds. “None of that!” she growled, “I’m in charge tonight, soldier. Sit still, shut up and let me work. That’s an order.”

To her surprise, he looked amused while he considered the situation. “Yes ma’am.”

So, The Winter Soldier followed the Winter Wife’s order and didn’t move until she declared him all patched up.

“Rest up. Do you want some banana bread?”

He blinked at her until she held the plate out and showed him. His gaze softened as he looked form the plate to her face a couple of times. After a moment, he nodded and she cut him a piece.

“We don’t have butter to put on it but I doubt you’re too picky.” She passed him a slice. He sniffed it before taking a giant bite and downing it.

“Glad you like it.” She smiled, cutting another piece for him – same result.

She helped him get comfortable on the bed and set a glass of water on the bedside table, giving him one of the paper backs she’d bought to entertain herself while he was at work.

He watched her try to keep herself busy, gradually feeling better as his wounds healed quickly. She was bent over wiping out the oven when his arms encircled her waist and pushed his hardness against her.

“Whoa, hey,” she stood up and turned around, finding herself pinned to the counter with his arms on either side of her. “Relax, you need to heal.”

“ ‘m done.” He lifted up his shirt to show the stitches were just there for no reason now.

“You knew you didn’t need them and you let me do that anyway?” she was flabbergasted.

He shrugged, “I was under orders. I have other orders too-wife.” He dropped his shirt and cornered her again.

“Please, soldat. Let James do it.” She looked down shyly, cowering slightly.

“We’re the same.” He countered, reaching under her shirt only to be slapped away.

“N-No, no you’re not.”

“I can be good to you too.” He gently pushed her hair behind her ear with his metal arm.

She flinched, “Y-you always get t-too excited. I don’t like when it h-hurts.”

“You know,” he paused and lightly tilted her chin up. “I fuck the way he wants to. He’s only gentle for your sake.”

“And I appreciate it. I’m sure we’ll have plenty more times together at the base…please,” she gasped as he went from tilting her chin to grabbing her jaw while he looked down at her with no affection in his frozen eyes. She gulped, “Please let James do it. My life is going to be pain and suffering until I’m no longer able to bare children and I’ll probably be killed when they have no use for me.” She licked her lips nervously as his other hand grabbed her hip painfully. Her heart pounded, he could smell her fear - she knew she was running out of time to plead her case before he bent her over the counter.

She opted to go for specifics, “Painful, degrading sex with you, the creepy voyeur doctor, pregnancy, childbirth, having my babies taken away over and over and over. Please….” Her voice broke. “Allow me the last kindness I’ll ever get in my life. Let me enjoy these few weeks with James before they take him away again and we return to the lowest pit in hell.” Tears slid down her cheeks as she anxiously waited for the Soldier to decide.

For the next thirty seconds she felt like she was waiting her turn for the executioners block.

“This time. I can make no promises about the future.” He said at last, still stone faced.

“…Thank you.”

“However,” His grip on her jaw softened, “I don’t get to enjoy much. And we both like kissing-you’ve gotten a lot better. James hasn’t told you, but I don’t care enough to be shy.”

She blushed, meeting his icy eyes.

“And we both like that, too. You blush so easily.” His thumb softly caressed her lower lip. “You’re like a whore and a virgin.”

Her eyes hardened a little, making him crack a grin. “Oh come on, you like being told you’re a good girl.”

“Good girl and whore are two different things.”

The assassin pursed his lips, “Not necessarily. Not to me. Maybe we can start branching out a little-you could be a good little whore.”

She made a face, “I don’t appreciate being called a whore.”

He winked with a cocky smirk. “All about context, and tone – little one.”

Relaxing a little, she crossed her arms and huffed.

“You accept that, no problem.”

“Yeah, its sweet.”

He nodded, “Well, are some point I’m going to try a new nickname and we’ll see how you feel about it in the moment. You could use a little toughening up- James could use a little more excitement.”

She considered his last statement, the bit about James.

He always made her feel good, be it his fingers or mouth but he’d never asked her to return the favor, even turned her down when she offered. She was sure the doctor would make her do it at some point and it wasn’t going to be pleasant for her. She wanted to practice before her first experience was as traumatizing as her first time with The Winter Soldier.

But she wanted to try with James.

“Just…go relax until you go dormant again- please.”

“Right after that kiss I was nice enough not to just take.”

“That’s not part of your orders.”

He gave a dark chuckle, “All I have to do is bring you back in decent health and preferably pregnant. That’s all the rules they set, baby girl.” The way he said baby girl twisted her stomach as he eyed her like a piece of meat.

“I don’t have much of a soft spot for you like he does. I have free reign over you, Princess. Now I suggest you stop trying my patience.” His tone made her hair stand on end as he squeezed her jaw again.

“Okay j-just promise me it’s just a kiss.”

“Would I lie to you?” he tilted his head, deadeyed.

“I…I’m not sure. About this…maybe.”

He gave a brief impressed look, “You’re smarter than you appear, Golubka. But you’re gonna have to trust me or I will turn you around and bend you over that counter.”

She paled at the threat and got on her toes to press her lips to his. His arms wrapped around her waist at once and coiled around her like a snake.

Her heart pounded in her ears as she waited to hear the tearing of fabric or to have the wind knocked out of her by the fake marble shoved into her belly.

But no.

“Not so bad, huh?” The soldier murmured against her lips before reclaiming them and pressing their bodies against each other as their tongues danced.

She had to admit, they did kiss almost the same. The soldiers kiss felt somewhat heavier than she was used to- dirty in a way she wasn’t sure how she felt about.

He kept their torsos together, gripped the back of her head with his flesh hand while the metal one traced her back and followed the shape of her ribs into her waist.

 He pressed his hardening member against her but let her push him away- at least a little. “Had to try.” He smirked, leaning his hips away as he pulled her lips back to his, stooping for her a bit.

After the second time she needed to stop for air, he gave her a grin that didn’t reach his cloudy eyes. “I’ll go relax, as ordered.”

She tried to give a yeah that’s what I thought nod but it came out too shaky convey the message.

The soldier kicked off his boots and laid down in the bed, staring at her blankly as she got her own slice of banana bread.

That became their weekly treat, no matter where they traveled to. They kept banana bread in a ziplock bag and would bake a new one together when they ran out.

The next morning, Vanessa carefully unfurled herself from around the still nude James. When she stood she flinched slightly at the large drip down her legs.

“….shower…” she made a disgusted face and headed straight for the bathroom.

James woke and used this time to pack all the weapons he had stashed around the hotel room.

After a quick banana bread breakfast, they double checked that all their stuff was in the car and headed out.

He liked the driving more than anything else. It gave him a sense of normalcy he didn’t often get and helped him clear his head.

 He liked that it was time he could spend with Vanessa where there wasn’t a constant neon sign in his head reminding him Operation Winter Wife was on going.

It was the one time the passenger in his head let him fully focus and live in the moment- since staying under the radar also included obeying traffic laws and not drawing any attention.

He could let himself think, just shut his mind off and live off reflexes for a while or let Vanessa amuse him by prattling on about this or that.

Both wanted to enjoy their time of relative freedom and to squeeze as much enjoyment out of it as possible.

It was also nice not to have to steal a car or motorcycle to travel. Hydra got them a standard unassuming car to get from one place to another. The idea was to remain under the radar until the final target was taken out. Legit car, using real money, Violet’s stories about her family, the cover story of their marriage and road trip to visit family that couldn’t come to the ceremony because they eloped, it all added up to a perfect cover life for a normal man.

His final target would never see him coming. Only a few more days until they made it to New York for the final hit before they had go return to base.

James really had some thinking to do, and the only place to do it was while driving. He’d put Vanessa’s favorite light purple fleece blanket in the passenger seat and cranked the AC- successfully making her cozy enough to sleep for the next few hours.

For once, leaving himself truly alone to think.

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[spookykoalaphilosopher]

American Flag USA United States of America US 4th of July Unisex T-Shirt, Tank Top, Sweatshirt, Hoodie. This is the perfect gift for yourself and your loved ones. This is the perfect gift for yourself and your loved ones. Categories include Trending, Animal Lovers, Sports Gifts, Holiday Gift, Special Occasion, Hobbies Gifts and plus size, all sizes from Valentine’s Day Gifts, St. Patrick’s Day Gift, Thanksgiving Gifts, Christmas Gifts, Mother’s Day gifts, Father’s Day Gifts. American Flag USA United States of America US 4th of July Unisex T-Shirt, Tank Top, Sweatshirt, Hoodie Proudly display your American pride and spirit with this bold USA flag t-shirt, tank top, sweatshirt, and hoodie line - perfect for the 4th of July or any day you want to celebrate the red, white, and blue! This eye-catching design features the striking, iconic stars and stripes in a vivid, crisp graphic print. From the classic tee to the warm pullover hoodie, this patriotic garment allows you to loudly and proudly represent the United States of America wherever you go. Made from premium fabrics in a lightweight, breathable blend, this American apparel keeps you feeling as free as the nation it honors. The unisex fit and variety of styles ensure a comfortable, flattering option for every patriot's size and style preferences. Whether you're gearing up for Independence Day cookouts and fireworks, heading to a memorial or veterans event, or just feeling extra nationalistic on a random Tuesday,こNo outfit is complete without this vibrant USA flag top. It's a walking billboard of American allegiance. This piece is a must-have for citizens, members of the military and their families, travelers exploring the States, or anyone who appreciates the principles of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness on which this great nation was built. With its bold design, high-quality construction, and perfect year-round or July 4th wearing ability, こthis American-made garment is unmatched. Suit up in these stars and stripes to let your patriotism and American spirit truly shine through! Product tags: TRENDING TOPICS See more related products: T-Shirt Product features for American Flag USA United States of America US 4th of July Unisex T-Shirt, Tank Top, Sweatshirt, Hoodie Product information: Material and Composition Preshrunk t-shirt in 100% cotton. Sport Grey: 90% US Cotton / 10% Polyester. Dark Heather: 50% US Cotton / 50% Polyester. Note Please allow for a tolerance level of up to 1 inch. Please note that due to varying monitor and light effects, the actual color of the item may slightly differ from the images displayed. Printing technology DIGISOFT™ and DTG Style T-shirts, Hoodies, Tank Tops, Youth Tees, Kid Tees, Long Sleeve Tees, Sweatshirts, V-necks, and more. Gender Men, Women, Unisex, Youth, Kid Color Printed with different colors Size Various Size (From S to 5XL) Brand Sparetiredepot.com – Premium Printed Brand Shipping from United States, Canada, United Kingdom, Germany, Poland, Sweden, Czech Republic, Mexico, Brazil, Australia, HongKong and China Key features: 100% cotton: This extremely strong and durable synthetic fabric retains its shape and dries quickly. Ribbed knit collar with seam: Ribbed knit makes the collar highly elastic and helps retain its shape. With side seams: Located along the sides, they help hold the garment’s shape longer and give it structural support. Double needle sleeve, neck and bottom hem: Twill tape covers the shoulder seams to stabilize the back of the garment and prevent stretching Feedback Us: Should you find dissatisfaction with your acquisition, we sincerely urge you to get in touch with us so we can rectify the issue at hand. On the other hand, if you find your purchase satisfactory, we kindly ask that you consider leaving us a positive review. Your feedback not only aids us in maintaining the quality of our products but also assists potential customers in making informed choices.

Our ultimate aim is to ensure absolute satisfaction for each and every customer we serve. *IMPORTANT TO KEEP IN MIND* There may be a slight variation in the hues you see on your screen and the actual colors of the product, due to the discrepancy between digital and printed color tones. This product is custom-made, so we kindly ask you to verify the size, color, and other specific requirements to ensure your utmost satisfaction with your purchase! You are given a 12-hour window for any cancellations post-purchase. Beyond this period, our production process commences, and it becomes impractical to halt once initiated. Ensure your SPARETIREDEPOT address is accurate and comprehensive. Once the order processing begins, we might not be able to accommodate changes to the shipping address. We appreciate your patronage and invite you to reach out to us if you have any queries! [thien_display_attachment_images] Care instructions: Machine wash at max. 30ºC/86ºF with short spin cycle, inside out with like colors. Tumble dry: low heat. Do not use bleach. Do not iron. Do not dry clean. Source: https://sparetiredepot.com

[marymerchandice]

Check out this listing I just added to my Poshmark closet: NEW Men’s Realtree Navy Blue and American Flag Sleeveless Shirt Medium.