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[focusworksmachine]

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[musicallisto]

hello beloved I hope your shoulder surgery goes well!!! as a little distraction can I please ask for a franco colapinto x driver!reader, enemies to lovers? love u and thinking of u always xoxo

· · · · ♡ BOOM, CRASH! (fc43)

… starring franco colapinto x f!driver!reader ... 2.4k words ... in which you get into a nasty crash, and the first person to visit you in the hospital is the last guy you'd ever imagined being worried about you. ... warnings for crash, hospital, injuries, blood, nothing too graphic i think! reader is a bit of a bully tbhh but it is a cutthroat sport 😌 ... if you haven't noticed already, these are all very self-indulgent for me, and this is no exception.

Ironically, the last words you remember telling Franco Colapinto before you barrel into the wall at turn 12 were “Don't crash it.”

“What?”

“Don't crash it,” you repeat pointedly. “Logan wasn't exactly irreproachable in that regard. Budget cap's drawing closer.”

Your smile is wide but dulcet, not quite reaching your eyes, and your teeth are sharp and gritted. To any inopportune cameras that would be pointed at you right now, you only look like a well-meaning driver giving your rookie teammate advice before his second-ever F1 race... but neither you nor Franco miss the electricity crackling in the hallway outside the driver rooms.

“What makes you think I'm gonna crash it?" the Argentinian bites back, all fluttering eyelashes and wolfish smile. Unfazed, as always. Grinds your gears like little else can. "If anything, you be careful to not crash into me. Since I'm starting ahead on the grid and all.”

“Right, I forget it's your first time in Baku. You'll see what I mean soon enough, anyway.”

Your steps lead you down the hallway and to the garages mechanically, a path you've taken dozens of times, wearing different colored suits, following behind different teammates in stride. And this year's Williams blue would've suited you perfectly... if it didn't come attached with the pretentious goofball traipsing behind you.

You don't even bother looking back when you speak again. You raise your chin and brace yourself for the artificial lights of the pitlane.

“Good luck, or whatever.”

“It wouldn't kill you to be nice, you know?”

“Wouldn't kill you to know your place.”

The door handle creaks beneath your gloved hand, drowning out whatever it is Franco mutters in Spanish on the other end of the hall—”re amargada la piba esta” he mumbles to no one but himself—, and at last you are safe, at peace in the nervous bustle of a garage entirely devoted to you.

Sure, getting a new teammate midseason is a tough predicament to find oneself in: a whole new dynamic to establish, a whole routine to fall into. And newbies always get the chance to make good first impressions; not the girl who’s been sitting in the car for two years. You’d told yourself you wouldn’t mind it—Carlos Sainz will be snatching your first driver privileges next year anyway—but it would be easier to comply if the aforementioned new teammate wasn’t an annoying pain in the ass, flirting and laughing his way through the paddock with that detached nonchalance that believes everyone must be wrapped around his finger, and then having the gall to outqualify you on one of your favorite circuits. On his first-ever time there!

So yes, maybe it’s your ego taking up too much space in the tight cockpit of your Williams, obscuring your vision. Maybe it’s the disastrous grip you’ve reported twice now on the radio—Okay, Y/N, we heard that and we’ll get back to you.

Whatever it is, somewhere around lap 20, your car oversteers into a wide spin right as you enter the rapid turn. The steering wheel snaps out of your hands, and it’s like a giant strangles you with all its might for a blink of an eye, barely even a second.

You only know you’ve hit the wall—hard—from the ringing in your ears and soreness of your jaw. What used to be your front right tire lies in front of your smashed wing, rubber and carbon scattered pitifully. Your finger shakes when you lift it and press the radio button.

“I’m OK… I think.”

A flash of red catches the corner of your eye. You’re not sure if it’s from the flag being waved outside of track limits, a Haas zooming past in the corner, or… it’s hot, and viscous on your eyebrow, dripping into your eyes. You bring your hand to your forehead, where your helmet is crushed inward, just above your left eye. Smashed into your forehead.

Then everything kind of blurs together. You vaguely feel someone helping you out of the wreckage, their distant yapping about concussion symptoms not helping your light-headedness at all. You think you slip out of consciousness for the first time then, on the track still, because your next memory is of an ambulance—or what you assume to be an ambulance, you’ve never ridden in one before, and you even think to yourself this new procedure is pretty excessive from the FIA, the medical car was quite sufficient—and then it’s back to nothingness until you wake up for good on a stretcher, hooked to some sort of medical tube—perfusion?—as you’re being ushered into a quiet hospital room.

The nurse who visits you is sweet, filling in the blanks in slow, accented English. The gash to your forehead is pretty deep, but nothing the surgeon doesn’t see at least once a week! (At that, you lift a groggy hand above your brow bone, where you feel a thick bandage.) A few stitches later and you’re good as new, though the blood loss and concussion combined left you pretty weak, and justify keeping you in observation for the night. It’s just protocol, you’re probably used to hospital visits in that line of work of yours, she jokes—and you know you’ve recovered almost all your mental acuity because you get offended at that. No, you don’t usually crash. In fact, you haven’t all season…

And it had to be today of all days, in Baku… after you told Franco to not crash it.

When the nurse leaves the room with the promise she’ll be back in an hour, you let out a long, dreary sigh. Fernando Alonso’s grainy voice over the radio comes to mind. ¡Karma!

Night falls quickly outside your window with nothing to kill time but your phone. After catching up on the race results—somehow you’re too exhausted to feel irritated at Colapinto’s points finish—and posting a reassuring Instagram story for your followers, you’re left to the mercy of your ruminating thoughts. Sleep is impossible to catch; the adrenaline of the race hasn’t worn off yet, and you’ve been knocked out so long now you’re desperate to leave this stretcher.

You’ve just about decided to call the nurse for an early discharge when a shadow appears behind the door’s little windowpane, hesitates for a second, and then knocks. Medical personnel wouldn’t bother; it’s probably your family, or maybe even Vowles, or…

“Hey, how… che, estás hecha mierda.”

You tense immediately when you catch the brown waves of hair and unmistakable accent as Franco walks into your hospital room. He looks genuinely stumped, like he hadn’t expected to see you in such bad condition, so much so he forgets to shut the door behind him.

For some reason, the sight endears you. Makes you want to take him in your arms, feel his realness in this hallucinatory evening. What a ridiculous thought!

“Stop it with the Spanish,” you protest, devoid of your usual fire however. “Maybe it works on your fangirls, but not on me.”

“I said you look like shit.”

“Oh.” You look him straight in the eye, the silliness of the situation dawning on you, and against all odds you start to laugh. A real laugh, more than a chuckle, one that sends phantom pains stabbing through your sore abdomen. “Well if that’s all you’re gonna say, you can stick to Spanish! I don’t want to hear it.”

What did the nurse say about the anesthesia’s side effects? Do they include feeling a little glad and relieved to see your detested teammate? To know he’s the first person to check up on you?

Whatever the reason, you’re laughing, absurdly, and so is Franco, chuckling to himself as he closes the door and drags a chair closer to your bed. His eyes crinkle like a little kid’s, and that’s when you notice his disheveled appearance. Cheeks a little flushed, hair tousled like he’s just run a marathon, he’s wearing a crumpled-up Williams shirt, no doubt the first thing he could get his hands on after the race. It hits you then that he’s probably just off media duties, and the fact he’s alone, with no team delegation in tow, indicates he left early. Just to get to you. To make sure you were alright.

You are a competitor, but you aren’t a monster. The idea Franco couldn’t be bothered to wait for James, or anyone else, tugs at your heartstrings.

“Thank God you told me not to crash it, huh?” he teases between chuckles.

“Shut up.”

“Careful, Y/N, the budget cap is coming for you,” he wiggles his fingers over your face like a looming ghost.

You turn your head away to face the wall, huffing in exasperation, but a throbbing pain traverses your skull, and you wince. Franco’s eyes darken, smile fading into a grave expression.

You rarely see him like this outside of the helmet. It’s novel, but it’s welcome. Almost attractive, in a way.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I… My helmet smashed into my forehead. I was bleeding pretty bad, apparently, they had to stitch me up. I got concussed too. Aren’t helmets supposed to absorb these hits?”

“Concussed?” he repeats, and holds out his hand in a peace sign. “How many fingers?”

You stick out your tongue at the Argentinian, flipping him the bird.

“And now?”

“Ah, come on, don’t be so mean,” Franco chuckles, scooting a little closer to your stretcher with his chair. Unfazed, as always. But this time it doesn’t peeve you; you’re rather thankful for his cheeky banter, actually. For a moment, in the blur of cold white lights and carbon fiber debris, you’d started to fear you could lose it for good. “We were just starting to become friends!”

“That’s because I’m concussed. I don’t want to be friends with you, we’re rivals.”

“Well the whole rivals thing isn’t working very well for you lately. Maybe you’re better off being friends with me.”

You roll your eyes, but the gnawing anxiety that roars in your stomach whenever someone pits you against the rookie stays quiet for once. Perhaps you’re still under the influence of the tranquilizers… or perhaps those brown eyes holding you in their light, tender in a way you’ve never seen them before, make it harder to get mad at him.

“I’ll consider it.”

And you don’t mean it just yet, but you don’t don’t mean it. What do you even hate Franco Colapinto for? Stealing the spotlight from you just two weeks into his career? Flirting with every living being on the paddock except you? Or forcing you to up your game and face your fears?

A stabbing pain crushes your skull all of a sudden, and you shut your eyes, teeth gritted and muscles taut, to try and breathe it out… to no avail. When you open your eyes, Franco is staring at you, brows furrowed in that same serious, concerned expression that sends a wholly different type of pins and needles through your body.

“Everything alright?”

“No… The painkillers. I need another ketoprofen,” you whine, squinting your eyes against the harsh hospital lightning.

“Should I call the nurse?”

“No, they’re on the table over there,” you gesture blindly. “There’s a glass too.”

Only sounds inform you of what’s going on once you close your eyes, faint lights and colors barely piercing through your eyelids. The rustling of fabric, then someone fumbling with cardboard and pills, your sink opening, and then cautious footsteps stopping at the edge of your bed.

“Here.”

You take the pill between weak fingers and fight with all your might to sit up straight in the bed without moving your head… but the soreness and exhaustion from the race and surgery overpower you. So much for neck strength.

“I can’t,” you huff out in defeat. “I can’t tilt my head.”

“It’s okay. Take the pill,” Franco orders softly, and you put the drug on your tongue, too tired to raise the outrage of him bossing you around.

Slowly, carefully, Franco brings the rim of the glass to your lips, and you drink all that you can, training your attention on the medication going down your throat—and not on your teammate’s intense gaze fixed on your mouth, nor the proximity of your bodies or his slightly ragged breath.

“Thank you,” you exhale when you’re done.

Luckily for him, he has his back turned to you when you speak, setting the empty glass down on the table, so you don’t notice his bashful smile. He’s never heard you so docile, affable, even, and though he likes it when you bite back… it feels great, too, to know there is a way to pierce that armor of yours.

“Franco,” you call out to him, neither of you missing how this is one of the first times you’ve called him by his first name. “Do you mind… staying? Just until James or someone else gets here. It gets so boring.”

He spins on his heels in disbelief, scrutinizing you in search of mockery, or irony, or your usual callousness… but all he reads is earnest and the slightest hint of embarrassment, all he sees is your outstretched hand. So he brushes it with his, not daring to hold it purposefully just yet. Like he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome into your bubble.

“Yeah, sure. But only so you won’t get bored.”

“Of course,” you smile faintly as he sits back down on his chair. Your eyes meet in newfound amusement, maybe even temporary fondness. “Don’t go around thinking I like you.”

“Me? I would never. We’re rivals.”

You give a small appreciative nod, and after some instants of silence, clear your throat and ask him to recount the end of the race. Just as you expected, his storytelling is dramatic and entertaining, interspersed with words he doesn’t remember how to say in English and the unmissable zest of grid gossip Franco always brings to his tales. You chuckle, gasp, and pester even, as much as you can with your aching skull and limbs… and barely notice the minutes ticking by, or how you wish the rest of your team would never show up, your distaste for Franco slaking.

Maybe you can be persuaded into liking his presence, after all. So long as he stays out of the car, though… and remains your personal nurse.

… f1 taglist; @retvenkos @giuseppe-yuki (want to be added? send me an ask!)

[heartfullofleeches]

"License and Registration?"

Shit.

Seven clowns packed into the seats of an old beat up van. As if luck turned a blind eye to their favor, the crowded space was messing its final member. Stress levels at an all time high through the group, the two clowns capable of descalating the situation they've found themselves in had the fortune of sitting up front that evening.

"Is there a problem, Officer? You must forgive us if our driver here went a tinsy bit over the speed limit. We lost track of someone dear to us and its getting rather late, you see-"

As the driver of the vehicle stares the police officer down, observant of the officer's intriguing in a small, retingular device in hand - a voice chases their ear from the backseat.

"Red- We're wasting too much time here. Mime could be seriously hurt for all we know. There's no other cars around so they're probably on foot and alone. Use Pink's gun if you have to."

Orange swiftly ducks behind Red's chair as a sharp snap rings throughout the quiet night. The officer picks at their lip, jaws in perpetual motion as they chew; absent-mindedly scrapping bits of gum off the corner of their mouth. From the bill of their cap draped over their face, it almost appeared as if they were scratching at nothing.

"Officer. How is your evening going so far?"

Beads of sweat line the officer's neck as they shift, angling their body away from its previous placement against the side of the van. Trembling fingers press at the device gripped tightly in their palms.

"License and Registration?"

There's something odd about their tone of phrase. Spoken in the exact same pattern and robotic droning as before.

"Wait a fucking second...."

Rolling the windows down, a hand snatches the officer's cap before they're given the chance to flee. Startled, the officer drops their device as they take a few steps back - shoes letting out a small squeak with every fall. What upon first speculation seemed to be a walkie-talkie turns out to be a tape recorder.

"Mimey?!"

Your chest rises and falls rapidly with silent laughter as the remainder of the group peek outside the windows to get a look.

"Mimey, what the fuck?! Blue nearly had a heart attack when you disappeared- Get your ass in this van right now!"

Muffled whimpers join the symphony of a fist banging against the windows.

"I'm so glad you're okayyyy."

"That's Mimey?...Arrest me first, officer~"

"Naughty little mime.... This type of behavior calls for punishment. I gotta say you do look... delicious in that outfit..."

Yellow is the last to speak as few of the gazes from the windows turn predatory.

"Twenty second head start sound good to you, Mimey?'

Stealing your cap back from Orange, you bow to your partners in crime - barreling off into the darkness as all four doors unlock simultaneously.

[joelscurls]

stalemate

pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader

words: 7.2k

summary: Frankie Morales is your best friend — until a drunken hookup tears you apart.

warnings: 18+ minors dni; friends -> enemies -> lovers, TF characters without the TF plot, no Tom (in this house we hate Tom), alcohol consumption, smoking, angst, jealousy, pining, Frankie & reader being idiots in love, explicit smut, size kink, brief mentions of drunk sex, bad / regretful sex (between reader & OC), oral (f!receiving), unprotected piv, creampie, multiple orgasms, use of pet names (bebita, querida, baby, etc.), grilled cheese as a love language, happy ending, I think that's it but let me know if I missed anything!

a/n:  thank you so much to @javisashtray & @pedgito for beta-reading this for me <3 this is for all my frankie lovers out there (aka bitches with good taste). dividers are by cafekitsune. follow @joelscurlsupdates for fic notifications! enjoy :)

Frankie Morales makes the best grilled cheese you’ve ever had. Perfectly golden bread; gooey, melty cheese — just the thought of it makes you drool. He says he has a secret ingredient. Won’t let you in the kitchen while he cooks for you, lest you find out. 

Sometimes, upon entering his apartment, you can already smell melted butter. He’ll have started on one without even asking if you want it. He knows you always do. 

Sit, he’ll shout from the other room. I’ll be right there. Feel free to put something on — but please, not 13 Going on 30. You’ll thank him and question his distaste for Mark Ruffalo in the same breath: you’re the best, but it’s not my fault Matty is the dream man.

He’ll bring you the wafting plate along with a Corona, and insist that you eat before it goes cold while he makes one for himself. Ever the gentleman, ever the friend — at least he was.

Because the two of you haven’t spoken in a month; not since the drunken hookup that you’re both pretending didn’t happen.

You’d laughed the entire cab ride home from the bar. That last round of tequila shots had left you feeling good, all warm and giggly, and Frankie mirrored you in the backseat with his drunken grin. Eyes glassy, lips pulled wide, he’d smacked you lightly on the shoulder as you recalled Santiago’s pitiful loss in that third game of pool. “When he pocketed the eight-ball…” he trailed off into another fit of laughter. 

“And then—“ you attempted, voice caught in your throat as another giggle barreled out. “—the cue hitting his drink!” Your entire body folded over, hands braced on Frankie’s thighs as the two of you struggled to regain composure. Through labored breaths, you squealed. “He’s never going to live that down!”

After a few particularly stressful months at work, you lived for these nights out with your friends. You’d met Frankie through your best friend Mal, who was dating his friend Benny, and your circles had eventually meshed into one. Sometimes it felt like it had always been that way, like you’d known the guys your entire life.

Especially Frankie.

Your friendship was a special one — punctuated by frequent trips to the movies to watch the latest horrible slasher film; by nights spent yapping on the phone about nothing in particular. He’d become a constant in your life. Never, in your right mind, would you even dream of doing anything to jeopardize that— 

“You look really hot tonight, by the way.”

He shouldn’t have said that. He shouldn’t have. But then it was you who leaned in closer, you who rested your hand on his hip and plucked the Standard Heating Oil cap off his head, placing it atop your own.

It was you who kissed him first.

He deepened it though — that was all him — large, restless hands grasping at your sides, your back, your face; tongue pushing past the seam of your lips to press against yours. He’d groaned into your mouth when the cab stopped at the curb in front of your building. Cursed under his breath when you pulled away.

And then, your voice ragged and breathless, you’d asked, “do you want to come in for a bit?”

It was a mistake. A horrible, blissful mistake. Waking up with sticky thighs and Frankie’s thumbprint bruised into your hip, you’d found his side of the bed cold; your inbox empty. He hadn’t called, hadn’t texted. Still hasn’t.

The aftermath is cursory glances. Half-assed greetings and pleasantries murmured across the bar. Which you don’t mind, really. You don’t want to speak to him. He’d probably just feed you some lie about losing track of time, not remembering what happened that night.

You wish you could forget it.

The visual is fuzzy; fleeting. But his voice — god, his voice — it still rings in your ears, drips at the nape of your neck like a leaking tap: fuck, baby, knew you’d take my cock; feel so good wrapped around me.

Your friends don’t know. They can’t; they wouldn’t let you live it down. Benny has made plenty of offhand comments already about you and Frankie being perfect for each other, having the same stubborn disposition. Mal does nothing to shut him up. Instead, she encourages him. Tells him he’s so right. 

You’re pretty sure your eyeballs are going to fall out someday from glaring too hard.

Because you’re not perfect for each other — far from it, actually. Fuck, you can’t even communicate effectively. How could you ever be in a real relationship? 

Not that you want that. Frankie is…well, Frankie. Sure, he’d felt undeniably incredible on top of you, inside of you — but he isn’t the type to settle down. In fact, you don’t think you’ve ever heard Frankie talk about dating. 

Besides, he’s clearly not interested in being anyone’s anything right now. Not even your friend. 

It hurts; cuts deeper than you care to admit. Just weeks ago, you’d spent an entire weekend at his place, marathoning the X Files and gorging on cold pizza. Now, he won’t even look your way for more than a few seconds. 

Won’t make you a fucking grilled cheese.

It’s a Friday night, which means you’re meeting your friends at Sid’s. The glow of neon seeping through the windows of the old dive bar is warm and inviting as you step out of your rideshare and make your way toward the doors.

Frankie is sitting at the bar with Santiago when you enter. Hunched shoulders, narrowed eyes trained on his bottle of Corona, he appears detached from whatever Santi is saying to him. He doesn’t acknowledge you when you stroll up to them — not until his friend’s hand lands hard on his back, pulling his attention away from the beer. He offers a half-assed hello and an even more half-assed half-hug, and then he’s sliding back onto his barstool. 

Ever-oblivious, Santiago doesn’t seem to notice the way Frankie curls in on himself; the way your back is up like an agitated cat’s.

Mal and Benny turn up minutes later, immediately ordering a round of shots for the group. You down the liquor eagerly, not bothering to lean on salt and lime to numb the sting. You want to feel it. You order another before joining Mal and the guys at a pool table in the back, letting the acid slide down your throat with no more than a wince as Santi racks the balls.

“Alright Fish, you’re up,” he says. “Me and you. Whoever loses buys the next round.”

You watch as Frankie quirks a brow at him. Takes a swig of his beer. “You sure you want to make that bet, Pope?”

Santi grins; nods confidently. “Hell yeah, I do.” The rest of you don’t bother to suppress your laughter. You catch a glimpse of Frankie, head thrown back, his broad, glistening neck exposed, and you have to fight to ignore the sudden panging in your chest.

When Santi inevitably loses, you order a vodka soda. You’re already feeling a bit tipsy after two shots in less than twenty minutes, so the drink goes down smooth; quick. There’s a rush to your head as you settle back at the bar and fiddle with the wrapper to your straw, letting the slightly soggy paper roll between two fingers.

You barely notice when Frankie slots in a few seats down, your attention drawn only when you hear his voice. It’s deep — sounds just like it did when he had his chest pressed to your back in the dim light of your bedroom — and his intonation nearly gives you whiplash. 

When you snap your head up to look at him, you find he’s speaking to a woman. Her back is turned to you, long, dark hair tossed over her shoulder and her elbow resting casually on the bartop, but you imagine she must be beautiful by the way Frankie is visibly fawning over her. You’re staring, you hear her tease. Can’t help it, comes his reply.

Something like discomfort builds in your throat. Rises up up up. You take a long sip of your drink, letting vodka and sugar push it down. 

You’ve never seen Frankie flirt with anyone, apart from you. It’s strangely unsettling, listening to him smooth-talk her. I’m a pilot, you know, he brags; could take you up in the sky someday if you wanted. Her giddy squeal comes seconds later; really? You’d do that for me?

You feel bad for her. She doesn’t know yet that all he’ll do is disappoint her.

He feeds her lines as you sip on your drink, citrus and grain burning only when he tells her: yeah, I came with friends; they’re all over there. Gestures toward Benny, Mal and Santi standing around the pool table in the back.

Scoffing, you stand from your seat at the bar and retreat to the patio. You don’t bother to check if Frankie is looking. 

It’s cooler here, a sobering breeze carrying salt air with it as it wafts by. A few patrons have spilled outside, most smoking on faintly glowing cigarettes as they talk and laugh boisterously among themselves. You’d planned to sit alone, to plant yourself on a bench and enjoy your drink in solitude. But then a stranger is approaching you — a man, cigarette grasped between two of his fingers — and he’s asking you for a light.

He’s in his mid thirties, if you had to guess. Curly, dark hair sprouts every which way from his scalp; rounded, green eyes studying you as he awaits a response. He’s tall, though not as tall as Frankie.  His shoulders aren’t nearly as broad and his chest isn’t quite as wide. His t-shirt hangs loose around his torso, swallowing his narrow frame — dissimilar to the way Frankie’s button-down clings to him. 

Then again — why are you even comparing? Maybe the opposite of Frankie is exactly what you need. 

You’ll have to seduce this stranger first, though. Not that it seems like it’ll be very difficult. His eyes are already raking over you, lips turned up at the corner as you take a casual sip of your drink.

“I don’t smoke,” you admit apologetically. 

“Ah — that’s alright.” 

He has an accent; midwestern, maybe? You don’t bother to ask. You don’t care, really. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is—

“You here all by yourself?”

“Yeah,” he laughs at your lack of subtlety. “Are you?”

“No,” you say. “My friends are inside.” Lowering your voice, you add, “but I was thinking about leaving soon.”

“Why’s that? Early morning tomorrow?”

You shake your head. Rub at your neck as if working out a knot, a contented hum pushing past your lips at the press of fingers into skin. Your stranger’s eyes trail rather conspicuously downward.

“Just over it,” you sigh exasperatedly. “I’d much rather be home…in bed…out of these clothes.”

You pull gently at the strap of your dress, as if you can’t bear the sensation of it against your shoulder any longer.

Your stranger’s gaze darkens, and the grip on his box of cigarettes grows tighter.

“You uh — want some company — once I find a light?”

Too fucking easy.

“Sure,” you giggle.

He slips away only for a minute or two, giving you just enough time to second-guess yourself. You know nothing about this man, not even his name; only that he smokes American Spirits and smells like tobacco. Should you really go home with him? 

But then you think of Frankie inside  — talking up a woman at the bar, pretending that you don’t exist — and that just about makes up your mind for you.

Your stranger reappears, now-lit cigarette dangling from his lips. The tip of it rages red and angry, and you think you know how that feels.

He smirks at you as he stuffs the pack into the front pocket of his jeans. An unceremonious silence hangs in the air as he sucks on the filter and puffs out a string of smoke. You wait patiently for him, quietly. 

He snuffs the butt of his cigarette out in a nearby ashtray. Takes your empty cup and discards that too. 

Can’t wait to get you home, he whispers in your ear then. You feign arousal, peering up at him and batting your eyelashes. Me neither, you mewl. Let’s go.

You lead him back through the bar, finding Mal and letting her know that you’ll be going. She seems a little perplexed, quirking a brow at you as you grip tightly onto your stranger’s arm, but she tells you to have fun anyway. Text me, she mouths as you make your way to the exit.

You only get a few feet, though, before you’re intercepted.

Frankie is blocking the door, arms crossed, a panic-stricken look on his face that you can’t quite comprehend. “Hey,” he says, “can I talk to you real quick?”

Your stranger backs off. Lets go of your arm and starts out the door. “I’ll wait outside,” he says, slipping away with a wink before you can protest.

The bar is bustling with noise, people in every corner drinking and laughing and dancing. Strangely, though, you’ve never felt so alone. So vulnerable. And you hate that Frankie has this power over you, the innate ability to make you feel so fucking small. It’s infuriating, it’s—

“Are you sure you want to leave with him?”

“Excuse me?” you scoff. 

Frankie stares you down, face red, eyes inky-black. “You don’t know this guy, do you? What if he’s a murderer or something? Or like — a pervert?” 

He’s grasping at straws, you know it. It’s why you laugh; roll your eyes. 

“What are you, my keeper?”

“No, it’s just — I’m just concerned for your safety, okay?”

You’re briefly stunned. After weeks of ignoring you, he cares about your wellbeing? How can he be so hypocritical?

“I’m fine,” you bite back. “Why don’t you go back to your girl at the bar? Worry about getting yourself some instead?”

He’s wounded, if only slightly. His lips part like he might retaliate, but he’s silent. Dejected. Satisfied, you brush past him. March out the door without so much as a parting glance.

Finding your stranger leaning against the bar’s brick exterior, you force a smile. He outstretches a hand and you take it, reluctantly. “Ready to go?” he asks. 

You’re not so sure anymore, but you nod anyway. Squeeze your stranger’s bicep and preen under his lustful gaze when he tenses in your grip. “Yeah,” you purr. “I’m ready.”

Cold air bites at your toes the following morning. It wakes you from a deep slumber; bitterly pulls you into consciousness. Confused, you yank at the covers. But a mysterious weight holds them in place, and only then do you remember then that you’re not alone. 

Eyes sliding open reluctantly, you scan the room. Your dress from the night before is draped over the chair in the corner, your stranger’s clothes piled up on the floor nearby. He snores next to you, an arm raising to hang above his head, and you shift. Slip out of bed and pull a t-shirt on before padding into the bathroom.

Early morning light spills across tile, bounces off the mirror above the sink. You squint, shuffling over to the window and yanking the blinds closed. Then you check for damage in your reflection. Your makeup from the night before has stained your cheeks and your eyes look as tired as you feel, but otherwise there appears to be no physical evidence of your rock bottom.

The sex wasn’t great — not even good, really. Your stranger had lasted all of three minutes, had fanned his hot breath across the shell of your ear as he came, and then collapsed on top of you. Rolled over and drifted to sleep. He’d started snoring before you could even process what had just happened.

Cold water splashed across your cheeks does nothing to cool the burn of regret that scorches your skin. You feel uncomfortable, almost as if your body is tainted, now, remnants of your stranger leaking from between your thighs as you steady yourself at the edge of the sink. 

He must’ve heard the tap, or maybe the pounding in your chest, because he emerges seconds later. He yawns and stretches, feline-like, in the doorway. “Hey,” he mutters. “How’d you sleep?”

“Pretty good,” you say, eyes twitching slightly as you will them to stay put above his waistline. 

“You always up this early?”

You nod. It’s a lie, but he doesn’t need to know that you’d nearly jumped out of bed at the sight of him still there. He doesn’t need to know that for a split second, you’d almost hoped it was Frankie.

He asks if you want to get breakfast. You shake your head in faux-sympathy. “Sorry, can’t. I was hoping to get some cleaning done.”

“I could stick around and help,” he offers. 

Jesus Christ. Just take the fucking hint.

“That’s so nice of you; I’m just more efficient by myself,” you lie again. 

If Frankie were here, he’d grab the cleaning rags out of the closet just off the kitchen. He knows where they’re kept: second shelf, on the left. He’d wipe down the counters and the coffee table while you’d work on clearing dishes, disposing of pizza scraps. And he’d probably put on his dad-rock playlist — against your wishes — though you’d inevitably find yourself dancing to Foo Fighters and giggling when he’d sing along and mess up the words.

It begins to sink in then, as you shoo your stranger, now dressed, out the door, that your attempt to use sex as a way to get Frankie out of your head was useless. He’s still there, refusing quite adamantly to budge, all mussed curls and big eyes and deep voice. There’s no evidence that he’ll be leaving any time soon.

The revelation renders you nauseous. You spend the rest of the day with a hangover that you’re sure has not been induced by alcohol. And by the time night falls, darkness descending over your bedroom like a fog, you still feel sick.

A week later, you drag yourself to Benny and Mal’s for their monthly game night. You’d tried to get out of it, told Mal you haven’t been feeling great — which isn't a total lie — but she’d begged you until you broke. 

Will is coming, and it’ll be the first time we’ve all gotten together in over a year, she’d whined through the receiver. 

And then-

I know things were weird between you and Frankie last time at the bar, but you can’t let that stop us from seeing each other.

How do you know that, you’d asked, chewing on your bottom lip, the phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder.

He basically moped around the rest of the night after you left. Kept bitching about you leaving with that guy. He seemed really…agitated. You don’t have to tell me what happened, just please don’t bail.

So you’re here, steeling yourself as you climb the steps to the front door, hoping that if nothing else, you can make it through the night without strangling Frankie for his lack of discretion. 

You enter the house with baited breath.

Your eyes immediately catch Frankie, tucked into the corner of the sectional, fingers wrapped tightly around his beer. He meets your gaze briefly before letting it slip to the floor by his feet, as if he’s trying to pretend he hasn’t seen you at all. 

“Hi,” you try.

He looks back up at you, or rather past you. Taps his fingers along the bottle for a long moment. “Hey,” he says finally, to the wall behind your head.

“How have you been?” the words come out forced, almost foreign. You shift your weight awkwardly and he sighs. 

“Fine. I’m fine.” 

“Right,” you mutter. More silence. “Me too, in case you were wondering.”

“Good,” he says, voice cold. “That’s good.”

You’re not sure whether you want to slap him or kiss him. Because as infuriating as he’s being right now, he looks gorgeous, denim shirt hugging his biceps, his shoulders; stray curls peaking out from under that stupid Standard Heating Oil hat. You yearn to rip it off his head, run your fingers through his hair, nip along the sharp line of his jaw; the broad expanse of his neck.

You long to feel something other than the prominent ache that’s permeated your body for weeks, now. And you fear that he’s the only one who’d be able to alleviate it.

Your mouth opens again just as Benny emerges from the kitchen. Whatever words you were about to utter are lost in the ether as he pulls you into a suffocating hug and thanks you for coming. 

“Mal’s in the kitchen,” he says. Grabs a handful of Lays from a bowl on the coffee table and shovels them into his mouth. Still chewing, he adds, “we got those wine coolers you like; they’re in the fridge.”

With a hurried thanks, you slip away unscathed.

You find Mal crouched in front of the open fridge, rustling through a produce drawer stocked with beer cans. 

“Hey,” you announce. 

She seems almost surprised to see you when she cranes her neck toward your voice, despite your promise to show. Eyebrows raised, mouth slightly agape, it’s as if she’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. She pulls another drawer open. Fishes out a wine cooler and passes it to you with an outstretched arm. 

You take it in one hand. Help her up with the other. 

“You’re here,” she says, and it sounds like more of a question than a statement. 

“Yeah. I said I would be.”

“I know, I know. It’s just — I wasn’t sure. The whole Frankie thing…” 

“It’s nothing; I promise,” you lie. “Water under the bridge. We’re fine.”

She quirks a brow at you, disbelief coloring her features, but she lets it go. Closes the fridge with a thunk and adjusts her sweater at the hem. “Good,” she says. “I don’t want you two ruining game night.”

It’s half a joke, but you know deep down she means it. She takes this all very seriously. Back in college, she’d forced you and your suitemates to play Cards Against Humanity with her every weekend. None of you had the heart to tell her when it started to grow monotonous, and so the tradition carried on well past graduation, eventually evolving into a new tradition with new friends.

Games bring people together, she’d said once over a round of Monopoly that had stretched well into the night, resulting in delirious laughter and a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest.

You’d believed her at the time. Now, you’re not so sure that it’s foolproof.

The two of you rejoin the guys in the living room, Santiago and Will having shown up in your absence. You greet them as Benny pulls out a stack of game boxes. Settle on the couch, as far away from Frankie as you can manage.

It starts during the second round of Charades. 

The first round had gone fine — good, even. Teamed up with Santi and Will, you’d avoided eye contact with Frankie for the whole of it. Focused only on guessing Santi’s horribly-mimed clues in between handfuls of trail mix and sips of watermelon-flavored bubbles.

It’d felt a bit like old times, all of you in one room again. Mal snuggling into Benny on the loveseat; Will catching his brother up on time spent touring the country, giving motivational speeches to recently discharged veterans. He’d asked you how you’ve been as Santi studied his next word, and you’d remembered then that everything was very much not how it once was.

And you hadn’t missed Frankie’s discomfort at the question; the way he set his beer bottle down on the table with a bit too much force, glass clanging against wood. Though if Will noticed too, he hadn’t said anything. Just moved into a story about some woman he met on the road that reminded him of you.

Santi’s turn had ended with a whopping zero points for your team, and now Frankie is standing at the front of the room, unfolding the scrap of paper in his hand and reading it to himself. In the lull, you find yourself staring at him, eyes near glazing over at the sight of the tiny paper pinched between long, thick fingers. Fingers you remember the reach of, the weight of. 

He crumples the paper and stuffs it into his pocket, signaling that he’s ready to go. Mal flips over the sand timer on the table. And you almost don’t notice at first when he starts, mind occupied by equal parts lust and annoyance, that he’s fucking mouthing the phrase.

You watch, enraged, as Benny squints to read his lips. He raises his hand excitedly and jumps to his feet; yells out the answer with a sureness that Frankie affirms with a nod. 

“That’s right. It’s the Empire State Building.”

“That’s fucking cheating!” you shout, a bit angrier than the situation calls for, and the room grows quiet. Fury coursing through you, you add, “are you fucking serious, Frankie?”

You feel the eyes on you; the awkward sheen you’ve cast over the room. Mal shifts across from you, glaring when you turn to face her, and you laugh defensively. 

“What, nobody else thinks that’s unfair?”

“Please,” Frankie sneers. 

“No, she’s right,” Santi tries — ever the peacemaker. “We’ll just add a rule going forward; no mouthing the words.”

“Fuck that,” you hiss. “I want their point taken away.”

Frankie scoffs from the other side of the room. “Bullshit! We earned that before the rule was added.”

You’re fuming now, standing to get a bit closer to his height; though he still towers over you. Mal is right on your heels, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt to placate you. You brush her off. Take another stride toward Frankie.

“There shouldn’t need to be an official rule against it, Frankie. It’s common fucking sense — which clearly, you have none of.”

Visibly offended, he says nothing. Just tenses his jaw.

“Why did you come tonight?” you continue, voice more level now; direct. 

You hear your name uttered behind you, tone pleading, warning. You ignore it. 

“Seriously, why?”

He’s quiet for a long, drawn-out moment, eyes pointed at the floor again.  

“What are you talking about?” he spits, finally. 

You laugh, amused and irritated, and these things somehow feel one in the same. “I mean, clearly you don’t want to be in my presence or even acknowledge my existence — unless it’s to cockblock me — so why are you here?”

His brows furrow; lips twist. For a second, you think he might actually leave. He adjusts his cap, jangles the car key in his pocket — but Benny stops him before he can take a step.

“Just — cut it out, okay? Both of you.”

“He’s the one-“

“I don’t care,” Benny interjects. Scanning the room, you catch sight of Santi and Will and Mal, all visibly agitated, and you sigh.

Guilt washes over you, then. The twisting of Santi’s face, Mal’s doleful stare, the wordless look exchanged between Benny and Will. All confirm your fear that you’ve effectively ruined their night. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. 

Frankie echoes your apology. Still, the others aren’t impressed. 

“I don’t know what’s been going on lately with you two, but you need to figure this shit out,” Benny says. He sounds like a parent: stern and slightly disappointed. “Can you please just — go in the other room and talk through it?”

Though you haven’t much cared for Frankie’s opinion as of late, you still turn to him to gauge his reaction. He appears just as hesitant as you are, just as guilt-stricken. But something more lurks behind his eyes — something like fear, anxiety. Why, you aren’t sure.

You raise a brow at him, a wordless question. He answers with a sigh. 

“Fine,” you both say at once.

“Thank goodness,” Mal chimes. Herding you two like cattle with a hand on each of your backs, she leads you out of the living room and into the adjoining hallway. 

Her voice drones behind you as you make your way toward the third door on the right. Shall we continue the game?

The guest room is primly kept. It appears almost untouched at first glance, though you know that to be untrue. You’ve stayed here before, after blurry nights spent drinking shitty gin and singing karaoke. That must’ve been years ago now, though, after Mal and Benny first bought this house, and you begin to wonder if your tumultuous friendship with Frankie only made you neglect your friendship with her. And that only adds to the anger stirring inside of you — because what was it all worth, if it’s ended up like this?

Frankie closes the door behind him with a click, and the air in the room feels exponentially thicker. 

“What the fuck was that?” you hiss. 

He scoffs. “Me? You’re the one who freaked out and started an argument over nothing!”

“It wasn’t nothing. You were cheating.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes. Takes two steps toward you. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

“Oh,” you laugh, “so you are aware that you’ve been an asshole?”

He says your name, voice suddenly lower, softer. Your entire body tenses as you struggle to keep strong, to not think about how it sounded in your ear in the midst of pleasure.

“I wasn’t trying to be-”

You throw a hand up; silence him. “Well you have been,” you groan. “You’ve been a huge fucking asshole. You hurt me, Frankie. You were my best friend, and then you just… stopped returning my texts. You won’t even look at me when we’re in the same room together. Did you regret it that much?”

The room goes still. You watch as Frankie’s chest rises and falls arduously, his eyes settling on you. They’re dark, pupils blown wide, squeezing shut as he exhales long and hard.

“No.”

You quirk a brow at him, confused.

“No?”

“No,” he repeats, averting his gaze. “And that’s the problem — I didn’t regret it at all.” His eyes lift slowly, finding you again, voice more sure when he adds, “I’ve wanted it for a long time”

You can barely comprehend what he’s saying, your heart climbing its way out of your ribcage and up your throat. You gulp, feeling the shape of it there as saliva slowly slides past. 

He takes another two steps forward, mere inches from you now, and your breath hitches.

“Do you know how difficult it’s been to look at you without getting fucking hard?” he whispers. “How many times I’ve fucked my fist in the past month imagining it was you?”

Your mouth falls open, stunned. “That girl at the bar-”

He shakes his head. “I thought maybe if I fucked someone else, it would help.”

“And did it?”

“I didn’t — I didn’t go home with her,” he admits, a little bashfully. “I couldn’t do it.” 

His hand lifts, then, cautious and shaky. It finds its way to your face, grazes your jaw so softly you’d think you imagined it if you couldn’t see.

“Why not?” you squeak.

He nods, as if he’s finally accepting something he’s known to be true, admitting it to himself before he does so out loud.

“Because she wasn’t you.”

It feels as if your entire world has spun on its axis. 

Without thinking, you wrap your hand around Frankie’s neck and pull him toward you, crashing your lips into his with a groan. He’s quick to respond, desperately tangling his fingers in your hair and winding his tongue around yours, a broken moan slipping from his throat. 

For a long moment, that’s all it is. It’s clashing teeth and restless hands; the draw of blood and the taste of it, earthy and metallic on your tongue. It’s the two of you, reconciling for lost time and unshared feelings and the overlooked need for each other through tangled bodies. 

And when you finally pull apart, his lips are swollen and his eyes are glazed over, and you’re sure you don’t look much different.

“Frankie,” you whine as his mouth latches to your neck, warm and wet. He doesn’t retreat; just hums against you. 

“Need you,” you say breathlessly. “Need you to touch me.”

His large hand skates down your front, under the waistband of your leggings. He presses two fingers against your clothed clit, and your knees buckle. You lean into him, bracing yourself with a hand on his chest as he begins rubbing small, deliberate circles into cotton. 

Lips trailing up to your ear, he nibbles at the lobe. Presses his tongue just behind the shell of it and sighs. “Been wanting this since that night. Want to make you feel good. Want to do it right.”

You mewl in response, high-pitched and too loud, and you have to bite into his shoulder to keep from crying out again. He’s still working you toward the brink, pace relentless, beseeching you every time you buck into his hand. 

There you go baby, that’s it; I got you. 

You know he does, can feel the support of his unoccupied hand at the small of your back, holding you to his strong body. And god, how you’ve missed the feeling of it pressed to yours. You think that that alone could make you come.

You feel yourself slipping as your orgasm approaches, legs slumping underneath you more and more with every pass of his fingers. “Frankie,” you warn, teeth still anchored in his skin. “I’m going to-“

The words are muffled, but he gets it. Presses down harder and works his fingers faster. “Come on baby,” he growls in your ear, “come on.”

Your orgasm hits you so hard that you collapse, your body dead weight in Frankie’s grip as you writhe. He grasps onto you tightly, working you through it with his unyielding touch, swiping back and forth, back and forth as the final waves crest. 

You’re panting when it ends, and still when Frankie helps you to the edge of the bed. Perched there, staring up at him with glassy eyes, you realize you’ve never felt so sated and so needy at the same time.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Please fuck me.”

He should probably say no. After all, you’re in your friends’ guest room, people just a few hundred feet on the other side of the door. But then again, he’s already made you come.

You watch him consider it, eyes flickering to the door and back to you, dark and deep and pooling with want. 

In the end, he can’t help himself.

“Can you be quiet, querida?” 

You nod, though you’re sure that even if you said no, he wouldn’t care. He’d do just as he’s doing now: pressing your shoulder, encouraging you to lay down on the bed; helping you pull your sneakers off, then your leggings, then your shirt; stepping back to marvel at your half-naked form before him. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, and your entire body heats from the inside out. You feel like you’re on fire, his stare keeping you alight as he undresses down to his boxers.

He climbs over you with a hand on either side of your head, pressed into the mattress. The lip of his hat bumps you, and you immediately rip it off of him, tossing it aside and tangling your fingers in dark curls. 

You tug at them, dragging him down until his face is hovering just above yours, and he responds with a strangled moan. His body pressed to yours now, you can feel the weight of his hard cock against your clothed pussy. Your mouth finds his again in a languid kiss — slow and deep. You feed each other sighs and moans, taste each other’s longing. His hips roll into yours with every exhale, teasing you — reminding you, and you feel like you’re steadily going insane.

He pulls back, panting. Rests his forehead on yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, plucking at the strap of your bra. You nod furiously. Lift the upper half of your body so that he can undo the clasps.

Breasts suddenly exposed, you feel your nipples begin to harden. Frankie groans at the sight of them, so pert and needing. Wordlessly, he dips his head, buries his face in your chest. His tongue wraps around one of your nipples and you cry out, hand flying to your mouth in an instant. 

“Oh fuck,” you moan into your palm.

“Feel good?” he asks, knowing smirk playing on his lips as he shifts his focus to the other nipple. You feel so sensitive everywhere, the heft of his tongue going straight to your clit, and you can barely answer him. A shaky yes tumbles from your mouth — the best you can do. He hums, so low the vibrations burrow under your skin and barrel through you, and you keen at the sensation.

“God, you sound so pretty,” he sighs as he rolls one of your stiff peaks between two fingers. His other hand drifts down your body, dips between the two of you and pulls your panties aside. 

“Fuck,” he curses, fingertip brushing over your seam just barely. “You’re soaked, bebita. That all for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine. “All for you Frankie; fuck-“

He’s shifts down your body, hooks both arms under your legs and drags you toward him in one swift motion, leaving you no time to process before his tongue is on your pussy. “Have to taste you,” he babbles drunkenly, plunging into your leaking cunt and lapping at you.

“Oh, oh shit,” you moan as he drags his tongue up to your clit. “Please baby, please.”

“I know; I got you,” he soothes. Then he begins to lave your clit with the soft flat of his tongue, warm muscle encircling the throbbing nub. Wide eyes staring up at you, he observes intently. Responds to every sound, every tell with a switch in direction or an increase in pressure. He’s so attentive, so desperate to make you come on his mouth, and it sends you into a sort of delirium. 

Your second orgasm hits you out of nowhere, slams through your body with so much intensity, you don’t even have the strength to warn Frankie before your release is gushing all over his face and, undoubtedly, the bed below. 

He growls against your cunt. Comes up for air and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he tugs his boxers down and frees his aching cock. Notches at your entrance without detaching his lips from yours.

It’s a stretch — you recall it being so last time too — though the alcohol had done wonders to loosen your body. Now, you feel every devastating inch of him as he pushes in. He’s gentle. Tells you how good you’re doing as he feeds you more and more of his cock. There you go, that’s my girl, taking it so well for me. And for some reason, him calling you his nearly makes you come again. 

He notices the way you preen in response. Thumbs across the slope of your jaw as he settles inside you. “You like that, baby? Like me calling you mine?”

“Yes, Frankie — fuck. Want it.”

You don’t specify whether you mean him or his cock. You’re not entirely sure. Not that it matters. You know he’ll give you both, give you anything. Can feel it in the way he gazes at you through heart-shaped eyes as he lets you adjust to him.

 “So fucking beautiful, you know that?”

Your eyes roll back and saliva pools in your mouth. “God,” you breathe.

“I’m serious,” he says, finally beginning to move. The slow drag of his cock brushes your g-spot and you gasp. “Was so stupid before, fucking you drunk. Wanna remember every second, every noise you make, every inch of your perfect fucking body.”

“Jesus, Frankie.”

He pushes back in with one deep thrust. Sets a pace that, while not rough, definitely isn’t gentle. You begin to babble and writhe under him. Hook your legs around him so he can get even deeper.

He groans. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It’s so fucking good,” you cry. “Feels like fucking heaven, Frankie.”

“Nah, that’s you.” He lets his head fall on your shoulder, drives into you faster. Pants into the crook of your neck. “Perfect fucking pussy.” 

It ends all too quickly — with your fingernails dug into his back and his sweaty curls sticking to your forehead. Your cunt clenching around his cock, pulling his orgasm out of him just as yours begins to roll through you. You free fall from the cliff’s edge together, breathless moans spilling between your slotted mouths, his warmth flooding you and leaking from the place you’re still connected.

As the room around you slowly comes back into focus, you hear the sound of distant laughter. Benny’s boisterous chuckle and Mal’s much softer one. Clearly distracted, they’re likely blissfully unaware of what’s just happened. You giggle, covering your face as Frankie pulls out.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, prying your hands away. 

“We’re gonna have to get them a new bedspread. We just defiled this one.”

He stands, then, pulling you upright with him. You squeal as blood rushes to your head and your vision goes staticky. 

“Worth it,” he smirks. Gives you a chaste kiss. “Got my girl back.”

You dress and rejoin the group as inconspicuously as possible. Pray they don’t notice the way you’re wobbling on your feet, or the sheen of sweat that’s coated your skin. 

“You sort everything out?” Santi smirks knowingly as you reassume your place on the couch, Frankie settling back into the corner.

“Yeah,” he mutters, refusing to make eye contact. 

“It’s about time,” Benny shouts from the kitchen. Frankie’s head shoots up, pivots toward his voice.

“What do you mean?”

He emerges in the doorway with a shit-eating grin. Mal stifles a laugh from the loveseat.

“Just saying it’s about time,” he shrugs. “That’s all.” 

Shit; apparently you hadn’t been as quiet as you thought.

The others chuckle as you and Frankie exchange a mortified look. The embarrassment is short lived though, Will clapping his hands together, asking what game you all want to play next.

An hour later, after a couple rounds of Codenames and another wine cooler, you head out the door with Frankie right beside you. It feels odd, not hiding anymore. But more so, it feels right. 

He leans you against your SUV under silver moonlight. Kisses you with plush, soft lips against yours; restless hands roving up your sides. Pulls back with a suspiciously large grin.

You cock an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“Nothing,” he says. “Just glad I stopped being an idiot.”

“I don’t know about that,” you tease, and he smacks you gently on the arm.

“Come over?” he asks, his hand draped over your waist. 

You think on it for only a second. Nod. “Yeah. As long as you make me a grilled cheese.”

“That can be arranged.” 

end notes: thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed, please consider commenting and/or reblogging :)

[ki-yomii]

down on you | jjk

➥ pairing | jeon jungkook x f!reader ➥ word count | 4.5k ➥ warning(s) | 🔞 smut; dirty talk, pet names, mild praise kink, squirting, hair pulling, standing missionary, rough sex, porn w/ plot, mafia!jk, detective!reader, established relationship, mild angst, mild violence ➥ summary | It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all. ➥ notes | the mafia!jk au no one asked for aka an excuse to write smut w/ feeling lol.

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On his knees staring down the barrel of a loaded gun with a mouthful of blood, he knows this is the end of the line. He’s going to die like a rat in the gutter - no mercy to be found, loopholes to exploit or bribes to be made.

This is the real deal, and there’s no coming back.

Judgement Day comes in the form of a man with dark eyes and a dangerous smirk: Golden, the deadliest guard dog of the underground.

Credited with dozens of hits, you won’t know he’s there until it’s too late. Trying to keep him pinned is like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands, or a whisper on the wind.

And you won’t know he’s coming until you feel the breath on the back of your neck, hear the crack of a bullet ringing in your ears.

Belonging to one of the most powerful men in the world: Kim Namjoon, he’s more war machine than man.

“Go ahead, do it!” He spits at Golden’s feet, a mess of blood and drool staining the crisp leather of his combat boots. “Killing me won’t change a goddamn thing.”

A coy smile tugs at Golden’s mouth, his grin all sharp teeth and violence. He stays where he stands, his silhouette haloed by distant streetlights.

Water laps at the docks, the tang of salt heavy in the mid-summer Seoul air. There’s no rush; they both know he’ll be dead and dumped just like all the rest of the garbage in this rotting city.

“Come on, you prick! Pull the fucking trigger already.”

Golden cocks his head, and hums in the back of his throat. 

“Tch! I hope you’ve got a lot of bullets - we’re gonna knock the crown off Kim’s head one way or another.”

Golden thumbs at the safety of his gun, the barrel glinting through the shadows. “Ahh, is that what you think?” He shrugs, a lazy ripple of muscle. “Well, I have to say: I’d love to see you try.”

The night is shattered by the resounding crack of a gunshot and an echoing splash of something heavy dropping into the water below.

You climb out of the nondescript government-issue car. The faintest tremble of your fingers nearly gives you away but you’re able to reign in the impulse to smooth your hands over your clothes at the last second.

Showing weakness is the last thing you need to be doing right now.

Especially here.

Right in front of where you’ve parked - shoved between two looming apartment complexes - sits a quaint, vintage building. The rough brick face is at odds with the sleek surroundings, but tinted windows keep prying eyes at bay while the classy signing hanging above the door reads The Red Bullet written in caps.

If you didn’t know better, it would be hard to believe this otherwise mundane storefront is a cover for one of the most dangerous international organizations based out of South Korea.

Not only do they hold the keys to the kingdom, but their success is largely in part because they spearhead operations from government espionage all the way to simple blackmail.

Even though it’s been several months since you darkened its doorstep, the familiar sight is enough to steal the breath from your lungs. Send your heart galloping into a tailspin as your stomach swoops.

While time away helped clear your head of stolen kisses and promises whispered in dark rooms, it also drove the longing bone deep.

In those quiet moments to yourself, when you have nothing else to distract from how lonely you are, you miss this place like one misses a limb.

You didn’t realize how attached you were to these four walls until it was too late: the hazy air filled with whorls of smoke, the overhead lights that bathe everything in red, the plush chairs you spent many nights sprawled across, the glossy black stages.

You don’t know how, you don’t know when but at some point it (he) started feeling like home. A luxury you can’t afford. Not again. After all, if you give in, any progress you made outside of his gravitational pull will be for naught.

Which puts you in a dangerous position as you find yourself back where it began; feelings at war with duty, mind vs heart. Because even if it leads you to a place you could go a million years without ever seeing again, you have to follow the trail of bodies.

A bouncer grants you access, the heavy door slamming shut behind you like a death knell as he herds you towards the back of the club.

It’s outside of official operating hours but it’s no less busy inside, men and women alike in scattered conversation as you pass through.

“It’s nice to see you again,” the bouncer murmurs, chancing a quick glance at your profile. “Been a while.”

You swallow, gaze darting down to your shoes. “Ah - yeah… Got busy with work. It’s - it’s nice to see you too.”

The small talk fizzles out, a snuffed candle as you arrive at a cordoned off room, “Here we are. Mr Kim is already expecting you.”

Any further pleasantries grow stale on your tongue as you enter the private booth, fighting against the lump in your throat to manage a hoarse ‘thank you’.

And then you find yourself left alone with the man himself, Kim Namjoon. He’s as intimidating as you remember, lounging back into the leather booth with his ankles crossed.

A lukewarm smile stretches across his lips, the slightest hint of a dimple peeking out from the valley of his cheek. Standing at attention on either side of his reposing form are two massive bodyguards. Their hands rest on the butts of their guns, daring any who enter to try and make a move.

“It’s good to see you again. But I gotta ask - what’s the occasion, Detective?” Namjoon hums. “I thought we were past all this.” He waves a nebulous hand between your bodies. “After all, you’re practically family.”

You ignore the hidden barb with a wince. “Mr Kim, you know why I’m here.”

“I used to know why a long time ago.” A well-groomed brow raises, his gaze glacial as it spears you in place. “But now I’m not so sure.”

“Please, Mr Kim. I don’t want to make this more difficult than it is. I just need to know about the man they fished out of the harbor, and then I’ll be on my way. So… who was he?”

Namjoon scoffs. “What makes you think I know more than the police?”

There’s a flash of a smirk, barely noticed, before his face returns to its neutral expression. As calm and cool as a placid river. “A john’s a john. What I do want to know is why you care so much?”

The underlying question is clear; why are you really here?

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to discuss such matters with civillians.”

“Oh? So I’m a civilian now.” His expression is not unlike the cat that caught the canary: vicious and delighting in the discomfort his evasions are causing. “Gotta say that’s a new one for me.”

Sighing in defeat, you say, “Alright, enough. I get it. I’m wasting my time with you. Let me ask this instead: where is he?” 

“He doesn’t know any more about this than I do,” he says, waving a blase hand towards a door off to the left, “But if you insist, you can find him in the office. Oh, and Detective?”

“...Yes?”

“Take your time, I’ll be out on business all afternoon.”

With a curt nod, you flee the room amid low-throated chuckles and enter the office. Standing near the desk, his broad back turned towards the door, you find the man you simultaneously want to see the most and run from the fastest.

He turns around, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement. Your breath stutters in your chest, and you nearly swallow your tongue as your eyes trace over the cut of his body.

The moment your eyes meet, those many months spent cultivating time and distance turn to ash. You forgot how even the mere sight of him affects you, any resistance to his many charms virtually nonexistent as the world falls away.

Rich, coffee dark; his gaze sucks you in until it’s all you can do not to reach out, to brush your fingers over his edges and feel them soften beneath your palms.

Rocking back on your heels, you clear your throat and glance to the side as you remain standing in the entryway, more than a little off-kilter.

Coming back after so long apart, only to find him the same as the day you left… How do you reconcile everything that’s changed with everything that was?

“Well, hello there.” Jungkook croons, leaning his hip against the corner of the desk with a roll of his shoulders. His arms cross over the trunk of his chest, accentuating the bulk of his chest, the flex of inked bicep. “Long time no see.”

Shifting, you gulp. “Ah - yeah…”

The burn of his gaze - a palpable sensation prickling across your skin - tracks a path from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes as he gives you a thorough once-over.

“You’re looking good,” Jungkook hums in approval, “real good. I’ve missed those pretty eyes of yours.”

“You - you too.”

Your attention doesn’t know where to settle: drifting from the curve of his shoulders to the jut of his bloody knuckles, the tuck of his trim hips to the thick-soled combat boots.

Tiny hairs at the back of your neck stand on end, and your palms slick with sweat.

“I mean, you look… y’know, uh, good too.”

A flash of a crooked smirk, the raising of a pierced brow gets your blood pumping, your heart tattooing a rhythm against your ribs. Emboldens you to reach back with shaky fingers to turn the lock. The sound grates down your spine, bolts of anticipation slicing through you.

It was dumb to think coming here, seeing him again, would end any other way than his taste on your tongue and his cock in your cunt. Hope makes fools of us all.

Should’ve known better but you’d been hopeful those days were long behind you. Now you realize it was inevitable.

After all, Jungkook is magnetic.

The black hole at the center of your universe, consuming everything in its path until he’s what remains in your head, your heart. You’re helpless, ceaselessly drawn to him like a moth to flame.

And try as you might, you can’t say no to a face like that.

Never could, in fact.

Failure to extract yourself from his orbit during your not-relationship is nothing new. That doesn’t mean you can’t make it difficult.

After all, you still have some dignity intact.

So try, try, try again.

“Ahem.” You try to banish the heat from your cheeks, guiding the conversation into the correct territory. “I’m not here on a-a social call, Jeon. I need to know: were you the one that killed and dumped the john in the harbor?”

Stalking closer, a lazy jungle cat on the prowl, Jungkook crosses the distance between you. He only stops once your bodies brush with every labored inhale. Heat radiates from him, and you’re achingly aware of every point of contact.

The light scent of his cologne teases your nose, and his eyes - god, his eyes. They’re shaded and hungry, devouring your expression with single-minded possessiveness. 

“What makes you think I know anything about that?”

“Jeon -- Jungkook.”

He hums.

Your heart thrums, pulse rushing hard through your head until you feel faint, blood surging the longer you stay in close contact. The shameful clench of your cunt makes your cheeks burn all the brighter.

The last time you were looking up at him like this, his hand was on your jaw while his cock thrust balls deep.

“C’mon, you know that isn’t going to work. This is me you’re talking to, not some rookie.”

“Mm,” he purrs, “it is you I’m talking to, isn’t it?”

You manage to bite back the groan but can’t stop your eyes from rolling even if there’s the slightest hint of a stutter when you reply, “Please, I just need to know if you killed him.”

Jungkook looms tall and proud, crowding closer. “And if I did, baby?” he asks.

Instinctively you back up, only to be followed step by step. A game of cat and mouse that finds you pinned against the wall before long. With nowhere to run, you watch, heart in your throat, as Jungkook dips his dark head.

His nose runs along the length of your neck, breath puffing across your sensitive skin as he inhales the pleasant scent of your perfume.

“I - I…”

“Would you see me in handcuffs?” His lips caress the underside of your jaw, a soft groan escaping him. “… C’mon, answer me. Would you?”

“I would - if I had to.”

As much as you wish that was true, you know in your heart of heart's you would do everything in your power to make sure that never happens.

No matter how much you like to think you’d do the right thing when push comes to shove, you’d choose him a thousand times over.

His eyes dance playfully. “Careful, I might like it.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” you say with a snort.

Jungkook chuckles low and warm, using the arm around your waist to tug you into the safety of his body. The softness of your breasts presses into the hard planes of his chest, your nipples pebbling through the thin cotton shirt you wear.

With a deep-throated groan, his hands encircle the curves of your hips as a thickly muscled thigh slots between yours.

An answering quiet sigh gets his blood pumping and his cock twitching.

“Mm, something tells me you’d enjoy it just as much, Detective.”

The use of your title is a rude awakening.

“Jungkook,” You warn, moving to push him away. Only once you start touching him, you can’t stop. His muscles flex beneath your curious fingertips. “We really shouldn’t.”

You’re sure if he could, Jungkook would spend days worshipping between your thighs, velvet heat wrapped around his tongue and hands in his hair as he brings you to peak again and again until you’re a sobbing, sopping, boneless mess beneath him.

“Come on, I know you want me - that you’ve missed me. I can see it in your eyes.”

He kisses the corner of your mouth, tongue flickering out for a brief taste before a rough thumb skates across your bottom lip, tugging down to expose your teeth, the glitter of your tongue as it darts out to flick over the pad of his finger..

“I’ve certainly missed you, baby. Want me to show you?”

Even though you refuse to admit anything out loud, you can’t help but angle your throat back and grind into his hips pressed against yours.

Jungkook tsks, “That’s alright. I’ll get that pretty mouth open one way or another.”

Before you can retort, a mouth swoops down to fuse with yours in a fierce, all-consuming kiss. A low, broken moan punches from your chest.

Reaching up, your fingers sink into the mane of dark hair that brushes the cut of Jungkook’s jaw. Soft, thick, and wavy in your grip; you tug at the roots.

Jungkook hisses. 

Teeth nip at your lip, kittenish licks soothing away the string as blood bursts across your tongues. The thigh shoved between yours grinds up with every wet, sloppy pass of your lips.

Thick muscle spreads your pussy open through the thin slacks of your work uniform. Sparks of pleasure dance down your spine with every rock against your swollen clit.

“S-Shit!” Your shoulders curl in, a shudder jerking through you. “K-Kook, I… !”

“Fuck, you’re so wet for me.” Jungkook growls, rutting his cock against the jut of your hip. The wet patch you’re making on his jeans grows larger with every filthy grind. “You’ve been gone too fucking long. Never again, you hear me?”

You claw at his shoulders, stuttering out, “there’s noth-ing you can do t’stop me.”

“If you don’t come back to me,” his eyes are dark and stormy, voice whiskey rough, “I’ll find you.”

It’s not a threat - it’s a promise.

“Then make sure I never want to leave,” you challenge breathlessly, staring into his blown out pupils, “Make me want to stay.”

Above all else, you think.

The words are barely past your lips when Jungkook accepts your challenge with gusto (just like you knew he would). Without delay, he thumbs open the button on your pants.

Refusing to let you look away, Jungkook yanks them to your feet and swings you up into his arms one-handed. They hang from your ankle like a chain.

Your surprised squeak is quickly swallowed up by a moan when he settles you over the bulge in his pants, your cunt hovering over his erection.

The heat of his skin sinks through the thin cotton of your panties, so, so close to where you need him. Slick soaks into the fabric, and clings to your inner thighs.

Every shift is a smooth, sticky glide of folds that stirs, and stokes the ember of desire smoldering behind your navel.

“Kook,” you breathe. “Please.”

Your head rolls back, and you sag into his chest. Your hips twitch in pathetic little attempts, trying to get pressure where you need it. Having him hot and hard and all for you; any distance between you is suddenly unbearable.

He needs to spread you wide and stuff you full with every inch of his thick cock until he’s so deep you won’t be able to walk for days.

“Shh baby, I’ll give you what you want,” he says, gaze heavy and possessive. “I’m gonna ruin you so good, you’ll have no choice but to come back. You’re mine.”

“Says who?”

“Hmm. You don’t think you are?”

Nibbling on your ear, Jungkook slips a finger under the hem of your panties. He smirks when you keen, rubbing his knuckle up and down your sloppy folds with teasing pressure.

“How about I show you what your body already knows?”

Wasting no time, he lifts you off his cock, the scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground. His free hand dives between your bodies. Then comes the clink of a belt, the sound of a zipper pulling down.

Your heartbeat thunders in your ears, your body coiled with anticipation as your stomach swoops at the brush of his fingers along the underside of your thigh.

“Look so pretty like this, baby.” Jungkook twists his wrist, hips arching back. “And it’s all for me. Fuck, I can’t wait to get inside this pretty pussy.”

Any response dies on your tongue, brain short-circuiting as the slick, fat cockhead rubs along your slit. Pressing against your entrance the slightest bit before slipping up to nudge at your clit - coating himself up in your sticky juices.

The ultimate tease - something Jungkook’s always been overly fond of doing until you’re out of your mind with desperation.

“Please, please, please,” you chant, cheeks on fire and eyes half-lidded as you circle your hips. “Stop playing around. I want it - want you, Kook.”

“Oh, baby,” he smiles, ducking down to kiss your forehead. “You’ll take whatever I give you.”

You can’t stifle the broken sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. Liquid fire surges through your veins, a thousand bolts of lightening crackling beneath the surface of your skin. Your pussy is tender, swollen. Walls fluttering in time with your heartbeat. 

“Ha, you’re so needy for me.”

Jungkook’s lips brush away the moisture around your eyes, his thumb drawing soothing circles into the base of your spine. All the while, his torturous grinding never ceases.

“Aren’t you?”

You croak, “I can’t – Kook, please. Anything, I’ll do anything you want just fuck me.”

The flash of his eyes is your only warning before he’s right there, your walls embracing the girth of his erection inch by inch. Every ridge, every jerk as he seats himself as deep inside your silken heat as he can is absolute heaven.

The stretch as you take him to the hilt sends you careening towards the edge, eyes rolling back and toes curling in your shoes.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” you whimper.

“Shit!” Jungkook grits his teeth, squeezing the base of his cock as you tighten  around him. With every deep inhale, his pelvis brushes your swollen, needy clit. “Forgot how good you feel wrapped around my dick, baby.”

“Me too,” You gasp, tightening your legs around Jungkook’s hips.”Me too, Kook.”

Dropping his forehead to yours, he says gruffly, “‘m not gonna last long.”

Making a noise of acknowledgement, you wiggle your hips. Sinking your teeth into the side of Jungkook’s jaw, you bite and suck at his skin, wanting to leave a mark to remember you by. His reaction is instantaneous, releasing the grip on his shaft to grab a fist full of hair.

He yanks back.

The long, elegant line of your throat is exposed to his butterfly kisses and scolding love bites.

“Now you’ve really asked for it,” Jungkook huffs out with a dirty chuckle.

“Then give it to me.” You lick your puffy lips, looking up at him from beneath your lashes. “Show me who I belong to.”  

The brewing hurricane in his eyes is unleashed. Wide palms and strong fingers grip your hips so tight you feel bones grind together. His stance widens, his unwavering gaze locking onto your face, brow pinched, and mouth slack.

His lip piercing glints in the light, his tongue sliding out to wet his bottom lip. Dark curls tussle about his head, a wild halo that sweeps down into the burning umber of his eyes.

Helpless, you succumb - enchanted by the darkness peering at you from behind those dangerous eyes. He’s ethereal; a siren song that threatens to drown you, swallow you whole.

You’d happily let him, you realize with a shiver.

It’s true, he owns you: blood, bones, and all.

“Hold on tight,” Jungkook says, hooking his hands under your bottom. 

And then, he’s jackhammering into your cunt so hard and fast all you can do is hold on for the ride. Punch drunk and moaning as he manhandles you how he likes, spreads you wide and stuffs you full until you’re panting for breath and clinging to sanity by your fingernails.

“Fuck yes, that’s it. Look how well your pretty pussy always takes my fat cock.”

His low voice whispering filthy praises in your ear makes you whimper, whine, and writhe as the band of pleasure coiling tight in your belly comes close to snapping. It’s the fastest he’s ever fucked an orgasm out of you, and it feels so good you don’t even care.

The pace is brutal, slamming into you so hard you’re sure you’ll have bruises on your hips come morning. But it’ll be so fucking worth it. You’re going to cum hard and long, you just know it.

About to melt as Jungkook fucks the slick out of you, groaning as you drip down the base of his cock, his balls - his very own pretty little mess.

“Yeah, you gonna cum, baby?” he laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to the side of your face. “Can feel how - haaah shit - how tight you’re squeezing me.”

“Uh-huh,” you cry, holding onto the tops of his wide shoulders. Every thrust has his cockhead dragging over the spongy patch of your g-spot, sending fissions of pleasure rocketing through your nervous system. “So - so close, baby. Just a little more, I--”

Balancing yourself, you lift up only to slam back down, meeting Jungkook’s thrust with all the force of gravity. “Oh fuck, oh fuck!”

Crashing over you like a tsunami, your orgasm shoots through your limbs and zips down your spine. A warm rush of cum soaks Jungkook’s shaft, the wet and messy sound of your squirt splashing against the floor secondary to the cry that claws its way out of your throat.

“K-Kook!”

Jungkook grunts, his fingers digging into the fat of your hips as he helps you keep bouncing up and down on his erection. “Yeah, that’s it - keep going, baby. Wanna feel you keep cumming all over this cock.”

Aftershocks slice through you like lightning, tiny jolts of electricity. As you come down from your high, your gummy walls pulse, milking at Jungkook’s thick shaft.

He groans softly whenever your muscles tense, release; your body a worn-out rubber band as your breath stutters from you.

Then a hand pets down your flank, your skin shivering with hypersensitivity at the tender touch. “S’okay. Just breathe, baby.”

Peeling open your heavy eyes, you look up at his face. Take in the crinkle of his brow and the ravenous expression. Even floating on a sea of bliss, white noise fills your ears, you want more.

You slur, determined, “Kook, baby, please. Cum in me, want you s’bad.”

“Fuck! Can’t just say shit like that to me or I…” Jungkook bites down onto the tender crook of your neck, muffling his grunts in your flesh. “Shit - ’m so --”

You cry out, nails digging into the meat of his shoulders, “A-haah, K-Kook!”

Snapping his hips forward one last time, Jungkook grinds as deep as he can get and lets go. The fat head of his cock kisses your cervix, his length throbbing in time with his heartbeat as a rush of cum floods your insides.

“Yeah, just like that,” he grunts, rutting once - twice into the cradle of your body, “take it like a good girl.”

He croons when you whine at the press of his pelvis against your oversensitive clit. Thready sparks of pain shoot down your legs that hang limply over his forearms. Every breath stutters from your lungs, slow and deep.

“No more, can’t - can’t…” Shifting, you arch your spine and burrow your head into his chest, nearly catatonic in his arms. “S’too much.”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you.” Fingers brush over your closed eyelids, smoothing over the arch of your brow. With every kiss dropped to the top of your head, he mumbles in dulcet tones, “I really have missed you, you know.”

You mewl in response as strong fingers knead the backs of your thighs.

“You’re not allowed to go anywhere.”

“Oh,” you can’t muster up enough energy to say anything more, body tender and trembling with little aftershocks, “s’that right?”

“Yeah, that’s right.” He chuckles. “You’re staying here - right where I want you.”

In lieu of a response, you pick your head up off the pillow of his chest and seek out his gaze. Liquid soft; he’s looking at you like you hung the world on a string.

“I’ve missed you too, Kook,” you say with a gentle smile.

You’ll allow yourself this moment of weakness when there’s no space between your bodies or hearts. Titles don’t matter much when he’s cradling you to his chest like a piece of precious china.

Between the two of us, you’re the one who hung the moon and stars, you think while combing back his sweaty bangs.

And I think I love you, you whisper voiceless against his lips.

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer Park Steve AU part 5

part 1 | part 4

“…Henderson? Oh, holy shit, Henderson!!”

Eddie sounds like a kid on Christmas morning as he comes bounding across the street, movements like a great dane tripping over gangly limbs. He barrels into Dustin and tackles him in a great big hug, swings him off the ground in a circle and puts him back down so they can do some elaborate handshake with slaps and switchbacks and an ending tap-tap of their ankle bones.

What the fuck?

Steve watches this whole thing go down with his hands on his hips and his face doing something horribly sour because seriously what the actual fuck? Stupid handshakes with Henderson are his thing.

“What are you doing here, man?” Munson asks Dustin with a jovial pat on the back. Dustin’s squeezing him around the middle, tucked into his side like a little kid hugging a giant teddy bear, face just lit the fuck up with excitement over this. Steve feels his nostrils flare in a brief flash of petty rage.

“Steve!” he shouts happily. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re neighbors with Eddie?”

Eddie’s face falls when he looks up and sees Steve. Feeling’s mutual, dickwad.

“You’re here to see Harrington?” He asks in a voice like flat soda, all the earlier enthusiasm sucked out into the void. He takes a tiny step away from Dustin — just the smallest bit of distance, a subtle lightening of his touch against his shoulder — but Steve doesn’t miss the flicker of hurt that passes between Dustin’s brows. As if he needed another reason to hate this guy.

“Uh, yeah?” Dustin asks, confusion coloring his tone. “He’s my brother.”

“He’s your what?”

Steve’s chest swells with pride. “He said I’m his brother.”

“Not my blood brother,” Dustin clarifies, and Eddie makes a little noise. “But yeah. He’s fucking awesome. And you’re fucking awesome—”

“Language?” Steve tries for Claudia’s sake, but Dustin’s on a roll now, getting louder and more exuberant as he starts talking with his hands.

“—And oh, holy shit, this is the best! Wait ‘til I tell Mike and Lucas about this. With you guys living so close, we can hang out all the time! And we won’t even have to make two bike rides!”

Dustin leans in to squeeze Eddie in another hug, so stoked he’s bouncing on his toes a little (so stoked he doesn’t even bother to ask Eddie if it’s cool if the whole party shows up at his door, but that’s Dusty for you). His face is turned into the front of Eddie’s shirt, and over the top of his baseball cap Eddie gives Steve this look that Steve’s pretty sure he returns. Serious. Somber. Resigned. A fucking gallows stare, because…

Because fuck. Fucking- goddammit.

They’re gonna have to pretend to tolerate each other now. For Dustin.

Steve’s left eye starts to twitch.

—

“Are you selling him drugs?”

“Excuse the fuck outta you??”

Okay. Yeah. Bad start. Backtrack. Steve knows this is not the right way to approach a conversation, especially not when it’s Saturday night and you just interrupted your neighbor’s house party to be an accusatory dick to him. The Munson trailer door is wide open behind Eddie, and Steve can see a couple guys he vaguely recognizes from school sitting in the living room — a chubby white dude, a nerdy black guy, and a baby-faced kid with a scowl to rival Mike’s. They’re eating pizza and smoking cigarettes and sipping some cheap-ass brand of beer, and Steve is clearly interrupting.

“Sorry,” he tries again.

“Wow,” Eddie smirks. “Didn’t know you knew that word.”

“Shut up, man- just— ugh.” He takes a deep breath, wills himself to stop rolling his eyes at the guy he needs to ask a favor. “I’m sorry, okay? Can I just talk to you for a second?”

Eddie considers him for a moment; chin tilted up, lips pursed; and then he steps onto the porch and shuts the door behind him. “I’m listening,” he murmurs around a fresh cigarette, hand cupped around the end to light it.

He holds the pack out to Steve. “You want one?”

“Do I- what?”

Eddie shakes the box for emphasis. “Do you want one?”

“No, I heard you, I just…” The weird ceasefire between them is tripping him the hell up. He doesn’t think it’ll go too well if he says that out loud, though. “…Yeah. Fuck it. Thanks.”

“Sure.”

They smoke in silence for a moment, shoulder to shoulder, looking out into the dark of the woods that kind of freak Steve out if he lets himself look too long. Something about the branches like long, spindly fingers in the dark; like jittering spider legs; like a Mindflayer made of—

“You wanted to ask me something?”

Steve rubs his brow with his thumb, lets the panic out on a slow breath. “Yeah, I just… Look, I’m not trying to— I mean, I shouldn’t accuse you of anything, man. I just spent the afternoon getting myself all worked up thinking about it after he left, and- and Claudia needs me to look out for the kid, so—”

“Who the hell is Claudia?”

Steve tilts his head at him. “Dustin’s mom?”

“Oh.”

“I thought you two were close.”

Eddie shakes his head, curls bouncing around his shoulders, “Nah, man, not yet really. I mean, don’t get me wrong, the little guy’s cool and all — smart as shit, too—”

“Isn’t he?”

“Fucking genius. He’s gonna cure cancer or some shit, I swear.”

Steve catches himself smiling; hides it behind another quick puff of smoke.

“Anyway,” Eddie says, “I don’t really, like, know the dude. We just met because I run Hellfire.”

Oh. “The DnD club?” No wonder Dusty’s obsessed.

Eddie shoots him a look, a quick blink of pleasant surprise. “Yeah, exactly.”

“Cool. He loves that game.” Steve pulls in more smoke, takes his time on the exhale; lets the nicotine buzz swim in his veins. He forgot how nice it feels. “So yeah, Claudia— his mom—asked me to look out for him, y’know? And I just, I know you used to supply the weed for my house parties and shit— and it was good quality shit and all but I don’t—”

“Hold on,” Eddie says, snorting a little in disbelief. “You think I’m gonna sell weed to Dustin?”

Huh. “You wouldn’t?”

“Hell no! One, he’s way too young; that shit’s, like, bad for young minds or something, allegedly.”

Steve frowns to himself, thinking back to him and Tommy smoking weed in Tommy’s basement in middle school; the brain damage they probably gave themselves doing it. Whoops.

“Secondly, can he even smoke? I thought he was sick or something.”

“What? Why would you think he’s sick?” Oh, shit, is he sick? Does Steve not know about it because he missed all those family dinners?

“Dude, take a breath.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand, wafting smoke in pretty tendrils under the trailer’s flood light. “I just meant, like, chronically. ‘Cause of his bones and shit?”

“Oh,” Steve breathes, relieved. “Oh, yeah, no, he’s fine, he’s just like missing collarbones and stuff; he can bend like Gumby.”

Eddie laughs at that, dimple popping out, and Steve can’t help but laugh a little, too, remembering the last time he told someone that. “Don’t tell him I said that, though, he’ll get pissed.”

“Scout’s honor,” Eddie salutes.

“You a boy scout, Munson?”

“Nah, Harrington. Just figured you were.” His eyes are bright and playful, sort of magnetic as he drops the last of his cigarette and stubs it out with the toe of his boot. “Anyway, I gotta get back to the boys. You wanna stick around for a beer, or are you satisfied with my answer, Nanny Steve?”

“Okay, do not fuckin’ call me that,” Steve laughs, sharp and short. Tries to season the words with a glare, but Eddie’s face is too impish and pleased to hold on to any real anger. “And I appreciate the offer, but I think your friends would try to kill me.”

“Mm, yeah,” Eddie agrees, wiggling his fingers as he waves a hand to gesture at the whole of Steve. “Gareth is not exactly a fan of your kind.”

Aaand he’s pissed again. Jesus Christ. “My kind?”

“Yeah. Jocks? Rich assholes?” His lips tip up in a crooked smirk, “Or, well—”

“Don’t.”

Steve’s just done with his stupid jokes suddenly, and Eddie must hear how much he means it because he raises his palms in surrender and steps back. Always stepping back and away, this guy. Fucking coward.

Steve doesn’t know why he reacts like this, but the shame is turning to fiery fury in his gut, curdling his blood like sour milk, pricking hot at his lash line. Damn it; he’s not about to let Eddie Munson of all people see him cry.

He scoffs at himself, shoves his hands into his pockets. “Whatever, man,” he sniffs as he turns his back on him, “Enjoy your party. Screw you.”

—

The most pathetic part, Steve thinks to himself as he writhes and twists in his tangled, sweaty sheets; 2am and he’s up again after a nightmare because of fucking course he is; is that somewhere between the insomnia and guilt over the way their conversation imploded earlier, his staring-blindly-at-the-ceiling-until-his-eyeballs-start-to-burn morphs into, like, daydreaming about how it could have gone.

He keeps repeating the scene in his mind, rewinding the tape to let it play out in richer detail.

It goes like this:

1. Eddie comes over.

2. Eddie comes over and apologizes.

3. Eddie comes over in the middle of the night to apologize because he’s so, so sorry that he just can’t wait until morning, even though it wasn’t really his fault; no, Steve’s the sorry one; no, Eddie is; no, they’ll both agree to do better, for the kids.

4. It’s two in the morning, after the cars are all gone and the party’s died down, and Eddie comes quietly across the yard; taps gently on Steve’s window so he doesn’t wake his mom.

Steve leans out and snaps, “What?” because he’s still a little pissed, and Eddie makes big, contrite eyes and plays with his own hands; fingers dancing in nervous circles; spinning rings.

“Listen, I, uh—” Eddie begins, “I might have… Shit, man, I might’ve been a bit of a massive dick earlier, and seeing as we have to play nice on account of the kiddos, I— do you- I mean— come have another smoke with me? Please.”

Please.

Please.

Please.

It’s a pleasant dream. Steve rewinds again, lets it play out in his head for a few more loops. Falls asleep just as he’s getting the dialogue right.

When he wakes up, Munson’s van is gone.

They don’t talk again for weeks.

—

part 6

tag list got absolutely outta hand lmao and i can’t tag some of y’all bc of your privacy settings, so sorry if i didn’t tag you but here ya go i did my best 🩷 follow the tag #trailer park steve au for future parts. @steves-strapcollection @discorporatedmess @questionablequeeries @nburkhardt @disrespectedgoatman @a-little-unsteddie @thedragonsaunt @ledleaf @perseus-notjackson @devondespresso @loop-deloo @annabanannabeth @thewyvernkore @callas-shitshow @sentry-nest @aliea82 @anne-bennett-cosplayer @steddie-as-they-go @insominaticthoughts @lofaewrites @crazyhatlady86 @gothwifehotchner @potent-idiocy @discount-izukumidoriya @hbyrde36 @goldensnitchbcs @mightbeasleep @lawrencebshoggoth @beckkthewreck @silversnaffles @dawners @hellion-child @stray-bi-kids @iswearitsjustme @ilovecupcakesandtea @slowandsteddie @gaysonthefloor @pennyplainknits

[cillianhead]

Hii was wondering if you’d do Tommy w/ daddy kink + sex on his desk. Also I’ve been binge reading your fics! Great work <3!

Ask and you shall receive.

VERY EXCITED TO WRITE THIS ONEEEE!!!

Look What You Made Me Do || Thomas Shelby x Reader

warnings: SMUT!!! DubCon, Dark!Tommy, unprotected P in V, mentions of being sexually harassed (not by Tommy), catcalling, possessiveness, degradation, depictions of violence and murder, blood and graphic language describing it, using a gun during sex, slapping, daddy kink, dacryphilia, sort of fluffy at the end, adult content!!!

18+ Minors DNI

Walking back from the markets, you hadn't planned on ending up like this. Running down a dark alley way, trying to get away from a man much taller and stronger than you are. Trying to get away from a man who had yelled "Oi! Let me rip that pretty dress off of that tight little body!"

You had tried to keep walking when you heard it, hoping maybe it wasn't directed at you or you somehow misheard him. Unfortunately, the man kept harassing you, kept getting closer and closer as you kept your head down and picked up your pace. Then his hand brushed your shoulder and you immediately bolted.

You knew you should've agreed to let Tommy come with you.

He was gaining on you fast and oh the irony, you trip and fall, skidding across the damp rough gravel, skinning your hands and knees and bruising the rest of your body, you were sure. You let out a mewl as you felt him grab a hold of your ankle and pull you towards him, further dirtying you and your dress, squeezing your eyes shut, knowing this was the end of the line for you. There was no way you'd be able to fight off this monster. You had accepted your fate. "Now what do ya think yer doin'?" Tommy's voice. At the other end of the alley way. You felt some sort of relief wash over you. "Get your fuckin' hands off my woman."

"Or what?" He boldly spoke back to Thomas Shelby, he had let go of your ankle now, turning to look up at Tommy only to look down the barrel of his gun. "O-Oh...!" What an idiot. "Sorry... mate... only messin' round... tha's all...." His hands were up in the air as Tommy walked him towards a wall. You watched the encounter, wondering if Tommy was really gonna shoot him.

"That's alright, I forgive you." Tommy said sarcastically and smiled coldly before bang, the man dropped dead with a hole in his head. Blood splattered across Tommy's face and clothes, brains coating the ground. You had sat up by now, staring at the dead body in front of you, wide eyed and heart pounding. "Stupid girl." Tommy grabbed you by your wrist, yanking you up onto your feet and pulling you along behind him like a bad dog. "What the hell were ya thinking, hmmm?" You held your head low with embarrassment, relieved Tommy was here to save you but also frightened from what just happened, frightened of what was to come. Disturbed from seeing the lifeless look in the dead man's eyes and the blood pouring out of him like he was a leaky faucet. "Look at what you've made me fuckin' do." Tommy scoffed as you turned a corner, approaching closer to your house. He was covered in scarlet, blood dripping off his nose and chin.

"T-Tommy... he was going to-"

"I know what he was gonna do, keep quiet, girl, I didn't say you could speak." Tommy barked, he shoved you into the house, you tripped a bit over your step, wincing at your aching knees from your rough fall. You looked over to Tommy with watery eyes and a trembling lip. "Oh don't look at me like that, you know what would happen to ya if you went out dressed like that, love." He grumbled as he unbuckled his belt, setting his cap to the side and approaching you slowly with a dark angry look in his eyes. You knew fully what was about to happen.

"I'm sorry..." An abrupt slap to your wet face made you shut up. A small sob and then Tommy dragging you into his study, pressing his lips possessively over yours. You cried into the kiss.

"Such a dumb little girl, you are..." Tommy pushed you down over the desk, your ass perched up in the air for him. "Apologize to daddy... apologize for what you made him do to that man." "I'm so... sorry... daddy!" You cried, tears slipping down your face. Your cheek laid against the cold desk. "I'm really sorry... I didn't... I didn't mean to..." You didn't even know what exactly you were apologizing for but you needed Tommy to forgive you, needed his love and care, you were still startled over what had happened to you. You needed some sort of consoling.

"I know you're sorry," He grunted, you heard him slipping his coat off and pulling his gun out from where it was hidden, placing the thing right besides your head as he pulled down his trousers. "That's why I'm gonna use you however I please until I can find a way to forgive you..."

You just whimpered, feeling him push your dress up to your hips. You felt embarrassed of the underwear you were wearing. A thin lace thong barely covering your quivering pussy, Tommy laughed condescendingly before placing a hard spank on your ass.

"What a fucking whore," He stroked his cock a few times before ripping your pathetic panties off of you, the ripping pulling at your skin uncomfortably. "Fuckin' desperate to be fucked, aren't ya? Did you enjoy being chased down by that man? Did it give you a thrill?" He asked rhetorically.

You were wet enough for him to slip into you but the stretch still alarmed you, wasn't as easy as it usually was. Your tears streamed down your face as he fully pressed into you, cock deep inside your guts, face hurting from how you were pressed up against the desk.

"Daddy...." You sobbed as he began to fuck in and out of you. "Daddy... please... I'm so sorry... so sorry for making you do that!"

Tommy let you have another slap to your ass, pleased with the way it bounced back and the red hand mark left on it. "Fuck..." He hummed with pleasure, fucking his cock into you, hips snapping against your ass. "Such a dumb woman but at least you've got a tight little pussy for me to fill." You gasped at the feeling of the cold metal pressing against your temple, Tommy was holding his pistol right against your fucking head. You trembled with fear. Never once had he done something like this before.

"Tommy... please!" You cried and then immediately regretted what you just said as he pressed the gun even further into your skull, turning off the safety. "Fuck... daddy... I'm so sorry! I'm so unbelievably sorry... daddy! I'll do anything!" You corrected yourself.

Tommy smirked at your pleading, thrusting into you even harder while steadily holding the gun to your head. He was getting off on your sobbing, cock throbbing at how pretty you looked, bent over his desk and crying for him, you looked so beautiful to him. He knew you were getting off on this too, could feel the way your cunt gripped onto him, he could feel the way you gushed around him, getting off on the. feeling of his gun pressed to your pretty little head. "Y'gonna beg to cum f'me, do you understand?"

"Y-Yes!" Nodding desperately.

"Yes what?"

"Yes... daddy!" You cried, squeezing your eyes shut at the feeling of the cold gun on your head. You didn't think Tommy would actually shoot you but you couldn't be sure. Tommy had never been this rough with you before.

"That's right, I'm your daddy..." Tommy moaned lowly, his other hand was pressed firmly against your lower back, causing you to arch your ass into him even further. "Tell me who you belong to."

"You! Daddy, I belong to you," You were starting to wriggle underneath him without really meaning to, the pleasure and the pain becoming all too much. "Your property... 'm yours."

Tommy hummed, pleased with your answer and placed the gun back down on the desk. You felt like you could finally breathe again, whining as he held both of your hips in his hands now. Fucking into you at a vigorous pace, you could feel yourself begin to come undone.

"All mine," Tommy was moaning louder now, moaning a bit more pathetically, you could feel that he was close too. "Gonna fuckin' cum... gonna cum in ya, love." A spank on your ass. It was time.

"Please... please let me cum... daddy!" You begged, you were so close to falling over the edge, you feared your punishment if you came without permission. "Need to cum... please... pretty please... daddy...!"

"Hmm... I don't know if that's good enough, don't know if you even deserve to cum at all."

"Please... please daddy!" You cried harder, arching your back and wiggling your ass against him. You heard a loud grunt from him as he stilled his hips in you, spraying his seed within you.

"Go on, cum f'me." He managed to get out, still spilling into you himself. You came hard, a crying mess, pussy throbbing around him causing Tommy to fill you even further, cum dripping out of your pulsing sex and onto your sticky thighs.

"Oh daddy..." You sobbed, shaking with pleasure. "I-I love you!"

Tommy pulled out of you slowly, watching the way his semen slowly leaked out of your abused hole. He gathered it on the tip of his fingers before tapping at your lips, opening obediently and licking his digits clean. You hummed with satisfaction at the taste of his sweet cum.

"You did good, love," Tommy said as he fully slid out of his trousers and undid your dress fully. "Let's get you a bath." He carried you bridle style out of his study, not caring that you were both completely nude, didn't care if anyone saw as he walked you into the bathroom.

You were quiet as he sat you both down into the hot bath that eased your aching joints. You cried into his chest, still coming down from everything that happened. Steam filled the bathroom and Tommy stoked your hair gently, placing soft kisses along your scalp.

"I'm... I'm sorry Tommy... I really am."

"It's okay, darling," He kissed your forehead as you looked up at him with those big sad eyes. His heart breaking at the sight. "It's not your fault."

That's all you needed to know that Tommy was never really mad at you in the first place. You helped wash the blood that was still spattered across his face and neck.

"Gun was empty by the way," Tommy chuckled, stroking your cheek. "Would never shoot you, my girl, rather rip out my own heart than have you killed."

You smiled softly, kissing his lips. "It was hot, I enjoyed it." You said reassuringly.

"I love you so much," Tommy whispered. "Would kill anyone for you."

-

[littlewriters-posts]

My Experiment - Cooper Howard/The ghoul x OC

Plot: Cooper finds his way to a little shop on the outskirts of an extremely rough town. When he meets the owner, he's shocked how such a sweet face could survive in such a miserable place. Only he's about to find out exactly what made you the way you are.

Warnings: Er...violence, mentions of sexual assault and I think that is it.

The day Cooper Howard first met Addy, he was in a very bad mood indeed.

Cooper Howard was feared by many people, even those he had never met before. He found himself staring at newcomers with their wide eyed fear in contempt. He didn't want to be feared, not at first, but it did come in handy when he wanted something.

The best way to survive in the wasteland was to make sure you didn't need anything from anybody else. That way you could just live in solitude.

Unfortunately for Cooper, Radway was something he needed, and didn't know how to make.

So there he stood, in a small town shop with a handful of a caps and a devilish grin.

"You know what I'm here for," he said gruffly, and the shopkeeper squeaked in fear.

"Listen, I'm sorry but we are all out," the man seemed to tremble under the gaze of the ghoul. "You'll have to go elsewhere,"

Cooper frowned "Elsewhere?" he asked snidely "I was under the impression you have what I want,"

The man just shook his head. "Please don't kill me, my wife, my kids they need me," he begged.

Cooper raised an eyebrow.

The wife, a stout lady with a wooden leg burst through the door, her hands on her hips.

"Try Addy's." she said gruffly "Up the street about half a mile, turn right when you go past the big oak tree. You'll see it, she hard to miss,"

Cooper tipped his hat to the woman before turning back towards the man.

"Your wife got more balls than you," he commented, before glancing at the woman "Though if you've sent me to some kind of trap, you can be damn sure I'll be back to finish you off,"

The woman sneered "Addy's sent many a men back here with their tails between their legs, but she'll have what you want,"

Cooper nodded, and set off on his way, wondering who on earth this Addy was, and why he had never heard of her before.

The woman was right though, it was hard to miss. A short but long building, kept incuriously clean, with a large pink sign out front.

Welcome to Addy's, come on in!

Cooper's brow furrowed, as his hand found his gun. This place screamed trap, but he needed his radway and would be damned if he didn't get it.

He practically knocked down the door from the hinges as he kicked it open, his gun staring down anything that looked his way.

Not that anything did, the shop was empty. If he could call it that, it was more like an old bar. A long table stood at the far end of the shop, with smaller tables dotted around with chairs like some sort of diner.

"There's no need for that my dear, I'm not going to hurt you," came a sweet voice. Cooper turned, his eyes narrowed at the person in-front of him. She was clean, was the first thing that he noticed about her, her hair seemed washed, her face was smooth and unblemished, and her clothes neatly pressed. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"And you are?" Cooper asked, his gun not wavering from her face. The girl smiled.

"Can't you read honey? I'm Addy. Now why don't you put that gun down and we can get you what you need."

She didn't seemed bothered, nor the least bit threatened by him as she walked behind the long table and retrieved a large box, full of tiny little vials.

"Ghoulie ...I expect you're looking for Radway?" she asked sweetly "Though there's free water by the owl clock if you need," she gestured to a couple feet to his right where a barrel full of purified water sat.

"You're just giving away this shit? You could be rich," Cooper asked, his gun lowering a little.

Addy smiled "And what good will that do me? I've got everything I need - now why don't you sit for a bit, bounty hunter like you gotta be on his feet a lot,"

Cooper didn't need telling twice, though his eyes still darted around the shop, as if waiting for someone to come and attack.

"And you haven't been raided?" he asked eyebrow raised "How many people know about this place?"

Addy shrugged "Couple people have tried, they've never succeeded though," she said nonchalantly, before handing him three vials "First three are free sugar, after that you gotta pay me,"

Cooper dug in his pockets for his caps, but Addy shook her head.

"I don't bother with those bits of junk." she said, scrunching her nose up.

"Then what do people pay you in?" Cooper asked, his hand twitching towards his gun again.

Addy grinned "My, you're not very trusting are you honey?" she said gesturing to where his hand rested on the hilt of his weapon "People pay me in favours sweetheart. Sometimes I need bread, or I run out of milk," she said listing it off on her fingers.

"Well I ain't no farmer sweetheart," The Ghoul mocked.

Addy shook her head "No, but I might need you to find someone for me, everyone got their talents,"

Cooper nodded slightly "So I want eight of these, how much that gonna cost me in favours then?" he asked, still ever so slightly suspicious of her.

Her response was interrupted however, by a loud bang.

Cooper jumped up, gun in his hand, only to find a young girl running across the room, frantically knocking everything in her path.

Addy frowned "Laya?" she asked.

The little girl stopped, staring at the two adults. She couldn't have been more than twelve years old, but what caught the attention the most was the blood running down the inside of her thigh.

"Addy-" she gulped tears streaming down her face "I didn't want them too Addy, they wouldn't stop," she stuttered, her pale face turning a sickly green.

Cooper grimaced, he might have been evil, but he would never even dream of doing something like that, much less to a child.

Addy collected the little girl in her arms "Were your followed?" she asked sternly "It's okay if you were, I can take care of...how many were there?"

The little girl gulped "Five," she whispered "Please don't let them take me again,"

Addy nodded before turning to the Ghoul. "For five vials I want you to take that little girl to the back room back there. Do not let her see anything and do not come out," she said sternly "Not until I call you,"

Cooper shook his head "You want me to believe a small thing like you can take on five grown men? You're gonna need help with that,"

Addy raised her eyebrow "You asked me why I never got raided, and it's not because I had some Ghoulie doing my dirty work," she reprimanded "No go on sweetie, he's not gonna hurt you,"

She gently pushed the little girl into Cooper's arms, and hurried them into the back room.

The little girl immediate ran to the corner, her eyes never leaving the Ghoul in-front of her. She clearly didn't trust him in the slightest, but he paid her little attention.

Instead he looked around the room in surprise. The first thing he noticed again was how clean it was, even the rickety old bed was neatly made up. Dozens of trinkets, old tapes, an even an old TV stood in vicarious positions among the room. But what made his heart stop, was the blue and yellow uniform that hung on the back of the door, adorning the yellow number 4.

Addy was a Vaultie?

He snarled slightly, of course she had more than everyone else, the girl was a vaultie, she probably got sent supplies from people whilst the rest of the people starved.

"Stay there," he said to the little girl, who nodded in fear.

As he opened the door, he quickly ducked under one of the tables as five men walked into the bar, each with sickening grins on their faces. Cooper debating on helping the woman out, but the Blue and yellow uniform couldn't shake from his mind.

"Morning Addy, you haven't seen a little whore back here have you?" the front man snarled.

Addy looked at him coldly "No. I've seen a little girl, but there is no way in hell you are going to get her,"

Then men clicked their guns together menacingly. "And what's a pretty thing like you gonna do to stop us?"

Addy stared at him, "Violence never solves anything," she quipped.

The man sneered "Let's just put a bullet through her head and be off with it," he practically begged the other man. One of the men sighed and nodded.

"Look if you don't let us pass we are gonna have to shoot you," he said feigning sadness.

"I'd like to see you try," Addy replied politely, as if they were just having an honest conversation.

Cooper sighed, realising that this Addy girl was defiantly going to die and he was going to be stuck with a traumatised child to take home.

The man raised his gun, firing before Cooper could react. Addy whirled around, her fingers stopping inches before her face.

Did she just catch the bullet?

One of the man snarled, firing round after round, but Addy ducked under one of the tables, crawling along until she found -

"I thought I told you to stay in the fucking back?" she hissed at Cooper.

"You never mentioned you were a vaultie," he hissed back angrily.

Addy blinked "Oh shit I forgot to put that away - listen I'm not what you think," she said quickly, ducking again as more bullets fired there way into the hardwood. "Just give me five minutes and I'll explain everything,"

"Five minutes?" Cooper scoffed "With these guys?"

Addy nodded "And stay down. I don't need a ghoulie fighting my goddamn battles,"

He watched as the strange woman lept into the air, running along the table and diving off of it, taking down two of the men as she did so.

She snarled at the other three, two of which dropped their weapons in fear. For her face, her smooth dainty face had changed, warped into something they couldn't quite place. Large fangs protruded from her mouth like some kind of deranged animal, and her eyes darkened until they formed black holes.

She swiped at them, her claws scraping across them, cutting through their skin like butter. They howled, falling to the floor in agony, but didn't move again.

When she stood, she found the Ghoul pointing his gun at her as well, a strange feeling in his eyes. He hadn't felt fear in a long time, but this was something completely different. He didn't even know what to make of this.

Addy's face returned to normal, though the blood splatters on her skin did not.

"It's alright ghoulie I'm not gonna hurt you," she soothed "I told you to stay in the back room," she added, slightly annoyed.

"What the hell are you?" he asked his gun never wavering.

Addy groaned "For fuck sake," she said before sitting down on one of the chairs, her head in her hands.

Cooper didn't quite know what to do, his old self would have just shot her, his really old self would have tried to comfort her.

Addy sighed "You're right I am a vault dweller but not in the way you might think. My brother sold me, he wanted to be one of the overseers, so he sold me to Vault 4, the vault run by scientists. They had this sick thing where they wanted to create something half human, half animal," she laughed humourlessly. "Pulled me apart, put me back together until they got what they fucking wanted,"

Cooper lowered his gun. The clogs in his mind whirring, desperate to try and figure out exactly where he knew that girl from. He knew the overseer's of the vaults, or some of them anyway, could she be someone he used to know?

"You're Amy MacLean," he realised. This whole time he knew there was something familiar about her, but he couldn't quite place what. And now he knew.

Amy Maclean was the runner girl on the sets back in his days at Valt-tech, She must have been turning seventeen when he last saw her. Sweet, he remembered, always bringing him something for his dog to eat whenever she could.

Addy looked at him sharply "Haven't heard that name in a long time," she said. "Ghoulies live longer I suppose,"

Cooper frowned "How long have you been on the surface," she didn't appear to be that much older than when he last saw her, sure she was definitely late twenties to early thirties now, her baby-face teen look had shattered completely, but she didn't look 200.

Addy eyed him slightly before kicking her legs onto the table "70 years, I was here before the last bombs dropped on Shady sands," she said "Whatever those people did to me slowed down my aging process,"

Cooper finally lowered his gun "We should check on that little girl," he said, but Addy waved him off.

"Let her be on her own for a bit. Last thing she needs is people crowding round her,"

Cooper didn't dare ask how Addy knew that, he didn't want to know.

"You've been here ever since?" he asked. Addy nodded.

"Learnt how to purify radioactive water, takes a long time but you don't have to do much. I give the village fresh water, chems for illnesses and stuff. In return they don't kill my ass or raid me." she said with a sigh "It's not much, but it's about as safe as you can get round here,"

Cooper nodded slightly. It was impressive, what she had built, but part of him wished he had been there to protect her. She was just a kid, and now she's all grown up, and refused to let her heart harden to the world like he had done to his all those years ago.

"You can take nine vials, in return for the girls safe passing back to her house," Addy said "I'll throw in a hot meal too if you promise not to frighten her,"

"Deal," Cooper said " I gotta ask lady, how are you getting all these vials? These days they're hard to come by,"

Addy smiled up at him "I make it sweety. Radway was made by vault-tech, and when I escaped I stole their Chem book. The ingredients are damn hard to find, but it's an easy make after that,"

Cooper grinned "Well I know where to come back to then," his smile to anybody else would have been deemed threatening, as to anyone else his entire presence would have them quaking in their boots, but the strange girl just smiled up at him.

"You're always welcome here Mr Howard," she said softly.

It wasn't until Cooper left, the little girl trailing behind him did he realise, he had never told her his name.

Part two

[mamisfavmosher]

Can I request poly! Judgement Day with a s/o who's a stationary enthusiastic? Never leave me alone in the stationary section at the drugstore because I will buy the entire world

thanks for the request!

stationary sweetheart // poly!judgment day x fem!reader

Readers POV

My eyes widened as I spotted the stationary section. All the bright colors, the pretty gels and inks, the various patterns printed onto sticky notes, the different textures of paper, the abundance of notebooks and notepads. All of it drew me in and I couldn't stop myself when my feet started moving closer and closer.

I slowly walked down the aisle, stopping multiple times to admire something. Coming to a halt, I looked around and realized that my four partners were no where to be seen. Furrowing my brows for a second, I shrugged and carried on browsing.

I gasped when I saw it. The prettiest pen I had ever laid my eyes on. The stick of the pen was wrapped in purple ribbon and purple feathers sprouted from the top. I carefully grabbed the pen and observed it in my grasp. Removing the cap, I scribbled lightly on a piece of sampling paper and immediately grinned. The ink was a beautiful purple gel.

Meanwhile, the other four members of the Judgment Day had been on one mission: get cough medicine. That was until they noticed their fifth member and beloved girlfriend was no longer following behind them. Rhea immediately started to panic, thinking of the worst. The four of them made quick work of spreading out through the store to search.

Back in the stationary section, I happily smirked as my eyes landed on the marker display. These were some of my favorites as my partners would usually let me color on their tattoos to waste time, so I'm always on the look out for new colors. I spotted a packet of pastel markers and another packet that had an 'under the sea' color palette. Holding both packets in my arms along with my purple pen, the various shades and patterns of sticky notes caught my eye. Wandering over to them, I inspected all the different prints and picked up a few packs. I knew we needed some more at the house, so my partners should understand.

A dark blur crossed the aisle opening in front of me before stopping and quickly backing up. "Sweetheart, we've been looking all over for you!" It was Dom. He walked over to me and chuckled at the sight of my arms filled with stationary goodies.

"Sorry, Dom Dom. I couldn't help myself! But, look!" I held out the pretty purple pen and moved it around so the feathers would tickle him.

"That's a real nice pen, chica, but you had Mami worried sick." Dom lectured, but gently smiled at me before I could defend myself. "Let me tell her I found you real quick." He pulled out his phone and sent her a text.

Before either of us had time to leave the aisle, Mami came barreling around the corner and swiftly walked over to us. "Baby, you can't just walk away from us like that! We had no idea where you went!" She said in an exasperated manner, her brows furrowed.

"Mami, I'm sorry, but I just wanted to look at all the pretty stuff... Plus, we're out of sticky notes at home." I held up one of the multiple packs of sticky notes in my arms and watched with a small smile as her resolve faded.

She sighed and shook her head before grabbing all of the items from my arms and putting them in her basket. "Well, thanks for getting the sticky notes, babe. Just let one of us know when you want to go down a specific aisle next time. You scared the hell out of me... thought something happened to you." She held out her hand for me to grab, which I did before proceeding to kiss her cheek. Rhea smirked down at me, then switched her attention to the two men jogging into the aisle. Damian and Finn were out of breath as they looked at me with pointed gazes.

"Don't worry, guys. Rhea and I already gave her the lecture." Dom chimed in, picking up a pack of Halloween stickers behind him and holding it up for me to see. "You want more stickers, too, baby?"

I gasped, "Yes!", snatching the stickers and throwing them in the basket.

"Lass, what do you need that many sticky notes for?" Finn eyed the contents of the basket and looked to me. I pulled the three packs out and held them up to him.

"This one's for whatever anyone wants, this one's for dates on the calendar, and this one's for me to leave little notes around the house for you all." I shyly smiled and gently put them back in the basket.

"You're too sweet, babygirl." Damian pulled me into him and kissed the top of my head. "I better get the most lovey-dovey shit in those little notes." He said with raised eyebrows.

"Of course! The most lovey-dovey shit for all of you." I giggled and Damian attacked the side of my head with soft kisses.

He nuzzled my face into his chest. "Our sweet little angel. But, don't ever scare us like that again." His voice became stern.

"I won't, promise." They all gave me a quick kiss before we checked out and headed home to make good use of my new stationary goodies.

[the-californicationist]

Troubleshooting

For @glitterypirateduck's super fun Oh, Captain! challenge. This is for prompt #8 where our deceptive captain tries to hide a secret from his gunsmith.

She could smell him long before she saw his hulking form stop in front of her office door. The sweet scent of his signature Romeo y Julieta cigars gave him away; a jewel from Villa Clara, Cuba. The tight-rolled tobacco smoldered amber and gold in the dark, its rustic funk and black licorice smoke gently curling out of his parted lips, trapped under his dirty boonie hat.  

When she had been assigned to his team, she’d been dreading the constant relocating and high profile secrecy. It was hard enough to find 5.56 ammo for that mouthy Scot’s Steyr bullpup, much less have it delivered to a black site without a postcode. But, as she let her eyes wander up his mountainous shoulders, tracing the outline of a sharp, scruffy Adam’s apple, watching as his jaw rippled and clenched to bite down on the soft end of his cigar, she admitted to herself that she could deal with a few shipping delays as long as she got to enjoy John Price. Now, just a few weeks into this roughshod operation, she ached to see what lurked under all that gear. 

She cleaned up her station, carefully screwing on the cap to her powder and putting it under the workbench. When he spoke, it was always confident but soft, like a stage whisper, words only she was meant to hear. 

“Smithy,” he took a long drag from his Cuban and pulled the creamy smoke in through his nose, a very casual French inhale, breathing it out and down sharply, purposefully avoiding her face.

He’d never called her by her name, only by his clipped version of her title of Chief Gunsmith. She knew he must be aware of it since he requested her transfer, but she had always been “Smithy” to him. 

“Captain, how are we this evening?” She gazed into his eyes with intent, hoping he would see her desire in them and be pleased. 

“We’re alright,” he took the cigar from his mouth and let it rest between his fingers, smiling down at her as he loomed, his height making her feel small. He removed his hat, placing it on her bench before leaning against the table, his huge hand spreading wide across the stainless surface. He continued,

“You know, this M4 has been giving me a bit of trouble. I cleaned it, but even after a full breakdown, the bolt isn’t sitting flush. Think you could help me get it all the way in?”

She let his quiet rumbling voice wash over her like a wave, lapping at her mind and making her breath catch in her chest. The double entendre was so obvious as to almost be in jest, but his suggestive tone - though subtle - was enough for her to believe in it. 

“Did you use enough oil? A little lubricant goes a long way, Captain, but some parts need more than others. Especially if it was a vigorous cleaning,” she threw him a bone in hopes he would bite it. 

He did, replying with a sly smile,

“Perhaps I went a little rough with her. Think you can take a look?”

He licked his lips, watching as the flush tinted her neck and cheeks, hungry for her attention. She watched him shift his weight, rocking forward towards the bench, flexing his hips. Obviously, she was getting to him. She turned up the heat, pushing her luck,

“Rough is just fine, John, but with the size of the bolt head you’ve got here, you just need to make sure she’s slick enough to take it.”

She smiled sweetly, taking the rifle from him and laying it across the bench. Now that she had turned her attention to the gun, she could only watch him from the corner of her eye. But, she knew she had landed a punch when he had to turn his head away from her and pull at the inside leg of his pants, adjusting. 

Then, as she took apart the barrel from the bolt and its lever, she realized he had been lying to her. He had replaced the trigger assembly before the bolt, effectively causing the problem he was asking her to solve. Price knew this gun better than the back of his own hand, and he had come down to her office with this game, hoping to score. 

Her heart raced when she discovered the error, and she tried her best to maintain a straight face, not wanting him to realize she’d caught him yet. She still wanted to play. 

She rebuilt the weapon, glossing over the false mistake, and pulled the bolt back flush. 

“There,” she sighed, “good as new.”

The ball was clearly in his court and she waited to see what he would do. His voice had dropped into a deep, threatening register, and he was leaning so far over the workbench that she could see his pupils dilate, pushing back the bright blue and revealing the blackness behind it,

“What was the problem, Smithy?”

He began to stalk her around the edge of the table, taking impossibly slow steps toward her side of the bench, eyes fixed on her mouth. She saw his chest rising and falling faster and stronger, lifting his protective vest and causing the lingering smoke between his lips to billow chaotically around his dark beard. She held her ground, turning her body toward his as he walked,

“You made a rookie mistake, Captain Price. One that you’re not capable of making...”

His eyes sparked to life, focusing on hers now, and he knew that he’d been discovered. She continued to dismantle his farce,

“…and I wonder how it can be possible…”

Price rounded the first corner of the table, hanging on her every word. He took his cigar and pulled a long drag.

“...that such an experienced…”

Another step. The leather of his boot creaked as he pressed it down.

“...intelligent…”

Another step. She could smell his cologne now. Vetiver. Musk.

“...diligent soldier…”

He crossed the second corner, letting the smoke fall out of his mouth, pouring like water down his chin and tangling in his beard, holding his breath to let her view the effect. His teeth were clenched together behind his full mouth, and he began to smile in a sinister, pained way. She went on, quieter, her voice betraying her nerves,

“...would somehow forget how to put his own gun back together.”

Price’s cigar had come to an end, and he crushed it out under his boot as he stood in front of her, too close for propriety, just close enough to smell her coconut shampoo. He hummed, playing along, falsifying a sense of wonder and mystery in his tone.

“That is quite the mystery, innit? Must’ve been distracted by…” Price brought his hand up to touch the tip of his gunsmith’s long braid as it lay draped over her shoulder, laying on her breast, “…something important.”

“John,” she whispered, leaning toward him instinctively.

In the half-second between her speaking his name and the silence that came after, he struck like a snake, wrapping the rest of her braid around his fist like a rope, yanking her head back and pulling her to his body, letting their gear and clothes rustle between them, not caring where the vests and belts and buckles twisted and pinched, letting the tension linger. His free hand grabbed her jaw and neck in his wide, open palm, fingers pressing into her skin, warm and callused. 

His voice was so strained and full of his want that it seemed like a growl, rambling in a rushed, fervent monologue,

“You’ve been teasing me again, Smithy. Ever since we got back from that damn operation. You’ve been coming to the gym at night, when I lift, and you wear those fucking shorts and you show off that thick arse, bending over in front of the racks, pulling them up higher so I can how see your wet cunt is soaking right through them,” his hand yanked her head back, making her gasp. He loved that noise,

“Delicious. Your pretty little cunt, ready to eat. Right within my reach. A whole gym, empty, and you pick that spot every damn time. Moving past me in the lockers, letting me smell you, and now I want a taste.” 

She felt the stinging tightness of her scalp as he tugged on her braid, locking her body in place against his, controlling her head, moving it toward his face. He grimaced like he was in agony even though she was the one under his fist. His touch was such a relief. She’d been torturing him for weeks, and she surrendered to him, pliant to his whims, hoping he understood that her lack of resistance was essentially her begging him to forgive her for leaving him starving.

“Alright,” she smiled, still at his mercy, “If you want a taste, you can have one.” She watched as his eyes grew wide with anticipation as she unbuttoned her pants and tugged down the zipper. She bit her lip and shrugged, “On your knees, soldier.”

AO3 Link

[pretending-ican-write]

Cowboy Up - Pt.5

This is just a small, little filler to bring the relationship between the twins into/ y/n and Monica's friendship despite how John has treated them.

Pairing: Ryan (Yellowstone) x Dutton!reader (although he's not in this part) WC: 498

Previous part - Next part

---

A couple of weeks after the spring gather, y/n was sat on the porch of her brother’s house on the reservation watching Kayce teaching Tate how to ride.  She was chatting idly to Monica as they shared popcorn.  After a while they headed indoors to prepare dinner.

As she peeled potatoes Monica struck the conversation up again, “so Kayce said you’ve finally moved out of that trailer?”

“Dad hasn’t given up on getting me to move in since I came back so I figured I could give him something,” she explained, “although I made it clear that he doesn’t get any say in what I do and where I go.”

Her sister-in-law nodded, “you know that we’ll both support you in whatever you decide with your father.  At least with you Tate knows he has a family there.”

“I love that kid so much Mon,” y/n looked out the window to where they were walking towards the house, “in all our years I’ve never seen him as happy as he is with you and Tate.”

The door to the house was opened and y/n turned around to be greeted by her nephew.  Tate’s face lit up when he saw her in the kitchen and runs towards his aunt.  y/n crouches down in anticipation, taking the full force of the small body barreling into her.  She spun him around and put him down on the counter in front of her.

“Happy birthday auntie y/n,” Tate sang to her, “what presents did you get?”

Y/n laughed at her nephew’s priorities, “my friends at the ranch put together and got Comanche a new headstall which he likes.  Your uncle Lee and uncle Jamie are gonna take me to the rodeo in Billings next week.  Oh and Gator made me pancakes this morning.”

“Why did they get ‘Manche something for your birthday?” He asked curiously.

She smiled at his question, “well buddy he’s my horse and I love him very much so when people look after him they’re looking after me too.”

“Okay.  Can I go play now?” His aunt nodded and put him back on the floor, watching as he ran off to his room.

Kayce put a box in front of her on the counter, “happy birthday y/n.”

“Happy birthday Kayce,” y/n responded, handing him a small parcel from the pocket from her jacket.

He unwrapped her present to see a small framed photo of Kayce with Monica and Tate that had been taken at Christmas, smiling widely at the camera.  Y/n opened the box he had given her which contained an olive green cap with the words ‘long live cowboys’ embroidered onto it which made her laugh.

“Seriously?” She questioned, pulling the cap onto her head, adjusting her hair underneath it, “I’m never gonna be able to wear this around the hands.”

Kayce smiled at her. “We both know there’s only one hand you want to wear it around.”

“If Tate wasn’t within earshot right now,” she threatened.

[dumbbitchenergy17]

Where the Wild Things Are - Chapter 1

Chapter One: Solitude

Plot: Wild men or monstrous infected creatures, the world is wild and ravaged by Cordecyps but some are raised in it and flourish becoming a wild thing.

Word Count: 6.7K

Pairing: Joel Miller x Platonic!Teen!Reader, Ellie Williams x Platonic!Reader

Warnings: canon-typical fighting/violence, injuries, blood and gore

—————

Laugh, and the world laughs with you; Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth, But has trouble enough of its own …

The northern winds were unforgiving to the open area abandoned of life, well the whole world was abandoned from life following the Outbreak. Cordyceps that destroyed the world in a matter of hours, though you weren’t there on Outbreak day you had dealt with your fair share of infected. But the secluded area you had found and claimed as yours didn’t give much of the fungi-humans. Sure there were the stray infected that came from the distance but they dead, sniped from a distance before they could get anywhere close to your home. It wasn’t the infected you needed to worry about when you were truly far away from populated areas for cordyceps to spread…it was the people that would think like you. And that’s what you were worried about and it seemed like your luck in this remote area had finally run out.

Your last hunt tied to your pack your rifle slung over your shoulder as you make your way through the snow to the cabin. Two rabbits that you were glad to find in your traps, it would have been great to have deer. Just a few hours ago a herd of deer had come through here and you had wished you could find their location but you had to settle for the rabbit for dinner. Coming over the small hillside, the path from the thicker forest and home was so routine that you could do it with your eyes closed. Seeing the snow-capped cabin appear you smile under the scarf covering the lower half of your face, you can’t wait to be inside and warm by the fireplace. The horses outside your home have you frozen as you swing your rifle into your hands instantly on edge and wary. You were so stupid to look after your tracks, did someone see you when you were hunting and followed your trail back? They couldn’t have you switch hunting locations every day and the different trails back would confuse anyone who does not know the area. Drawing closer to your home and see only two horses tied to the fencing as they mull around giving you no attention. Circling the home to avoid the front door in case they are camping right there to blow your head off. Finding the back door silently creaking it open as your breath is silent and footsteps non-existence after years of learning to become invisible. You can hear things being moved around as you creep into your own home. Your rifle aimed at the doors you knew you had closed now open checking to make sure no one is hiding in them. The bedroom door swings open and you press yourself against the wall as you watch a man with his rifle slung over his shoulder come out and turn in the direction leading to the living room. Before he could get a step down the hall the cool metal pressed against his back has him frozen.

“Slowly slide the rifle off your shoulder,” You growl and he slowly raises his hands and he lets the rifle slide off his shoulder and hit the ground.

“Tommy? Everything alright?” A man’s voice calls out and you press the barrel of your rifle into Tommy’s back.

“Walk.” You order as he keeps his hands raised and walks out towards the living room and you hear footsteps of the other man.

“Tommy? Did you hear what I sa-” “Keep your hands where I can see them or your buddy here gets it.” You say as you look at a younger man as he freezes with his rifle in his hand.

“Tomm-” “Jesse do as they say.” Tommy cuts off Jesse as the younger man nods.

“Rifle against the wall, finger off the trigger.” You say as Jesse slowly rests the rifle against the wall by the front door, “Same with the pistol and knife,” You say as he pulls the two both slowly out of his holsters and places them on the small table next to the door. “Sit.” You point at the couch in front of you and he slowly walks over there and takes a seat. One still holding the rifle you bring the other to the holster on the back of Tommy’s jeans pulling out the revolver opening the chamber emptying the bullets as they hit the floor, then you grab the hunting knife in his front pocket and put it in yours. Shoving the gun to his back to get him to move he too joins the younger boy on the couch the two with their hands up now defenseless with no weapons even their packs away from them. You could see both of their features, the older of the two with long black hair that was slightly pushed back from his face, and a decent mustache on his face, the younger boy with shaggy black hair as well that was hidden under a hat. They looked well fed while you had barely gotten by with the rations you have and the hunting. Their clothes as well looked clean, dusted with snow, but catered for their bodies while you wore a mismatch of different gendered clothes that you had to alter to adjust to yourself.

“Are there others with you two?” You ask your rifle aimed at the two as they look at you, they couldn’t see your features, a hat covers your hair, and the lower half of your face is hidden underneath the scarf that slightly muffles your voice but it’s filled with venom and lacks any hesitation to put a bullet in each of their heads.

“It’s just us,” The older man, Tommy speaks for the two, “We’re part of a community, lots of people, we have food, power, safety, if you want to come-”

“I’m not going fucking anywhere.” You say harshly your weapon more focused on the older man as he raises his hands higher to show he’s not going to try anything, “Does anyone else know about this place?” You demand and Tommy shakes his head.

“Only us, look we’ll get out of here and you’ll never see us again.” The man says and your silence only lets them brew with many questions and fears the main one being, are there leaving here alive? You should just kill them and end the discussion, how could you trust them that they weren’t going to come back? You would have to fucking leave and start all over again. You could head more north, hit Canada, and start over there. Your finger rests on the trigger as you stare at Tommy and you curse under your breath for what you were about to do.

“Get up.” You order as the two men stand and you usher them towards the front door that brings you out to the porch the sunset streaming an orange glow against the untouched snow. “If I see any of you or any of your people I won’t hesitate to fucking kill you.” You threaten as the men move to their horses, grabbing the hunting knife that was the man from your back pocket and chucking it as it lands in the snow before them.

“Best get moving, you don’t wanna be out in the dark here.” A mixture of a threat and advice as Tommy moves forward picking up the lone knife that is meant to protect the two men as they saddle up. Your weapon is still trained on the two as they take off and you make sure they are past the ridge waiting out there a full five minutes. You even climbed the hill rifle in hand expecting them to be waiting there to take you down but, you saw nothing but the tracks leading away and the empty plains and forest surrounding you.

Closing and locking the door you collect the new weapons resting your rifle on the coffee table as you take into account the equipment. They were of much better quality than the hunting rifle you called yours. It was here when you stumbled upon this place used to kill the previous owner you assumed he was tired of living in this fucked up world and wanted the easy way out. Your nerves felt heightened with that interaction, you can’t even remember the last time you saw a person though infected don’t count. Someone that speaks and has thoughts but can be manipulative and kill you if you let your guard down.

The night is eerie as you eat one of the rabbits the other gutted and strung to preserve for your next meal and use the fur for other uses. The rifle laid across your lap as you eye the front door, the back door of the home now barricaded by the old heavy bookshelf you pushed down the hall to block it. You hadn’t felt this on guard in months and maybe this is why people had appeared in your small sanctuary. You would rather deal with infected showing up here than actual people. Sleep wasn’t going to come to you your nerves were shot and the adrenaline from early kept you awake. Sitting on the couch silently waiting to take down whoever might try to get you until your lids grew heavy and your head slumped over sleep taking over.

The people of Jackson especially those who were close and dear to the Miller brother and the family and friends of the younger boy Jesse waited anxiously for their return. They were meant to return before sunset now dark and the older Miller brother paces the gate where he watched his brother leave. Joel was ready to steal a horse and go out and look for Tommy but here he was being stopped by his sister-in-law and his surrogate daughter.

“Jesse and him are alright Joel, there has to be a reason for them to be held back.” Maria tries to calm the quickly growing anxious brother her being better at hiding her fears of the location of her husband and the father of their child.

“They should have been here hours ago. Before sunset he said, it’s been three hours past that!” Joel didn’t mean to raise his voice but the nerves and fear of losing another member of his family to great for him. His hand clutches his watch the memories associated with it his only reminder of what he lost. Maria rests a hand on the man’s shoulder,

“He’ll be alright Joel, have faith in them. If they aren’t back in another hour I won’t stop you from going off and looking for him.” The leader of the community offers and the older man nods but before he can start coming up with a gameplan someone from the watch towers of the large gates calls out.

“They’re back!” Joel felt a sigh of relief leave his body and he could even see the woman release her own tension. He watches the gates open as the two men enter the town Joel instantly notices the lost weapons and their packs gone. He and Maria go over to Tommy as he slides off the horse letting it be taken away by a stablehand and Jesse is greeted by Ellie and one of her friends, Dina.

Maria hugs her husband her hands cupping the man’s face looking for any injuries, “Are you alright? What took you both so long.” She asks as Joel looks over his brother and he could see the thoughts running through his head.

“What did you see Tommy?” Joel asks and Tommy looks over at his brother and his hand reaches for the knife he was given.

“There’s someone out there!” Jesse says coming over to Ellie and Dina not far behind. Tommy gives the younger boy a look before sighing and nodding, “We were doing the normal patrols checking the towers and went a bit further and we found a cabin. Thought it was going to be deserted, maybe find some supplies or anything but it seemed we stumbled on someone’s home.” Tommy explains and Maria looks more frantically for any injuries but he waves her off.

“We’re fine, they only took our weapons and packs. Could have killed us but they let us go.” Tommy explains he could picture your eyes cold and expressive, but they seemed young but harden by the world around them all.

“So we go after them, we kick that guy’s ass, and get the gear back!” Ellie says and Tommy shakes his head same with his brother who gives a quick scold of her name.

“Told us if anyone of us shows up there again they wouldn’t hesitate to kill us, we just leave it. They stay where they are we keep away and that’s final.” Tommy explains and Maria nods.

“Come on it’s been a very stimulating day. I will let the council know of this so we can avoid that location on patrols.” Maria says and the people bid their goodnights as Jesse is brought home with his family Dina following with as the Millers plus Ellie stay together.

Joel looks over at his brother seeing the conflict in his eyes, “You alright there Tommy?” The man perks up before slowly nodding,

“Yeah...you know I offered them to come here…a lot safer than being out there all alone,” The man sighs scratching his cheek, “They said they were better off there.”

Joel nods patting his brother’s shoulder as they make their way to their respective homes, “Maybe it was for the best.” Tommy nods his hand grasping the hunting knife just remembering those eyes. He couldn’t shake the familiar feeling off them.

“Maybe..”

Weeks passed the winter was harsh for the people of Jackson but with the heated water and the power that was put through the community, they would push through. Both Miller brothers saddle up for their patrol ready to check on the communication towers with the large amount of snow that had come down on them this past week they needed to make sure nothing was out of the ordinary. On their horses just waiting for the earlier patrol to arrive so they can head off. Tommy and Joel turn to the gates as Jesse and William his most current pairing for patrols come flying in on horses.

“Tommy!”

Jesse yells coming beside the man on his horse, “I know you said to avoid the cabin and we did,” Jesse says trying to catch his breath as the older man tries to start scolding him when he heard about the cabin, “But from one of the trails you can see straight at it and it’s just cover in smoke…and there was blood everywhere.”

The four men went off after Jesse and William had cleared they were good to head out again and show them as the four horses raced through the snow, Tommy wasn’t sure why he was so nervous. You were a complete stranger, one that did almost kill them when they first met. But it was this gut feeling he couldn’t ignore as they reached the ridge and he sees the cabin, part of it has thick black smoke though it looks like nothing was on fire anymore.

“Stay alert,” Tommy warns all of them with their rifles or pistols as they depart from the horses. Moving towards the house the front porch steps is drenched in blood and the snow around it from the man dead on the steps a bullet obliterating his skull. Looking at the three other men signaling Jesse and William to check the back as he and Joel enter through the front. Once the two men disappeared around the wall he turns to his brother as the two stood on opposite sides of the door before they enter. The stench of death and the burning smell. Part of the roof was caved in smoking planks of wood leaving an open hole in the ceiling. They had to immediately climb over a body that is slumped over at a hatchet embedded in the man’s chest. The place was in a state of disaster a clear fight took place there. Furniture flipped, blood, and bulletholes everywhere. The couch Tommy remembers sitting at is flipped over and a man laying half on it and there are multiple stab wounds to his neck and chest area. A wheeze fills the air and the two men turn their weapons finding a woman against one of the walls her face sweaty from the clear blood loss she sustained from the knife still in her chest. Her eyes glazed over blood spilling freely from her mouth, “f…fuck..ing an..animal..” Her final words as she slumps over and the two men look more cautious. There’s no way you did all this. A thump comes from the bedroom as they turn to face the hallway, seeing the backdoor blocked by the large bookcase. Moving down checking each of the rooms leading there the violence only grew more. In the bathroom, a man lies in a puddle of blood his face caved in from the porcelain sink that is broken around him. Standing in front of the bedroom door Joel’s hand grabs the handle counting before pushing it open. He’s lucky he didn’t walk straight in as a bullet fires splintering the door and the wall between the two men.

“Fuck..” A very feminine voice groans as an item is dropped and the two men enter finding the destruction of the room. Two bodies are dead one at the foot of the bed and the other on the bed his blood soaking the sheets. On the floor in the corner with a clear shot to whoever enters the room. Tommy hadn’t known what his almost killer plus savior had looked like, everything was hidden by heavy winter clothes, and the only thing to show were your eyes and parts of your brows. He had truly thought you were a man. But with minimal layers, this fight probably happened when you were home, he’s staring at a girl…a very young girl for the fact. But also the fact he thought he was staring at a carbon copy of the man beside him looking exactly in shock and confusion as his brother.

You see two men before you one you recognize as the man you let go, Trevor or whatever the fuck his name was. The other next to him you’ve never seen but the two did look like similar brothers maybe. The revolver is aimed at the Travis guy you do know and you see the older man raise his rifle at you while the man with the gun pointed at him makes no move with his own. “I fucking told you I would kill you if I saw you again.” You hiss trying to shift your weight letting a hiss from the burning pain in your side. Thomas looks down at your side and sees your hand pressed against it blood soaking the fabric.

“You’re hurt.” He takes a step forward and your finger rests on the trigger while the other man has a clear shot at you, “Drop the gun girl.” The older man hisses and you barely glance at him as you speak.

“You’re in my fucking house dickwad don’t tell me shit.” You say before you open the chamber showing there are no bullets left, “If you’re here to get your shit back, it’s all gone or used to kill this fuckers.” You wave the empty gun to show the damaged room and the two bodies that are with you.

“Like I said before, get the fuck out of here and let me die in peace. Better yet toss me a bullet and let me finish the job.” You spat leaning your head back against the wall, waiting to hear them leave or maybe give you a way to bite the bullet. A sudden rise in pain as a pair of hands clutch your wound and your eyes widen as you look at Tristian put his hands on your wound with what looks like actual bandages.

“What the fuck?! Get…the fuck…of me!” You hiss trying to push him off as he only puts more pressure on your wound. “Should’ve fucking…killed you!”

“Shut up, tryin’ save your damn life.” He says as you glare right back at him, “Joel get the horses she’s coming back to Jackson.”

“No, I’m not!” “Tommy?!” You and this Joel guy yell at the same time as Tommy continues putting pressure on your wound as you struggle more against him, “How do you know if she’s not infected?”

“Do I look fucking infected dumbass?” You say and the man glares at you, “Watch your mouth kid.” Joel glares at you and you glare right back.

“Suck my dic-” “Hey!”

Tommy yells silencing the two of you. “You’re fucking bleeding from your side, so it’s either we leave you and maybe the guys you killed have buddies that come after you and you figure out if you can take them,” He says giving you a look, “Or you can come back to Jackson and stay alive. Your choice.” Tommy looks at you as you’re silent.

“Get the fucking horse, Joel.” You spat and Tommy sighs in relief as the older man glares at you, “You don’t tell me shit.” “Think I just fucking did.”

“Jesus Christ! Stop talking either of you,” Tommy says shutting you both up as your glares both enough to kill the other if looks could kill, “Joel please get the horses.” The man gives one last look before heading out of the room. Tommy looks back at you looking at your wound. You would get better treatment when they return but this would be the best he could give you. Tommy helps you to your feet and you groan in pain your hand pressing to your stomach he has one of your arms thrown over his shoulder as he starts leading you out of the room.

You’re semi-dressed for the weather not as good as he would like it but he grabbed a coat by the doorway slinging it over your shoulders to give you some warmth. The frigid air and brightness of the snow reflect off the snow as you move past the body at the doorway and the steps seeing the four horses as Joel holds two of them and two other men are standing there one you recognize from before as he watches you.

“The fuck you looking at.” You growl as the boy and the man snaps their gaze away from you as Tommy curses under his breath.

“Maria’s gonna kill me.” He could already think of the fight that is going to happen when he gets back. They already had to deal with Ellie and the sailor of a mouth she has plus the intensity of Joel but it seemed like you were both of them put together and then times that by twenty. Reaching the horse Tommy climbs on first before reaching for your free hand as he pulls you up as you groan in pain your teeth grinding trying to muffle your sounds of pain. You felt breathless and out of energy from just that, Tommy has one hold of your arm to his front while your other holds your wound. “Alright let’s go!” He yells and the horses take off as your face presses against his back trying to focus on your breathing. In for five…hold for four…out for five. Repeat. It was the only thing you could focus on as the world around you blurred. Leaving your destroyed sanctuary behind to wherever Jackson is.

The ride is intense each bump in the road makes you grip the man’s hand hard as a flash of white light covers your vision. You weren’t sure how long you were awake or did you daze, until you found hear Tommy in front of your speaking but everything sounded underwater. “The gates are just ahead kid. Hold out just a bit.”

A garble of words is slurred back to him as he spurs the horse faster and he squeezes your hand in reassurance though he only feels your cold ungloved hand. They reach the gates as they open, Jesse, William, and Joel coming off their horses quickly while Tommy slows down. “We’re here kid, you’re gonna be alright.” He says when he feels your grip on his hand weaken before he turns seeing you slipping off the horse your eyes rolled back. 

“Joel!” He yells to his brother grabbing your shirt to try to stop your fall but your sleeve rips. His brother comes at the right moment to catch the top half of your body and the two of you hit the ground your head protected from the ground. Tommy is off the horse before the two of you as Maria and others quickly join seeing the patrol returned with an addition.

“Christ Tommy. What the hell did you do?!” Maria yells as her husband presses his hands onto your side as he shouts out for the town doctor. “I’ll explain everything once she’s tended to.” He says and he sees your eyes slowly flutter open and he’s drawn back to you.

“Hey, kid keep those eyes open. I’m getting you help. Just need you awake..umm, tell me the year? You got a name kid?” He promises as you look at him in pain as he waits for a name. “bite…me.” You say before darkness quickly takes over as you hear a final curse.

You felt rested which was weird and the pain in your side was less of a constant screaming pain to a dull feeling. Shifting feeling the slight comfort of a mattress as you slowly blink your eyes open and you hear shuffling coming from the other side of the room. What looks like a younger-looking lady as she goes through cabinets before she comes over to a metal tray in her hand she places it on a small medical table she doesn’t seem to notice your conscious staring. Where the fuck were you…you remember the cabin..the fight...then it was a blur you remember voices and someone holding you but you weren’t sure what was real or not. You see the lady pick up a needle filling it with something and she turns away from the briefest of seconds and you strike. Snatching the metal tray you swing it as it collides with her head and she drops to the ground. Moving off the bed you bring your hand to your shirt lifting it and see a clean bandage covering your side instead of the old cloth ones you were forced to work with. A groan from the injured woman makes you move. Reaching the doorway you snatch the coat off the rack and the cold air sends a shiver down your body. Slipping your arms in the thicker coat flipping the hood over your head. Taking in your surroundings seeing people milling about though you avoid their gazes. You take in the streets, no run-down buildings…or ration lines. This wasn’t the QZ this didn’t even look like a Fedra run area. You almost stopped to take in the large pine tree covered in lights of a collage of colors and the top of a large star. What the hell was this place?

“What do you mean she got out?” A voice yells out and you quickly lean against a wall to make yourself unnoticeable. From your peripheral, you could see two men walking frantically down the street as they stop a bit before you.

“Look Claire said she wouldn’t be waking up anytime soon, and I was going to ask Jesse to keep an eye on her. Didn’t expect her to wake up and give the poor girl a concussion!” The familiar voice says as you see the man with long black hair rack his fingers through the tendrils in stress. The other man with shorter brown hair that was greying and a salt-and-pepper beard. His hands are on his hips as he shakes his head.

“Okay we watch the gates, she would only head for the exits if she plans on running. Have everyone on the alert, we don’t know if she might try to cause harm to anyone here.” The man says,

“Joel she’s a kid, not some rabid animal.” The younger man says and the older one, Joel crosses his arms with a glare on his face, “Tommy you saw that cabin, she did that herself and already seems to be proving us right.” Joel says and you try moving past them just act casual and keep heading down the main road. If you can get to a gate before they can spread the news you’ll be home free.

You had only made the mistake of glancing back at the pair making direct eye contact with Joel as he is mid-sentence before he stops his eyes widened seeing you staring back at him a few feet away from him. You’re just a few seconds short of dodging him as a strong hand grips your wrist before you can run. Your hand whips out a large crack filling the air as it makes contact with his face. Joel stumbles back clutching his nose with a curse as you dart, racing through the streets shoving past people as they yell at your retreating figure and you can hear the chase behind you. Sprinting into what looks like a hall, multiple pairs of eyes meeting yours as you bust through the doors looking like a madman before sprinting towards the large double doors that lead to the kitchen. You hear the doors open as Tommy and Joel yell at you to stop. The kitchen is busy as you shove past people looking back and seeing the two in the room with you. Seeing a tower of crates filled with plates. You grab them pulling them as you run past they crash to the floor stopping the two men in their tracks. Seeing the emergency exit sign you break through reaching outside as you sprint through the snow-filled streets. Lungs on fire, your side burning as you slide in the snow picking yourself up as you turn the corner and see the sign Rancher Street. Spotting the first house you see sprinting up the porch your hand grabs the door ready to break it down when it swings open as you tumble inside. Slamming the door behind you catching your breath as you survey the home. It looks like a normal home, clean but cluttered showing it was lived in. Your mind already running on the ruthless fighter side you had to protect all these years.

“Joel?” A girl’s voice calls out from upstairs as you freeze, “You home already old man.” The sarcasm in her voice as you see a girl bound down the stairs expecting the gruff older man but sees a girl slightly older still covered in blood and grime. The two of you stare at each other and her hand slowly moves to her pocket but you strike first. Your fist slams against her face stars filling the girl’s eyes as she pulls out the switchblade trying to stab at you but you grab her wrist as she pushes forward with a yell. The blade slashes out catching you in your face as the two of you collide against a table it moving with force. She puts her weight as she tries to bring the knife through your chest it digging into your skin and gritting your teeth in pain, Holding her back with one hand the other scrambles behind you, your fingers brushing against a glass vase curling around it and slamming it against the girl’s face. She cries out pulling back as the shards create scratches as you tackle her to the ground she lets out a gasp the wind knocked out. Seizing the weapon a struggle as the roles are reversed and the blade inches closer to her neck.

The main door kicks open and Joel and Tommy heard a scream coming from down the street from his own home. Rage fills the older man seeing the stranger pinning down his injured daughter with a knife dangerously close to her. Grabbing you by the hair ripping an animalistic shriek as he throws you into the wall. The knife flies from your hand when you hit the corner of the wall, your back seizes and you feel a rip in your side. A hand grabs your throat pulling you to stand as you try to fight back but your legs are pinned the same with your arms held in his tight grasp that would bruise in his free hand that is choking you out.

“Joel!” The two voices behind him yell out as he pins this teen to the wall ready to finish her off for daring to assault Ellie. “Joel stop I’m fine!” The younger girl calls out despite the scrapes and quickly forming bruises but was more worried about the man choking the life out of the girl.

“Joel.” Tommy's warning voice as the red filter in front of him begins to fade as he’s left staring at a young girl her teeth barred her face slightly red from the lack of oxygen. He steps back and you drop to the ground gasping for air your hand lightly touches your throat. Your other hand lifts your shirt cursing under your breath seeing the popped stitches bleeding through the bandage. “Up kid.” You hear Tommy say as you glare at him before spitting at his feet. The man sighs as the door opens revealing there are two more men. Your body reacts trying to run but Joel still bleeding from the nose but which had started to clot up grabs you by the arm as the two men grab you by each arm.

“Fuck you.” You snarl as you thrash in the men’s arms as they pull you out of the house, people from other houses family of all ages watch the event as you bare your teeth at them as they pull their children closer to them in fear. You are silent letting them force walk slash drag you to what you find out is their town jail.

The place was empty probably not needing any use until now, you’re thrown into a cell as the door close. There’s a concrete bench/bed built into the wall and nothing else as you shove yourself into a corner giving them no other way to come at you. The only passage of time is the small window high up on the wall and the bleeding from your side that was once a spilling red to now clotted up with the bandage. The small wound on your chest had stopped bleeding and didn’t need any treatment. They didn’t seem to think to leave someone to watch confident nothing would happen and you had to admit they were right. No amount of jumping for the window that you knew you couldn’t squeeze your body through or shaking the metal door hoping it was not fully locked. The cold room comforted you as you picked at the blood and dirt from under your nails when you heard the sound of footsteps.

Looking up seeing Tommy leaning against the back wall and a woman with dark skin pulls up a chair from the wall and takes a seat. Folding her hands in front of her as she looks at you seeing the cut on your face from the girl’s knife and the quickly forming bruise around your neck. “You’re lucky Joel didn’t shoot you back there.” The woman says and you roll your eyes looking away from her.

“Yeah let me go thank him for almost suffocating me instead of shooting me.” You spat before leaning, “Here’s what you’re gonna do. You’re gonna open this cell and fuck off.”

“You don’t get to make the decision here.” You shot up grabbing the bars your face pressed against the bars.

“Open this fucking door!” The bars rattle with your pulling as the woman makes no reaction to the murderous look on your face.

“Did you tell anyone about us?” She says as you push back, “Fuck you.”

“You’re just increasing your stay here with the backtalk. Now did you tell anyone about this place?” The woman questions.

“I didn’t tell anyone shit! There’s fucking no one to tell.” You yell throwing your hands up in the air as she watches you before speaking up again.

“How old are you,” “85.” You say not to give up any information as she gives you a look.

“What’s your name?” “Princess fucking Diana.” You spat and she smirks as she leans back crossing her arms.

“How about this, you tell me what I want to know, and I’ll tell you what you need to know,” She offers as you lean against the wall across from her. “Okay, my name is Maria Miller, and this is my husband Tommy.” She points to Tommy who is behind her. “Now you. What’s your name?” You’re silent before offering your name,

“Y/n.”

Maria nods, glad to at least get something, “Nice to meet you Y/n. How long have you been living in that cabin?”

You shrug flexing the bruised knuckles from your fight earlier, “ I don’t know…’bout a year now. Now you answer my questions.” She shakes her head,

“I only have one last question. You have absolutely no one going to look for you. No parents…family..anyone that might be coming for you.” She says and she notices the sudden frown that appears on your face and the loss of snark and bite at the mention of parents. It was the small crack in the harsh mask you put it but the topic seemed to strike hard and strike deep.

“No.” Your voice is rough your body still your hands balled in fists, “No one’s coming.” Your gaze avoidant you felt uncomfortable and embarrassed as if the truth of a lack of parents would make the older woman laugh at you. It made your skin crawl with how easily it affected you feeling the little girl crawling to come out but you shove it away the harsh look covers your face. “Can I ask my fucking questions now?” You ask and Maria nods waving her hand for you to speak.

“Why did you even bring me? Let me leave. I didn’t ask for your fucking help. You don’t even have to give me anything just let me go back to the cabin and you’ll never see me again.” You say, just have them point you in the direction of your home and you’ll make it on foot. You felt uneasy here, these people were clean and fed, and they looked normal, unlike yourself and the people you’ve seen in your lifetime. Maria is silent before she sighs shaking her head,

“I can’t do that.” You step close to the bars as she speaks, “Those raiders are part of a larger group, they’ve probably been following you for days before they decided to strike. Coming here there is the possibility they might come after you in revenge. You already know too much about Jackson and we can’t risk you revealing anything about this place.” She stands as your hands grasp the bars.

“None of them are gonna come after me! I told you what you wanted to know! Let me the fuck out!” You yell as she looks at you the rage written across your face, “You fucking told me you’d let me go!” Maria moves towards the door her husband following behind her as you shake the bars screaming at them, “You fucking bastards! Let me out of here! You can’t fucking do this! Let me go! Fucking let me go!” The two leave as you move back against the corner sliding down to the ground, holding your head in your hands.

Your luck had run out and you had no idea what you were going to do to get out of this one.

[corroded-hellfire]

Hi Amy,

Can I pls request reader and eddie waiting for a special moment to ‘do it’? Like maybe they planned it after prom but then everything they planned went wrong. So in the end they give up and it just happens in the most natural way.

It can be without the actual smut if you don’t feel comfortable. I love your writing and I’m going through each fic you have out. Thanks a lot ☺️☺️

I love this idea so much! It’s so cute, thank you so much for sending it in 😊

Warnings: smut, unprotected p in v (wrap it up)

Words: 2.6k

“Are you kidding me?” You smack your fist against the bathroom counter in anger.

“Hey, you okay?” Nancy gently knocks on the door.

“Fine.” You sound far from it.

Nancy patiently waits in the hallway for you to come out. She raises an eyebrow at you.

“What’s going on?” she asks.

“I’ve got my period,” you tell her as you walk past her and back into her bedroom.

“That sucks,” she says as she trails behind you. She shuts the door once you’re both back inside and you flop down face first on her bed. You mumble something against the mattress but Nancy can’t make it out. “Want to try that again?”

You groan and turn your head to the side so she can understand you.

“I don’t wanna go to prom on my period.”

“I know,” Nancy says sympathetically. She sits down next to you and pats your leg. “At least you have a dark dress.”

Shaking your head, you roll onto your back and stare at the ceiling.

“You don’t understand,” you say. “We got a room. Eddie and I… We were supposed to have our first time tomorrow night.”

“Oh.” Nancy lays down beside you. “Yeah, that really sucks. I hadn’t realized you guys haven’t done it yet.”

“We said we were going to wait for the right time,” you say with a sigh. “It was supposed to be prom.”

Nancy turns her head to the side to look at you.

“You two are disgustingly and grossly in love. Any time will be the right time.”

A blush heats your cheeks and you let out a chuckle.

As soon as you get home from Nancy’s, you call Eddie to break the news to him. He’s bummed, but would never let you know that. Instead, he brings chocolate and a heating pad and cuddles you the whole night after prom, in the big comfy hotel bed.

The next attempt is after graduation a few weeks later. Eddie finally graduating makes you want to just pull him into a bathroom once all the caps were thrown in the air, but it’s hard when family and friends swarm both of you in congratulations. The plan is to go to the party at Chrissy’s for a while, then head out to your house, empty and just waiting for the two of you to get down to business.

All your friends are at the party, dancing, drinking, having a fun time. Eddie doesn’t really want to dance, but you manage to convince him. Neither of you drink too much because you don’t want anything to take away from experiencing everything with each other tonight. No disorientation, numbing, nothing. You both want to be fully aware of every little touch.

Eddie raises his eyebrows at you sometime just after midnight, silently asking if you want to get going. Not hesitating for a moment, you grab Eddie’s wrist and drag him to the front door. The warm summer breeze hits your skin as you step outside, a nice departure from the stale air in the house that reeked of alcohol, body odor, and weed. Just as you step off the porch, someone barrels out of the front door behind you.

Steve stumbles forward, eyes glazed, the scent of whiskey wafting off of him. He steps forward, and though both you and Eddie are only three feet in front of him, he doesn’t seem to notice you.

“Steve?” you ask. His eyes search at the call of his name and they finally land on you, causing him to smile.

“Hey!” He’s loud and his voice sounds carefree, happy. “What’re you doing here?”

“It’s a party, Steve,” you tell him. “We’re all here.”

“Oh yeah,” Steve says and he stumbles to the side.

Eddie steps forward to make sure he doesn’t fall, but still rolls his eyes at his friend.

“Where are your keys?” Eddie asks.

“Dunno,” Steve says with a shrug.

“Are they in your pocket?” you ask.

Steve pats at his ass and hips, and his face lights up when he feels them in his front pocket.

“Got ‘em!”

“I’ll take those,” Eddie says as he snatches them from Steve’s hand.

“Hey,” Steve pouts. He looks at you, eyes wide like he’s hoping you’ll back him up.

“You’re not driving,” you tell him.

“Fine,” Steve says with a sigh.

Eddie takes his own keys out of his pocket and replaces them with Steve’s.

“Come on, we’ll take you home,” Eddie says. He sighs as he lets Steve hold on to him for balance as they walk down the stairs.

“Cool, thanks,” Steve says. He stumbles down the steps and stops. His brow furrows for a minute and he stands completely still before darting over to the bushes and bends in half as he vomits loudly. You grimace and turn away, trying to block it out.

You move into Eddie’s arms and hide your face in his neck as you wait for Steve to finish. When he’s done, he stumbles back over to the two of you, but he’s decidedly less happy than he was before. He looks pale and his eyes have gone from glassy to bloodshot.

“Shit, Steve,” Eddie says as you step out of his arms. The both of you help Steve into the back of Eddie’s van, where he can lay down, and head to Steve’s house.

When Eddie pulls up, you frown when you see the large dark house. There’s not a single light on in the whole place and you can’t bring yourself to take Steve inside.

“Eddie, we can’t leave him alone,” you say.

“I know.” Eddie sighs and rubs a hand over his face. “Fuck.”

He puts the van back in drive and does a U-turn in the Harrington driveway to head back in the direction of your house.

Your room is the closest to the front door, so you pull down your blankets as Eddie half carries Steve into the room. A sigh of relief leaves Steve’s lips as his head hits your pillow.

“Thanks, guys,” he mumbles.

“Whatever,” Eddie huffs as he walks out the door.

“We’ll be down the hall if you need anything, Steve,” you say as you turn out the light.

Eddie’s standing in the hallway with his arms crossed over his chest. You walk over and place a soft kiss on his lips.

“Guess we’re sleeping in my parents' bed.”

“I’m guessing that’s a no, then?” Eddie asks.

“Um, duh! I’m not doing it on my parents’ bed. Or with Steve in the next room.”

“Why do we have to be such good friends?” Eddie asks through clenched teeth.

“Because we’re good people,” you tell him. “Now come on, let’s make a new plan for our first time.”

Everything was all planned out for your birthday. Eddie was going to take you out to lunch, go see the new horror movie you wanted to see, then a trip to your favorite book store, and finally back to his place where he was going to cook you dinner. Wayne would be at work for the night and you’d have the whole place to yourselves. Your perfect moment had finally arrived.

Your stomach tumbles as Eddie pulls the van up to his trailer. Both of you are so excited and fidgety that neither of you notice the other truck out front.

“Hey, kids,” Wayne says as you step through the front door.

“Wayne,” you say in surprise.

“Um, aren’t you going to be late to work?” Eddie asks.

“Took the night off,” Wayne says with a grin. “Thought I’d take you both out to dinner to celebrate this one’s birthday.” He looks at you and gives you a wink. “I couldn’t just let you eat Eddie’s cooking.”

You force a chuckle as Eddie’s hand tightens around your own.

“Well, let’s head on out,” Wayne says.

Eddie’s quiet the majority of dinner, but eventually loosens up and gets back to his old self. You’re disappointed too, but it’s still a very thoughtful thing Wayne did and you make sure to tell him that you appreciate it. When you get back to the trailer, Wayne lets you pick the movie and you snuggle up on the couch with Eddie as you watch.

Wayne didn’t have an issue with you spending the night at their place, and you still consider it a great birthday present to sleep in Eddie’s arms.

Waking up with Eddie was also wonderful. He’s awake before you, just holding you against his chest until you woke up. He smothers your face in kisses until you giggle so hard your stomach hurts.

When you get up, Wayne’s left a note saying he’s gone out fishing and Eddie heads into the kitchen to get breakfast.

“Cereal?” Eddie asks.

“Sure.” You go over to the couch and flip the television on. Eddie’s old hole-ridden Ozzy shirt tangles around your body as you curl up.

Eddie walks in with two bowls of cereal, and you can’t help but smile at his bedhead.

“Nice hair,” you say.

“Look who’s talking,” Eddie says with a smirk.

You reach up and feel that your hair isn’t much better than his.

Eddie hands you a bowl before sitting down near your feet, digging into his own breakfast. He finishes first, slurping his milk loudly, and once you’re done he takes both bowls back to the kitchen. When he comes back, you move so you can lean against him, but you stop with a chuckle as he sits.

“What?” Eddie asks as he plops down.

“You have milk on your face.”

“Where?” He wipes around his mouth, but misses the spot by a mile.

You lean forward and wipe it off with your thumb. Eddie catches your wrist in his hand and presses a kiss to your palm. Your eyes lock and a shiver runs up your spine. Looking into Eddie’s eyes, you feel so close to him. You love him and he loves you. Why were you two trying to create the perfect moment for your first time? Any time with Eddie is already perfect, and your first time would be special no matter when it happens.

He tucks some of your messy hair behind your ear and you’re certain he’s thinking the same things that you are. You tilt your chin up and he slowly leans in, slotting your lips together. As your hands go around his neck, his arm wraps around your waist and he gently lays you down. You spread your legs and Eddie rests his body between them, hands running from your waist down to your hips as his tongue delves into your mouth. A moan escapes your lips as you slip your hands up Eddie’s shirt, parting your mouths only for a moment to slide it off over his head. He copies your actions and slips his own shirt from your body. Kisses are pressed against your neck and your body arches up into his, giving Eddie the perfect opportunity to squeeze your breast in his hand.

The vibration of Eddie moaning against your neck causes your hips to buck up against his. The hard length of his cock rubs against your thigh and the feel has you letting out a whimper.

“Eddie,” you breathe out.

“Yes, baby?” Eddie whispers against your throat.

“Need you.”

“I’ve got you, princess,” Eddie says.

His hand slips down the front of your pajama pants and rubs over the thin material of your panties. Legs spreading wider for him, Eddie kisses down to your collarbone and starts to lick and nibble at your skin, determined to mark you up as he moves your panties aside and runs two fingers through your slick folds.

Chanting his name over and over again like a prayer makes him smile against your skin. When Eddie takes his hand out of your pants, it causes you to whine at the loss of contact. He shushes you gently as he starts to tug the pajamas down over your hips. Once you’ve kicked them off completely, your hands tug at his pants, which he sheds himself of, along with his boxers.

Eddie’s fingers travel south again, collecting the wetness that’s pooled between your legs before finding your clit with his thumb, rubbing small circles against it. Blunt nails dig into his shoulders and you whine out in ecstasy.

“Want you,” you say. The feeling of his precum leaking on to your thigh has you getting even wetter.

“Ready?”

“I’m ready,” you say.

With one hand, Eddie cups your jaw and presses his lips to yours, kissing you firmly but lovingly. His other hand lines himself up with your entrance and slowly pushes in. You gasp against his lips at the unfamiliar intrusion, fingers digging even harder into Eddie’s shoulders.

“Fuck,” Eddie moans against your lips. “You okay?”

“M’good,” you say.

He eases further into you and there’s a pinch. You wince, but the pain quickly subsides and all you feel is pleasure as Eddie bottoms out.

“Shit, you’re so tight,” Eddie says. He pulls his hips back and slides back in again, making both of you moan.

“So big,” you counter.

“Baby,” Eddie says with a soft breathless chuckle. “You feel too perfect. I’m not going to be able to last long.”

“S’okay,” you tell him. “Touch me?”

Eddie’s fingers come down to rub at your clit. The sounds that come out of you only make Eddie sure he’s going to cum even sooner.

“I love you,” you tell him.

“I love you too.”

His nose nudges against yours as he gives you sweet kisses. The feeling of him being inside of you is weird, but in the best way possible. Being connected to him like this has your emotions bubbling to the surface and you try to hide the tears that are prickling the corners of your eyes. Of course, Eddie notices though. He immediately stills inside of you.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Am I hurting you?”

“No!” You almost shout it out, cupping his face in your hands. “This is just…perfect.”

The relief washes across Eddie’s face and he leans in to press his lips to yours.

“It is perfect,” Eddie agrees.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as he presses soft and sweet kisses up your jaw to your ear. His hips stutter and a moan comes up his throat.

“Gonna cum, sweetheart. Fuck.”

“Please, baby. Want you to cum in me.”

Eddie sees stars when you clench around him, and he’s spilling inside of you, coating your walls.

“Wow,” Eddie pants out against your neck. His body collapses on top of yours and you giggle as his hair tickles your face.

“That was hot,” you say against Eddie’s ear, pressing a few kisses against it.

“Yeah?” Eddie licks over his lips, trying to catch his breath. “It was good?”

“I meant your face was hot when you came,” you say with a smile. “But, hell yes. That was amazing, Eddie.”

“But you didn’t-.”

You don’t give him the chance to finish, smashing your mouth against his in a messy kiss. It’s only when you need a breath that you pull away from him.

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t feel incredible,” you tell him. “Being connected to you like that was basically the best thing ever.”

“It was,” Eddie agrees. “We didn’t need a perfect moment.”

“Nope,” you say. “We made our own one.”

[ltwilliammowett]

Life on board a 17th century warship

The sailing crew was divided into two watches under the two lieutenants, each working for four hours while the other rested. While off duty, they were expected to stay below decks and out of the way, but could be called to work at any time if all hands were required, such as when anchoring or making a major sail change. When below, they probably tried to sleep as much as they could, since the four-hour schedule is not natural and quickly leads to fatigue. When not sleeping, they probably used much of the time off watch to mend their clothes and shoes, but they might relax with games, music or a popular new pastime, smoking, although this was only allowed in the cookroom.

War Ships 17th Century, by Jefferys, Charles W. 1942 in: The Picture Gallery of Canadian History Volume 1, p.99

Food was also prepared in the cookroom, a brick-lined hearth in front of the mainmast in the hold, and carried up to the gundecks in buckets, where it was doled out into big wooden bowls. Depending on the ship, food could also be prepared in the galley, which was located in the forecastle or midships.

Each man had his own wooden spoon, and some had wooden plates, but most ate from the bowl shared by a mess, a group of six or seven men who ate and lived together. They drank weak beer, "ship's ale," from a shared wooden tankard. The base of the diet was salted meat for protein and dried peas and bread for carbohydrates. Barrels full of bones found in the hold show that the meat was mostly beef, with a little pork and mutton, as well as fish and poultry. Interessting fact was that some of the crew were prepared to supplement this, as fishing equipment and hunting weapons were found in shipwrecks like the Vasa, as well as the bones of roe deer, moose, and grouse. The skeletons of chickens suggest that a few fresh eggs were available.

As in other navies, they did not issue uniforms in that time, the men had to buy or make their own clothes. In some cases cloth was provided as part of their salary, but the typical sailor's clothing was the same as the clothing they arrived in from the farm or town: a linen shirt, a short, skirted woollen doublet (jacket), wool trousers that ended below the knee, woollen socks, and leather shoes. Many had broad-brimmed hats or conical caps. The cloth varied from coarse homespun to imported dyed fabrics, but almost all sailors sewed strips of contrasting cloth or even lace down the outside seams of their trousers in imitation of the clothing worn by the well-to-do. Clothes had to be hard-wearing, since most people could not afford more than one set.

The senior officers lived aft in the cabins of the sterncastle, where they had more space, glass windows, proper furniture, and ate their meals from pewter or earthenware table service. They had finer clothes, but as more than one visitor to Sweden from the continent remarked, it was difficult to tell the nobles from the peasants, since they dressed alike. The officers also had to share their accommodation, sleeping in pairs in narrow double beds, but the cabins were built to resemble the interior of houses ashore. The great cabin, where the king or an admiral would stay, was fitted out like a room in the royal palace, with fine panelling and carved sculptures that emphasised the power of the people who lived there.

The 17th century was a violent period, and both on shore and at sea brutal punishments were prescribed for even minor crimes. Conscripts often came from rough backgrounds, but discipline was essential for the smooth and safe functioning of a ship. In crowded conditions, small disagreements could easily blow up into fights, grumbling could turn to mutiny. Officers had to earn the trust of the men they commanded, but needed the option of punishment for the intractable. The articles of war specified that a person causing a fire was to be cast into the same fire, a person starting a fight was to be stabbed through the hand with a knife, blasphemers and those speaking ill of the king or his officers were to be keelhauled, murderers should be tied to their victims and thrown in the sea. In practice, a captain who had to use these punishments too often risked losing the respect of his men and his fellow captains and could not rule for long.

[writeforfandoms]

Puppy Love 1

Find my CoD Masterlist

Gaz decides to get a puppy, and drags Price along for the ride. Plus, the breeder is cute. And single.

Warnings: Swearing, puppy cuteness overload, soft Gaz, soft Price. 

All the smooches to my beloved @sprout-fics​ for not only putting up with my insanity but actively encouraging it. You’re the best. 💖

Word count: 1.8k

Eventual John Price x f!reader

Gaz whistled to himself as he headed to Price’s office. He was dragging his captain out for a few hours if it was the last thing he did. (Not that he expected too much resistance, not once Price found out where they were going.) 

“Captain,” he greeted as he stepped into the office. The best descriptor for the office was controlled chaos. Paperwork covered every available flat surface, an empty mug balanced precariously on the corner of the desk.

“What is it, Gaz?” Price didn’t even bother to look up from a form he was filling out. 

“Field trip time.” Gaz tossed the keys in his hand for emphasis, smirking.

That did get Price to look up with a frown. “Where?” His gaze darted down to his calendar, and Gaz knew he had nothing there. Hook…

“Remember a couple weeks ago, told you I sent in the deposit for a puppy?” It had been a big move, one the two (and the team) had discussed at length. They’d all supported his decision in the end, especially after being faced with the sheer volume of research he’d done. 

“Yes?” Price was still frowning, but less sternly now. Line… 

“Pups are two weeks old now.” Gaz tossed the keys again. “Breeder’s been sending pictures, they’re right cute.” Another toss of the keys. “She also invited me out to see them.”

“Did she now?” Price straightened, fingers tapping at his desk before he set his pen down. 

And sinker. Gaz hid his smirk. “You should come with, Cap. It’s a litter of seven.” 

Price eyed him for a few long moments before he sighed and gave in. As expected. “How far out?” he asked gruffly, already patting his pockets to make sure he had everything he’d need for a little venture. 

“Not too far,” Gaz said, grinning openly now that he was getting his way. “About an hour.” 

Price grunted. “Let’s go, then.” His gruff demeanor didn’t fool Gaz. He knew the Captain wanted to go see the puppies. 

Gaz hopped into the driver’s seat, since he actually knew where he was going. But he did let Price control the music. Anticipation had his fingers drumming on the wheel, and he might’ve pushed the speed limit. Just a little. 

But he was still a better driver than Soap. 

–

You hummed to yourself as you did a few dishes in between visits. You were still expecting one more person to show up today, but you figured you had a little time before his arrival. Your two girls were out back, and Lola (the momma) was with her pups in the dining room. 

In other words, everything was good. 

The knock on the door startled you, and you could hear Sasha start barking out back, as she did every time someone knocked on the door. You dried your hands quickly and walked over to the door, opening it. 

Two men stood on your doorstep. The younger-looking one was already grinning, an air of contained energy around him. He was quite handsome, which you noted almost absently. But the other… The other man was too damn attractive. You could tell he was the older of the two, bits of silver in his hair and mutton chops. He was standing back a step, letting the younger man take the lead.

“Kyle?” you guessed with a smile, holding out your hand to the younger man.

“Yes ma’am.” He shook your hand, firm and polite. “This is my friend, John.”

“Nice to meet you both.” You held out your hand to John with the same smile. “Please, come on in. The puppies are mostly asleep, but they’re only two weeks old.”

Both men stepped into the house past you, and you almost closed the door.

Except that a black blur zoomed in the front door and barreled into John.

“Sasha!” you gasped in a mixture of horror and mortification, immediately grabbing the dog and yanking her backwards. “I am so sorry, she’s never done that before!”

“No harm done,” John was quick to assure you, looking down at the dog. He blinked. “That’s, er. Not a Boxer.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “No, she’s a Labrador Retriever. She was a gift, one I regret every day.” You circled one hand around her muzzle gently, guiding her to look up at you. “Did you jump the back fence?” 

Her ears went down and her eyes got impossibly bigger, even as she tried to tug out of your grip.

“Bad girl. You know better.” You sighed, keeping a firm hold on her. “Again, I am so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” John held out one hand to Sasha, and she immediately started sniffing him. Rather to your surprise, she started licking his fingers. “She’s a sweet thing, isn’t she?”

“Well, yes, but she’s normally a bit wary of strangers.” You watched the interaction, a little incredulous, as Sasha tried to cozy up to the big man. “Let me just put her in the other room. She’s still a bit too rambunctious for the puppies, and Lola doesn’t like her in with them.”

Both men waited patiently as you half-dragged Sasha to your office, closing her in. She banged on the door a couple times with a soft woof. 

“Right. Puppies.” Flustered now, you straightened and tugged your shirt straight. “Right this way.”

You walked ahead of them, blocking their view until just the right moment. Then you turned and stepped aside, watching as both men absolutely melted. 

Two week old Boxer puppies didn’t do a lot besides yelp for momma, drink, crawl around, and leave waste… But they were also really damn cute. 

“How many of each?” Kyle asked, taking a cautious step closer.

“Come on in,” you invited, stepping the rest of the way into the room and rubbing Lola’s ears. She heaved the biggest sigh and laid her head down on top of your foot. “Lola doesn’t mind.”

Kyle was quick to find a place to sit, very gently touching each puppy, awe in his eyes. John stayed back a bit, but he was no less enamored. 

“This time I’ve got four girls and three boys.” You smiled down at the puppies. “I believe you mentioned you want a boy?”

“Think so, yeah.” His big hands were delicate as he stroked the nearest puppy ever so gently. 

“Well, you’ve got first pick.” You smiled at his startled look. “You got your deposit in before anyone else. So you get your pick of the litter.” 

His smile was nearly blinding. 

“Take your time,” you assured him, carefully moving your foot from under Lola’s head and ignoring her baleful look. “I’ll just be in the kitchen, just through there.” You stepped out of the room, sort of. The only thing separating the dining room from the kitchen was a counter, so you could still see Kyle, Lola, and the puppies. 

John joined you, standing next to you, arms crossed over his chest. His very broad chest, which you just noticed. You had to fight not to look. 

"How long have you been doing this?" He nodded to the puppies. 

"This is my third litter." You smiled. "Honestly, I kind of tripped into this by accident, but I don't regret it. They're a wonderful breed." You eyed him for a moment before your smile turned mischievous. "Usually I warn people that they can be pretty high-energy but I have a feeling you won't have a problem keeping up." 

He laughed, low and rumbling and oh so nice. "Gaz is high-energy," he agreed. "Won't be a problem. Might keep him out of trouble." 

"Gaz?" You blinked. 

"Kyle." John waved a hand. "It's a nickname." 

You didn't push, didn't ask, just nodded. "Thinking of getting one yourself?" You couldn't help but tease, just a little. 

"Nah. Not my speed." John shrugged, glancing back behind the two of you as Sasha whined. "If anything, I'd go for one like her." 

"You want her?" You offered, mostly joking. "She comes house broken."

He laughed again, and it was even more wonderful the second time. "Thanks but no thanks." He paused for a moment. "How did you end up with a lab?"

You chuckled. "It's a long story. Some things happened with her first family. She was a very mouthy puppy, and they couldn't get past that. So I offered to take her." You smiled a little. "She's a good girl, and she's very people-oriented. She's just got no manners." 

John nodded slowly. "Good of you to keep her," he murmured. 

"Wouldn't have it any other way." Your smile was a little sad. You had no family, no significant other, and few friends. You had the dogs instead. "You're allowed to go play with them too, if you want." 

"I'm good here." His smile was almost teasing when he looked at you, and you chuckled. 

"Well, if you have any questions…" You trailed off meaningfully. 

"I know Gaz already interrogated you." His lips twitched, like that was an inside joke. (And not far from the truth - Kyle had asked a bunch of questions the first time he'd called, like he had a list.) "Is this your only job?"

That was certainly a polite way to ask. You'd had much less polite inquiries. "I work from home. I'm a purchasing coordinator. This is just for fun and love of the breed." 

John nodded. "I see. Convenient." 

"Until I have seven puppies howling at something at 3am in a month or so," you agreed, laughing. "Then I'll swear I'm never doing this again." 

That delightful laugh rumbled between you. Somehow, the two of you had edged closer together, and you could just feel the warmth radiating from him. There was something about him that put you at ease.

Which was unusual. Sasha wasn't the only one wary of strange men. 

Kyle reappeared a good ten minutes later with the sappy grin of one who has absolutely fallen in love. "Sure they're all spoken for?" He asked, glancing back at the puppies one more time. 

You laughed quietly. "Six of them are," you agreed cheerfully. 

Kyle looked back at the puppies, thoughtful, and John snorted. 

"No. You're getting one." 

The chiding tone was such a dad tone that you snorted and clapped a hand over your mouth. 

"Sorry," you squeaked, trying very hard not to laugh. "Ahem. Anyway. Kyle, you're welcome anytime, just let me know so I can make sure I'm home." You smiled at John. "You're welcome, too." 

"Thank you." 

You walked the two to the door, watching as they got into an SUV. You waved them off, waiting until they were on their way before you closed the door. 

"What am I going to do with you," you sighed at Sasha. She just wagged her tail at you.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

FORD MUSTANG BOSS 302

BOSS-A-NOVA!

They called it The Boss and for two short years it ruled the muscle car scene in the US, establishing itself as one of the greatest road and race cars of the era. Now, it’s one of the most collectible.

In 1960s US street lingo, if something was ‘boss’ it was cool, tough, the best. And the 1969 Boss 302 Mustang wore its badge with pride. It launched just four and a half years after the first Mustang was revealed to critical acclaim and record sales. Yearly updates to keep Mustang fresh in the face of tough new challengers from General Motors and Chrysler (particularly the Camaro) resulted in the once lean and pretty ’Stang muscling up, both in body shape and under-bonnet brawn, and the 1969-70 Boss models were the zenith of Mustang styling.

Thereafter, Mustangs became increasingly bloated and anaemic as the 1970s fuel crisis and stricter pollution laws cut horsepower and stylists lost their way; the rippling flanks and thrusting nose of the late 60s/early 70s cars gave way to boxy, bland designs. That early look would not be recaptured until 2005, when new Mustangs were given retro styling.

The Boss 302 was launched at the same time as its big-block brother, the Boss 429. Both were positioned as competition specials; Ford wanted to homologate its 302-cuber for Trans-Am and the 429ci monster for NASCAR. In fact, Ford went wild with engines between 1969-70, offering nine V8s – the ‘economy’ 302, 351 Windsor, 351 Cleveland, 390, 428 Cobra Jet, 428 Super Cobra Jet, 429 ‘wedge’, Boss 302 and Boss 429.

For the Boss 302, Ford’s high-compression 302ci small-block V8 was beefed up with four-bolt main bearing caps and redesigned ‘Cleveland’ cylinder heads with bigger inlet and exhaust valves, and ports that allowed the engine to breathe more efficiently.

These ‘semi-hemi’ heads were based on the Ford 427ci racing engine’s combustion chambers, and a balanced forged steel crankshaft and forged steel conrods allowed the engine to handle high rpms for sustained periods. A single 780cfm four-barrel Holley carburettor sat atop a high-rise aluminium inlet manifold, while a dual-point distributor, high-pressure oil pump, windage tray and screw-in welch plugs were further indications of its competition intent.

A rev limiter was fitted, progressively cutting spark from 5800rpm to 6150, but it was easily bypassed and the Boss 302 could reportedly keep making power up to 8000rpm with minor mods. In the muscle car marketing war, Ford claimed a peak horsepower figure of 290bhp at 5800rpm (the same as the Camaro Z/28), but that was extremely conservative.

Two four-speed manual Top Loader transmissions were available: a wide-ratio ’box with Hurst shifter more suited to street and strip use, and a close-ratio unit for racing. Adding to the race or road options list were four diffs: the stock 3.5:1 nine-inch, Traction-Lok 3.5:1 and 3.91:1 and the No-Spin 4.30:1 built by Detroit Automotive. Axles and diff centres were also strengthened to take the loads.

Suspension was also race-inspired with heavy-duty springs, shocks and sway bar up front, and Hotchkiss-style rear suspension with heavy-duty leaf springs, sway bar and staggered shock absorbers. The left-hand shock absorber was bolted behind the axle and the right in front, to reduce axle tramp under acceleration. Amazingly for such a high-performance car, braking was still only discs and drums with power assistance.

Ironically, the Boss 302’s sexy shape was styled by former General Motors designer Larry Shinoda, who is often credited with coming up with the Boss moniker. When asked what he was working on, he replied, "The boss’s car", a reference to new Ford president ‘Bunkie’ Knudson, who was also ex-GM and had recruited Shinoda to Ford.

While the wheelbase remained unchanged at 2740mm, the ’69 Mustang was 96.5mm longer overall to accommodate all the V8s offered, although the big-blocks still had to be shoe-horned under the bonnet. Shinoda’s ’69 Boss 302 was also one of the first production cars to offer an optional front air dam and adjustable rear wing, and his use of high-contrast black panels, rear window SportsSlats, and go-faster stripes made the Boss a real attention-grabber. The ’69 was also the only quad-headlight Mustang, a feature that was dropped for 1970 models.

In 1970, American Hot Rod magazine dubbed the 1970 Boss 302 as "definitely the best handling car Ford has ever built", while the conservative Consumer Guide called it "uncomfortable at any speed over anything but the smoothest surface". Unique Cars resident Mustang maniac, ‘Uncle’ Phil Walker, never read the Consumer Guide review, but even if he had it wouldn’t have stopped him buying the immaculate 1970 Grabber Orange Boss 302 you see here.

Phil already has his beloved 1966 Shelby GT350H, but the Boss 302 really got his Mustang juices percolating. And he wasn’t alone, because the first Boss he saw, some 43 years ago, is still one of Australia’s most iconic race cars: Allan Moffat’s Trans-Am racer. Phil remembers it clearly.

"I saw Moff race it Calder and I was inspired to own one," Phil recalls. "It was the most aggressive-looking car; its stance was something you had to see to believe. It looked like it was doing a million miles per hour when it was parked.

"My Boss was originally a one-owner car and I bought it from a friend of mine in California, Dave, who I also bought my Shelby GT350H from 19 years ago. Dave found it in a barn with a blown engine, but in otherwise pretty good condition.

"The lady who owned it from new didn’t realise it had a high-compression engine and had run it on standard fuel. When it blew up she just parked it.

"Dave did a nut-and-bolt restoration over two years, then put it up on his hoist. He didn’t want to sell it, but I got my way in the end – unfortunately he had the last say on the price (laughs). I didn’t even bother to test drive it; I knew it was a good car. It had 21 (new) miles on the odo when I picked it up and only 54,000 miles in total."

Since then, Phil has only put a couple of hundred miles on the car, but that’s enough for him to have bonded with it.

"I’ve only had the Boss since January and it’s growing on me. It’s different to the Shelby. It’s bigger and very low.

"The engine is incredible. Dave is one of the best engine builders in California and when he rebuilt the 302 he changed the cam spec. US camshaft technology was okay in the 60s and 70s, but if you had a big-cam muscle car they wouldn’t idle and they were terrible for driving in cities.

"A proper Boss engine can rev to 8500rpm all day and for a V8 that’s pretty serious. But they’re not renowned for low-down torque; it starts coming on from 3500rpm. My car still has a solid-lifter cam, but it pulls like a train from 1200rpm in top gear and I can drive it around at 1500rpm in top all day.

"It’s got the four-speed close-ratio Top Loader with the long first gear and with a 3.7:1 rear end it does about 55-60mph (89-97km/h) in first gear. It bloody goes!"

Phil is a fussy bugger and his cars have to look just right, so Russell Stuckey from Stuckey Tyres has ordered him a set of genuine 15 x 8 Minilites from England to replace the standard Magnum 500s.

"I want it to look like the Parnelli Jones race car, and to get the stance I want it’s going to have 275/60s on the rear and 255/60s on the front. At the moment it’s a pretty car that is tough, but I want a tough car that looks tough. And that’s all I’m going to do to it."

After his first real fang in the Boss, Phil felt that his Shelby would be half a lap in front at the end of a 10-lap sprint at Sandown, but now thinks the Boss would be quicker. We might have to put both to the acid test one day. What do you mean "no way", Phil?

It was a nervous Phil who turned up at a Melbourne storage facility in January to pick up his new Boss 302. So nervous, in fact, that he took along Unique Cars art director Ange and a sturdy tow rope – just in case.

The storage people were even more apprehensive – they had been warned about just how anal he is with his cars, as he explains: "The lady there said, ‘You must be pretty fanatical because we’ve been given strict instructions that no one is to touch the car except you’." Fortunately, the car arrived in pristine condition.

"I was pretty excited, I’d been waiting for seven weeks," Phil laughs. "I took the car cover off it, fired it up, and it drove home like a brand new car. It was as good as I thought it would be. I spent the next three hours washing it."

Sounds like our Phil.

PARNELLI AND ME

Three years ago, my mate Dave and I were invited to a Trans-Am dinner at Portland International Raceway where Dave was racing his 1970 Trans-Am Boss 302 and I was crewing for him.

When we were driving there we noticed this black Mercedes following us. When we stopped it did too and this bloke got out and said, "I noticed you guys back at the hotel. You’re going to the Trans-Am dinner aren’t you? I’m lost." It was Parnelli Jones!

I jumped in with him and when we got there I ‘invited’ myself onto Parnelli’s table, which also included Pete Brock – the guy who designed the Shelby Daytona Coupe. There was I, Mr Nobody, with all these US racing heavies, but Parnelli was a real gentleman, not up himself in any way.

The next day they had free lap time at Portland and, when I saw Parnelli there with Ford’s new ‘Parnelli Jones’ Boss 302 tribute Mustang, I asked if there was any chance of a ride and he said jump in. We did 10 laps and the guy hadn’t lost any of his ability; my eyes were getting bigger and bigger coming into the corners.

It was a great experience that I’ll never forget. – PW

IT's MINE...

Moff’s Mustang is probably the most iconic Australian racecar and after seeing it I was inspired to own a Boss Mustang. Then, about 25 years ago, I went to Pebble Beach in Monterey for the first time and saw a 1970 Grabber Orange Boss 302, which was the colour Parnelli Jones raced in Trans-Am. That day I knew I had to own a Boss. It was the car I’d always wanted after my Shelby, which was my lifelong dream car.

My Boss 302 is fully optioned, including the Shaker, extra side mirror, tacho and rear louvres, and it’s got a lot of wow factor. When you drive down the freeway, you get the thumbs-up from all sorts of different people. I think it’s the colour.

It’s closer to show standard than my Shelby. It’s got the paint marks on the tailshaft and all the little concours details, but I’m never going to show it; I’m not into that.

The 1969/70 body shape is still the best. Ford got it right then, but lost the plot after that and it’s reflected in their collectibility today. – PW