#Used Chevys near me

[victorchevrolet]

At Victor Chevrolet, we understand that financing plays a crucial role in the car-buying process. Our commitment to customer satisfaction doesn’t end with the sale. Our state-of-the-art service center is staffed with certified technicians who use genuine Chevrolet parts to keep your vehicle running smoothly. From routine maintenance like oil changes and tire rotations to complex repairs, we have the expertise and resources to handle it all. Call us at (585) 433–2500 for more information about chevy dealers in Rochester NY or visit our website.

Victor Chevrolet 7200 Pittsford-Victor Rd, Victor, NY 14564 (585) 433–2500

My Official Website: https://www.victorchevrolet.com/ Google Plus Listing: https://www.google.com/maps?cid=2922534895181548926

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[cherrysnax]

my father describes what my mother has done to him so well that it almost sounds clinical

[tubmanchev]

Emissions Test in Ottawa - Jim Tubman Chevrolet

Here at Jim Tubman Chevrolet, we offer Ontario’s Drive Clean Emissions Tests. Drive Clean is an emissions control program implemented by the government. It checks if your vehicle is running the way it should be and not emitting harmful emissions into the environment. If you would like to get more information about Etests, visit us today.

[prentissluvr]

the language of love isn't dead — dean winchester

cw : gn!reader, fluff, frenemies to lovers, petty arguments, ft. sam!, dean is annoying obviously <3, reader speaks latin (i used google translate and it is probably very wrong lol), kissing, one mention of a sexual innuendo, a few joking death threats, non-serious mentions of choking, poorly edited, 2.4K words. requested !

summary : you tend to compliment dean in the dead language of latin after fights so that he doesn't know what you really think about him.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

“you’re being ridiculous,” you frown at dean, arms crossed against your chest as you stare him down in tonight’s motel room.

“ridiculous?” he parrots, indignant. “this is baby we’re talking about. my car. you know, the ‘67 black chevy impala i would kill a man over?”

“yeah, i know her,” you reply, sarcastic in tone. “and your homicidal tendencies when it comes to her. i’m very familiar, dean.” you roll your eyes at him because you just can’t help it. dean makes it very easy to get annoyed at, for a multitude of reasons.

reason number one, he’s annoying. reason number two, he’s very hot when he’s angry. reason number three, he’s very hot pretty much all the time. it does not help that sam got first dibs on the shower, so he’s still covered in a bit of grime and blood from the hunt you just walked away from. it’s his best look, aside from any time that he smiles.

“well, then you should know that getting her perfectly tended to and polished leather seats dirty with wendy’s barbecue sauce is like a goddamn felony and i should sentence you to life of never even stepping foot near my car again,” he fires back, and if you didn’t know him well, which you do, you’d venture to guess that he’s joking. he’s not.

you groan in frustration. “for the last time, i did not get barbecue sauce on your car seats,” you insist.

“i saw you sneaking fries before we got to the room,” he counters, narrowing his eyes at you. “you could have gotten grease on the leather too.”

“i ate two fries dean, and i was careful. i used a napkin and i did not open my barbecue sauce!” you spit back at him. you can’t believe you’re arguing about this right now. except that it is so believable and so like you and him. it’s not like either one of you is going to back down, certainly not about something so petty and meaningless.

“then how come i found some in the back seat?” he says for what feels like the millionth time.

you throw your hands up in the air. “i don’t know! i don’t even use my barbecue sauce for my fries. there’s no reason for me to have opened it!” you argue, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “and how do you even know it was barbecue sauce?”

“it looked like barbecue sauce, it wasn’t there yesterday, you’re the only one who orders it and the only one who’s sat in the back since then. therefore, barbecue sauce,” he admonishes, crossing his arms over his chest to punctuate his point. you can’t help but laugh at him a little bit. he just sounds so ridiculous.

“well then, let’s say it was barbecue sauce—which it wasn’t. did the leather get damaged?” you ask pointedly.

“that doesn’t matter!” he practically rages, taking a step towards you. god, he’s beautiful and you hate him for it (you really, really love him for it). “what matters is that you got it dirty!”

“jesus, dean! just drop it, your car is fine!” you chastise, your voice raising a little in volume as you take another step towards him. you can see his light freckles better now. they’re so goddamn pretty it makes you want to choke him.

“just drop it?” he repeats, fuming. “i will not ‘just drop it.’ this is about baby. i can’t ‘just drop’ something about baby! how can i even trust you enough to let you in my car again, huh?” this is the point where he’s serious, but not that serious. there’s clear frustration and anger in his voice, but he’s stuck with you and he knows it. and when he asks that final question, his volume lessens and he shrugs. he’s looking for you to grovel or offer something to appease him. the question is whether or not to give him that. your instinct is, of course, to not. you let out a huff of breath.

“well, maybe because i’m excellent company in the car,” you suggest, a gloating tone making its way into your voice. “and i like your music better than sam does. which means we always outnumber him. that’s very important.”

he’s unimpressed, clearly. “you gotta come up with something better than that, sweetheart,” he goads.

you curl your lip at him and roll your eyes. “you absolutely suck, dean,” you state. he raises his eyebrows and you groan and roll your eyes yet again. that’s not the word to use around him unless you want a sexual innuendo thrown in your face. “you are absolutely horrible, dean,” you amend.

he laughs at you and his annoyance mostly subsides. “which means i have no problem getting back at you tenfold for getting goddamn barbecue sauce on my car seat.”

“te respicere bonum cum iratus es, ita dampnas,” you grumble, shaking your head and glaring at him. like tradition, you end the argument with a certain latin phrase full of choice words. 

now dean, sweet, lovely, silly, gorgeous dean, has no idea what you’re saying. he doesn’t care to learn enough latin for that. he doesn’t need to know, he thinks. your tone of voice says it all. he thinks those choice words are the type that one fills an insult with. today you tell him, “you look so damn good when you’re angry.” which, funnily enough, is not an insult.

it’s the perfect way of looking him in the eye and just spitting it out. you get to say without consequence what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, what you want to tell him so badly. it’s not the same as him knowing, but it helps. it eases your tension until the next time, it softens the blow a little.

sam fails to hold in his laugh behind you. you whirl around and glare at him, freshly dressed and out of the shower. you hadn’t even heard him leave the bathroom. narrowing your eyes at him, you tell your long time best friend, say something and you die. he puts his hands up in surrender, still laughing at you a little.

“shut up,” you grumble, then turn back to dean with a scowl.

“what was that little nerd exchange?” dean teases, realizing sam understood what you said.

“nothing,” you glower. “i’m showering now!” 

dean throws his hands up in protest. “you’re making me shower last after getting barbecue sauce on my car?”

“dean, i swear to the lord in heaven, if you–”

“fine, fine!” he relents, the sarcasm and teasing still clearly present in his voice. “you’re right, you should shower first, you probably have barbecue sauce all over ya.” you raise your fist in a threat and it’s dean’s turn to put his hands up in surrender. “i’m just saying!”

“stop saying!” you groan. “just– stop talking, i’m gonna lose my mind.” if i have to stare at your gorgeous face and listen to your gorgeous voice for another second i will go crazy. you sigh heavily. god, you wonder if you could survive not kissing him. monsters and demons and all the strange shit in the world… that’s fine. it sucks but, jesus, at least you know how to deal with them.

but doing it all with dean? you have no idea how to deal with that. so far, it’s by arguing with him, complimenting him in a dead language, and keeping him at an arm’s length. and so far, it’s not working out too well, because you still want him. you still want him to want you back. you still wish and wish and wish that the language of love isn’t dead, not for you and him, not yet, at least.

maybe the shower will help. this motel doesn’t have the worst showers; the water pressure is decent and the water stays hot for a while longer than some others.

you’re not annoyed when you finish, at least, not about his stupid accusations of you getting condiments on his car seats. unfortunately, you are still annoyed about how attracted you are to him. even more unfortunate, you suppose, is that you’re attracted to him, period.

you sigh because you can’t bring yourself to actually try not to be. not that anyone can reverse feelings, but you let your feelings run rampant, more than you should sometimes. you let him eat away at your heart like a goddman movie zombie that’s too stupid to remember it eats brains. then, you figure that the thought of him eats away at your brain too, because he messes with your rationality sometimes.

his eyes are on you as you leave the bathroom and you wonder if sam’s tattled on you. when you shoot him a look he shrugs and shakes his head. you’re not convinced, but you let it slide. you plop down on the pullout couch bed and pack your old clothes away, ignoring dean’s heavy gaze. only when the door to the bathroom opens and closes do you flop against the bed with a heaving sigh.

“i hate your brother,” you grumble, barely loud enough for sam to hear as the muffled sounds of the shower turning on hits your ears. you turn to your side and curl up, not even bothering to pull the sheet over yourself.

you can’t see sam, but you hear him scoff from his spot on his own bed. “sure you do,” he quips, completely sarcastic.

“no, i really, really do,” you insist, not meaning a word of it.

“well, he hates you too, then,” he answers, voice heavy with implication. you know what he means because he knows what you mean. hate, of course, is love.

“no, he doesn’t,” you counter, sad about it. you bet that no one’s ever sounded so disappointed that someone doesn’t ‘hate’ them.

“you’re hopeless.” sam’s probably shaking his head at you as he reads the words on the book in his lap.

“i’m hopeless,” you sigh.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s not until a few days later that dean confronts you about your little latin digs at him. sam did tattle, only because he’s tired of your pining, but dean won’t tell you that. he’s smart enough to know you’ll end up with your hands around sam’s neck if you end up finding out, and he’s not trying to have his… person strangle his little brother.

“hey, idiot,” he starts, the word layered with affection. “why do you always insult me in latin? sorta feels like you lose the point of insulting someone to their face like that.” 

he’s leaning against the hood of his car, beer in hand like always. it’s oddly uncommon to find yourself like this; outside, alone with him. the motel’s not busy and there are barely any other cars in the parking lot, and even less people. it’s just you and him as far as you can see. the night air is mild, cicadas singing as summer begins to slip away.

“well… maybe the point is that you know i’m saying something about you, but you don’t know what,” you shrug, sort of proud of the smooth answer. you’re not even lying. inside, you’re panicking a bit. this is dangerous territory.

“the stuff you’re saying is that horrible, huh?” his tone suggests a joke. his eyes suggest otherwise. it makes you pause. 

how unfair is it, to the both of you, to lie? to even joke that you’d say such mean things about him? about dean winchester, whom you know sort of hates himself. who has just two people by his side, you and sam.

and you, who only argues with him because it’s easier than being nice. you, who deserves what you want but won’t let yourself even try to have it.

“no,” you sigh out. “i’m not saying horrible stuff about you.” you don’t look at him, you don’t mess around. you take the joking in his voice and strip it away. you take the look in his eyes and put it in yours. it makes him look at you, for once. it’s easy to imagine his eyebrows raising, his lips caught somewhere between his signature smirk and a curious frown. “not in latin, anyways,” you add, letting a huff of laughter leak into your bitter voice.

dean keeps looking at you. you know you’re supposed to explain after saying something like that, but you’d much rather not.

“no?” he asks finally. now you have to say something more.

“no,” you confirm, still staring at the trees across the street instead of him. the street lights are orange in color, and it feels either cruel or hopeful that it’s such a beautiful night. “i… say it in latin because it’s something nice. and you can… ignore this, if you want. i say it in latin because i like you a lot, dean. y’know, more than a stupid, fucking friend.” you roll your eyes a bit, like you’re upset with yourself. then you swallow thickly and ignore the fact that you can see him in your peripheral vision. he doesn’t look like he normally does. he doesn’t look angry.

dean is torn between teasing you and kissing you. you sound mad about the fact that you have feelings for him, like you wish you didn’t. ‘more than a stupid, fucking friend’ is a real funny way to phrase things, if he’s honest with himself. the question is, does he say that to you, or does he look for something better to say? he’s not good with ‘better things to say,’ whatever that might be.

“a little aggressive for a love confession, no?” his voice isn’t even that teasing. it’s sort of gentle. he wants to slap his hand over his mouth for saying that godforsaken four letter word. you had said ‘like.’ it’s freudian slip, he supposes, since he loves you.

“this isn’t funny, dean,” you murmur, voice sort of defeated. and yet, you hear it. it’s not funny to him either. he wasn’t trying to be funny, he was trying not to feel. he was trying to say at least something, because he was having trouble coming up with anything else.

“i know,” he relents. he draws in a deep breath. “will you look at me?” your lips part, then close. you blink a few times. you turn your head and look at him. god, he loves you back. he’s got to, or there’s no other way to explain how he looks at you.

and there’s definitely no other way to explain him kissing you. he looks you right in the eyes and he leans in until his lips are touching yours. 

his eyes flutter closed, yours follow. you kiss him back, he kisses harder. the language of love isn’t dead. all you had to do was say something.

[sirfrogsworth]

I'm moving out of the city and I'm going to have to learn to drive. Any advice for someone (reluctantly) looking into cars for the first time?

Sorry for the late response, but I really wanted to answer this because I think I have some relevant advice.

I started driving the very day I was allowed to get my learner's permit. I took it very seriously. My dad was a mechanic, my brother literally built a car when he was 16. They were car guys and I was the goofy comedian they didn't really understand. So I wanted to be a really good driver to impress them.

I practiced every chance I got. I took driver's ed in school and got a 100% in the class. And I got a perfect score on my written driver's test and only got dinged for 1 thing on the main exam (it was bullshit, but apparently there is no way to protest a near perfect score).

But then I got sick and it didn't make sense to pay for car insurance and maintain a vehicle. So I didn't drive for roughly 15 years.

Then both my parents got sick and they became dangerous drivers and so I had to figure out how to drive again. And at first I was nervous, but after about a week of driving, I was nearly as good of a driver as when I was younger.

The reason?

Muscle memory.

Muscle memory will save your life over just about anything. The less you have to concentrate on the physical actions and habits required to drive, the more you can concentrate on situational awareness. If you don't have to think about turning the wheel, or braking, or even activating the turn signals, you can use all of that brain power to pay attention to all of the dumb fucks they let drive cars.

So my biggest piece of advice would be to break down all of the physical actions required to operate a vehicle. Even the tiny stuff like switching the station on the radio or turning down the fan on the A/C. Then find a way to practice these things over and over and over until you have that muscle memory embedded into your brain. My muscle memory was so deeply ingrained that it lasted through 15 years of not driving and a batch of mind-wiping electroshock treatments.

Find a safe place to practice and just repeat things until they feel like second nature. Especially checking your blind spots. If you can get checking blind spots to the point where you do it without even thinking about it, you will increase your safety substantially.

Other tips...

Small cheap cars are best first cars. Big cars can make you feel disconnected from the road. Almost like you are piloting the vehicle in a video game. I started on my grandma's 1987 Chevy Cavalier. It was tiny. It had no power. It was free. But I could feel everything I was doing. I could feel the turns. I could feel the road. I could feel braking and acceleration. And it really helped me understand the relationship between driver and vehicle. It was like a big go-kart but I think having that as my first car really helped me develop my driving skills.

And my last tip is to learn gradient braking and acceleration. It's mostly for the comfort of your passengers. It gives them a smoother experience but it also makes them feel safer driving with you. Basically you want to figure out how to apply pressure to the pedals in such a way that almost no G-force is felt. So you start with very light pressure and gradually transition into the max pressure you need. And you need to do it quick enough to stop and accelerate at the proper rate. If you don't transition fast enough you might not stop in time or be able to merge onto the highway. And if you transition too fast people will be lurching back and forth in their seat. But, again, practice makes perfect.

My brother is horrible at this, though mostly on purpose. He likes driving like everything is a race. And with his muscle cars, that can be fun at times. But when you are just going to the store it can make one a little nauseous. I find myself just grabbing the "oh shit" handles and never letting go.

But if you can smooth out your acceleration and braking to the point it is barely felt, all of your passengers will thank you for it.

Hopefully that helps. And maybe other folks can reply with additional advice. And if you have any more specific concerns feel free to ask. I wasn't sure if you were more worried about driving or picking out a car, so hopefully we can collectively cover both.

I wish you luck and hope you learn to love driving. It is pretty cool once you get the hang of it.

[spnbabe67]

Make My World Go Black

Kinktober Day 4: Friends to Lovers (T.O.)

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Drinking, Soft and Slow sex

Summary: While visiting Loretta's hometown, the newest Tornado Wrangler gets a request to come pick Tyler up. The problem? Boone has the hotel key.

Word Count: 2962

Authors Note: Title and fic based on the song "Black" by Dierks Bently. (And yes, I know the character in the GIF isn't Tyler Owens, I couldn't find one that matched what I had in mind)

The last thing Loretta expected when Boone texted her was a request to pick up Tyler from the local bar. Sure, The Tornado Wranglers were in her turf, back home in North Texas, but usually it was Boone or even Lilly’s job to nurse their leader back to soberness. She had just crawled into bed, the time nearing 11, when her phone started blowing up with texts from her coworkers. At first she’d tried to ignore it, eyelids heavy from a long day of driving, but after the 5th text she’d relented, squinting at the bright screen. Most of Boone’s text was incoherent, the videographer clearly had a couple drinks himself, but through his copious amounts of spelling errors and incoherent sentence structure she gathered his message: come get Tyler.

So, Loretta pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie and pointed the headlights of her two-door Chevy towards the bar Boone had managed to type clearly. Loretta knew the bar well, a little hole in the wall downtown. She wasn’t surprised Tyler chose this place out of the list she’d given him to celebrate a successful season. They’d raised a significant amount for the communities they visited throughout the last couple months, and as an end of season celebration Tyler suggested they come visit Loretta’s hometown. She was the newest member of the group, having joined towards the end of last season when The Tornado Wranglers were chasing an EF4 in the Panhandle and came across Loretta who was competing at the local rodeo. She’d always had an interest in inclement weather growing up in the southern portion of Tornado Alley she’d seen her fair share of tornados, seen the devastation they left in their wake. Here she was, a little over a year later, picking up her boss who she’d had a crush on since he swaggered up to her at the bar after she’d finished competing. 

“Hey Doll.” Tyler gave her a lopsided grin under the brim of his white cowboy hat as Loretta approached him.

Boone or whoever had sat him down on a bench outside the bar, thumping base still audible through the walls. The air was tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke and grilling meat; it was a familiar and comforting aroma.

“Hey yourself, Cowboy.” Loretta quipped, ready to mockingly scold Tyler for getting drunk but it died on her tongue as he pushed himself up from the bench with ease, no sign of alcohol impairment. When she had read Boone’s text, she’d assumed his request to come get Ty;er was urgent, that Tyler was drunk. But here he stood, not drunk at all, buzzed if anything. 

“Thanks for comin’ to pick me up. Boone and the others are drunk off their asses with no intentions of leaving any time soon. We all carpooled and Lilly refuses to let anyone drive her car, so.” Tyler trailed off, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Loretta tried not to linger on how stupidly hot the motion was, eyes bouncing back up to his face from where they’d trailed down to his biceps that were outlined by his white t-shirt.

Loretta gave Tyler a half smile, nodding her head back to where her truck was parked. “Come on Cowboy, let's get you back. You drove more than I did today and I’m exhausted.”

Tyler huffed a laugh. “Me too.”

She let Tyler follow her as she hopped into the driver seat, cranking the key until her engine sputtered to life. “Alright, where did you guys hole up?”

Loretta looked over at Tyler as he whispered a curse under his breath, patting his pockets. “They only gave us one key and Boone has it.” 

He’d taken his hat off, ever the gentlemen, resting it on the dash. His sandy blonde hair was all mussed up, flat against his skull in some places and sticking out like a rooster's crown. His skin was tanned from years in the sun and it looked so damn smooth.

“I’ve got room.”

Tyler looked over at her, eyebrows raised and a half grin on his face. “Really? You got a spare room?”

Loretta tilted her head back and forth, bracing an arm over the back of the passenger seat as she backed out of the parking spot. “Eh, not exactly. But I have a queen sized bed and sleep like the dead.” She shrugged her shoulders as she drove them down the singular main drag through her small town. “Not like you have any other choice.”

“I can crash in my truck. Really Lor I don’t wanna impose on you.” Tyler tried to reason, sinking down lower in the passenger seat and Loretta had to force herself to keep her eyes on the road rather than watch as Tyler set his legs wider.

“It’s not imposing if I proposed the idea in the first place. So shut it and just let me take you home.” Loretta paused, feeling her cheeks go warm as she dragged a hand down her face to hide her sheepish smile. “That came out wrong.”

Tyler chuckled at her from the passenger seat, grinning at her. “Yes ma’am.”

“Fuck off.” Loretta jested, playfully shoving Tylers shoulder.

She ran a hand through her brown hair, tucking a couple errant strands behind her ear, trying to convince herself that the blush that still clung to her cheeks was because of her embarrassing statement and not because Tyler Owens was sitting in her truck and they were driving to her house. This felt right. The sky was full of stars, her house was far enough out in the country the light pollution was nearly nonexistent. With nothing but rows and rows of corn and soybeans with the occasional break for pastures for cows or horses, including the one that belonged to her acreage of land. The gravel kicked up around the wheels of her truck as she pulled down her driveway leading up to her raised ranch. 

“Well, this is me.” Loretta unbuckled her seatbelt, gesturing for Tyler to follow her. 

“It’s” She heard Tyler contemplate from behind her as she unlocked the front door. “Not gonna lie, it’s exactly what I was expecting.”

Loretta furrowed her brows as she let him into her house. “Is that supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing?”

Tyler stuttered, running a hand over his head. “Good! Good! It’s a good thing I promise.”

Loretta giggled as she guided him upstairs. “I’m just fucking with you.” She stopped at the hall closet, pulling out a towel and a washcloth and holding them out to him. “Bathroom is the last door on the right, I’ll go grab you some clothes.”

“Thanks Doll.” 

Loretta held her breath as Tyler took the linens from her, tucking them under his arm before leaning in. It was everything she could do to not let her eyes flutter closed as Tyler's face got closer to hers, the heat of him leaking onto her. Loretta felt Tyler’s lips brush her cheek and immediately her chest tightened, that feeling of longing flooding her brain and heart. As brief as the kiss was, him pulling away was quicker, punctuated by that heartbreakingly sweet smile only a country raised boy could pull off. 

Loretta internally sighed, returning his grin with a toothless one of her own, patting his back. “Go get cleaned up Cowboy.”

Once Tyler snicked the bathroom door shut, Loretta retreated to her own bedroom, rifling through her dresser drawers. She knew her brother kept a spare pair of clothes in there somewhere for whenever he came to visit. There! She pulled a pair of boxers and another t-shirt from the back of her bottom drawer that seemed to be the right size.

“Just me.” Loretta knocked a couple times on the bathroom door before cracking the door open. The shower was running, the water hot enough to steam up the bathroom. “I found a pair of boxers and a shirt you can borrow for the night.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” Tyler said from behind the other side of the opaque shower curtain. 

Loretta hummed a response, fleeing the bathroom in the most nonchalant fashion she could manage, closing the door behind her. She let out a sigh, shaking her head trying to get rid of the images of Tyler naked not 5 feet from her separated only by the door and the shower curtain. He is probably soaking wet, lathered up with soap. No! Loretta went back to her own room, changing out of her sweatshirt and peeling off her jeans, changing them for a pair of sleep shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt from her alma mater. 

She turned the lamp on the bedside table on crawling under the covers, picking up the book she’d been meaning to finish, needing something to distract her from her less than pure road her thoughts her headed down. Absolutely not! He is your best fucking friend, your coworker! You fucking him would just make everything worse. 

Loretta’s eyes snapped up from the book cradled in her lap when she heard the bathroom door creak open and Tylers footfalls bring him into her room. She felt her mouth go dry at the sight of Tyler, dressed in just boxers and a shirt in her doorway. Sure, Loretta had seen him as well as the other Tornado Wranglers in various stages of undress. Chasing twisters required a level of get-up-and-go that didn’t leave time to worry about modesty. But it was the fact that he was here, in her room, about to sleep in her bed, that had her wanting to know just how good his muscled body would feel under her hands, against her body.

“Feel better?” Loretta managed to say, dipping her gaze back to her book to keep from ogling the man.

Tyler hummed somewhere from her right as she felt the bed dip under his weight as he climbed in beside her. “Nothing like a hot shower at the end of the day.”

It was Loretta’s turn to hum a noncommittal response, not trusting her mouth to filter the thoughts circling in her brain.

Tyler must have taken her minimal response as her being upset because his hand landed on her arm, causing her to flinch. “Lor, you okay? I can sleep on the floor, or on the couch.”

Instantly Loretta felt guilty, setting her book back on the nightstand.”No, no, no. Sorry, I’m just super tired. And don’t be spewing that bullshit. I’m not about to let you sleep on the couch let alone my floor.”

Tyler raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Loretta crinkled her nose at him,offering him a soft smile. She reached over, turning out the light with a quiet click, flooding the room into darkness save for the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains. She let out a sigh as she settled on her side facing Tyler, watching him do the same. Despite her bed being a modest Queen,Tyler was nearly chest to chest with her.

Loretta was glad the room was dark because she was sure her face was flushed red. The way the moonlight glanced off his face made her think Tyler looked like an actor in a black and white film, all James Dean with a titch of Marlon Brando.

“Hey Lor?”

“Hmm?”

Loretta could sense Tylers hesitation, the apprehension of her reaction to whatever he wanted to say. She felt him shift his arm like he was gonna reach out and touch her but the sensation of his hand against her arm never came, much to Loretta’s disappointment.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Loretta blinked, then blinked again, trying to process what Tyler just said. She huffed a laugh, thinking Tyler was joking. “You sure you didn’t have anything to drink Ty?” 

“Yeah, I am.” There was no mistaking the seriousness in his voice, no mistaking the way he was looking at her. “‘Cause I wanted to be completely sober when I did this.”

It was like Tyler was in slow motion, the way he carefully brought his hand up to cup Loretta’s face, thumb stroking the line of her jaw as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Fireworks erupted in her belly at the feeling of finally having his mouth on hers after months and months of hopelessly pining. Well, not really hopeless now is it? Because here he was, deepening the kiss as she willingly opened her mouth to him. Part of her had a hard time believing this was real, that maybe this was just a dream. A really good, really real feeling dream. But the other part was hyper aware of the fact that one of Tyler's bare thighs had slid between her own, the hand not brushed against her cheek had slid to her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

Loretta felt like she was on cloud nine, a high not even Boone’s weed could touch. She threaded her fingers through his hair, whimpering as Tyler’s tongue swept into her mouth. His thigh was solid muscle between her legs, rubbing up against the ache that had slowly started to grow there. Loretta let out a small moan as Tyler’s hand slipped down to palm her ass, rocking her onto his thigh. Loretta moaned Tyler’s name as his lips made a hot trail of sloppy kisses down her jaw to her neck. 

“I know, Baby, I know.” Tyler murmured against her neck, his hands sliding under her long sleeve shirt, thumbs stroking the planes of her belly. “Let me make this feel good.”

Loretta arched her back, helping Tyler slip her shirt off before his hand pressed against her stomach, laying her flat on her back. She whimpered as the cold air hit her bare chest, her nipples hardening. The cold was short lived as Tyler's hot mouth closed around the right one, his hand kneading the other, pulling a gasp from her lips. Her hand shot to his head, holding his face to her chest. She arched her back, chasing the feeling of his tongue circling around the sensitive bud, his left hand tweaking and pinching the other, every action had wetness pooling in her shorts. 

Tyler pulled off of her breasts, a line of saliva connected her nipple to his lips as he kissed his way back up her body until his lips met hers again more heated this time. Loretta slid her hands under Tyler's shirt, pulling it up and off, letting her explore the soft ridges of his abdomen. As Tyler rolled them over back onto their sides, Loretta became aware of something hard poking against her lower stomach. A very large, hard something. Everything in her became focused on the fact that Tyler’s hands had slipped back down to her hips, pushing her shorts down. Loretta reached out, slipping her hand down Tyler’s boxers causing him to curse under his breath.

He reached down himself, shimmying out of his boxers until they were naked. Loretta kissed Tyler deeply as he ran the fat head of his cock through her soaked folds, hiking her top leg high on his hip. 

“Fuck, baby you’re so wet for me.” Tyler muttered against her mouth between kisses, rutting himself against her until the head caught on her core.

Loretta’s mouth fell open as the head of Tyler’s cock slid into her, Tyler hissing through his teeth at how tight she gripped him. His fingers dug into the plush of her ass and thigh, holding her leg up so that he could slot his hips between her legs. Loretta let out a keening moan as Tyler slid in and in and in, filling her until she wasn’t sure she could take it anymore from the amount of arousal coiling in her stomach. She gripped his bicep as Tyler settled into an easy pace, short and slow thrusts that had her moaning breathily every time his hips slapped against her own. 

“Takin’ me so good. Feel so good, Baby. Been wanting to do this for so long.” Tyler mumbled praises against her mouth as he fucked into her, his fat cock brushing against that sensitive spot deep inside her.

“Tyler.” She moaned feeling her climax starting to build

“I know, Baby. Me too. Let me feel cum for me, Doll.”

Tyler kept fucking into her at the same pace, slipping a hand between them to rub small circles on her clit. The sensation of his calloused thumb against her clit sent her over the edge, her pussy walls clamping down on him as her orgasm crashed over her in waves of euphoria. Tyler’s own thrusts became uneven and sloppy as he came, burying himself inside her as his cum spurted deep into her pussy. 

Loretta let out a shaky breath, smiling as she lazily kissed Tyler. Tyler gently shifted his hips, letting his softening cock slide out of Loretta with a low groan. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing his cheekbone as she pulled away from him enough to admire his face. 

“Been wanting to do that for a while, huh?” She teased.

“Mm.” Tyler hummed, pressing a kiss to Loretta’s shoulder. “Ever since I saw you after that rodeo last year. Just never knew you felt the same.”

Loretta huffed a laugh, stroking her fingers through his hair. “What about your saying.”

“My saying?” Tyler looked up at her from kissing her collarbone. 

“If you feel it?” Loretta grinned, watching Tyler’s confused expression morph into a grin of his own.

“Chase it.”

[morganwrites12672]

Toledo

Sam Winchester x Reader

Summary: While working a case in Toledo, Ohio the motel owners daughter catches Sam's eye.

Word Count: 1.2k

Rating: PG-13

A/N: I've been wanting to write this for a while and finally found the time to do so! Thanks to @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles for letting me rant about it!

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It was a chilly night in November. The door to the motels entry opened up. She was stuck working the night shift, something she had never liked. Most of the people who checked in this late made her uneasy. Unless they were a familiar face.

The boy who walked through the front door couldn't have been much older than 21. He was all messy hair and too long limbs. He had shaggy brown hair in desperate need of a little trim. His bangs had began growing over his eyes a bit.

She gave him a smile as he walked over to the small check in counter. She let her eyes roam over him for a moment before looking up at his face. She wondered why someone so young was checking into a motel. She didn't bother asking. It wasn't any of her business.

"Welcome to the Holiday Motel. How many nights will you be staying with us?" She asked. The motel name was ancient. It had originally been founded by her grandparents.

She had started working here over the summer or weekends growing up. Now that she had temporarily dropped out of college, she worked here most nights. . She told herself it was only a gap year before going back to college.

"A week," the boy replied. He awkwardly fidgeted before running a hand through his already messy hair. He looked around the office. There wasn't much to see.

She nodded, looking through available keys before picking one. "What's your name?" She asked as she set the key on the counter and told him the price.

The boy set a few bills on the counter before speaking. "Sam," he replied. It wasn't often that he gave people his real name. For some reason he had felt like being honest with her.

She handed him his change before giving him her name. She smiled to herself as she watched him leave. It wasn't often someone near her age booked a room.

Not that she was paying attention, but she watched him through the window as he left. He walked over to a dark colored Chevy Impala. There was another man waiting for him. The two men then walked away to the room.

She sighed. He was staying for a week. She had plenty of time to see him again. Maybe he would stop by sometime soon. Just in case he came by the office again, she would pick up a few extra hours. Just in case. Working a bit of overtime was worth getting to see him, even if it only happened once.

Even if she knew it would make her parents suspicious, it would be worth it. She wanted things to work out. She knew realistically she would probably only get to see Sam once or twice. And, that nothing would happen.

Most likely.

She liked to daydream though. A little bit of optimism never hurt anyone. It wouldn't hurt her to wish. Without a bit of imagination her life got boring. It wasn't like anything interesting ever happened in town.

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It didn't take long for her to see Sam again.

The sound of the door opening made her look up from the crossword puzzle she had been messing around with. She quickly closed the book upon seeing that it was Sam. She smiled at him, sitting up.

It had only been two days since she had last seen him. She had taken every single shift her parents were willing to give her. Anything to increase her chance of seeing Sam again.

He looked nervous as he walked over to the counter. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat before speaking, "Uh, hey."

"Hey," She replied. Her heart raced. She has no clue what the hell to say to him. She wasn't that great at these things. Just a tad bit too socially awkward for them. "Why are you in town?" She asked.

"Uh, I'm here with my brother. We, uh, we're with the Wildlife Preserve. Uh, investigating the animal attacks," Sam replied. A light blush crossed his cheeks. He didn't want to screw this up.

She tilted her head slightly, "Really?" She had thought that it was just some bear. That's what the police officers had told her when she had asked after going into town. The news about it was everywhere.

She tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear. She regretted having not styled it a bit. It splayed over her shoulders in strands. Nothing special. Maybe she should have anticipated this a little better.

"Yeah. . . we'll be in town for only a few more days," Sam said. He obviously couldn't tell her the truth. How would he explain that it wasn't a bear behind the deaths? How would he explain that it was a god-damn werewolf? He couldn't. That was the answer.

Lying was often the best option in his line of work.

"Have you noticed anything strange around town? Maybe someone strange?" Sam asked, he tried to be nonchalant. He knew it was such an odd question. Something that might make her suspicious.

Her brows furrowed an subtle frown tugged at her lips. Her mind wandered. Why would he ask a question like that? "No, I haven't. I mean, half of the people who stay here are a little strange. . ." She said, hoping to lighten the mood.

Nothing ever happened in this town. The bear attacks were the most concerning event in years. It was a small town. Everybody knew everybody. And, everybody got along. For the most part.

It was just like any other boring small town.

Everyone had went to the same highschool. Everyone seemed to know each other. If she was being honest with herself, it drove her fucking insane. She was tired of it. Working at her parents motel was the most interesting part of her day.

Things wouldn't change unless she made them.

She grabbed the little square of bright purple sticky notes setting on the counter and jotted down her number. She handed it to Sam with a blush. If he wanted to catch up later, he could call her. If he didn't then he could just throw away the little note.

Sam grabbed the purple sticky note with a small, embarrassed smile. He was glad that she had gathered the courage to make the first move. He sure as hell wouldn't have been able too.

"T-thanks. I'll have to call you sometime," He said. He hadn't been expecting any of this. Hell, he had thought that he was probably annoying her. Or, worse, she thought that he was some creep. The fact that she had just given him her number made his heart race with excitement.

She spoke again, "Um, I know you're here for work. But, maybe if she ever gets any downtime we could grab dinner together? Or maybe lunch?"

She felt so damn awkward asking him out. She had already given him her number. There was no need for her to try so hard. Yet, she couldn't help herself. She wanted to see him again soon. Plus, he could always say no if he didn't want to go out with her.

"That sounds nice," Sam replied.

The two agreed upon a day, time, and place to meet up. She had convinced him to try out her favorite little diner. It was a date.

As Sam left, he couldn't help the excitement coursing through his veins. He knew that Dean would think it's stupid. He wouldn't see her again after this well. Yet, as he held that little purple sticky note, he couldn't help but hope.

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading!

[ickypuppi3]

billy’s mom waking him up while it’s still dark, whispering even though neil’s working the night shift. it’s a couple days before his tenth birthday and she’s telling him they’re going to have their very own adventure, just like the ones in billy’s books. she grabs an already packed suitcase from under billy’s bed and kisses him on the nose, tells him to get dressed quick. the two of them leave in an old beat up yellow bug that she managed to get for a third of the asking price and keep parked around the corner until now. they stay with friends and jump from place to place so neil can’t track them down. billy gets used to surfing couches and staying in motels.

he spends his tenth birthday in a diner, his mom gets him a big stack of pancakes and a milkshake with extra cherries. gets a candle out her pocket along with her silver lighter. sings happy birthday and pulls a face when the waitress frowns at them, just to make billy laugh. she sips at her coffee while billy tucks in. smiles when he holds some out with a “c’mon mama, share with me.”

billy thinks it’s neat. thinks it’s the best birthday he’s ever had.

they eventually end up with a place in california, a little bungalow near the coast and billy grows up with his mom. billy gets pretty shirts from the thrift store ‘cause his mama lets him do stuff like that. doesn’t call him a queer, doesn’t force a baseball bat into his hands whilst yelling at him for crying, for being a pussy. his mom lets him read and keep a journal and press flowers between the pages of the neverending story, she plays hendrix and dusty springfield and laughs when billy comes home from his friends’ house with his first piercing at thirteen. she doesn’t tear down his posters or yell when she finds him using her eyeliner.

and everything’s perfect. sort of.

they have bad days- billy’s mom has bad days. billy calls them gray days ‘cause that’s how the world looks when she’s like this. all her color gone. no singing-dancing in the kitchen or baking five different kinds of cake because she couldn’t decide which one was best, no last minute trips to the beach or sitting outside at night and telling billy about the stars. instead she’ll stay in bed, won’t go to work. she’ll stare at the wall blankly and look right through billy when he tries to talk to her. she won’t take the pills the doc gave her and billy doesn’t know what to do. never knows what to do. just chews at his lip until it bleeds, bites at his thumb until it’s red raw. he’ll get in the bed with her. lay beside her and just talk like she used to do with him when he had a nightmare. hum a song to her.

billy’s still pissed at the world just slightly less so. still has that anger and anxiousness simmering just below the surface and shows his teeth when cornered. he’s still hardened in a way that a kid shouldn’t be but. it’s different. there’s no neil. the only bloody noses he gets are at school, when he fights with the kids who call him a fag and a fairy, call his mom a basket case. he uses fists when they laugh and ask if she’s all there with a finger pointing at their heads, ask if billy will “catch the crazy.”

those are billy’s bad days. sitting in the principals office, icing his knuckles.

when he’s fifteen, billy manages to bag a job at the local auto repair by turning up every day and telling howie how good he’d be, that he knows cars and it’s all he wants to do and please please please. eyebrows pulled together, eyes puppy dog wide and hands clasped in front of him until howie grumbles, throws an oily rag at billy. says fine but billy’s gotta pay for anything he damages. someone brings in a chevy camaro and billy asks howie to let him help fix it up. does the begging again until howie laughs. says get a hold of yourself, kid, voice fond as he ruffles billy’s hair.

billy’s four months away from turning seventeen when the doorbell goes. he’s eating a sandwich and watching knight rider. he’s wearing the necklace his mom got him for his last birthday and- he answers the door. doesn’t think twice. freezes when he sees neil standing there. he looks different. hair a little shorter and more wrinkles. where billy’s gained weight, gained muscle, neil’s lost it. his eyes are a little sunken and he’s still got his wedding band on. he reeks of booze. billy has to remind himself to speak, just says “yeah?” his voice comes out small and neil smiles at him. smiles and billy feels this weird twist in his stomach ‘cause .. that’s his dad and he hasn’t seen him in years and it twists and twists and-

turns out. not much has changed. billy realises a little too late that neil will always be neil. they run again. have to leave everything behind. billy doesn’t get to say bye to his friends, to howie, to the car. they leave a lot of stuff behind and head in any direction away from neil. they both try to keep the mood light, take turns driving and play the tapes billy grabbed. they end up in indiana- hawkins. they stay at a motel until billy’s mom finds a place for dirt cheap. it has two bedrooms and a dingy bathroom, a living room slash kitchen and one hell of a damp problem. it’s dirt cheap for a reason.

it’s above a shop in town and- it’s fine. their landlord is an asshole but they’re together and they’ve got a roof over their heads. billy’s enrolled at hawkins high and his mom gets a job at the laundromat. he tells her that he doesn’t need to go to school, that he could just work and help pay the bills but his mom won’t have any of it. says that she wishes she had finished school and that billy’s too clever to waste it. that he has potential.

billy knows the reason she dropped out of school was because she had him. he just nods, rests his head on her shoulder.

it’s billy’s first day at school and his mom drives him to make sure he actually goes. he gets out the car and tries to shake the nerves off. straightens up and puts on his act. plasters a fake smile on his face and it’s working, he’s got most of the girls swooning and the boys at least seem curious. billy looks around and his eyes land on a guy leaning up against a bmw. his hair’s coiffed to high heaven and he’s wearing a polo, preppy as fuck but- pretty. it’s one of the first things billy realises about him, all doe eyes and moles dotted just about everywhere. he’s got a smirk on his face. not aimed at billy but the guy beside him.

pretty-boy walks over to him and billy raises an eyebrow, plays it cool. he introduces himself as steve and billy gets the idea that he’s top dog at hawkins high, is immediately proved right when they step into the building. king steve, freckles calls him. billy laughs- catches steve looking at him when he does and feels his face get hot. steve just smiles wider, calls billy california and tells him to sit with them at lunch. billy tries to ignore the way steve’s smile makes him feel like the rug’s been pulled out from under his feet.

he nods and steve grins. tugs at one of billy’s curls.

says “i think you’re gonna like it here, california.”

[scaly-freaks]

inmate 13453

okay don't get excited, i just felt like writing a bit of a drabble to feel out the atmosphere of a potential start to this au (clicking the tag will give up the other stuff i've posted for it btw)

btw check out the playlist and the pinterest board made by @theageofsilver and @allicentsallure bc they're fab

cw: kidnapping

Soft seventeen.

Bambi eyes, bambi legs.

There’s a certain edge to the way people describe the age she’s at. Not quite eighteen, not quite legal, tangible as cherry juice on greedy fingers. She isn’t sixteen, sweet and tender. It’s a soft first step into adulthood, skirting the border, the in between, the unknowable horrors that lie ahead.

She fucking hates being seventeen.

It’s a shit number first of all. Odd numbers make her want to spew. They feel like nails on a chalkboard, polyester static on leg hair. She can’t even dance, so whatever ABBA are singing about doesn’t apply.

Amara sticks out her tongue and tastes the air as the breeze blows west. She swears she can get a sense of the world when she does.

Her stepfather mocks her for it. That blue-eyed, blonde maniac with the ugly Buick Electra he treats like a brand-name Italian from the southern coasts of Europe. He used to treat her mother the same. Until he began to tell Amara you look just like her when she was young. He leaves his porn tabs open on his computer, as if he wants her to know. ‘Teen’, ‘Latina’, ‘Stepfather’, ‘Rough’, ‘Face-fucking’, ‘Breeding.’

She doesn’t have a drop of Hispanic blood in her.

She really wants to tell her mother, but there is a chance her mother will look right through her instead. She’s been doing that a lot more nowadays. They can’t afford her meds anymore. She just sits on the porch and watches and waits. For what, is anyone's guess.

>> can you pick me up?

>> its dark

>> pls

>> sorry ik its inconvienant

'Step-Daddy' always replies quickly when it’s her. He has a heart next to her name on his phone. She never agreed to that.

>> it’s spelled inconvenient

“Suck my dick,” Amara tells the screen and switches her phone off before he can message again.

She can walk.

The route back runs dangerously close to the edge of the forest. All kinds rot away in there, but she doesn’t like to think of them by name. They’ll become real if she does. She wishes her mother had found a man who lived in the wetlands, and not here at the cursed border between life and the realm beyond. Marshes are easier to understand. Forests are cursed.

Still, life is horribly simple here. Her high school is placid and filled with the dull-eyed children of dull-eyed adults. The gas station where she works didn’t bother to interview her. She walked in and the guy behind the counter stared at her breasts until he remembered she had a face. Her breasts aced the interview for her.

Can I work here? Just until I graduate.

Sure, grab a nametag.

Four months later, and she doesn’t mind it anymore. Her brain shuts off. Her customers are a ragtag mixture of suspicious, ferret-eyed locals and the occasionally buoyant hiker from out of state. If she doesn’t look like she belongs, she’s pretty, and that usually gives people like her a pass. At least until the sleazy comments become ethnically charged. But even then, Amara has a way of making her eyes go ‘dopey’ and just smiling like she’s too slow to understand. Displaying discomfort is what eggs them on (kind of a nasty realisation she opened her eyes to one day).

An engine growls some way down the road.

Old Chevy pickup, faded gold.

She recognises it from the parking lot at the station near the end of her shift.

A guy stepped out, young, early twenties, with a shock of hair that looked white until she realised it was just really, really blonde. She remembers thinking it was odd. The range of blondes in town runs from deep and dirty to the artificial bleach rattled out of holographic boxes of dye. No one has hair like his. She’d have noticed.

His eyebrows were a little darker, and his lashes were darker still. He had a funny way of walking, and he looked at her like she had the head of a fish and the body of a human being. Amara did her best dopey eyes. She asked him if he’d had a good day, pointed out the offers they had on pork rinds. He didn’t say a word. His skin had smears of black grease, glistening with sweat and bronzed by the sun.

Deep blue eyes.

Horribly deep.

Not the kind you’d want to swim in. She likes a softer blue, blue like chlorine, reminiscent of the safety of swimming pools. His were anything but.

She picks up her speed, and for some reason, puts her phone to her ear as if mid-conversation. Nothing about him said he was dangerous at the time. At least not from the way he’d barely said a word or looked down at her body. He was just there, and then he was gone.

And now here he is again.

The Chevy hits the horn. He is creeping closer. Amara turns and waves at him to go on. She doesn’t want a ride. Why isn’t he rolling down the window to offer one though?

It slows to a crawl. Her throat closes up. She has a feeling speeding up will give him what he wants. He’s obviously trying to be a prick. But if she goes back to talk to him, that would be exponentially worse. She switches her phone back on and sees her stepfather’s message telling her to get back home herself after she didn’t reply to tell him her location.

She quickly shoots him a message, and prays he’ll respond.

He doesn’t.

Fuck it.

She walks faster. The Chevy matches the increase. Sweat blooms on the back of her neck.

Every woman has that oh fuck moment. That I’m going to be on the evening news moment. The please god if he catches me let him kill me before he gets to raping me moment.

None of that goes through her head. She keeps thinking of her mother’s cooking. Her mother hasn’t cooked in a year and a half, not since her mind began to slip. But Amara can taste the spices on her tongue, the way the rice was perfectly simmered, the cinnamon in the back of her throat, the smell that clung to the walls, the heat of it.

I wanna come home, Momma.

Her mother’s face gathers into shape in her head, built with sand particles and saltwater. When the Chevy roars, she starts running. Her mother vanishes.

The lights of the truck blink across the tarmac. It’s a signal. But it isn’t for her.

She looks over her shoulder, and she can’t see him.

Run me over. Leave me like carrion on the road. Let the maggots eat me. Don’t cut me up first.

He slows when she starts to tire out. Picks up when she tries again. No other car has graced this road since she first turned onto it. A sign points her to the right, ushering her deeper into the backwoods. The town is to the left.

He figures out where she’s going when she suddenly makes a dash for the bend in the road.

There’s no time to dodge the pickup when it goes for her this time. The wheels skid as he yanks it at an angle and blocks her way. The door flies open and misses her by an inch. His arm grabs for her. She dodges, animal fear and rust on her tongue. He still doesn’t say a word.

A heavy fist connects with the small of her back and she drops like a stone.

The pain is electric. Air turns her lungs into taut balloons, but she can’t make a sound. She twists around and the bruise forming over her spine grates. Adrenaline quickly numbs it as she lashes out with her arms and legs. Kicking, punching, scratching, biting. Her teeth hit home. A mouthful of tattooed flesh, car oil and sweat. Still no sound from him.

She never sees the fist coming, just like last time.

A blow to the head and lights out, nancy.

[streamafterlaughter]

Soundtrack to Disaster

Prologue

nav | masterlist | playlist | pinboard

fic tags: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, modern!au, angst, time jumps, oc!reader x eddie munson. this fic is rated 18+ MDNI chapter tags: swearing… that’s it for now. teehee

a/n: hello and thanks for reading! chapter one will be posted shortly after this! i really hope you guys enjoy, and please leave me comments!!! reblogs also appreciated greatly!

DISCLAIMER: I do not consent to having my work fed to AI engines, or reposted in any way, shape, or form on other websites. Unless otherwise stated, this is the only account that features and contains this work, and any replication was done without my consent. Please let me know if you see my work elsewhere. Reblog to support the author!

taglist (comment/ask to be added!) @children-of-the-grave @five-bi-five @kellsck @faggotinie @xplrnowornever

—

September, six years ago

Red and brown leaves crunch under your boots as you rush across the commons, phone glued to your ear as your brother’s rants berate you from the other end of the line. You’re missing out on weekend tips to deal with your burn out brother and his stupid friends.

“You didn’t think you’d have to get your story straight just in case you got arrested?!”

“I didn’t really consider it a possibility. I was thinking positively!”

You groan, shoving your key into the ignition of your death trap of a car. “Well, the power of manifestation won’t help you now.”

“Will you please just come pick me up?” You almost tease him about the desperation in his voice, but something tells you it’s a bad idea.

“Yeah, whatever. How much is bail?”

“Ah, forget bail, sis. You’re gonna have to use that money for my lawyer.”

“What the fuck did you do, Chris?”

-

He stole a car.

Not just any car; a vintage, 1967 Cherry Chevy Camaro belonging to none other than Officer Carver. What a fucking moron.

Carver’s had it out for your brother since he was promoted to Chief of Police, not that Chris didn’t make himself an easy target. At fourteen, your older brother made a habit of stealing from the corner store near your house. He’d come home out of breath, backpack stuffed with a six pack and several candy bars he'd used to bribe you not to tell your parents. You’d taken them with little more than an annoyed huff then, but this wasn’t just cheap beer and a couple Milky Ways. This was the Chief’s car, his baby. You’re pretty sure he loves that thing more than his own son. It would explain a lot. You get to the station as the sun is setting, tinting the sky with orange hues. Inside, it’s mostly quiet save for the phone ringing and the chatter of a couple uniforms. “Hi,” you greet the secretary, who looks bored beyond her years as she types away on her ancient computer. “I’m here to see my brother, Chris L/n.”

She directs you down the hall, where the sole cell in the building holds your big brother inside, sitting on the wooden bench with his head down.

”Hey, idiot.” He looks up, face splitting into a shit eating grin.

”Hey, little sis.”

”What the fuck did you do?”

He snickers, as if this is just another prank, a practical joke! “Thought it would be fun to take Carver’s bird out for a joy ride, sue me!”

“He’s doing worse than suing you, Chris! He’s pressing charges!”

He snorts, then attempts to hide it with a cough. “Yeah, but it was worth it.”

You groan at your brother. “How’d he catch you?”

Chris shrugs. “His partner was out on patrol or something, obviously recognized his own car. Caught us red handed.”

”Us? What poor sap agreed to this stupid idea?”

Chris’s smile is seemingly slapped off of his face. “No one. Did I say us? I meant me. He caught me.”

”Chris-“

”Miss? You need to leave, we’re transporting this suspect to the penitentiary shortly.” The secretary hadn’t made a peep behind you, causing you to jump at her voice. She escorts you back to the lobby, where she hands you your cell phone and keys back. You’re about to leave when you hear his voice from across the room.

“You’re free to go this time, Munson, but don’t think I won’t have my eyes on you.”

The boy chuckles as Carver removes his handcuffs. “Oh, I’m sure you will, big guy.”

-

one year later

The gavel hits the wood. Chris is sentenced to five years in prison for grand theft auto. His fate had been sealed when Eddie took the stand, testifying as a witness. “I was in the car with him. I told him to stop, but I couldn’t convince him.” You watch, stunned into silence, as your brother is taken in handcuffs to the big house, the same cocky smirk still on his lips.

Eddie got one hundred hours of community service, because he’s eighteen with no priors, but you can’t help fuming as you watch him walk free; someone you used to call a friend, someone your brother cherished so much, turned completely against the both of you. How fucking dare he.

-

chapter I

[lavenderchqn]

𝐶𝛨𝛢𝑃𝑇𝛦𝑅 𝟎𝟐𝟐 — UPON QUOTES (1,9K WORDS) 𝑅𝐸𝐷 𝐿𝐼𝑁𝐸𝑆 — lyney x f!reader smau

𝑆𝑌𝑁𝑂𝑃𝑆𝐼𝑆 —

Second year of university should've been everything you thought of it - more studying with human interaction sprinkled throught... What it definitely wasn't supposed to be was an investigation saga where one of your friends goes missing out of nowhere

𝑃𝑅𝐸𝑉𝐼𝑂𝑈𝑆 — 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇 — 𝑁𝐸𝑋𝑇 𝐸𝑃𝐼𝑆𝑂𝐷𝐸

Once Furina and Neuvillette confirm they’ve made it to the cafe, [Y/N] heads out. Although she has asked them to be there as early as possible, she still feels like she's in a rush. If there’s one thing she cannot be… is to be late. Not to mention, her mind is racing with each step. 

At this point, it’s debating whether she was more or less worried when visiting the orphanage. She wants to believe Chevreuse will be helpful. Angelique had been their first known missing person. She has taken her case specifically into her own hands… 

She wants… no, she has to gather as much intel as possible. 

The weather is lovely. Sunny and yet not too warm at the same time. These are perfect conditions for trying to learn further about the case of university students being kidnapped. 

Soon enough she sees the building of the esteemed Café Lutece. The closer she gets there, the more details she sees — people walking their dogs, stray cats scaring off pigeons enjoying some crumbs… And two girls standing close to the entrance.

Oh how glad [Y/N] is that Chevreuse’s profile picture matches her appearance in real life.

“H-Hello…” She walks up to the girls, greeting them politely. 

“Heyy, must be [Y/N]?” Chevreuse puts her hand out to shake the girl’s hand. “Glad to finally have a face to put to the messages.” 

“That’s right.” She smiles slightly. “Nice to meet you.” 

Her attention turns to Chevreuse’s companion. This must be the friend she had been talking about.

“This is Em, a dear wife of mine.” 

Emilie rolls her eyes playfully in response, flicking Chevreuse on the arm. “A friend. I’m your dearest friend, Chevy.” 

Her attention goes back to [Y/N], standing still and confused. “Pay her no mind, she just likes to joke in such ways. I'm Emilie, a biology major.” 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Emilie.”

“The pleasure is all mine." She retaliates with a smile.

“Damnnn, can’t believe you’d cheat on me like that… In public no less!”

“Oh, shush you!”

Is this how best friends act? Is this how she and Lynette used to act? Surely not… 

“L-Let’s get inside, shall we?” She asks, trying to diffuse the situation. 

The establishment is abnormally quiet at this time of day. Had it been the school year, business would most certainly be booming. [Y/N] can make out Furina and Neuvillette chatting happily at one of the tables. Lovely, at least this makes it easy to choose a table. They exchange a brief glance, reminding each other why they're here.

Well, thank heavens they kept true to their word. Although [Y/N] believes in the sincerity of Chevreuse and Emilie, there’s never too much being careful. The words said by Madame Knave still linger on in her mind. 

“I don’t frequent cafes that often,” Emilie says, looking at the menu, before turning to the other girls. “Could anyone of you recommend something?” 

“A latte or a cappuccino, I guess?” Chevreuse answers.

Emilie doesn’t choose either, staring at the choices with full attention. 

“If you want something lighter,” [Y/N] starts. “A latte would be better — its milk texture is more delicate.” 

“I see… Thank you, Miss [Y/N].” 

With the blonde soon making up her mind, the girls finally put in their order and head to have a seat. They’re near one of the exits —  Charlotte’s preferred spot, right next to a socket. 

Their table is relatively close to the one where her chaperone is sitting… However, when they finally sit down, their awkwardness due to having this be their first meeting begins to show. 

“Sooo…” Chevreuse starts, trying to break the ice. “Why are you interested in Angelique?” 

The question shouldn’t surprise [Y/N] at all, and yet it does. She had rehearsed all the possibilities of this conversation multiple times. Should she answer truthfully or bend it a little?

“We’ve shared classes together.” 

“Did you work on any projects together?” Emilie inquires further, clearly sceptical of this being the sole reason. “I don’t wish to sound unkind, however, it does feel unnatural for such sudden interest in another person.” 

[Y/N] gulps in nerves. This shouldn’t be happening. She’s a journalist for fucks’ sake. She’s supposed to be in charge of the conversation to gather as much as possible.

“To be completely honest—“ Her voice gets reduced to whispers as she leans over the table. The staff of the cafe doesn't have to know.

The bell rings, as the doors next to [Y/N] swing open. Another customer has entered the building, shutting the journalism major completely out. Can’t be going around spewing such important news when somebody’s right next to you.

It seems like life is completely against [Y/N] at this exact moment. One of the waitresses is here to bring the girls their coffee. 

“Your order is ready. Hope you enjoy!” She turns around noticing the new customer. “Oh! Good morning, professor. You’re later than usual!” 

“Traffic, nothing else— Also.” The seemingly older male starts. “I’m no professor, just a mere assistant.”

[Y/N] shakes her head, getting her thoughts back to what they were gonna talk about.

“Dear me... sorry about that you two.” She tries to give a smile, struggling to get herself in order. 

Her body feels weird. She hasn’t taken a sip of the drink yet, so there’s no way it would get spiked. Has Charlotte’s ‘bad-vibes’ radar been passed onto her? 

“Don’t worry, take your time.” By the way, Emilie is speaking, she must understand something. In all seriousness, back in their texts, both girls mentioned topics serious enough to be said eye-to-eye. 

“The thing… is quite complicated…” 

“No wonder.” Chevreuse comments. “Something minuscule as wanting to ask about projects wouldn’t be as nerve-racking, would it?”

“Here’s your order sir, I hope you have a nice day.” 

“Likewise.” The male replies as he leaves the building. With that, it seems the cafe has returned to its homey atmosphere.

“Okay.” [Y/N] sighs, before lowering her voice to a whisper again. “I’m pretty convinced Angelique has been kidnapped.” 

Chevreuse and Emilie look at each other, confused.

“What do you mean?” A questioning tone replies.

“A friend of mine went missing around 3 weeks ago.” 

“How does it have any connection to Angel, though?” 

[Y/N]’s trekking through thin ice floes. She remembers every detail Charlotte managed to find about Angelique... and how it connects to Lynette's case.

“Angelique has been a writer for the Fontinalia Group, right?” 

“Em, was she? I don’t remember.” 

“That's right, she was.” Emilie’s shushed voice replies. “Didn’t talk much about her work there.” 

“A friend of mine was invited to join in the middle of April… And there are two other girls with connections to the troupe also gone.” 

The more Chevreuse and Emilie learn, the more concerned they get.  

“Did you go to the police?” 

“We did. The case has been moved to a different district. We haven’t heard a word ever since submitting it.” 

“Chevreuse… do you think?” The blonde leans down to take something from her bag. 

“Oh god, not fucking thatttt…” Chevreuse muffles back. 

It takes Emilie quite a time to locate whatever she was looking for… and it seems to be… a stack of papers? 

“What’s that about?” [Y/N] asks, noting the papers are in a ziplock bag. 

“In the middle of the semester, this was slid under our dorm's door.” 

“Can I look?” 

“Be our guest… just be careful—“ 

As soon as [Y/N] opens the bag, the room gets filled with an overwhelming scent of a male’s perfume. Holy fuck, that’s quite intense. 

“Oh god…” The girls all cough a bit from its sheer amount. 

[Y/N] slowly unwraps the paper noting its great quality. Whoever was in charge of that most certainly knew their stuff. 

“And she was mine, she was mine, the key was in my first, my fist was in my pocket…” She starts reading the letter out loud — her tone still shushed. “… she was mine.” 

She gives a questioning look to the girls opposite her. Why would they feel like it’s related?

“When did this get delivered to you? It must've been after Angelique's case has been brought up.” She asks. 

“Many people from the administrative office came to ask us about Angel in late April.” Chevreuse answers, her eyes on the letter. “Em, do you remember?” 

“This letter arrived in early May. Surely you remember me looking into this scent. It’s just… mind-numbing.”

“Oh right… Yeah, that sure was a journey…” 

“Emilie, have you found anything?” 

The girl shakes her head. “I’ve come to the conclusion, that it’s a mixture of different colognes. Quite difficult to pinpoint something noteworthy, unfortunately.” 

[Y/N] furrows her brow, the implications of the letter weighing heavily on her. The words she just read resonate with a chilling undercurrent. “What does it mean by ‘she was mine’? This sounds more like obsession than affection.” On the other hand, if she were to go by predictions of the perpetrator to be well informed in arts… it could be a quote from a book. 

“I'm no poet, yet it most certainly reads as somebody being fixated on other’s being… rather than being affectionate to them.” Emilie’s expression is equally serious. 

 “Could also be somebody who considers affections as the same as fixation.” Chevreuse comments, sighing… But the look [Y/N] gives the girl… She has figured it out.

“Oh— Oh god…” 

She stands abruptly, bumping into the table in the process. Nerves overtake her body. Her legs are jittering, giving out a little.

Chevreuse and Emilie are scattering out of their seats trying to help to keep her steady. Even though they haven’t known Angelique long, and they’ve known [Y/N] for even less… both of them can tell her emotions are real. 

“Let’s get you to sit again.” Chevreuse leads her back onto the chair. “Have you figured out what the text means?” 

“… Lolita. It’s a quote from the book.” 

More time passes before Emilie and Chevreuse feel comfortable to leave [Y/N] on her own. She even rejects their gracious offer to drive her back to the dorms, since they’d be heading the same way.

The only thing she asks for is to exchange phone numbers. Even though they might not about Lynette’s situation still… having more people on your side makes it safer whenever something eventually goes wrong.

Furina and Neuvillette, despite observing the situation did not interfere at any point during their conversation… thus their job had been switched to notifying the rest of the group what has been going on… at least partially. 

Soon after the girls say their byes, they also leave the shop. Their job has been completed, regardless if they were necessary there in the first place. 

And [Y/N]? Well, she’s been keeping close to the small cafe, trying to contact the orphanage to share what she has learned… Whoever is behind Angelique’s, and by proxy Lynette’s kidnapping is either a sick person… 

… Or directly related to them. 

“Please, please just answer…” She says, looking at her phone deflated. She does not want to disturb anybody around her. Surely the caretaker of the House of Hearth wouldn’t be petty to leave her high and dry just because of a minor disagreement. Well, even if she did — [Y/N] does her utmost to convince her mind otherwise.

Soon, her call finally gets answered. 

“Hello?” They say. That… Is most certainly not Madame Knave… This is… 

“—Lyney?!”

The line cuts off instantly. 

𝑇𝐴𝐺𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇 — OPEN

@state-of-grac3 @santaluna @meigalaxy @romyoia

@meurtreofcrows @charles-braindump @floweringanna @moonjellyfishie @vavrin @lovelypadisarah

date of posting — september 28th 2024

[cariantha]

Good Driver

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Sawyer Brooks) Rating: Mature Warning: 🔥NSFW, contains sexual content Category: Fluff Word count: 1.2K Prompt: From @jerzwriter, “Before you marry someone, go sit in traffic with them for at least 2 hours.” How would Ethan and Sawyer do?

Due to the stormy weather, the return drive to Boston from Ethan’s childhood home in Providence has taken two hours longer than usual. Minor accidents littered the freeway, causing multiple slowdowns along the way. And now, despite being back on city streets, flashing emergency lights a half-mile ahead restrict lane access, resulting in a severe bottleneck of red taillights. Like runners at the start of a marathon, drivers eagerly look for openings to break away from the pack. 

White-knuckling the “oh shit” handle above the passenger seat door, Sawyer slams her foot on an imaginary brake pedal for the hundredth time since leaving Alan’s house.

“Jesus Christ, Rookie. Relax.” 

“I’m sorrrry. Traffic like this stresses me out.” 

“No shit,” Ethan says to himself, mentally rolling his eyes as she continues her anxiety-induced rambling.  

“Everyone’s boxed in and impatient and frustrated. I hate it when people cut over and force you to slam on your brakes and allow them in. It’s so rude. But heaven forbid you honk because it might trigger a road rage incident. And the torrential downpour isn’t helping matt-”

SCREECH!

A few cars ahead in another lane, the driver of a silver Honda slams on the brakes. The car's tail end skids on the slippery road, but the driver luckily maintains control. A loud and sustained honk screams at the bully in the Chevy truck, who had forced their way over without the courtesy of a blinker warning. 

“See!” Sawyer points at the cars that perfectly demonstrate her point and clutches the grab handle above her door tighter. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” 

“Recline your seat back,” Ethan gently commands. 

“Why?” she asks, shifting her gaze from the near accident to his unfazed profile. 

“To get your eyes off the road and to put you out of reach of that handle. You’re about to rip the damn thing off.”

Sawyer hesitates initially but then does as he says. “Fine,” she concedes. Reclining the seat to a one-hundred-and-fifty-degree angle, she leans back and covers her eyes with her forearm. 

Ethan reaches over and squeezes her thigh. “Now, unzip your pants.”

“What?!” she squeals with a laugh and a look that tells him he’s crazy. 

But he’s dead serious when he says, “You heard me. You’re so wound up. Let me help you relax.”

“But-”

“But nothing. We’re stuck in traffic, and I don’t see us moving along any time soon. I’m an excellent driver. Never been in an accident. Trust me. I’m used to driving in these conditions.”

“I do trust you. It’s those maniacs out there that I don’t trust,” she counters, waving her hand toward the windshield she can no longer see through. 

He squeezes her thigh again, then runs his fingers upward along the inside seam of her jeans until they graze her middle. When she opens her legs a little wider, he caresses her there and taps his fingers a couple of times. “C’mon, let me in.”

Caving, Sawyer takes a deep breath, unfastens her jeans, and pulls the zipper flaps back to give him access. 

“Good girl.” With one hand on the steering wheel and two eyes on the road, Ethan eases his free hand underneath the band of her underwear. 

His fingers slide between her smooth folds and stroke gently. “So soft,” he murmurs. 

It only takes a couple of up-and-down swipes for her to be primed and ready for more friction. 

Ethan moves his fingers in response to her whimpers and soft moans while remaining vigilant to their surroundings. In his peripheral vision, he can see that Sawyer’s eyes are closed, and she is focused only on his touch. He brings her to the edge several times but doesn’t let her finish, wanting to keep her distracted and relaxed for as long as possible. 

No longer able to endure the blissful torture, Sawyer begs for relief. “Ethan, please…”

She arches into his touch when he glides his middle and ring fingers into her entrance, then props herself up to ride his hand. 

Sensing the impending tide, she blindly reaches for the handle above the door again, a lifeline to keep from drowning.

Ethan quickly glances her way. Sawyer is panting heavily, her head tilted back, and her eyes still closed. She tightens around his fingers, and he knows she is right there. 

Returning his eyes to the road, Ethan inches the car forward. With each press of the gas pedal, his fingers pump into her. And with each pump of the brakes, the heel of his palm applies pressure to her swollen clit. 

When she shudders, Ethan turns his head to watch. 

Sawyer lifts her head and screams. “Ethan!” 

A flash of red washes over her face, but it isn’t from the flush of orgasmic bliss. It’s from the brake lights glowing on the car in front of them. 

“Stop!” she yells, bracing her hands for impact on the dashboard.

Ethan slams on the brakes, instinctively throwing his arm in front of Sawyer to protect her from harm. His luxury car stops just inches before rear-ending a modest Toyota.

A beat of silence passes as they both take deep, calming breaths, trying to recover from the scare.

"Holy shit!" Sawyer quietly gasps, her heart pumping so hard it's about to burst. 

“Are you okay?” Ethan looks her over with his foot firmly on the brake. 

"Yeah.” But her anxiety immediately returns once she has regained her bearings and assesses the traffic situation. 

With the car at another temporary standstill, Sawyer unclips her seatbelt, mumbling as she climbs over the center console and flops into the backseat. “Good driver, my ass. That was a terrible idea. Totally reckless."

She slumps behind the driver’s seat so Ethan’s broad shoulders block the view through the front windshield and meets his bewildered eyes in the rearview mirror. “I don’t want to break up with you, and I don’t want you to break up with me. Trust me, it’s better this way,” she explains.

Silently chuckling to himself, Ethan puts his blinker on. He maneuvers the car toward the right, forcing other vehicles to stop and let him over. 

Sawyer shrieks from the backseat when the truck driver he cuts in front of honks their horn and flips him off in frustration. “What are you doing?!” 

“Pulling over,” he answers composedly. Ethan turns at the next corner and parks next to the curb, away from the glow of the streetlights. “We’ll wait it out.”

“Why? The traffic was finally letting up.” 

Ethan sets the emergency brake and turns off the car engine. “If you think you can climb over this console, shove your gorgeous ass in my face, and expect me not to think about what happened the last time you did that…”

The rest of his words are drowned out by the downpour of rain and a loud crash of thunder outside as he exits the car.

“Since you’re more comfortable hiding back here…” Ethan says when he slides into the backseat a second later and tugs his wet shirt over his head.

Raking over his sculpted chest, she apologizes with a knowing smile. “Good call, waiting it out. I take back what I said earlier. You are a very safe and responsible driver.”

“But you prefer to be in control on the road, don’t you?” he shares his recent observation.

“Yeah,” she answers as he pulls her onto his lap. 

“Do you want to drive?”

“Mmm-hmm.” 

“Can you drive a stick?” he asks, thrusting his hips upward.

Sawyer laughs, “I think you already know the answer to that question, sir.” She kisses his lips teasingly, then says, “Fasten your seatbelt, Ramsey. You’re in for a wild ride.” 

Tag List: @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics @peonierose  @potionsprefect @trappedinfanfiction 

@jerzwriter @queencarb @coffeeheartaddict2 @quixoticdreamer16 @jamespotterthefirst 

@liaromancewriter @tveitertotwrites @tessa-liam @youlookappropriate @kyra75

@socalwriterbee @txemrn @midnightmelodiz @snoopdogcone @rafasgirl23415

[lavishl0ve]

🩸Johnny Slaughter x Fem Reader 🩸

! Part 3 ! (This one contains smut 👀)

Another part/continuation of my story, these parts can always be individually read but I do recommend reading the others b4 hand as I make some references throughout. (They aren’t needed to understand though). Enjoy !!

(btw I finally figured out font and stuff! Yay! so hopefully this is more appealing. still tryna figure this out lol)

Part 3: Stars

3 months… It's been three months since the cellar. Since that day, that conversation. With each passing day, each talk, I find my heart warming toward Johnny. Why? I don’t know. He sneaks me around most of the time, mainly just trying to avoid The Cook. Sissy and I are on good terms now after her apology. Well I mean if you can call it that.

“Sorry, but chu’ deserved it.”

Yeah. But at least it was something. Life on the ranch isn’t terrible. As long as I ignore what happens behind closed doors. I try to at least, the last thing I want is Johnny changing his mind about me. I sit on the stool of the beaten up vanity in the small room they gave me. No widows, constant splinters from the wood floor, and major dust. But it’s better than the cellar. But not much different since he locks it every night. I guess he can’t trust me yet. I wouldn’t either. I slipped into the silk nightgown Sissy gave me, three light knocks emerged from the other side of the door. I began climbing into bed looking behind me, Johnny cracks the door open.

“Johnny..?” I ask, “Why are you still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He shrugs.

I give him a light nod as I pull my covers back. He sighs.

“Come with me?” He questions.

I looked behind to see him, leaned against the doorway. He just watches waiting for a response, I pull my covers back up putting my pillows back into place walking towards him and give him a small smile. He scoffs in amusement leaning off the doorframe and starts walking toward the backyard. He opens the creaking door, unfazed anyone could wake and see us. The cold air immediately envelops my body. The silk isn’t helping much either. Grass tickles between my feet with each step I take, he leads us towards his shed again. Walking toward the old, white chevy he puts the cargo bed down and motions from me to jump in the back. He follows me shortly, I lay flat staring at the night sky, clouds clear, the stars twinkle in unison. It’s such a sight. Something so beautifully far away. I wish I could touch them. Johnny leans against the back of the truck, lighting a cigarette. I look up towards him and scoot back as well. He puffs his cigarette, then motions it toward me. The tobacco coats the inside of my mouth. I'd never like smoking but every now and then it’s okay. You pass it back to him.

“Aren’t they so pretty?”

“Hm.?” Johnny asks, hitting the cigarette again.

“The stars.”

Silence lingers for a second, his eyes are on you.

“I suppose’.”

You look at him, your eyes lock. You can’t seem to look away, his dark eyes bore into your soul. He licks his lips.

“Ain’t prettier than you though’.”

You blush looking away, he always makes small little remarks that end up with you being flustered. Hopefully he couldn’t see it (he can). He laughs, moving a piece of your hair to see your face.

“Naw’ I’m serious.” He raises his eyebrows.

He makes me face him. Oh god. His eyes are brewing, so desperate they dig into your stomach leaving a settling pit. We just stare. The tension, unbreakable. I breathe deep.

——————————————————————-

I stop at the door, lingering for a moment. I raise my fist knocking lightly. Three times. I wait for a response, nothin’. I unlock the door, she stands near the edge of her bed pulling the sheets back. Just in time. Her hair is brushed on one side, her eyes peek over.

“Johnny..?” she silently asks.

Fuck. Each time she says my name like that something turns inside me. So innocent, so blind.

“Why are you still up?”

“Mmm.” I growl, looking for an answer.

I only wanted to see her, be with her. Alone.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

She nods climbing into bed.

“Wanna come with me?”

She rises, the nightgown hugs her body, flowing like water as she approaches. No. Not yet.

“Cmon’.” I notion.

Walking down the corridor I hear her light steps behind me. I open the door towards the back. It’s cold tonight. I guide her towards the shed, unbuckling the cargo bed of my car that’s parked on the side. I climb in shortly after her. She lays there staring at the sky. I stare at her. The moon paints a perfect spotlight illuminating her face, the stars twinkle in her eyes. It only adds on more.

“Aren’t they so pretty?”

“Hm.?” I question.

Whatever she was saying before I hadn’t paid attention to. I get lost in her. What is happening to me?

“The stars.”

I don’t bother to look up, not like they could compare.

I give her slight agreement. She looks back towards me again. Those eyes, like a helpless deer. I can’t help but stare into them.

“But they ain’t prettier than you.”

She turns away flustered. I scoff. She becomes so affected by my words. I turn her face toward me. Her face painted red she stares at me in shock, like a lost bunny. A bunny that needs direction.

——————————————————————-

Fuck it. I wrap my hands around his neck and pull his face into mine. Our lips collide harshly, he ravenges for me, forcing me to crawl back against the side of the truck. He’s aggressive and eager. Was he waiting for this? I gasp for fresh air, he tastes like whiskey and smoke, it invades all my senses. He groans into my lips, then bites, breaking skin. I gasp in shock, Johnny savors the droplets of red that bleed from my lips. He drags his lips towards the nape of my neck.

“You taste so fuckin’ good.” he whispers.

My chest heaves and falls heavily as he hovers over me and glides his lips toward my collarbone, warm on my cold skin. He breathes in my aroma. Breath cold as he breathes out. His hand travels up my nightgown twirling the fabric of my panties in his index finger, slowly pulling it down. Another deep breath. He works his way down, shoving the silk fabric upwards, giving him access to all of me. He coats me with his tongue, rubbing against all my sensitive parts, light moans escape from me. I feel his smirk upturning against me. He takes his fingers and starts to work them inside of me, curving them hitting the best parts. Fuck. He was experienced. He watches me squirm, smirking at my pleasure.

“Shit-“ I moan, “Johnny…”

He nudges his face back into the nape of my neck, his hot breath against my ear-

“Fuckin’ take it.”

He speeds up the movement of his digits, I lift myself off the bed, arching in bliss when he suddenly pulls out leaving an empty feeling. I gasp lightly.

“Not yet.” He growls.

I watch him crawl backward, hand cupping my face as he inserts his thumb into my mouth, the other undoing his belt buckle.

“You look so damn pretty under me Darlin’.”

He throws his belt on the far left side of us, I look up at him expectantly, almost pleading. He strokes himself under his black boxers.

“Beg for it.” His voice penetrates me.

“Johnny.” My heart drops.

He turns his head slightly, squinting his eyes. They turn black, growing red with passion, pride, hunger- like he was the wolf and I was the prey. That’s what it was wasn’t it? But I'd rather be devoured than continue my life in fear, defenseless.

“I need you- so bad.” I whine. “ All of you.”

That’s all it took for him to crash back into my neck, kissing, marking, this time he bites down harder, canines digging into me, I whimper as he teases my entrance. I feel the warm liquid running down towards my chest, him licking each drop. I wrap my arms around his neck, digging my nails into his back trying to counterfeit the pain. He thrusts into me hard. Gasping for air, I melt into him. I become a mess of pain and pleasure, Johnny relishes in it. He picks up his pace, pounding violently, and rapidly. His thick shaft stretches me out with each enter and exit he makes. Hitting my clit each time he re-enters.

“Fuck-“ He pants. “So tight for me sweetheart.”

Moans unconsciously voice from me, I cover my mouth hoping to avoid disturbance. Johnny reached his right hand to drag my palms away.

“I wanna hear you scream for me.”

I stare at him lost in euphoria, he moves his hand grasping my throat, squeezing harder he leans into my face.

“Scream.” He threatens.

With each continuation of his thrusts agitation grows deeper toward my stomach. His hand cutting off my airway- the stars double overlapping one another. Vision becomes foggy, pain seeps from his inflictions, pleasure runs through my veins and wetness drips from beneath me. Climax approaches and I can't contain myself, I sob for his satisfaction. Relief washes over me as he cures my cries continually thrusting. His pace becomes quicker than before, eager to dig deeper into me, to split me apart- I push against his chest, overstimulated hoping for escape. He smirks looking down upon me.

“I ain’t done with chu’ yet.”

Pounding once more- my eyes roll, back arching into him, I grip onto his wrist holding my throat down, marking him with my nails once more. With a final thrust he collapses on top of me, releasing his hand- I gasp for air. The scent of sex fills the cold night as we both pant heavily. I stare up into the stars, the beautiful things I wish I could have touched. I reach out stroking Johnny's hair as he catches his breath above me, but maybe the beautiful things are in front of me.

[lovelytsunoda]

shut up and drive // lando norris ( street racing au!)

summary: headcanons i wrote after watching the fast and the furious movies . . . enough said. lando is infatuated with the woman in the pink mustang who kicks his ass in a bristol street race.

pairing: street racer!lando norris x street racer! reader

the bristol street racing scene is intense

its run by a young blonde american using daddy's money to have a little bit of extra fun

and as far as everybody is concerned, the quadrant street racing team own the circuit, they're the undisputed champions

max fewtrell, ria bish and lando norris.

lando has been the reigning champion for three years running

he’s made over a billion british pounds via street racing

until y/n y/l/n appears on the scene

beating pierre gasly in her rookie race and winning five grand

and lando is intrigued, like any man would be

her hot pink mustang meanders into the clearing, bright spot lights shining down as she stops next to max fewtrells lime green maserati

“is that her?” lando asks quietly, watching the drivers side door creep open

she steps out, wearing white cowboy boots and skin-tight blue jeans, a shirt emblazoned in an old print of a chevy corvette tied up to show off her stomach, a small diamond glittering in her navel

heart shaped sunglasses over her eyes that she pushes up on to her forehead as she pulls a wad of cash from the pocket of her leather jacket

“oi sargeant, it’s not too late to cut a girl in, is it?”

logan grins, counting the cash she handed him as entry payment. “cutoff is in ten minutes, you made it just in time.”

"good. now, which of your boys wants to get his ass kicked next?"

pierre throws his hands up in surrender when logan shoots him a joking look.

"she wiped the floor with me last week, mate. i took one for the team."

"any takers?" logan proclaims, moving to stand on the roof of his mercedes

lando and max exchange a look before ria hits them both in the back of the head

"don't be stupid. either of you. if you get far enough tonight, you'll be racing for pinks." she scolds

"its not about the cars, ria. it's about the chase." lando grins, patting the hood of his mclaren before moving into the wider, open space near where y/n was standing

"i'll do it! i'll race you. what's the pot at, sargeant?"

logan grins. "let's see, you're a seasoned veteran, and she wiped the floor with gasly. how does seven grand sound?"

y/n grins, twirling her car keys in one hand. "what do you say, norris? american muscle up against whatever the fuck that euro-car you're driving is?"

"it's a good couple hundred horsepower, sweetheart. are you sure your poor old ford can handle it?"

"bring it on, toy boy."

they get behind the wheels of their cars, revving engines and showboating as lando's mclaren and her mustang draw side by side

"enough with the women dropping their bras to start a race, it's archaic!" y/n shouts, tapping her manicured nails against her glittery gear shift. 'give me a toy boy dropping his shirt to the ground, once i see some abs, that will really get this car moving!"

"give the lady what she wants!" ria shouts, clapping her hands together as max rolls his eyes

with a laugh and a grin, george russell steps out into the middle of the interlock road, fingers deftly unbuttoning his linen shirt

"now we're talking!" y/n shouts with a laugh and a grin, shooting lando a look out the corner of her eye

there was something sexy about what they were about to do

the cat and mouse game of a street race worth as much as this one was

and lando norris would be the first to admit that he was incredibly turned on by the idea of woman who drove a car as magnificent as the one parked next to him

a woman who spoke his language

"ready!" george shouts, shirt almost fully undone as women begin to cheer and whistle

"ready to lose, princess?" lando smirks, revving his engine as he grins at the driver next to him.

"ready to kick your ass, you mean." she grins back, toeing her boot-clad foot against the accelerator

"set!" the shirt his off george's body now, his arm raised in the air as he waves the white fabric in the air, toying with the minds of the two drivers in front of them

it was just a reflex game now

"go!" george shouts, throwing his shirt to the ground

the drivers are off in a flash, their fluorescent cars flying off into the night

her wrist moves deftly with the gearshift, shifting gears as she watched the speedometer sail over 100kmph as she takes the corner, shifting gears and yanking at the handbrake

she sails around the corner a fraction of a second faster than lando, winking at him as their windows line up, eyes meeting for a fraction of a second

and that's when lando knows that he's in love

righting their cars, lando less than half a second behind her but still not fast enough

they're neck and neck approaching the finish line, right across from where they started

she's watching his every movement carefully

biding her time until it's time to open that little canister of nos

she knows lando's too smart to use it too soon, so she just needs to hope that she presses that little red button faster than he can

she presses it quickly, both hands gripping the wheel as the speed throws her head against the headrest, hair whipping around her face

there's a gap of zero point four five seconds as she sails across the chalk-drawn finish line, yanking the handbrake and swerving to a stop

sitting with her body half out of the window, her ass resting where the wound-down window his

cheering as she drums her hands against the roof

lando comes to a much slower stop next to her

he's not even mad about losing

a glow in his eyes as he steps out of the mclaren

hands in jeans pockets as he ambles towards her

"impressive drive, sweetheart."

"yeah, it earned me seven grand." she grins, clambering out of the car. "your loss."

"seven grand is nothing. all i ask for in exchange is dinner."

y/n grins, reaching to shake his hand. "and if i say no?"

"then i'll have to get a rematch next week. and the week after until you say yes."

"i wouldn't be a very good rival if i ended up in your bed."

"well, you know what they say." lando grins seductively. "keep your friends close and your enemies closer."

she runs her tongue over her lips, eyebrows raised as she starts backing away towards everyone who's cheering her on,

"i'll see you next week, norris. we'll meet in the winner's bed."

and lando has never been so turned on in his life

he's also never looked forward to losing a race more.

[holywaterinmybong]

Conman (ever so)

—

What’s the point of the wine if your ride or die’s plenty

Though a half of your bed for tonight will stay empty

And a gunslinger kind of platonic attraction

Doesn’t know how to hide

Only sharpened reactions

As sharp as the words

That flew ever so gently

“Keep drinking, dumbass

We will still love you plenty”

I’m a car thief and all of my best friends are Bentleys

Ferraris and Porsches

How’d I even get near

A crowd far to valuable

And I hold them too dear

When they drive around drunk

I’m a light smitten deer

And the headlights of eyes

I can’t deal with attention

I can’t deal with unwarranted sexual tension

I can’t deal, only spill

Around secrets or liquor

In the world of the law

They’d call us heavy hitters

Sit around in black suits

Your smile warm, my drink bitter

So you’ll pass me an envelope

And we’ll talk to pass time

For a friendly exchange

Isn’t charged as a crime

I am tired of this metaphor

There is no point

I’m just trying to warn you

You’ve got shit to exploit

So don’t fall for a conman

Not unless he can prove

That the heart made of gold

On his sleeve, you were moved

By, is his and not stolen

From an oligarch’s mansion

Or directly ripped out

Of his mothers dead pension

If his work drive is honest

And not drunk driven roadkill

On the road by the forest

If his ever so strong will

Is stronger than what you can bear to put up with

“I love you, have fun”

“Hold my hand, try to breathe”

But the drive is still long

I’m still switching out names

And the highest of voltages

Runs through my veins

For a scam artist knows

The rule, ever so golden

You don’t gamble with souls

Only blackjack or holdem

You keep going, no anchor

Is holding you back

Don’t be taking no bribes

From the market so black

Don’t get caught in the headlights

Of no Bentley or Chevy

Not a scared woodland creature

Just a hitter so heavy

God, attachment’s a curse

But so is my solitude

And the wine could be worse

Inescapable force

Makes my gear hand ever so rude

[maddiehu7]

Honorable | Elijah Mikaelson

Chapter 1

I hear my alarm ringing turning over groaning

"Ugh" I huff out smacking my alarm shutting it up, after a minute of procrastinating I finally get up brushing my teeth and getting ready for the day

"Outfit time" I sigh out looking at my closet flipping through some options I decide on a black cropped tank top some black skinny jeans and a dark green flannel open overtop

I go over to the door sliding my black combat boots on and I'm ready to go i grab some of my files and head out the door getting into my Chevy impala I was never a big car fan but when I saw this baby I had to have it, I'm heading to a bar/restaurant called mystic grill see if any locals seen anything out of the ordinary.

I walk in looking around at the place

"Hm nice" I say to myself heading to the bar i order a sprite and sit down, when I get my drink I sip it looking around at some of the people in here normal nice looking folk maybe there's no vamps here after all

"Hey your a new face" I hear someone say sitting down next to me I look over to see a pale black haired blue eyed tall man looking at me I'm on guard immediately getting a bad vibe

"Um yeah just passing through" I say smiling fakely hoping he leaves but he just smirks looking at me weirdly, I decide to pull my famous trick

"Hey want a drink" I say smiling at him

"How could I say no to that face" he says smiling back leaning on the counter

"Let me guess, bourbon?" I question

"How'd you know" he says looking a little confused

"You just have that vibe I guess" I say laughing

"Hey one bourbon please" I tell the bartender he nods making it fast handing it to to the man well he's not looking a pull out a little bottle of vervain slipping it in my sleeve

"I never got your name" I say licking my lips pretending to flirt

"Damon-damon Salvatore" he says reaching his hand out discarding his drink

"I'm more of a hugger" I say leaning over wrapping my arm around him as my other pours the vervain in his drink he hugs me back hands a little low for my liking, I back away

"Well cheers to new friends Damon" I say raising my drink he smirks raising his I drink mine slowly looking in his eyes he try's to do the same but when he drinks it he spits it out yelping in pain, Well there's definitely a case I think to myself

"Hey you ok?!" I feign innocence but he looks up at me in realization

"Who are you" he demands

"Me? Nobody" I say smiling he grabs my arm

"Come with me and I won't kill you right here" he says smiling back trying to not make a scene

"I'm calling your bluff" I say as I wretch my hand away from his hold getting up walking out of the bar I knew he'd follow so I pull my wooden dagger out hiding it in the waist of my jeans when I'm almost to my car I feel a strong wind behind me and suddenly I'm forced against my car Damon holding me by the shoulders

"I'll ask again nicely, who are you" he demands

"Vampire hunter but I guess you could've assumed that" i say smirking up at him he just scoffs going to say something when we hear a voice coming near us

"Damon?" A girl questions coming closer at this Damon let's go of me backing up

"Elena what are you doing here?" He questions annoyed he was interrupted

"Just getting some food what are you doing" she says looking at me confused

"Vampire hunter meet Elena" he says sarcastically

"What-what" Elena says confused and a little scared I could tell she was human

"Yep our very own Buffy the vampire slayer in town" he says with fake enthusiasm Elena looks deep in thought for a second

"Damon could I talk to you for a second" Elena says pulling him aside they talk and bicker for a moment before coming back to me

"Um so what's your name?" Elena asks politely I look at her in question but go along with it

"Scarlett" I say shortly she nods playing with her hands

"Scarlett, so your in town cause of vampires right?" She says I nod back at her looking at Damon which makes him put his hands up theatrically

"Ok well maybe you can help us then" I look over at her at that and laugh

"Me...help you....and your vampire" I say through laughs she just looks at me confused

"Told you it wouldn't work" Damon looks at Elena victoriously she rolls her eyes stepping closer to me I back away on guard even if she's human

"We're not gonna hurt you I promise" she says holding her hands up I look at Damon which makes him nod reluctantly in agreement

"What would you even need my help with?" I say curiously Elena smiles

"Have you ever heard of an original vampire?" She questions

"Yeah but those don't actually exist" I say factually which makes her look at me seriously I squint at her....no way

"Tell me everything" I say more intrigued than ever

( to be continued ) Elijah will come in soon I promise lol