#Teeth Cleaning Tulsa

[2knightt]

5 things dallas winston hated about you.

—even when you were on his last goddamn nerve, you were still everything to him. is he still everything to you? after all he’s put you through?

-> in no way is this me changing my style nor should this be taken seriously…i’m just bored. and sad. and bored. and i miss my boyfriend. posted on queue!! i’m probably either studying, working on asks + event, or sleeping. either one.

(I.your snarky remarks.)

“did nobody ever teach you how to properly play uno of all games?”

you asked, a chuckle in your voice as you held your one card in hand. dallas glared at you from across your table, holding 12 cards. this was the 5th game you two played. he was never one to accept defeat easily.

“this game is just fuckin’ stupid. n’ you’re a dirty lil’ cheater.” he grumbled, staring down at his all red cards, eyes shifting back to the green 3 that you had placed down. dallas wanted to say more not-so-nice words, but knowing you fully, you’d say something even worse back. he hated that about you. you always said that it was apart of your charm, he always disagreed.

“why would i ever need to cheat when you can’t seem to count?” you snapped back, brows furrowed. you referenced the fact that dallas tried to pick up only 4 when he had to pick up 6, thinking he was slick.

dallas just huffed, picking up another card from the pile before mumbling a small, ‘go.’ there was a tug at the corners of your mouth, causing you to grin a little too hard as you placed down the winning card. for the 5th time in a row. dallas threw his cards down, clicking his tongue in annoyance. he leaned back into the chair, his head turned away from you as his arms hung off the chair.

“stop bein’ a baby and help me clean this up.”

“no. it’s your house.”

“and you’re the one who’s bumming around in it. clean up with me before i let you walk those streets. again.”

(II.how important your looks were to you.)

you stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, fingers running through your hair as you starred at yourself in the window of a convenience store.

“are you serious, y/n?” he asked, pockets in hand. he stopped walking when you did. he said it was so nobody hit on you. in reality, he liked it better when he had his eyes on you 24/7. he likes knowing you were safe. even for a second.

“yes, dallas. i am.” you replied with an eye roll. you grabbed your pink lip gloss, re-applying it for the 4th time today. sure, you were willing to admit it slowed you down—your focus on your looks. but were you gonna change? no! if someone doesn’t like it, who cares?

once you were done, you continued walking, leaving dallas to rush to catch up. he walked beside you after speed walking behind you for a few seconds. your lips shined under the hot tulsa sun, eyes glowing along with them. dally couldn’t help but wrap an arm around your waist.

he grew more and more aware of the men around. he held you closer, even when they paid no mind to neither you or him. he felt almost threatened for a moment.

“are you even listening?”

you chimed in, breaking his train of thought. dallas nodded, head empty. he didn’t hear a single thing you said. was he going to admit it? no. he didn’t want these other guys to know about how terrible of a boyfriend he was.

you just hummed, walking to your house in silence. any insults, compliments, comments, or cries would fall to deaf ears as of now.

(III.how you were blindly loyal.)

“i cannot believe you right now.”

“i jus’ said she was pretty. god forbid.”

he muttered as he entered your car, sitting in the passenger seat. dallas knew it’d be a terrible idea to try and make you jealous. boundaries, you’d shout. boundaries!

“i’ve told you how many times on how uncomfortable that makes me.”

“m’sorry, doll. i…i know. it was the alcohol.”

dallas lied right through his teeth. in all honesty—he’d been hoping it’d make you want to show him off. he was stupid for ever thinking you’d so something like that.

your silence scared him. you usually would’ve spat something back at him without a single thought. a sigh left your lips as you started the car, finally speaking up.

“i know.”

you muttered quietly. goddamn, maybe loyalty was gonna be the death of you. he didn’t mind much, though. at least you knew where home was. with him…right? right, y/n? he wanted to ask over and over again. dallas wanted the reassurance. he needed the support.

for what? he didn’t know. he just wanted to make sure you still felt the same way he does.

(IV.the way you fought.)

“she got you good, y/n.”

“oh, shut up, dal.”

you muttered, washing your bloodied and bruised hands under the faucet. you stood there, spacing out, letting the water run off your hands. dallas tapped you on your shoulder, snapping you out of it.

he handed you a clean shirt, a couple of bandaids in the other. you ushered him out of your bathroom, closing the door to put the clean shirt on. ‘she got you good.’ what does that even mean? was there seriously no, ‘are you okay?’ you wondered to yourself as you opened the door.

dallas sat you down on the toilet, brushing the fresh blood that slowly streamed down your cheeks with his thumb as he placed bandaids all over your face. he kissed every single one after doing so.

he wanted to make sure you still knew he likes you. that dallas winston liked you a whole lot.

“you’ll be alright, doll.” he comforted, patting your head. he thought back to your several other fights. you fought strategically and with honour. something he’d never do. but, recently, you’d been fighting just for the fun of it.

when you fought before—he felt a little angry. he didn’t like seeing you fight, but he didn’t like knowing you were good at it. knowing you were at the same level as he was at something he took pride in hurt him. dallas was frustrated at you and himself.

maybe his bad habits were rubbing off on you. a way to remember him, as dallas thought about it. he said he’d talk to you later about it. he never did.

(V.how quickly you were able to move on. faster than he ever could.)

you realized you needed better. dallas didn’t treat you like he used to. why? you didn’t know. you tried to be the best girlfriend he’d ever have, so why did he have to ruin it? was it your fault?

you kept on asking yourself questions like this when the reality of it all sunk in. that same day, you left dallas winston.

he felt his world crumble before him. this whole, self-sabotaging thing that pony warned him about was catching up to him. dallas felt hatred for you. well, at least he wanted to. he wanted to feel angry. hatred for you.

he couldn’t no matter how hard he tried. even when he watched you move onto another guy. from afar, he’d see you giggle and flirt with him. like how you used to do with him.

even when you’re with someone else, you’re still everything ti dallas. would you ever forgive him if he said sorry? would sorry even fix the way he treated you?

[bullet-prooflove]

You're The Sun To Me: Mitch Keller x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989 @dolphs-darling @watermeezer @queenslandlover-93 @redpool

Companion piece to:

Love Song - Mitch doesn't expect to see you in his bar after all this time.

Clean - Mitch asks you why you're back in town.

Home - Mitch gets an answer to his question.

Sunshine (NSFW) - You've always been the sunshine in Mitch's life.

Georgia Peach (NSFW) - You get a little territorial when one of Mitch's exes comes sniffing around.

Rhinestones (NSFW) - Mitch reminds you of the night you met.

Her Name Was Lola - You meet Mitch's wife.

On the rare freezing days in Tulsa, Mitch struggles. The cold seems to set into his bones and the agony from decades of bull riding seems to flood his entire system. His muscles stiffen and he moves like an old man, every single motion filled with a devastation that makes him hiss through his teeth. It’s times like this that remind him how he ended up hooked on Oxy. Shit like Tylenol doesn’t touch the pain, no matter how much he takes.

He forces himself through the day, every minute ticking by like an hour until you show up fresh off the tour you’ve been undertaking in Oklahoma City. Jelly Roll has been playing a few indie gigs and had invited you to open for him. The two of you had met during a country music showcase back when Mitch was doing time and stayed close friends even after Jason's career blew up.

When you step through the door you take one look at Mitch and you know exactly what’s going on with him, despite how much he tries to hide it. You set up a stool behind the bar, coercing him into it with a fierce look. He knows better than to argue with you when you get a bee in your bonnet, especially when you’re coming off a forty one hour drive.  

You spend most of the evening doing the lion’s share of the work. You let Mitch pour a couple of shots when you leave the bottle by him but everything else is on you. At the end of the night, he watches you lock up before you draw him into the makeshift bed you’ve set up in the back. The ride home is filled potholes and sharp turns, things that will shake up at his bones, cause him even more pain and you know he doesn’t have it in him to face that tonight.

He can’t help but smile when he gets into that room because his baby, she’s done wonders with the air mattress, blankets and hurricane lamps he keeps stored away in there.

“You know Sunny, this shit is kinda romantic like.” He says as you begin to unbutton his shirt. “It’s not candle light and roses but it’s certainly something.”

“Next time.” You promise him, your gaze meeting his as you unfasten his belt and help him out of his jeans. “I promise I’ll romance the fuck out of you.”

He laughs as you help him down into the bed, tucking as many blankets as you can around him against the cold outside. He reaches for you, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind your ear as he looks into your eyes.

“You always take such good care of me.” He whispers, pressing a tender kiss to your mouth.

“I always will.” You murmur before you pull away and begin to undress. He watches appreciatively as you do, the fabric slipping from your skin and landing in a heap at your feet. There isn’t a chance in hell he can get it up right now, not with his pain level but he can still admire the beauty that God bestowed upon him.

“Gonna have to be cuddling tonight darlin.” He tells you as you climb underneath the blankets alongside him. “I don’t have it in me to give you a proper welcome home.”

“Good.” You whisper as you nestle in close, the heat of your body warming his skin. “Because I’m far too exhausted to ride you tonight.”

He chuckles as you bury your face into the curve of his throat, your fingertips tracing over the scars etched into his flesh from all those years of bull riding.

“Sunny…” He drawls as he closes his eyes, trying to focus on anything but the ache that seems to radiate through his entire body. “Will you sing me to sleep darlin? I’ve been missing the sound of your voice.”

You start to hum and he recognises the opening bars from Zach Bryan’s You’re The Sun To Me.

“You’re trying to make me fall in love with you all over again ain’t you sweetheart?” He mumbles as his cheek comes to rest upon the top of your head.

“Oh Mitch.” You whisper, tiling your head up so your lips brush over his grizzled jaw. “There ain’t no trying about it.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[your-unfriendlyghost]

angsty stevepop pt. 2- Evie’s there now

ok ok kinda a sequel to the previous post, it takes place like three/four-ish years later. Again I don’t think I’m gonna finish this AU or make a real polished fic or anything, but idk I like it.

The premise is that Soda doesn’t tear a ligament as a kid and gets semi-famous/successful in rodeos, so he ditches Tulsa (and Steve) for a while. But he ends up tearing the ligament badly as an adult, and is forced to pack it up and come home. (Theoretically it’d be steviepop endgame.) If folks dig this tho I might post the full plot outline, even if I’m still not planning on writing a fic really

-

  “What’s with the face there?”

  I looked up from the glass I was cleaning, already grinning at the sound of her voice.

  “Evie!” 

  She smiled, sliding into the barstool. She was dressed nice, in a short red dress and long leather coat. Boy, she looked good in red. I dunno the fancy words for it, but it made her warm brown skin look even warmer, somehow. 

  “Hey, Steve,” she said, grabbing my hand across the bar. Her hands were kinda rough for a girl’s, but that didn’t bother me none. All that work at the ranch is bound to do that. Mine used to be rough too, back when I worked as a mechanic, but I was a bartender now and they’d gone pretty soft. 

  “Thought you still had a class you was teachin’,” I said, pushing the glass aside to focus on her.

  “Naw, the kid called in sick. I’m all yours tonight, babe,” she said, winking a little goofily.

  I sighed, wishing I’d known that earlier. If I had, I’d’ve probably called in sick myself. It seemed like she was always busy nowadays- ranch work always seemed to amp up as rodeo season inched closer. 

  I leaned over the bar and kissed her freckled cheek. 

  She frowned though as I pulled away. A part of me froze, a holdover from high school- still stressed as a schoolboy that she’d break up with me now or something. My Ma’s engagement ring was on her finger though, and I tampered that fear down quick.

  Evie pursed her lips and adjusted my half-unbuttoned collar. “Seriously, though- you look real wound up.”

  I wrinkled my nose, trying not to think about it. “It’s nothin’, Evie, baby. Don’t ya worry ‘bout it.”

 Evie chewed her lip, getting a bit of dark-red lipstick on her teeth. “Darry called me up.”

  My heart sank. “Honest-to-God, it’s nothin’.”

  “You didn’t tell me Soda Curtis was back in town.”

  I sucked my teeth. 

  Soda. Stupid name. It was all over, on all the damn cowboy magazines. On the posters. Even the rich-kids were proud to be from the same town as Soda, the downtown cowboy who got to the top through “hard work” or some bull like that. 

  “I didn’t know,” I said flatly. “And his name’s Sodapop, okay? Just- just say Sodapop.”

  “Okay,” Evie said easily. “Sodapop.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. God, I was being childish. I knew I was, but I couldn’t stop.

  “I know y’all were close…” Evie started.

  I sneered. “No we weren’t.”

  Evie fixed me with a look, one that stared right through me. 

  “Well, not like I thought,” I muttered gruffly. “Not close like…I thought.”

  “I know,” Evie murmured, rubbing my clenched jaw. “I know.”

  I peeled away, and stacked a few glasses. “Just- let’s not talk about him, okay?” I said through gritted teeth. “I don’t wanna think about him on our day off, babe.”

  “Okay,” Evie said. She waited a beat, then prodded my stomach. “What d’ya mean our day off?”

  I grinned despite myself, and glanced at the manager’s office. “Well, we ain’t exactly understaffed…and I think I’ve just come down with a case of somethin’ really bad and real contagious.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Evie said, a glint of excitement in her brown eyes. 

  “Yeah,” I cocked an eyebrow. “They call it, ah, Evie-itis. N’ when a guy comes down with it, how can he possibly work well when he’s got Evie Peterson on the mind?” 

  “That sounds pretty serious,” she smirked. 

  “It is. I’mma have to call in sick.”

[tragicallyuncreative]

Before The Fall: Chapter 3 Excerpt

Never fear, posting this excerpt doesn't mean the next update is far out. In fact, I have only a couple more paragraphs and some editing to do and should be posting by the end of the day, but I'm tired and procrastinating my clinical paperwork and worked so long on this stupid paragraph that I had to share it. Enjoy, friends.

Darrel

I thanked my lucky stars that Dally wasn’t here. He sure wouldn’t help our case. Still, even I had to admit that Dallas Winston had been a lifesaver following the wreck. He’d wanted to skip town the minute he heard the news; I could tell. The pain and grief was simply too much to stand, the loss of the first parental figures he’d ever had, the people who’d opened their home and hearts to him and given him a place of stability in his sea of chaos. He’d spent his life running the minute things got tough, using escape as a coping mechanism. But like it or not, Tulsa was his home now, and we were his family. He needed to be somewhere where it was physically impossible to escape his circumstances and have a “healthy” outlet for his rage. I knew it was only a matter of time before he got there, but he held out long enough to attend the funeral. Whether it was out of respect for mom and dad or to support us, I didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. He spent the week and a half after the accident helping out around the house, keeping Pony and Soda company, producing a decent sum of money from unknown places that I was almost too proud to accept, and helping me navigate the legal system (he claimed I needed an “inside man” who knew the courts intimately). He stood silently beside us at the funeral, head bowed and face set. The minute the graveside service was over, he did something he’d never done before; pulled my brothers and I each into a rough, firm hug. He then ruffled Johnny’s hair, told Steve and Two-Bit to “take care of them,” crossed the street, and belted the first Soc he saw, so hard he knocked the guy's front teeth clean out of his mouth. Of course, he strategically did this right in front of a cop, who had him down on the ground and was cuffing him so fast I almost missed it. The gang had stared, dumbstruck, as they led him away, but I saw the triumphant gleam in his eyes as they shoved him into the back of the squad car. He’d gotten what he wanted.

[every-single-day]

What if the outsiders was a musical

"Mamma mia!" Johnny exclaimed as he jumped 300 feet in the air.

"Here we go again," Dallas "Tulsa" Winston sang as he danced around Johnny.

Johnny gave him a weird ass look. "Wtf u talking bout?" He said as he raised an eyebrow. "I dropped my pizza!"

"Then why'd you say 'Mamma Mia'?" Hamilpony neighed.

"BECAUSE IM FRENCH?" The cripple yelled. "It's an expression commonly said in Germany," He explained.

Mr clean opened his mouth to speak but Shirley Temple 7-UP interrupted him.

"Who is that DIVA?!?!" Cactus cooler pointed to the elevator door of the DX Rodgers Drive in.

"WHY SO DEVIOU-" two bit said before screaming (AHHH!!!! AHH IM SO SCARED AH AH ANXIETY IS HERE) as he slipped on the fallen pizza. They heard a sickening Crack before two-bit (with a hyphen) went limp, his eyes still open. His once lively eyes always swirling with mischief and funny haha now empty and unseeing.

"He had it coming, he had it coming" Steve shrugged as he polished his axe after coming back from the Mines. "I betcha you would've done the same."

"Omg," the horse purred in disbelief. "Is he doing number 17 THE SPREAD EAGLE?"

"hold on.." Mr beefy Said slowly with caution. "Did you just say..eagle?"

Pony horse neighed and bucked his hind legs in confirmation.

"IM PROUD TO BE AN AMERICAN!!" Mr a5 wagyu belted out as he rode a broom around the big screen.

"Haha!" Ponyhorse lampooned and guffawed. "That was a buckled and chuckle; Certainly the bees knees!" He gave a crooked smile. His yellow horse carrot and hay munching teeth flew away.

Dr pepper held his head in his hands, sighing in disappointment. "I've given you sunshine, I've given you rain." His gaze drifted to the concession stand, "and all you given me, is heartache and pain." He started to sob hysterically." He started to levitate with the trees.

"And he," Johnny screamed, steam blowing out of his ears and boat horn noises exited through his noses (all 3 of them), "was a fairy.."

They all agreed that it was really unfair and they got In a fight. I guess the power of friendship was faulty, because their friendship is what broke them.

Johnny went to fight Karate in California, Dallas "Tulsa" Winston got recruited at a shein factory, Steve met new people in the Mines and got transported to a world full of blocks, ponyboy was the first horse to win the revolution, Zero sugar Less ice Large Thai tea went to war and lost his left big toe and got into foot modeling, Darry became an influencer never seen without his Stanley and ugg boots, and two bit never did get his knee surgery that was scheduled for the next day. Those who know ☠️☠️☠️

Johnny never did get his pizza.

Js a thought 😁🎀

… that feeling when kneeling surgery is tomorrow ig 😕

[venhedish]

ficlet request for wincest: giving presents! take it wherever you like ✨

Here's a little Christmas moment for you. I dunno what possessed me to write this in August, but sometimes it just be that way, I guess. 🤷‍♂️ "At least you didn't steal from a little girl this time," Sam says, holding up a 3XL t-shirt with a cherry red big rig printed across the front, the words 'American by birth, trucker by choice' written over the wings of a giant bald eagle underneath. He frowns, looking down at his skinny chest. "Might be just a little big on me, though." Dean is watching Sam hold the tent's worth of fabric over his shoulders with a grin on his face. "It was the only size they had, Sammy." He nudges his booted foot against Sam's bare ankle where they sit next to each other on the scratchy polyester motel duvet. "The way you're always goin' on about girl crap, I thought maybe you'd appreciate a nice dress."

Sam rolls his eyes and shoves hard against Dean's shoulder. Then he slips the shirt over his head—cheap plastic tag still dangling from one armpit—and when his face pokes out of the collar, he's practically swimming in it; the long sleeves of his thermal are rolled up around his elbows, and Dean can barely see them anymore. Even if his little brother grows another two feet and puts on a hundred more pounds before he's done with this growth spurt, he'll still be too scrawny to fill out this particular cotton-poly-blend monstrosity. "Looks good on you," Dean says anyway, and he means it. He reaches out and tucks an errant curl behind Sam's ear. Sam's cheeks go pink and he ducks his head, swaying into Dean's shoulder affectionately. "You know I hate this, right?" He looks back up at Dean and his eyes are narrowed, fox-like. He's got his bottom lip sucked right up between his front teeth. Dean grins. "Yeah, Sammy," he says, "and that's exactly why you love it."

Sam rolls his eyes again and doesn't answer, but Dean knows he's right. Then Sam is suddenly twisting away and reaching for the drawer of the bedside table. He comes back with a thick paper envelope clutched between his fingers. He thrusts it at Dean's chest, pink all the way up to his ears now. "Here," he says to the bedspread. "Merry Christmas."

Dean opens the envelope carefully, and a splay of glossy photos spills out into his palm. He holds them in the bright shaft of morning light that pierces through the dimness of their chilly room; it's hot in Mississippi, but he cranked the AC as soon as he got up just to pretend they were somewhere white, somewhere with trees covered in sparkling lights and garlands of tinsel. He shivers now, but it's not from the cold. "When—?" he asks, eyes glued to the pictures in front of him.

Sam is stiff by his side, fingers fidgeting in his lap, tangling in the cotton of the stupid trucker shirt. "You remember I got invited to that birthday party in Tulsa?" he asks, voice soft. "They gave out disposable cameras as party favors, and I just ... didn't think there was much else worth taking pictures of."

In every photo, Dean sees himself: sitting in a booth at a diner; behind the wheel of the Impala; cleaning his guns at some long-forgotten motel table; and in each of them, he's blurry – a little out of focus in the distance. It's Sam's hand in the foreground that's sharp and clear, reaching in from out-of-frame and holding a note on a scrap of paper that becomes progressively more crumpled and folded in each subsequent image. In Sam's slanting, precise handwriting, it reads, "I don't know how to say it, but I love you."

Dean realizes that he's holding his breath as he watches months and months of their lives unfold before him in dozens of stolen moments. Sam stands in the mirror of a tiny bathroom with the door flung wide open; he's holding the note, and Dean sees himself sleeping on the double bed visible in the reflection. The words are barely legible behind the blaze of a burning grave, Dean silhouetted against its heat in the dark of the cemetery.

He'd never noticed Sam with a camera – not once. He swallows and forces himself to blink. Dean slides the last picture out from all the rest, and his heart skips.

This one is different. Framed in the warm orange light of early morning, the photo is of him—up close this time—face soft and placid in sleep as he lays on his side against wrinkled white sheets. The note is on the pillow in front of his face, and just on the other side is Sam. His eyes are wide open, and he's staring at Dean with an unreadable expression on his face; he looks young, and happy, and afraid. There's barely six inches of space between their bodies, and Dean can almost imagine the warmth. He takes a deep, shaking breath.

"I took that one yesterday," Sam whispers, and then he's moving, reaching into the pocket of his sweats under the ridiculous folds of his new shirt, and pulling out a crumpled piece of paper. Dean's eyes finally leave the photos and flick to Sam, who can't seem to look at him. "You can have this, too, if you want it," Sam says. His hand is steady as it hovers in the air between their bodies.

They stay suspended like that for what feels like hours. Dean is shaking, afraid to move. The pictures gleam in his peripheral vision where they're balanced on his lap.

He reaches out so slowly he's not even sure he's moving at first. His hand comes up, drags through the air until his fingers settle over the paper. "I do want it," he says at last, and Sam's breath hitches.

Their eyes meet, and Sam's gaze is wild and defiant and hopeful. "Really?" he asks – like he thinks Dean is playing a joke on him.

Dean nods, just once. "Yeah, Sammy," he says. "Really." He leans in, keeps hold of the note between their trembling hands, and closes the distance.

There won't be a photo of this moment, he thinks as he kisses his brother, tender and desperate and breathless, but it doesn't matter. He knows he won't ever forget.

[sophie-i-guess13]

Piercing

Thank you to @apricot-colored-feathers for letting me use this headcanon! Make sure to check out their rendition of it, too!

|Words: 1619|

|Characters: Dallas Winston, Sylvia|

|Genre: Stupid Fluff|

|TW: Underage Drinking, unsafe piercing practices|

Tag! @mjmacchio1991 @apricot-colored-feathers @pepsi-and-cigarettes @the-kneesbees @ralphmaccchiato 

You’re flat on your back, basking in the warm feeling settled in the pit of your stomach. Beside you on the thin mattress, Sylva’s hair is cast against the covers, strawberry-blonde against off-white. Warm and calloused fingers are wrapped around your hand, the one not unscrewing the cap to a bottle you’d snuck from the basement.

Buck already hated cleaning up after his clients and was in no way ready to throw you and Sylvia into the mix of people he needed to babysit. That’s why the two of you are up here, listening to his shitty music reverberate through the beams as dozens of feet danced into the night on the floor below. It’s a nice night in your bedroom- cold, but with the hazy moonlight coming in through your window, mingling with Buck’s new neon sign just outside, it really isn’t that bad.

It’s a Monday night in December, the last of 1963, and Mrs. Curtis’s sister came down for the occasion. Oklahoma’s a long way from Green River up in Utah, but Soda says they haven’t talked much since his momma left. That’s why you’re laying here, with her head on her shoulder and the smell of her perfume strong enough to drown out the stink of Jack when you finally pop it open. The idea of someone coming all the to Oklahoma to visit family is a concept you can’t seem to wrap your head around.

Your mom had three brothers living in New Jersey, yet none of them ever bothered the drive to visit their sister or their nephew. Now that you think about it, you can’t really blame them, either. Your dad was the worst, but she was no prize, either. They deserved each other. They deserved to be alone together, stuck in their ways, knowing they’d forced their only son halfway across the country. They didn’t deserve to know you were alright, either.

“Hey, Dal?” Like a fish on a hook, her voice yanks you back to your bedroom in Tulsa, rather than the gross little apartment back in New York. Her fingertips are dancing back and forth across your skin, the dull blue veins that always pop out more when you’ve been drinking, the scars fused to your knuckles like carvings in stone tablets. “I think I’m gonna pierce my ears,” she says slowly, drawing out each word as if you’ll miss what she’s saying if she speaks any faster.

She doesn’t look much like Buck- even if they’re cousins. Buck’s hair is a dirty blonde whereas her’s is right between ginger and blonde. Her smile’s real small, too, only one-half of her face curls upwards, like a burning piece of paper. Buck smiles broad and proud, chipped teeth on display. The only thing they have in common is muddy brown eyes and dark lashes.

Rolling onto her back, Sylvia’s wide-eyed gaze lands on your ceiling and the minuscule cracks going through it. “I might get Tim to do it,” she says again before letting her fingers drum against your sheets, in perfect time with Patsy Cline singing out downstairs. You’d been so focused on the way her hair falls over her shoulders, how her lipgloss makes her eyes that much more vibrant, even if she’d care if you pulled her back against you. It’s cold in your bedroom, after all. All that melts away like an early spring snow when his name falls off her tongue. “The hell you need Tim to do it for?” You scoff. It had been a while since you and the eldest Shepard had a reason to fight, but things were constantly changing when Syl had your ring on her finger.

I can’t get ‘em done at a salon, dipshit.” She laughs once, eyes closed and knees curled up to her stomach before they flop to her right, brushing against your hand and inviting your touch. “Y’know what my momma’s like, says only thugs and hookers get piercings.”

“Doesn’t your momma have her ears pierced?”

She sits up quickly before scooting to the foot of your bed and reaching for the jacket she tossed to the floor when she came in. “Yeah, think that’s her whole point. I brought the needle an’ everything even got a pair of her earrings.” The last part comes out a little muffled, now that she’s close to falling off your bed as she rifles through the pockets of Buck’s old jacket. When she turns back to face you, however, her smile is nothing short of victorious. The two silver rings catch the dusty light of your bedroom, shining in between her fingernails like timeless heirlooms, rather than sterling silver she’d pulled from her momma’s jewellery box. “She hasn’t worn ‘em in years, not since her first husband kicked the bucket. I don’t think she’ll notice if I start.”

Sitting up and leaning back on your hands, you cock an eyebrow before Sylvia takes to the jacket again, searching for whatever else she’d drug along with her. “I got the needle here somewhere,” she calls, “snuck it outta Home Ec. since Dad doesn’t trust Mom with sewing needles no more-” She’s got that determined look in her eye when she wipes the hair back from her face, three stolen trinkets resting in the palm of her right hand. Her gaze changes the moment you close your eyes and take a quick sip of the whiskey clasped in your fist. The child-like wonder has vanished and is replaced with something much more serene as she slips back onto the bed and curls against your side.

When her breath hits your neck, you know the liquor burning under your skin isn’t the only reason for the steady heat blowing across your face. “You ain’t lettin’ Tim Shepard stick you with a needle, doll,” you say slowly. She’s wild and uncontrollable, you’ve known that since the first day you met her, but you’ve gotta believe Sylvia isn’t that desperate to disappoint her parents. Showing up with your jacket slung around her shoulders was trouble enough.

“Why don’t you do it, then?”

t has to be the whisky talking when you don’t say no immediately. “Do I look like I know you to pierce your ears?” You ask instead. Her laugh starts slow and quiet, like the faraway rumble of those cars that passed you the first time you decided to just be friends. “That’s the fun part, Dally. I can pierce one of your ears, an’ you do one a’ mine.”

“Guys don’t wear earrings,” you complain half-heartedly. Sylvia just laughs again, this time going as far as to press her lips against your cheek before speaking. “Yeah, but you’d look real tuff with one.”

Surprisingly enough, no one storms upstairs when the needle pushes through your earlobe and Sylvia uses the bottle on your bedside table to soothe the sting and wipes the drop of blood off your pillowcase. She tried to, at least. It isn’t the first ugly stain on your pillows, it won’t be the last, either. Buck doesn’t even storm upstairs when it’s her turn and ends up screaming- even if it fades into drunken giggles before you can ask if she’s okay.

Buck only comes to your room twice that night. Once, to tell you and Sylvia you sound like dying cats when you’re spinning around and she’s singing along to Your Cheating Heart. He looks you both up and down, looking far too old for twenty-one. Sylvia stops in her tracks before stumbling into your arms. Even under her cousin’s tired gaze, you don’t push her away or act like it wasn’t a big deal. It was a little past one in the morning when that happened, the last Monday of 1963 reduced to a happy memory.

Happy. It’s a good word to describe how you felt at quarter past three, on the floor of your bedroom with your head tipped back against your bare mattress and Sylvia’s cheek pressed against your chest, cheeks as red as your t-shirt. Her hands are trapped under yours, too, the silver ring looks more like a missing piece now that you each have a small silver loop hanging off your ears. You’re too busy watching her shoulders rise and fall with every breath, mapping out each faded freckle over the bridge of her nose as if they’ll be gone the next time you hold her this close.

Sylvia’s never been afraid of you. Not when you were drinking, or when you knocked on her window after a fight you almost lost. Hell, she didn’t even shy away when you were kneeling over her holding a needle. Sylvia’s never been afraid of you, even after the countless opportunities you’ve given her to cut you out of train-wreck life for good.

Sylvia wasn’t a damn thing like your mother. She didn’t treat you anything like your father- even if that’s all you ever thought you’d become.

Sure, you already had two rings keeping you connected (not counting the one on her finger) but neither of you had to constantly relight the spark that had drawn you two together in the first place. When the time comes, she’ll leave you. That is to say, if you don’t leave her, first.

But for the time being, she was asleep with her head on your chest while your fingers raked through her hair. Your head was already starting to pound, eyes darting in and out of focus as the music beneath you finally died.

And standing in the doorway with a burning cigarette and a shit-eating grin, Buck Merrill watched you fall asleep with his cousin’s head over the heart you claimed you didn’t have.

[therealsehinton]

Not really Jally but we need more of Johnny giving Dally shit for funsies. like give me more >:3 Johnny

YES!!!!

One of my biggest Johnny headcanons is that he's a sassy piece of shit. He's always judging people in his head and that's another reason why he doesn't talk much--sum mean might come out 😏.

▪︎but Johnny feels safe around Dallas and because of that he is much more willing to express himself.

▪︎Dallas used to be surprised by just how much lip Johnny can give a person but now he just recognizes that as his personality.

▪︎unfortunately, Dallas is one of Johnny's biggest victim. Well. He's usually his only victim.

▪︎out of all of the gang, Dallas cares about his hair the least and never takes care of it and that is a big fat NO from Johnny--Johnny is obsessed with his hair, he's a lil vain.

▪︎when Dallas doesn't brush his hair or do anything with it Johnny just gives him a face like 😑🤨🙄😒😟😖😫😠 and says something rude about it.

▪︎"your hair looks like a rat's nest today, Dal."

▪︎ "it smells like cheese, now how did that happen?"

▪︎ "why does it look crunchy?"

▪︎Dallas isn't too big on hygiene because 🙄🙄🙄 toxic masculinity ig. And he barely showers--out of choice. It doesn't even matter because he honestly doesn't stink very easily, but Johnny still gives him shit for it.

▪︎"your armpits smell like garlic today, that's a new flavor."

▪︎speaking of armpits-

▪︎"it's like you have a rodent growing under your shoulders, Dallas, how hairy can you be?"

▪︎speaking of hairy-

▪︎"you need to shave that thing on your lip, it makes you look like a mole rat."

▪︎speaking of hygiene, one thing Dallas DOES care about is his teeth. He's always had bad teeth and he couldn't afford braces and that made him very insecure. So now he's obsessed with keeping his teeth as clean as possible. And he flosses as much as he can.

▪︎of course Johnny teases him for that.

▪︎"you have the longest criminal record in Tulsa, but you've never had a cavity?"

▪︎and yes he's a little harsh, but Dallas goes right back at him. They have a thing called ✨ banter ✨

▪︎and besides that, Johnny is more lovingly teasing than rude.

▪︎"you're a pasty white boy, but you're MY pasty white boy ♡"

▪︎"you're kind of a loser when it comes to your dental hygiene but at least it makes your kisses taste better ♡"

▪︎"I love you so much that I'm willing to overlook your rodent armpits. I'm willing to sacrifice that for you ♡"

[notyetneedcoffee]

Blocked Number

Part Three of the Calling Series

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, Smut, Violence, including past domestic violence, stalker behavior

* * *

The phone tucked into the seat beside you vibrated. None of your colleagues noticed as they discussed the latest news over prime rib sandwiches and cobb salads. Pulling the device up enough to see the screen, you fought to keep your face neutral.  

A ‘Thinking of you’ text was followed a picture of Bucky’s wrist disappearing into the waistband of his generously tented sweatpants.

He knew your lunch today would be with work friends. You’d discussed it last night when he called. The team was on an assignment in Japan at the moment so it had to be close to two o’clock in the morning there. Bucky planned this. The shit.

Another buzz. You looked down. ‘You’d better respond, Doll.’ the message said. ‘Or I’ll have F.R.I.D.A.Y. override the silent feature on your phone.’ The small video attached showed just a close up him stroking himself.  

You shifted in your seat, thighs rubbing together. Damn him.

Holding your phone in your lap you sent back, ‘Asshole. You know I’m in public. I fucking miss you.'

‘I want to bury my face between your legs.’ Came the immediate response.  

‘You’re making me wet.’  

‘I’ll make you scream when I suck on that tasty cunt.’

“Y/N, is everything okay?” You jumped when Jackie drew your attention.  

You could feel your face redden. “Sorry. I, uh, I just got some classified information that I have to deal with. Would you excuse me for just a minute?”

The phone buzzed in your hand twice before you made it to the alcove by the bathrooms.

‘Tell me how wet you are.’

‘I need an answer, Dollface.’

You responded, ‘So excited I had to leave the table. Damn you.’  

A moment passed before another video clip came through. His metal hand was lubed up and glistening, cock pumping in his tight grip. You felt your panties flood. Damn that was gorgeous. You dared turn the volume up just enough to hear him moan your name. Fuck.

You leaned a little closer into the dark corner, tapping away at your phone. ‘So. Fucking. Hot. Just want to come all over you.’  

‘Tell me.’

A wicked smile crossed your face. ‘Can’t wait for you stretch me open and sink your cock in me. Will you be able to wait until we’re home or will you just fuck me in hanger as soon as you arrive?’

‘Hanger.’

‘Fuck, yes. Just press me against the wall and fuck me hard. Don’t care who hears. I want your cock in me. Make me scream.’

‘Yes. Need you. Dnt care wo seees. Your mine.’ His fingers lost dexterity.

Smiling, you imagined every move. ‘Yours. Fucking pound me. Want it so bad. Make me come all over you. Fuck yes. Come for me.’

Staring at the screen you could feel the slick between your legs. Damn.  

‘Damn, Doll. I think I need a bath towel to clean myself up.’

‘Lol. Happy to help, except now I’m dripping.’

‘Yum.’

‘You’re going to make up for this when you get back tomorrow.’ You smirked at the phone.

‘Without a doubt. I know I’ve got the best dame on the planet,’ came his reply. Mind blowing great sexual connection aside, you’d never been with a man who treated you with the respect and reverence that Bucky did. He showed it in actions and told you in his words. It may not be traditional, but it was damn special.

‘Can’t wait to see you.’

‘Go eat lunch and try to act like a good girl. Leave that pussy wet for me.’

‘Asshole.’

‘Miss you too’

* * *

Popping into a little bakery on the way back from a quick trip to pick out some new shoes, you decided to grab something to have on hand when Bucky got back. While you waited for the plum tarts to be boxed up your phone rang with an unfamiliar number.

“Dr. Y/L/N”

“You went back to your maiden name.”

The shopping bag hit the floor. Your eyes darted around. All the other patrons and the two people behind the counter looked curiously back at you. Bending over slowly to pick up the bag, you turned toward the wall.  

Taking a calming breath, trying to keep the panic from your voice, you finally responded. “How did you get this number? You’re not allowed to call me.”

“Oh, didn’t you hear. I’m out.”

Bile rose in your throat.

“What’s the matter? Haven’t you missed me?”

You hung up the phone. A hand touched your shoulder. You jumped, letting out a choked gasp. The kindly looking woman held both her hands up. “Sorry to startle you, dear. You alright?”

“Fine. Thank you.”

“Ma’am. Here’s your order.” The kid behind the counter handed the box to you.  

“Thanks.” You shuffled out of the way. Before leaving the you took the opportunity to block the unknown number from your phone. That voice need never be heard again. 

The walk back to the tower happened in record time.  Weaving between people, keeping a sharp eye out for a face burned into your memory, you just wanted to be in the safe confines of Bucky’s apartment.  

You were in the elevator, leaning back against the cool brushed steel wall, when your phone buzzed. The text message read, ‘It won’t be as easy as blocking a number. You should know better.’

“Fuck.” Tears burned your eyes, but you fought them back. No, he does not get to play these sick games. You blew by the empty common areas and straight to the apartment. Not pausing to put anything away, you pulled up both numbers and searched the area codes, one from Denver and one from Eugene. Great.

As the night went on, you received picture of the motel in Santa Cruz where you first slept together from a phone with a Phoenix area code. You blocked it. You got a text message as you brushed your teeth with the lyrics of the Guns N’ Roses song he’d sing whenever he’d get drunk. You blocked that number from Tulsa. As you were lying in bed, wearing Bucky’s shirt and holding his pillow to your chest, you receive the texted picture of an avocado green bathtub. Stomach roiling, remembering a tub like that covered in your blood from the beating.  Your fingers shook when you blocked the New York City number.

* * *

Bucky opened the door silently at a quarter to four, fully expecting you to be sound asleep. Instead, he caught you up in his arms as you flew over the back of the sofa. His duffel hit the floor and he laughed.  

“Hey, Doll.” He squeezed you tight. When you didn’t let go right away, he pushed you back. Cupping your face in his warm palm, blue eyes studied you carefully. “You okay?”

Nodding, you did your best to smile as you lied. “I just had a bad dream and couldn’t go back to sleep. I’m so happy you’re back.”

He stared a bit longer, doubt gnawing at his gut. He saw the fear in your face, knew there was something you didn’t want to say. But he didn’t talk about his nightmares either. So, he just kissed you slowly, thoroughly.  

You’d spent hours agonizing over what to tell Bucky. You didn’t want to talk about it, didn’t want to admit who you were back then. The thought of him looking at you as weak or stupid; it would be unbearable. That bastard just got off on scaring you. It was likely all a bluff anyway.

Still, sleep eluded you all night. So, when Bucky took you to bed, instinctively being attentive and gentle as he worshiped your body, releasing all your tension and finally wrapping you in the safe cocoon of his arm, you fell into a deep sleep.  

He watched you, wishing he knew what was wrong.  

A while later, just as his eyes began to drift close a buzz drew his attention. Your phone vibrated. He picked it up. From the lock screen he saw multiple call attempts from multiple different blocked numbers. Alarms went off in his head. What the hell?

He debated rolling you over and seeing if the facial recognition worked on your sleeping face, but he decided if there was a problem, he would rather have better resources. Looking at your sleeping face, Bucky just didn’t understand why you weren’t saying anything.

* * *

Having the day off, you slept in and Bucky got up to make you coffee. After pulling on your favorite tee shirt of his and a pair of boy shorts, you curled on the sofa with the remote. You left your phone in the bedroom, Bucky noticed. It wasn’t normal for you.

“Doll,” Bucky looked at his own phone. “Do you have anything important going on the first week of October?”

“I don’t know. Why?”  

He gave you a coy smile over his coffee mug. “Don’t be nosy. Could you be free if you needed to be or not?”

“Let me see.” You disappeared into the bedroom with a grin on your face. When you flipped your phone over seeing more attempts from the last blocked numbers, and a new texted photo. A 1998 4Runner, just like the one he crashed into your Honda. You blocked the number and put the phone screen down on the nightstand.

“Well?” Bucky asked from the door.

“Um.” You swallowed, realizing you never looked. “That week is great.” You plastered a smile on your face, “I’m going hop in the shower.”

He watched you go, face falling. Damn. The alarm bells in his head were increasing to full on klaxons. Throwing on jeans and a tee shirt, Bucky popped his head in the shower. “Y/N, I’m running down to clear my gear. It’s only going take a couple minutes. Do you want me to bring breakfast back here or do you want to go out?”

“Can we just hang out here?”

“Anything you want, Doll.” You kissed him, soaking his face. He only grinned. “I’ll be right back”

Bucky left, heading straight to Natasha’s door. “Barnes.”

“I need your help.”

“With?”

“I think someone is harassing Y/N. I need to see her phone records.” When her eyebrow arched, he continued. “Every instinct I have says she scared and she’s not telling me for some reason.”

“You might not like the answer.”

“Don’t care. Here safety is more important.”

“Good answer.” She held the door open more. “Get in here.”

Within minutes Nat had multiple numbers, text messages, and time of the brief phone call the day before. “You’re right, Bucky. Something is up. They’re all burner phones. They were all bought with cash or cash cards. All the calls did ping off towers in Manhattan though.”

“What do all the texts mean?”  

“You could ask her.” Bucky scowled in response. Nat sighed. “Or... F.R.I.D.A.Y., please perform a confidential analysis protocol Romanoff Beta Zulu Four Six Alpha.”

“Proceed.”

“Please run an analysis of the blocked calls and messages of Y/N’s phone from the last 24 hours and cross reference with her profile for any correlation.”  

It only took a moment. “There is an 87% probability the messages are originating from Dr. Y/L/N’s ex-Husband, Richard Vance. There is a 98% probability the message are pertaining to Richard Vance.”

“Explain.” Bucky ground out through a clenched jaw.

“According to police and court files the images in the text messages correspond to the cases of assault filed by Dr. Y/L/N. The California State Department of Corrections reports Mr. Vance has been released to supervised living facility but failed to report back after work release seventeen days ago.”

“Cases.” Bucky closed his eyes. He wanted to break something. “As in plural.”

“Yes, Seargeant.”  

“Shit.” Nat huffed angrily.

Bucky opened his eyes, wishing he hadn’t. The case files filled the screen, including the pictures taken of you at the hospital. Black eyes, split lip, bruised jaw. Other pictures show bruised ribs, defensive marks on your hands and arms.

“Where is he?”  

“Barnes, if you...”  

“Traffic cameras have identified him 16 time around the W 42nd Street area in the last 72 hours.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replied.

“Thanks.” Bucky turned to leave.

“Barnes.” Nat grabbed his arm. “Has she told you about any of this?”

“No” His chest tightened. He should have known.  

“Listen, tread carefully. She’s likely...”  

“Scared? Yeah. I get that. I intend on fixin’ it.” Bucky growled.

“No, ashamed.” Natasha sighed. When he just stared at her, she continued. “Aside from the guilt of what you did, what is the worse thing about your time under Hydra? How many times have you told yourself you should have been stronger, should have fought against it harder, should have broke free sooner? I get you want to kill that bastard. I’d help you. But you need to push that shit down for her sake. You need to help her, not feed your need for revenge.”

Bucky nodded in silent agreement, leaving without another word. The walk back to the apartment took longer than expected. He kept having to stop, suddenly not able to breathe. That bastard hurt you and now he was taunting you. Bucky felt the Soldier surge, wanting to commit cold blooded murder.

Opening the door, he suddenly remembered breakfast. He never stopped at the kitchen to get anything. It didn’t matter. He found you sitting on the edge of the bed in a towel, tears streaking your face.  A dent marred the wall and your broken phone littered the floor.

“Y/N.” Bucky approached slowly, quietly, dropping to his knees before you. “Dollface, tell me. Please.”

“My ex is out of prison. They were supposed to let me know. They didn’t. He...” Tears filled your eyes again. “I should have never gotten mixed up with him.”

His hands cupped your face. Full soft lips pressed against your cheeks, your forehead. “Is he scaring you? Threatening you? In any way?”

“I don’t want you in trouble.” A sob broke from your chest.  

Something snapped. Bucky bolted from the room, leaving you gasping. Shit. Grasping the towel around yourself you dashed after him. However, he was long gone. The door down the hall opened, Steve’s head popping out. Another sob, escaped. There was hope.  

Rushing forward you grabbed Steve’s shirt. “Buck is going to kill him.”

Just then Nat turned the corner from the common area. “Y/N,” She took your hand from his shirt. “I just ran into Barnes. We’ll talk him down. You go get dressed, okay.”

It was all overwhelming. Feeling lost, you just did what she said.  

Natasha turned to a very confused Cap. “Come on, Rogers. We have to help Barnes hunt down the asshat that’s threatening her.”

It didn’t take long. 

Bucky heard the girl scream from two floors down. His feet carried him the distance before she could take another breath. Busting through the pitiful door, he found a too skinny redhead curled up in the corner under a piece of shit table. Broken glass and spilled beer covered one side of the room.  

Bucky grabbed the man by the throat, hauling him off his feet. “Hiya, Dick.”

Steve came in, scooping the woman up and tell her it would be okay. She in turn screamed that “that motherfucker owes me money” despite her bruised jaw. Neither the woman or Vance noticed the female with the phone camera recording everything.

Bucky lowered Vance to his feet, barely. “There’s a bounty on you, Dick. Why would you be stupid enough to come here?”

“None of your fucking business.” Vance tried to strike at Bucky’s face, but got his fingers broke for the effort. He screamed. Then begged when Buck didn’t let go of his hand.  

“You gonna try to hit me again, you pansy-ass? I think I’ll hold on to these for now. Why are you here?”

“Looking up an old friend.” He whined.

“Friend? Bullshit.”

“Ow! My ex! Okay! I’m just looking to get in touch with my ex.”

Bucky’s teeth ground together.

“You have a no contact order with Dr. Y/L/N,” came Natasha voice. “You’ll be placed under arrest for breaking the conditions of your release, assault of that woman, breaking your no contact order, attempted assault of federal agent...” Bucky smirked at that stretch of their status. “and credit card fraud.”

“What?!”  

About that time several SHIELD agents came in and took him into custody. After he was handcuffed, Bucky leaned in close to growl in his ear. “I’m the assassin that assassins fear. You even think of Y/N again and I will find you. I will take my time killing you. It will be terrifying. It will be beyond painful. No one will ever catch me. No will ever find any proof. And I will have no sympathy. No one hurts what’s mine. Ever. Do you understand?”

Vance went very pale. Bucky smiled, feral, before walking away. Natasha got a little closer. “You’re a lucky son of a bitch.”

“Who the fuck are you?”  

“Doesn’t matter.” She leaned casually against the wall. “You’re just going back to prison. You could have easily end up as human mulch in a landfill. Lucky you.”

“You’re fucking nuts. I’m going to tell my lawyer you’re threatening me.” Vance cowered.

Steve stepped up, Vance getting a good look at Captain America for the first time. “You go right ahead. I’ll be there to tell him about the beat-up woman I pulled out of here, and all the great stuff she told me about how you’ve been stealing credit cards. But you go on and tell them how you’re treated unfairly.”

Down by the SHEILD van, Bucky was on his phone when Steve and Natasha stepped up. He slipped in his pocket. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” Steve’s hand squeezed his shoulder. “You did the right thing.”

“I wanted to break his neck.”

“I know, me too.”

“You better get back.” Nat sighed. “We’ll handle all the red tape.”

“Okay.” He didn’t argue, hopping in the spare car and taking off.

 * * *

You stared at the television not really comprehending what was on. Bucky had been gone for hours. A million regrets poured through your mind. All the lost opportunities to tell him the whole truth about your past. How you skirted around the details and glossed over the uglier parts. You’d done it so much in the last five years, it’d just become habit.  If anyone deserved to know, if anyone would be supportive, it was Bucky. You felt like you really fucked up.  

The Bucky’s text tone buzzed on your phone. ‘Don’t worry, Doll. It’s okay. Be home soon.’

‘Thank heaven. I was so worried.’ You replied.

Then a picture came through. It was a document. You zoomed in. Holy shit. It was a Federal Arrest Filing for Rich. You read through it. They tracked him down and busted him. Sending him back to prison.  A knot released in your chest.

Bucky walked in the door as you were reading the final page of the document. Leaping to your feet, your arms wrapped around his shoulders. He held you tight for a moment, before his lips found yours. Foreheads together, he stroked you jaw with his thumb.  

“I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you.” Your eye closed against the tears. You didn’t want to cry anymore. “I should have, and I’ll make it right. Anything you want to know.”

“You can tell me anything, absolutely anything. But it’s got to be in your time, in your way. I won’t force it.” His strong hands combed through your hair.

“I thought you’d kill him.”

“Wanted to.” He admitted. “But figured you don’t need to live with that. This way is better.” A wicked smile crossed his face. “Of course, I warned him if he steps out of line, he’ll wish I just killed him quick.”

You had a perverse image of Bucky threatening that dickhead for you and curled closer into his strong body, purring. “My hero.”  

That not only filled his chest with pride, but went straight to his cock. Picking you up, he carried you back to the bedroom. He wanted to wipe away any memories of tears. He breathed against your lips. “Damn, Doll. I love you.”

[teenageconcupiscence]

I post this in here again, because I never learn 😍😍

An excerpt from my story naivety

Warning: Mature content ahead. Read at your own risk. Any damages done to the reader will not be the author's responsibility.

Tulsa's eyes widened in shock, all sorts of decency leaving her head as Harry licked the slit separating her lips, begging for entrance. His other hand trailed down the small of her back, chills shooting up her spine. She even tried to contemplate whether whatever was happening is a dream or not, nonetheless, everything was real. The butterflies in her stomach were real, the goosebumps protruding from her skin were real, and the dampness collecting behind her panties was real. She was horrified about every aspect of it happening. This was wrong. So wrong, yet a part of her didn't object and accepted every inch of his body, yearned for his mouth and shut her primal instinct to turn away. She didn't know what to do. She was absolutely overpowered, and she didn't even feel immense fear of the possibilities which were at arms' reach.

Harry had been taken over by the alcohol he had drank, she should have saw this before diving into a conversation with him, but she didn't feel the need to. Now she does. As he finally succeeded on opening her mouth, he brushed his warm tongue along with hers, swirling in sync with hers, the bitter taste of liquor spreading across her throat. Tulsa knew what it smelled like, but she had never had this much clarity on what tasted like. It was like fermented grapes, the hint of sweetness lingering from his saliva. She fought the urge to drift off into his hard and pressing mouth, coercing herself together to reality and putting both of her hands up against his frigid muscular chest, pushing him off with all the might left in her body. Instead of letting go, he pulled her in further and wrapped both of his arms around her waist, his belt buckle poking her stomach.

She closed her eyes after minutes of arguing with the sensibility whispering in her ears, reminding her of the purity ball, the promises, the speeches, all defeated by the intoxication from his tongue swirling inside her mouth, and the frustration balling in her lower stomach. She wanted to cry, not from the horrors but from the disappointments and the regrets ahead. What has her life come to? Since Hugh died she was yet to regain her direction. Is this it? Is this what she's going to get after years of abstinence? Everything just gone with one swift motion she thought she could stop. Tulsa attempted to turn her head away to give herself some distance from the intrusion, but Harry was consistent, sucking on her bottom lip as he lifted the skirt of her dress, sticking his hands underneath squeezing her soft buttocks above the thin fabric of her cotton underwear.

A whimper involuntarily escaped Tulsa's mouth, the sound of it stiffening Harry under his zipper. Completely corrupted by the filth crawling its way down in between her legs, Tulsa's hands trailed up from his chest to his neck, pulling him down to her as the kiss deepened. She didn't even know how to kiss yet, and she remained lost in the entanglement of their mouths, Harry sloppily leading the way. Everything outside that room didn't matter. Therese didn't matter, the ball didn't matter. All there is is the two of them. Her lungs squeezed in lack of air, blocked by the need to take him all in. It wasn't enough. She needed more, she needed more of him, and the spaces ached her dampness behind her underwear. She squeezed her thighs shut in the attempt to give ease, applying pressure on her slit. However it wasn't enough, and it was beginning to drive her off the cliff of insanity.

What was she doing to herself? This is the most disgusting thing she had ever done and thought about, but it felt good. Way too good to be exact, and she wanted to feel it again. In school they've been thought that conducting sexual gestures to oneself was a sin against god, and something the devil makes you do. Maybe that was what's happening right now because she could care less about the bible study lessons. He was more important. Harry removed his grasp from her buttocks and caught the zipper dangling at the back of her dress, pulling it down as they kissed, the vibration of it being opened heating her skin to the point where sweat trickled at the side of her neck. Once it was all the way down, Tulsa tipped her toes to level with him, gently running her fingers through the curls of his tangled strands, her jaw aching from the actions, but she didn't mind.

Harry pulled on the back of her dress and peeled it off her skin, completely exposing her back to the chilly air. He begins moving, guiding Tulsa with him as their mouths remained attached. Her back presses against the edge of the same table where the toppled radio laid. Harry puts his strong hands on either sides of her waist and lifted her off the dirty floors, her shoes falling off of her feet and she holds onto him for dear life as he places her on top of the creaky surface that was covered with a white cloth. He forcefully parted her tightly closed legs, situating himself in between as he explores her mouth, breathing in her warmth. Tulsa wrapped her arms around his neck and obliged to every movement his tongue made, her knees pressing against his waist as the aching grew stronger and adrenaline rushed through her bloodstream.

Perhaps this was the sin everyone was talking about back in Christian sex ed. The sin where the devil pulls you in and corrupts your mind with lust until it's everything you can think about. Maybe this is what her father was talking about when they had that discussion on why she needed to attend the purity ball. "This is for your own sake, Tulsa." He would say, and flash her a warm smile. "I don't want you to end up like those teen moms with mediocre jobs and an irresponsible husband. I want you to be successful before you think about those kinds of things."

Tulsa was eleven back then. She didn't know what he was talking about so she shrugged him off. But it didn't stay that way when she entered puberty. When the boys at school would stare her off by the bleachers at gym class, and when she would accidentally pass by their locker rooms and find them sweaty and naked and smirking at her. It was even worse when she was tasked to clean the restrooms and heard two people by a cubicle having sex. It was the worse day of her life, but she didn't tell anyone. Therese would storm at her and it would be an even bigger problem to everybody. She just marveled over the memory every night and wondered what was so intoxicating, that they couldn't control themselves to do it in their honeymoon.

Now who is she to judge? She couldn't even bare the idea of being three inches away from Harry, a stranger she hasn't me before her entire life. She was even worse. He suddenly pulled away from the kiss, abandoning Tulsa's swollen glistening lips, resuming on planting wet kisses down her jaw and neck, his hands squeezing her thighs. Tulsa immediately shut her mouth, her nails clenching against his scalp as she swallows the lump forming at the back of her dry throat. The cold metal of his belt buckle pressed against her underwear, the pointed tip inches away from her clit, the pressure sending waves of electricity across her skin. She couldn't take it anymore, the thought of it tempted her like the devil whispering in her ear.

She snaked her legs around Harry's waist and pulled him in closer, his teeth grazing her neck, his wet tongue licking the skin afterwards, ridding Tulsa's head of any decency. She held onto his collar, and rubbed her clit against the pointed metal of his buckle, a moan imploring to rip out of her mouth, but she gulped. She felt like a different person. Like she wasn't the kid her father raised to be a wellmannered teenager who attended such events and spoke in front of multiple people to keep her virginity until marriage. Like she wasn't the kid who went down on her knees in masses and prayed that she doesn't see people having sex in school again. Instead she was this girl who craved relief and craved the inappropriate parts of the guy who intruded her mouth just seconds ago.

"Eager, are we?" Harry rasped on her ear as he realizes the gesture, gently taking her earlobe in between his teeth, sliding both of his hands upwards against the softness of her thighs. "Do you want me to fuck you, baby? Do you want daddy to fuck you on this table?"

Tulsa didn't answer and instead, turned red from his choice of words and stopped in embarrassment, his voice bringing tingles on her damp slit.

Harry's nails dug through her skin all of a sudden, a wince curving into her face as pain consumed her thigh. "I didn't tell you to stop, did I?" He ordered, his tone deep and demanding and Tulsa feared his wrath if she didn't oblige.

She held on to his collar again and gently moved her hips, her face hot as she rigorously rubbed her clit against the cold buckle, her lip between her teeth so as not to allow any noise from coming out. Harry continued in assaulting her neck with kisses as Tulsa went on, her head wrapped around the ball of pressure forming on her lower stomach, and the sting every time she would press herself too much on the belt, so she stayed on her comfort zone and marveled over what little relief it brought to her solidifying frustration. Of course she needed more, but any more than the humiliation she was already making of herself was insanity. She wasn't naive enough to not know what he offered under his belt, but she also wasn't knowledgeable enough to know what kind of part dwells there. The part which her sex ed. teacher be warned girls never to touch. The part where all the sinning happens.

The closest male contact she had ever experienced was from her gym teacher back in ninth grade when they were doing sit ups and he held her feet. This doesn't even go near that. Harry grabbed her hips and pressed himself in between her legs, his bulge now pushing on the her wet underwear for Tulsa to rub on it instead. Horror and frustration argued inside her head as she felt the stiff fabric of his pants rub against her clit, the pressure increased by Harry's help as he held her waist. Tulsa's stomach tightened as Harry bit on her collar bone and coerced his bulge into her clit, a small yelp coming out her mouth as he kept the position until her legs began to tremble, the sensation of wanting to pee, overpowering Tulsa as he sat there and held in, grasping his collar like it was her last chance of survival.

"Cum." He instructs as she trembles underneath him, her lip firmly tucked between her teeth as she closed her eyes to suppress, but she couldn't.

The wetness spread further and latched onto Harry's bulge, dampening his shaft underneath. He pulls away, and removed her hands from his collar, distancing himself a few inches to make enough space between their bodies. Tulsa lays back, supporting herself with her arms in her back, her chest heaving up and down as she tries to catch her breath, her core still aching in frustration. Her dress was loose on her torso, the undone zipper nearly exposing her breasts completely. After what had seemed like forever she looked up at him, her senses still lost and stuck from the feeling of his tongue inside her mouth. Harry quickly takes off his blazer, cautiously watching each rise and sink of her chest. He drops his blazer on the cracked tiles and pried his shirt open, popping off a few buttons here and there.

He then moved his way down to his belt buckle, undoing it easily, the clinking of the metal bringing Tulsa back to her senses. But before she knew it Harry had pulled down his pants and underwear, his cock springing into sight. Her chest tightened in anxiety as she stared it down, her heart pounding inside he ribcage. It was up and against his stomach, his dark green veins protruding underneath his skin as his pink tip glistened underneath the lights, twitching. It made her think of all the unholy things she never knew would ever cross her mind, yet she was right there underneath him, her legs spread and his dick inches away from her as her core begged for relief. She felt like a child discovering something for the first time. But then again, that was exact epitome of this situation.

She was too busy marveling over his cock, she had forgotten to pull herself back to reality. Was she really doing this? Was she really going to break all those years of abstinence and reminders just for a guy she danced with out of misery? How can this be more petty and pathetic and wrong?

Harry reached down to her and pulled down her dress, completely exposing her pale breasts, her nipples dark pink and protruding. Tulsa gasped and covered herself up with her arm, incapable of hiding the other one from him, her face crimson in mortification. Harry's dick twitched from the sight, desperation and lust pulsing through his veins. Tulsa's boobs weren't small, they weren't that big either but they've caught her into trouble before. The others would always say like it was a good thing. It wasn't a good thing. She couldn't even get out of the house anymore without a bra on, and the boys would look at her whenever she would run lapses because they would be bouncing along. And only earlier she desperately tried to hide her cleavage from Harry, now he was seeing her all naked.

Nonetheless Harry didn't acknowledge her embarrassment and pulled her panties down her legs, stopping halfway when her underwear was in her knees so she was left with nothing but it. Harry had placed her dress to the side of the floor, the white of the lace stained with obscure grey circles from the dust. Tulsa wanted to grab it and cover herself up, but it was too far, so she was left with no choices until her arms started to hurt. Harry dragged her hips closer to the edge of the table and grabbed a hold of his dick, and lined it close to her core, rubbing his hard skin against her slit and applying pressure to her clittoris.

Tulsa's core dampened even more from the sensation, her stomach wanting to explode as she nervously watched his cock rub against her slit, using her wetness as lube, the familiar pressure building up in her lower stomach. Now was her last chance to say something or stop herself from completely dipping into absurdity. Nevertheless she was quickly stopped when Harry jammed his mouth back against hers for a sloppy kids, her nails clenching against the fabric of the table as his tip pushed on her core, pain consuming her slit. She tries focusing on the kiss and pushing aside the pain as Harry further forced himself into her, her walls trembling as he slides his whole length in. Tulsa attempts to kiss back and whimpered underneath him, her eyes stinging from the odd feeling of his dick filling her in. She clenched around him, embracing his hard skin as he completely pushes all of him inside, tears trickling down her fiery hot cheeks.

She holds on to the corners of the table, her nails grazing the mat as her mouth grew incapable of following Harry's tongue in exhaustion. He then proceeded to suck her her bottom lip, holding her hips down, nails digging through her skin. Tulsa paused and gasped all the air she could get. This was it; she had officially given into filth, the filth that she has been fearing since childhood. Why was it so soon? Nevertheless she musn't think twice. Not right now at least. It hurts, more than she thought sex would feel like, but she didn't want him to stop yet. And they did say in Sex Ed that it was supposed to hurt the first time.

After a few seconds of adjustment, she feels Harry slowly move out of her, the gesture bringing back the stretch she dreaded to feel, her core taken over by the sting. Her hand abruptly rises to hold on to his stiff shoulder, tears blurring her vision. Harry cautiously watched all the lines on her face change, his cock hardening at the sight of her reddened cheeks and nose, her lips swollen and glistening. On her collar bone was a dark purple mark, the one he had made just minutes ago.

"It hurts," Tulsa finally managed to speak in a whimper, her voice unrecognizable to her own hearing.

"Do you want me to stop?" Harry's tone reeked sincerity before shoving himself back in, Tulsa suddenly jumping in shock. She shook her head for a response, her lips in a tight line. "Use your words, babygirl." He rasps, bringing his mouth close to her ears, chills shooting down her spine. "Otherwise Daddy wouldn't understand."

"N-no, don't stop." She stammers closely watching his eyes, her own words foreign to her mouth.

A lopsided grin creeps up Harry's lip, his hand crawling at the back of Tulsa's head as he runs his fingers through the chaos of her blonde hair. "Good Girl." He mumbles before returning his mouth back against hers, their lips dissolving into a sloppy kiss. He begins moving again, Tulsa's teeth clenched as his thrusts caught speed, the rip rising to her swelling breasts and sinuses, but she repressed, her thighs enclosing Harry by the waist.

He brings her lip between his teeth, gently tugging on it before letting it go, her nails clenching against his shoulder. His movements quickened Harry releases her head and Tulsa falls in her her arm supporting her, blood rushing to her face as she catches his darkened green eyes examine her entire body, starting from her neck down to in between her thighs. Fiery hot pants ripped through Tulsa's nostrils, her throat deserted and yearning for his mouth, yet she revoked powerless under his gaze burning a home through her face. This was madness, and she was insane.

The whole table was shaking, the toppled radio laying forgotten in the floor with its rusty screws scattered across the broken white tiles. Tulsa's legs swelled in exhaustion as they meet Harry's movements and she could feel every inch of him enter her and she felt like she would call apart as well. Not from the pain but from the tingles electrifying her underneath her fingertips and toes.

The sting has gone away all there was is in Tulsa was frustration as Harry thrusted in and out between her legs; each one pushing her further over the edge. She knawed on tongue as whimpers escaped her mouth against her will, her heart pounding in her ribcage. Harry suddenly reached through the space between her part and his lower stomach, placing his hand into her clit, using his thumb to rub circles on it which solidified the heated pressure on her lower stomach, the odd urge to pew finally taking over her senses.

She latched onto Harry's wrist for support, her toes curling behind his back. "Oh my god-" she choked, fire trailing up her cheeks. But Harry didn't pay attention and instead pinched her in between his thumb and index finger, his cock piercing through her insides. Her stomach tightened as she came undone, her thighs trembling around his hips, her eyes rolling back in agony. Harry watched in satisfaction, his hand drenched in Tulsa's orgasm. A soft groan releases from his throat, his swaying hips moving faster despite how difficult it is from her tightness. He had fucked a nineteen year old girl once when he first moved to New York because of loneliness, but this- this was something else, and he knew this would only give him trouble. Even so, he brought his fingers to his lips, licking off the wetness like a kid with candy stained hands, his eyes fixated on her face.

Despite the blur of intoxication from the pleasure blocking of her head, Tulsa could clearly see his figure; the way his white button down hung from his shoulders, his tattooed torso shining from perspiration. Her back had pressed completely at the table from lack of strength to sit up, her plump breasts bouncing on each impact of Harry's body. Tulsa bit down her her thumb as her mind gravitates away from reality, stuck upon the friction and the heat. The only noises in the room were the flapping of skin on skin, Harry's tagged breathing and the awkward whimpers rising to her mouth.

Harry suddenly grabbed her thighs and lifted them over the table, sinking deeper in between her legs, sending a jolt of pleasure all throughout Tulsa's body, his cock rubbing against a sensitive part inside and anymore than that threatened to repeat her orgasm too soon. Nonetheless it waa too late and she came again, the violet rip of Harry's shaft breaking her into a series of pants and high pitched noises. Tulsa wanted to tear up as the odd mixture of sting and euphoria took over her slit, her voice shaking as her eyes closed for a brief second, her vision going white. When she finally goes back, Harry grabs a hold of her breast, his palm bringing warmth to her perked up nipples, a smirk plastered across his sweating visage.

"When I tell you to swallow, swallow okay?" His voice came out rough and guttural, his hand trailing up to her fiery cheeks as he leaned down against her body, her legs hanging over his shoulders. "You'll be a good girl for me, right?" He panted, "You'll be a good girl for Daddy?" tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, deepening his dick that Tulsa could feel him in her stomach.

Tulsa nodded in ignorance of his words, her perception a tangled mess of hormones. Harry lowered down to her face and placed his lips back to her mouth, her thighs pressing on her stomach. Harry brushed his tongue along with hers and feels himself slowly sinking in, his knees buckling as his cock twitched inside of her, indicating his upcoming climax. She then remembered the second thing she learned in Sex Ed, and the main reason they were forbidden to have sex at such a young age; pregnancy. She didn't know anything about the scientific terms about it, but she did know she wasn't on any birth controls and he wasn't wearing a condom.

He parted from the kiss, leaving Tulsa's mouth dry as he stood back up and pulled out, not making the same mistake he did last year when he got too carried away. He scoops her waist up from the table and brings her to her feet, Tulsa gasping as her knees crash onto the dress on floor, Harry towering over in front of her, stroking his glistening length in quick up and down motions. Her head remained in disorientation and frustration. "Open your mouth for me, baby." Masculine groans escaped his throat, his head rolling back when his cum shoots out of him, landing onto Tulsa's mouth. It was a lot more than she first expected, but the way it came out of him; his legs shook and his voice sounded like he was going to break astounded her to her core, and she feels tingles again between her thighs.

It looked like it felt good, and it sounded like it felt good, and something about that made her heart swell. As the last drops finally came out, Tulsa's tongue was drenched, some of it leaking at the corners of her lips. The tingles weren't the only thing she felt on her soaking slit, so were the stings. Harry looked down to her, his chest heaving up and down as the curls from his hair stuck to the sides of his sweaty temples. He takes her jaw and closes it, Tulsa's instincts telling her to do as told, and she did. "Your mother will be proud of you now." Harry mumbled afterwards, brushing his tongue along the left over stains which dripped from her chin. He gets into his knees, and leads her head back to his, meeting her mouth with another messy kiss.

Mother. Therese.

No, she won't be proud. She will kill her. But since when did she ever acknowledged anything good that Tulsa had done? Never. The last time she cared for her felt like ages ago, and as much as whatever happened will certainly send her to hell, Therese would never care for her as much as Harry did.

As their mouths melted into a heated make out session, the stings grew and Tulsa couldn't hold long till she dripped again, the thought of being back underneath him, exciting her senses in the wrong way. What has she become? Is this what sex does to people? Make them want more? Make them want to go further and deeper and more painful? Nevertheless, there was this protruding noise keeping her away from sinking back as Harry's warm tongue slid in and out of her lips, teasing her. He finally pulls away, leaving a trial of saliva between them from the previous intensity.

He shoves his hand into his tightened pockets hanging from his knees, the annoying ringing sound of his phone replacing the recent silence. He slid through the screen and held it up against his ear; his face visibly scrunching up as he flinched away from the phone.

"Styles! Where the fuck have you been?!" Henne yelled from the other line, so loud Tulsa caught the sound of it even though he wasn't on speaker.

[holylulusworld]

Even heroes need comforting

Request: I’ve read your request “please hold me” can you write something simil but with dean being kidnap and reader help him shower?

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam, Jody Mills, Alex, Claire Novak, unnamed vamps

Warnings: language, angst, blood, injured Dean, violence, fluff, comforting

“God, that was close!” Jody groans.

“You all okay?” You ask worriedly.

“Yeah,” Claire whispers. “Sorry. Those vamps outnumbered us. Mine fault.”

“You are all safe, that’s the only important thing. Where’s Dean?”

“Dean?” Alex asks.

“He came here alone as he was close by. Sam and I helped Garth with a werewolf in Tulsa.”

“Dean wasn’t here,” Jody says face pale.

“Sam, trace Dean’s phone.” You say worriedly hiding the panic creeping into your thoughts.

“Got it. He’s not that far away. Is that an old farmhouse?” Sam asks Jody.

“Yeah. Millers farm. That house always looked suspicious. I remember running past the house every single time with my friends. We never stopped close by.” Jody explains.

“I guess your instinct was right, those vamps were really strong. Maybe those are pureblood vampires? We need to find him, Sam, …fast.”

“Okay. I’ll prepare the weapons.”

“Claire, you should stay here. Your arm doesn’t look good. Alex can help you,” Jody says.

“But I want to help Dean too!”

“Claire! The best way to help Dean and us is for you to stay behind. You are hurt. We can’t concentrate if we have to worry you get hurt even more,” you say.

“Sorry, you’re right, Y/N. But call us if you need help and when you found Dean. Please.”

“Sure. Don’t worry. Dean is hard to take down and even then he keeps on coming back,” you say but your heart beats like a drum.

----

The drive to the house is silent. You can see the worry all over Sam’s face. Jody is the same. Dean would never stay away for so long without calling you. He agreed just like Sam and you to call each other.

“We will find him.” Jody tries but nothing can calm your nerves down. Dean is missing…for hours…

----

“We need to be careful. Jody, you will go with Sam to the front entrance and check the windows. I’ll take the back entrance.”

After checking your surroundings you found Dean’s Impala hidden behind the house. He is here. Praying Dean is unharmed you silently pick the lock of the back entrance.

Machete in your hand you enter the house. Two vamps are grinning at you. Gnashing their teeth they don’t see Sam and Jody behind them before it’s too late.

“The Impala is here,” you whisper. “You two go upstairs I’ll check the rooms down here.”

“Okay, be careful, Y/N,” Sam says.

“You too, both.” You whisper.

Sam and Jody silently sneak up the stairs while you walk to the left to start checking the rooms. A low groan echoes through the hallway. Listening you hear a vampire snicker and then another groan.

Following the noises, you open a door. The image takes your breath away. Dean is handcuffed to a bed while a female vamp scratches his chest open to lick the blood off.

“Get off him!” You order and Dean looks up at you.

“He’s all mine. I will change him. You can't have my new lover.” The vamp snickers.

“I think he doesn’t like the idea and by the way, he’s been there, did that thing and got cured. Get away from Dean or you will regret it you dead corpse!” You warn.

Gritting her teeth she wants to jump on you only to lose her head. When she drops to the floor you can still see the surprised expression on her face.

“You found me.” Dean whispers and you nod.

“Well, your car isn’t really invisible. If you wanted to have a day off you could just have told us. I guess there are better places to be.” You try to joke while you open the handcuffs.

“You found me…” He says again.

“Did you think we would let you down? That we would let them turn you into a delicious sex slave?”

A shy smile crosses his face when you kiss his forehead. Gently pressing your scarf onto the scratches at his chest you sigh relieved.

“Hey. You good?” Sam ask watching the scene.

“Yeah. I had to kill her. She wanted to turn your brother into her sexy new companion. I had to disagree.” You say.

“Can you walk, Dean?” Sam asks.

“I’m a bit shaky, I guess,” Dean says.

“Okay. Sam helps you out of the house and Jody will help me burn it down.”

“Don’t forget my car!” Dean mutters.

----

“He lies in the backseat. I’ll drive and you can check on his wounds meanwhile,” Sam says leading you to the Impala.

“Dean looked so vulnerable when she said he’s her new companion.” You whisper.

“We need to take care of him, Y/N.”

“I will stitch him up and then he needs some sleep.”

----

“Alright. The wounds are clean and patched up, Dean.” Sam says looking at your work. “Let me help you having a shower.”

“No!” Dean grunts.

Giggling you move your hand through his dirty and messed up hair. Blood and dirt cover his body and he smells a bit.

“Dude, you stink and you look like you just escaped a splatter movie,” Sam mutters.

“I want, Y/N to help me,” Dean whines holding your hand.

Eyes widen and mouth agape Jody, Claire and Sam look at each other.

“Let Sam help you shower,” Jody says softly.

Carefully sitting up Dean looks at you. One swift motion and he makes you straddle his lap. Head resting against your shoulder he looks vulnerable again.

“It’s okay, Sammy. I’ll help him. Let me help him.” You whisper gently moving your hands through Dean’s hair.

“Well I guess we are out then,” Sam says laughing.

“Thank you,” Dean whispers.

“Then let’s clean you up, Dean and then you need sleep.”

“Hmm…okay.”

Helping Dean upstairs and into the bathroom, you remove his bloodstained clothes. When you want to remove his boxers too he protests.

“We need to wash all of you! You wanted my help, don’t be shy. I will be naked too!”

“Uh…”

“Come on. Sooner or later we would see each other naked either way.”

Butt-naked you enter the shower to help Dean stepping in too. Placing the palms of his hands against the tiles behind you Dean steadies his body while he tilts his head to let you wash his hair. Dirt and blood float out of it.

His eyes are closed while he enjoys your comforting. A soft sponge in your hand you gently start washing the blood and dirt off his body.

“You found me.”

“Of course. I was so worried, Dean. You were gone for hours. I was afraid they could’ve killed or turned you. Don’t do that ever again.” You sob.

“I was worried too. I thought I would never see you again.” Dean whispers and you smile up at him.

A bit shaky he lowers himself to catch your lips in a soft kiss. Moaning into his mouth you stroke his back.

“We should dry you and put you into a bed, Dean.” You whisper.

“Will you stay with me?”

“You want me to sleep with you?”

“Hmmm…please.”

----

“Does anything hurt?” You ask.

“No. I feel much better thanks to you.” Dean whispers.

One arm slung around your shoulders Dean let you rest your head onto his chest. Carefully avoiding touching his wounds you look into his emerald eyes.

“I…love you, Dean.” You whisper and he starts smiling.

“I love you too, Y/N, always have.”

----

“Why did he want Y/N to help him?” Claire asks looking at Sam.

“Well even heroes need comforting I guess…”

Forever Tags

@donnaintx​​, @screechingartisancashbailiff​​, @fallen-wolf22​​ , @curly-haired-disaster-deactivat​​, @sister-winchesters99​​, @mogaruke​​, @the-is13​​, @helloitsmeamie203​​, @strayrosesbloom​​ , @thewinchesterco, @hobby27​​, @kittycatlover18,   @gh0stgurl​​, @marvelfansworld​​ , @sandlee44​​, @hawaiianohana15​​, @unlikelysamwinchesteronahunt​​​, @katpatrova17​​​, @notyourtypicalrose​​ , @heyitscam99​​, @onethingthatkeepsmealive, @natura1phenomenon​​​, @flamencodiva​​, @echoesofpassion​​, @cocklesbelli​​, @anushay1998​​, @voltage-my2dlove, @wayward-gabriel

Dean/Jensen Forever Tags

@spnfamily-thewinchesters​​​, @love-my-not-natural-babies​, @supernatural-bellawinchester​​​, @butifulsoul125​​​, @lyinginthegingerlocks​​​, @mirandaaustin93​​​, @hawaiianohana15​​​, @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester​​, @20gayneen​​, @x2closebut2farx​​, @janicho88​​, @thefaithfulwriter​​, @dreaminemz​, @negans-lucille-tblr

[easternoklahomadentalcare-blog]

Tips to remove tartar from teeth without a dentist

Hygiene is one of the important aspects of living a healthy life, especially when it comes to oral hygiene. Brushing, flossing and using mouthwash at the end of it are three necessary steps maintaining the oral health? However, sometimes food and mineral salt starts to build up in your mouth which can lead to plaque leading to tartar.

It is one of the periodontal diseases which if ignores, can turn in to severe gum diseases such as Cancer. It requires special dental tools to remove from the teeth, but it may be a little expensive. However, there are some home remedies which might prove effective in removing the tartar from the teeth.

In this article, we are going to discuss some of the remedies which can help you remove the tartar without a dentist’s help.

1.      Maintaining good oral hygiene

Practising good oral health is one of the best ways to prevent tartar buildup. Use the brush approved by your dentist and use a fluoride toothpaste to eliminate any bacteria in the mouth which can lead to plaque. Brushing alone is not enough. It is important to floss daily at the end of the day to remove every bit of food from the between on teeth where the bristles of the brush cannot reach. Once flossing and brushing are done, make sure to use a mouthwash containing fluoride to add a protectant layer to your mouth. Not just that, make sure to visit a Best Cosmetic and Family Dentist in Tulsa every six months or yearly for a regular checkup.

2.      Use baking soda to brush

Baking soda is one of the oldest ways to clean the plaque and tartar. Using toothpaste containing baking soda may be more effective than any traditional toothpaste. Baking soda protects from demineralising which is the removal of calcium from the enamel of the teeth. Baking soda is useful in balancing the PH value of the mouth and helps in preventing demonetising. It is also useful in reducing tooth decay.

3.      Coconut pulling

It is a traditional method of oil pulling which can improve the oral health of the individual. Coconut oil is the best type of oil for removing because of its inflammatory and anti-oxidant properties. Coconut oil contains lauric acid and fatty acid which can help in reducing dental plaque. There are easy steps to follow. Begin with placing a tablespoon full of oil in the mouth and swish it for some time. Spit out the oil in the dustbin to make sure it doesn’t clog the sewerage pipes. If coconut oil is not available, you can use olive oil, almond oil, or sesame oil

4.      Eating food rich in vitamins C

Diet rich in vitamin C such as strawberries, tomatoes and more have antimicrobial properties similar to baking soda. It works best to remove bacteria from the mouth and prevent tartar buildup naturally.

It can be said that removing tartar from the gums is necessary to maintain oral health. Live a healthy life with a great smile and disease-free gums.

[zmediaoutlet]

w/l ratio

(a coda for 14.12) (AO3)

They come back to the bunker and it's empty, again. The place has been empty a lot since Dean came back. Sam's part of it, he keeps sending the others out on hunts, but they've started finding their own, too. Living, in this world that's not yet destroyed, and he hopes that's the bigger part of it. Some if it is that they're avoiding Dean, too. He doesn't think Dean knows, or that he'd care if he did, but it bothers Sam. He doesn't need additional evidence for Dean that he's not to be trusted. Used to be their belief in each other was all they needed. Dean's here, and that's a victory, but it's one Sam wished he didn't have to win. His knuckles hurt, a little. He keeps stretching his hand against his thigh.

Castiel sees them both down into the bunker and then announces he's going to pick up Jack. "What?" Dean says, voice a scrape. They didn't talk much on the drive. He's frowning, his arm wrapped under his ribs. "Where's the kid?"

"Tulsa," Sam says. Dean's eyes swing his way and Sam shrugs. "He and Maggie and Cora, and Keith for backup. Just checking out the area." He turns to Castiel, standing stiff by the stairs, watching Dean. "They're staying at the Cowboy Inn, off 75." Cas nods and stares at Dean almost threatening for another long moment and then disappears up the stairs, and when Sam turns around again Dean's eyes have closed, his chin dropped to his chest. "Jack texted. He hopes you're doing okay."

Dean snorts, and leans hard against the map table. "Good kid," he says, quiet, and Sam's still so goddamn angry at him he could throw another punch and break his damn nose, but he wants to hug him again, too, wants to hold him so tight and close that he can't breathe, that he makes some dumb joke about Sam's octopus arms, that he can feel Dean's heart beating.

He doesn't do either. He's tired. They drove all the way through the night into the morning, and Sam dozed for a while in the passenger seat but it wasn't any kind of decent sleep. He kept lurching awake, certain for a second that when he looked over the driver's side would be empty. It's just after three o'clock and neither of them have eaten. That's somewhere to start. "I'm making grilled cheese," he announces, and Dean looks at him, at least. "Want one?"

Dean sucks in his cheek on one side and looks like he wants to say no. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah, sure. I'm taking a shower, though, first."

"Try not to take forty minutes this time," Sam says. "I'm not keeping yours warm for you."

Dean huffs and nods, his mouth tucked into something that's nearly a smile. God, they're both tired.

Sam cooks. This is one of the few things he knows he's good at. He used to make grilled cheese on a hotplate in his dorm room, back when. Before that, even, when he was a kid, and Dean was gone. He leans over the griddle, the heat bathing his face. That conversation in the car. So many things left buried, things he wishes would stay buried, and they keep coming up. Nothing ever stays dead. He'd hate that if it wasn't something he'd pinned his heart to, so many times before.

To his credit, Dean is quick, and Sam's got two sandwiches each loaded up on plates when he comes into the kitchen, in clean jeans and one of his henleys and socks, still toweling his hair dry. "Think that might've been a record," Sam says, and hands him a plate.

"You just don't know how to enjoy the finer things in life," Dean says, and if it's not all that much like his normal self it's at least closer. He slings the towel over his shoulder and lifts the edge on the top sandwich. Just a little underdone, to Sam's taste, which makes it just how Dean likes it.

"Hey," Sam says, and then when Dean looks up at him and meets his eyes he doesn't know what to say. He feels like he punctured something, there in the dirt by the car, and he's drained. Dean's expression changes, just like that, and he looks for a second so sad and sorry that Sam wants to cover up his face, hide both of them away, and to stop Dean saying anything he blurts out, "Today's Sunday," and Dean says, derailed, "Uh, yeah," and Sam says, "Let's watch the game."

They've, neither of them, watched more than about two hours total of football this year. Even so, Dean's eyes clear with relief and he nods. "Yeah, sounds good," he says, and then, "You better not root for the Bradys."

Sam snorts and pushes Dean's shoulder. A lot softer than he did before. He leads the way, passes by his room, and when he pushes open the door to Dean's little den he knows without looking that Dean's surprised. They haven't spent much time in here, what with… everything. The other-worlders don't go in here, though, and it's still the same as it was when Dean left it. Two armchairs, side by side.

Kickoff already happened, along with whatever pageantry was involved. Football isn't really Dean's game, he prefers baseball, but he settles in easy enough. He takes the Rams' side, immediately. "Always root for the underdog, Sammy," he says, one sandwich down and the other in hand. "Haven't you ever watched a sports movie? Come on."

"Sometimes data tells us a little more than feelings," Sam says, and Dean rolls his eyes. Brady throws another out to Edelman and gains a first down. "Case in point."

"That blatantly ignores the power of a good halftime speech from the gipper," Dean says. He pulls the handle on his recliner and puts his feet up, socks pointing toward the TV. "Turns the whole thing around."

"Yeah," Sam says, looking down at his half-eaten grilled cheese, and sets it aside on the floor. The game's a weird one, slow and staggering. The Rams' coach is supposed to be some young genius, but there's not a lot of evidence of it. The Patriots aren't sparkling either. Sam's favorite thing about football has always been the strategy, ever since he was a little kid watching Brick Holmes. Two coaches, playing chess with fallible pieces. This is turning into a defensive struggle, rather than an offensive one. Linemen holding back a surging tide with everything they've got.

Halftime comes and Dean's asleep, his face turned away in the soft cushion of the recliner so Sam can't see the bruise starting on his cheekbone. Sam picks up their plates and takes them to the kitchen, dumps his congealed uneaten sandwich and washes the dishes. That stupid box, that coffin, is still sitting outside, in the snow. Sam can't stand looking at it. There was a while there, on the drive through the cold hours before dawn, when he'd thought about what could've been. Dean, alone under the oppressive weight of the sea. They've been through solitary confinement, before. This would be worse. And then, on the shore, Sam would be—

He brings a cold six-pack from the fridge back with him. The stupid neon light is on and this room seems—warmer, somehow, than the rest of the bunker. The halftime show's over and the Patriots have the ball. He sets the six-pack down with a clink and says, "Dean," and Dean's head turns toward him, his face flinching somehow before his eyes open. Sam smiles at him and Dean drags a hand over his mouth, pain in the corners of his mouth and in the lines beside his eyes, and Sam says, "Hey, your Rams actually got some points on the board," so Dean can look at that instead of whatever's in his head.

"Damn straight," he says, hoarse, and he accepts the beer when Sam hands it to him. They don't talk much, through the rest of the game. There are a lot of punts. A sack, on the poor Rams QB who looks barely older than Jack, and then Brady throws an interception that makes Dean whistle, and they both hiss when the Rams miss a field goal that would've given them a little more dignity.

"Told you," Sam says, when the Patriots are jumping around all over the field, pre-made hats crammed onto every head. Super Bowl LIII Champions. They look so happy.

"They win all the time, I don't know why they're so damn surprised about it," Dean says. "Pretty boring game."

They're each on their third beers. The Rams players are slumped on the sidelines, leaning against each other, miserable. Sam shrugs. "Touch and go there, for a while," he says, and leans down to get them both fresh bottles. A little warm now, but not too bad. He pops the caps on both beers and waits for Dean to drain his last before he hands over the new. He holds out his bottle to toast. "Defensive victories still count as a W."

Dean scrapes his teeth over his bottom lip, nods. He clinks the neck of his bottle against Sam's, and they take a swallow together. Maybe when Jack and Cas get back they can teach Jack a little about football. For now—he's glad it's just them. "Maybe next year we can make a real bet," he says, eyes on the television.

Dean's ankles cross, out on the footrest of the chair. He sighs, but he reaches out and grips Sam's shoulder, too. "Sure thing, Sammy," he says, and releases his grip. Sam chews the inside of his cheek, eyes stinging, and wishes more than anything that he could know for sure if Dean meant it.

[jedi-mabari]

Home Again, Home Again

Imagine running into Buck after being called back to Tulsa after your parents Death...

Word Count:598 Warnings:mentions of death,  A/N: unrequested, we need more Buck Merrill content ___________________________________________________________

You dropped everything and came home the night the oldest of your brothers called you, telling you your parents had been in an accident. When you went out that night with your girl friends, the last thing you expected when you got home was to answer the phone with Darry sobbing on the other end.

"(Y/N)," he said after he had gotten control of his voice, and it told you almost everything you needed to know. Some one was dead. It should have been you calling Darry home from collage, you were the oldest, it was your responsibility, but then something occurred to you. The only reason Darry would be making this call was if something had happened to your parents. You hopped you were wrong, you prayed you were wring, but the next words were followed by more sobs.

"Mom and dad are dead." You let the line go dead as you little brother sobbed into the receiver. You didn't bother to comfort him, you knew it wouldn't do any good from San Francisco, so, numbly, you packed your bags and bought a one way ticket to Tulsa. You grabbed a taxi when you landed and went home. The second you walked in the front door, every eye in the room landed on you.

You weren't expecting to see the gang crowded in the living room, most of them with red puffy eyes from crying. You may not have been expecting it, but you also weren't surprised. Your parents had been like parents to every boy in the gang. They were family, so it was only right for them to mourn with us.

Sodapop and Ponyboy were the first to reach me, wrapping me into their arms as my bags hit the floor. Darry and I shared a look over our kid brothers shoulders that told me he didn't expect me to be home so soon. He walked over, his face crumpling into sadness all over again and his wrapped his long arms around the three of us tightly, as it he were promising himself that he wasn't going to let anything happen to any of us. Next to join us was Steve, then Johnny and Two-Bit, and lastly was Dallas.

*****

You had been home for a month, and it felt unreal, like you were living in a nightmare, but, with help from your brothers, and the gang, you were managing. Your friends back in California seemed to finally understand that you weren't coming back, at least, not anytime soon, and had stopped calling. Darry, as much as he denied it, needed help taking care of Soda and Pony, along with the other boys who practically lived out of your fridge, which took two incomes.

You and Darry split the responsibilities right down the middle. You took turns doing the shopping, and pooled your money together to pay the bills, but all of you pitched in with the cooking and cleaning. And somehow, by the skin of your teeth, you and Darry had managed to talk the state into letting you keep Soda and Pony, saving them from being stuck in some state funded boys home.

It was your turn to do the shopping, so you were at the grocery store, checking the prices on flour. It was a staple in the Curtis house with as much as cake passes through the house. The boys all chipped in for baking goods, making it easier to for you to pay for them without dipping into the actual grocery fund. You were reaching to grab a bag of flour when you heard a familiar voice call you by your high school nickname.

"Is that (Y/N/N) Curtis?" You spun to face him, grinning as you recognized the tall cowboy clad in denim and flannel.

"It is indeed, Buck Merrill," you laugh, opening your arms to welcome him into a hug.

"How ya been doll," he asked, wrapping you up in a tight hug. He was so tall now you had to stand on your tiptoes now so as not to be smothered in his chest. You felt the years of stress that seemed to have been placed on your shoulders in the last month lift and her squeezed you.

"As good as I can be," you sigh, pulling away from him after several moments. You pushed some hair out of your face as you stepped away, looking up into his weathered face. He looked so much older than you, but really it was only three years. "How have you been?"

"Same ol' same ol'," he chuckled, his smile turning sympathetic as he recalled what Dally had told him. "I'm sorry 'bout your folks. They were good people." You nod and lean back against your grocery cart.

"We'll be okay," you say, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to check your emotions, "eventually." He nodded and reached up to grab a bag of sugar for his popular sugar-shine.

"Hey, I don't know how long you mean to stay in town (Y/N), but if ever you want, you can always come down to the roadhouse and have a drink on me. Whenever you want!" You smile up at him and grab a bag of flour off the shelf, placing it in your own cart.

"Thank's Buck," you gently chuckle. "Maybe I'll come by later this week." He nodded and the two of you hugged again before parting ways. You knew Darry had a problem with Buck. The constant parties, the drinking, the unreliable income, but you and Buck had been good friends once. You didn't have a lot of those anymore, and you really did miss hanging out with him. You finished your shopping and drove home, contemplating when you'd swing by Buck's place.