#best truck driver boots

[perfectfootwearguide]

Tips For Truck Driver Safety Shoes: Ensuring Your Safety on Every Mile

As a truck driver, you know that each day on the road is different. However, one thing should always stay the same: the need for proper safety shoes. When you spend countless hours driving, any old footwear won't do. Here's why truck driver safety shoes are more than just a good idea. They show you how to choose the best pair to keep you safe, comfortable, and compliant.

Safety Shoes In Trucking: What You Need To Know?

Protection Against Workplace Hazards

Truck drivers face many hazards, such as objects falling while loading and unloading or stepping on sharp debris in a truck stop parking lot. Steel toe or composite material safety shoes protect against these types of hazards by protecting your toes and feet from unexpected impact.

Enhanced Support And Comfort 

Safety footwear might not be the first thing that comes to mind when considering comfort, but it's crucial for truck drivers who spend all day on their feet. Good safety shoes can support your arches and cushion your soles, which are necessary when walking around constantly. The right pair of shoes can also prevent problems like plantar fasciitis, back pain, and general fatigue, making those long drives easier.

Slip Resistance And Stability 

Truck drivers frequently stop in various conditions, so they need shoes with great traction. Slip-resistant safety boots ensure that whether walking across a wet loading dock or greasy service station floor. Stability is maintained, reducing falls, which is one of the leading causes of workplace injuries.

Choosing The Right Safety Shoes For Truck Driving

1. Prioritize Certified Safety Features

Always look for footwear labeled with ASTM or ISO certification symbols. These indicate that they have been tested against specific risks such as electrical resistance compression and impact resistance, etc. This marking is not just some fancy logo. It shows whether or not this shoe was designed to protect against potential dangers encountered while working under pressure!

2. Ensure A Perfect Fit

Your feet swell throughout the day, especially after sitting behind the wheel for long hours. So when trying on a pair of safety boots, do so in the afternoon when your feet are at their largest and make sure there's enough room to wiggle toes but not too loose that they slip off easily. A good fit will not only enhance comfort but also protection.

3. Look For Durable Materials

Durability means more than just value for money. It is about consistent safeguarding. High-quality leather or reinforced synthetics offer extended lifespan and resistance against abrasion, keeping these shoes effective for longer periods where they serve as protective gear. Also, consider waterproof and resistant materials if working outdoors in wet areas.

4. Select Appropriate Soles For Your Environment

The sole of a safety shoe is equally important when driving a truck. Look out for one that is oil-resistant and has good gripping properties besides slip-resistant. Polyurethane soles are known for their durability and comfort, whereas rubber ones provide excellent slip resistance capabilities.

5. Weather And Comfort Considerations

All elements of your safety shoes should be influenced by the work atmosphere. Insulated boots can keep the feet warm when cold, maintaining general comfort and mobility. Conversely, breathable shoe materials should be used for hot climates to prevent overheating, which may result in fungal infections due to accumulated moisture that causes discomfort.

Final Thoughts on Truck Driver Safety Shoes

As a truck driver, it is more than just a fashion statement. Shoes are an integral part of your personal protective equipment (PPE). Selecting these involves more than choosing based on aesthetics or toughness alone. It involves understanding what qualities will provide optimal protection and durability under different driving and working conditions.

It's important to remember that each mile covered while behind the wheel and every load carried depends on how well the engine performs and ourselves as drivers. Therefore, we must wear appropriate safety footwear, enhancing our performance and guaranteeing personal security throughout all tasks. Thus, invest wisely in them since they rank equally with any other device found within your vehicle.

FAQs on Safety Shoes for Truck Drivers

Here are some Frequently Asked Questions About Protective Boots for Truck Drivers:

What shoes should truck drivers wear? 

Truckers should have safety boots designed to protect and give comfort and support. Such shoes are made with steel toe caps, slip-resistant soles, etc., which enable them to handle long hours on the road and around heavy vehicles. These should also meet the safety standards set by the transport industry to be considered.

What do most truck drivers wear? 

Most of those in this occupation wear tough work boots that safeguard against falling objects and slips. Common options include steel-toed footwear with puncture-proof soles made from waterproof materials. Additionally, breathability is enhanced through good arch support and fabric selection while considering comfortability.

What are safety shoes in PPE? 

Regarding personal protective equipment (PPE), safety shoes refer to any type worn at work designed specifically to protect feet from injury due to common workplace hazards such as falling objects or compression, among others. For instance, truck drivers may need electrical insulating properties alongside slip-resistance outsoles depending on their working environment needs.

Should truck drivers wear steel toe boots? 

Yes, they should because sometimes they must lift heavy loads, especially when loading or unloading cargo from trucks, thus there being a high chance of getting feet injured by such objects falling accidentally on them during these activities. Therefore, wearing steel-capped toes will provide necessary protection against impact forces that may result in serious harm being caused.

What is PPE in trucking?

Personal Protective Equipment, commonly referred to as PPE in the trucking industry clothing and gear which are worn by drivers or other employees working within the transportation sector who are exposed to various hazards likely to cause serious work-related injuries and illnesses if not properly protected against them thereby reducing risks associated with these dangers occurring around workplaces. Some examples include hard hats, gloves, safety glasses, high-visibility vests, and steel-toe boots.

Is it illegal to wear steel toe boots?

No, wearing steel-toe caps footwear is not against the law but rather a protective measure recommended for construction, manufacturing, or transport workers, where jobs usually involve lifting heavy objects. However, certain establishments may have rules concerning the types of shoes allowed on-site. Hence, you need to liaise with your employer or consult the applicable safety guidelines within such environments.

What are the rules for safety shoes?

Different countries and industry standards might have various regulations regarding what kind of boots should be considered as “safety” ones. Generally, employers must ensure that employees wear appropriate protective footwear if there is a risk of foot injuries caused by falling and rolling items, any object piercing through the sole, etc. The shoes should meet requirements based on relevant safety bodies, i.e., OSHA (Occupational Safety & Health Administration) in the USA and consider particular workplace conditions.

[briefinquiries]

Tyler Owens x Reader: Read Between the Lines

Request: anonymous said: "I was wondering maybeeee if you could write some protective bf Tyler ( because i would be swooning ) maybe either someone keeps hitting on her so he steps in or someone maybe in another storm chasing crew is being mean so he steps in and defends her <3 idk"

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: language, mild fighting i guess?? slight angst

A/N: sorry I haven't been posting as frequently! I started work up again and ya girl has been BUSY. Anyyywayyy, thank you for reading! please keep the comments coming! I love to see all your requests and I promise i'm getting to them as quickly as i can :)

“Need anything?” Tyler asked, leaning against the hood of the truck in a way that shouldn’t be as adorable as it is. 

“I’m good,” you said, offering him a gentle smile before brushing a few loose strands of hair from your sticky forehead. 

“You wanna come in with me then?” 

You shook your head– the idea of sitting in a stale diner with no AC was just about as unbearable as the thought of driving another second. “No, I think I’ll stretch my legs out here.”

“Okay,” he said in a tone that indicated you’d be missing out. He gave the truck a pat before adding, “We won’t be long.”

“Take your time,” you assured him. 

He offered one final nod before turning and following Dani, Boone, and Lily across the parking lot. Dexter also stayed behind. Instead of shitty diner food, he’s opted to take a nap inside the RV accompanied by his noise canceling headphones and a fan blasting right at his face. 

You were exhausted, down to your bones. You and the rest of the team had driven nearly six hours that day tracking a cell that hadn’t ended up amounting to anything. You were stiff and tired and irritable– just like everyone else. But you hoped that some time alone outside might help at least level out your mood.

You extended your arms over your head, groaning when you felt something lightly pop in your back, before craning your neck from side to side. The air was stifling– thick and humid with little to no breeze for any sort of relief. The heat hadn’t broken in nearly a week, and unfortunately for just about everyone, the truck’s AC didn’t work as well as it used to. 

The parking lot to the diner was relatively empty. Aside from the crew’s RV and truck, there was an SUV parked in one of the front spots and a small sports car with a steady cloud of smoke pouring out the cracked window.  

You let your eyes wander past the diner parking lot at the sprawling field across the road. The windmills were agonizingly still in the stale air– like even they were desperate for some reprieve. 

Your eyes fell shut as you took a few deep breaths, trying to get your bearings. 

Your peace lasted for about thirty seconds. And then the sound of blaring music and screeching tires had you turning your pulsing head. Instantly, you rolled your eyes at the sight of the familiar vans pulling into the lot beside you. 

Merrill Anderson and his crew started chasing in the area almost thirteen months ago. You knew because each and every moment that you’d known about their existence had been more painful than the last. 

Anderson was a meteorologist out of Texas that wore a cowboy hat almost as big as his mouth and an inflated ego to match it. He made sure you and everyone else around him knew that he had a PhD, and therefore, in his opinion, was automatically more entitled to chase. Him and Tyler had hated each other from the moment they met while chasing an EF2 in Arkansas– their feud only grew each time their paths crossed. 

Anderson was grinning at you through the window as soon as his van rolled by. You did your best to avert your gaze– hoping that lack of eye contact would avoid any sort of conversation. 

Unfortunately, you weren’t so lucky. 

“There she is,” he announced, boots scuffing against the dirt parking lot as he hopped out from the driver’s seat. 

“Now what're you doin’ out here all by yourself? Your team finally leave you behind? Realized they didn’t need two uni drop outs on their team?” he asked, tone already dripping in sarcasm. 

He was an antagonizer who got off on provoking others. And although you and Anderson had your fair share of unpleasant exchanges, you knew he only ever bothered you to get under Tyler’s skin. 

Tyler’s biggest weakness was that he was endlessly protective of the people he loved. You saw this particular trait as a strength– but you knew that Anderson fed off Tyler's anger, which you could only imagine was his intention now. Thankfully Tyler was in the diner– hopefully gorging on raspberry pancakes as you spoke. Because if he were to see Anderson talking to you– you knew this whole interaction would escalate quickly. 

“Anderson,” you sighed, leaning casually against the hood of Tyler’s truck. The smile you forced on your face was almost painful. “So lovely to see you, as always.”

You hoped if you withheld from his taunting, he might move on quicker. 

Instead, to your despair, he backtracked from his van to stand across from you. “You guys go ahead,” he instructed his crew. “I’m gonna spend some time with my friend here.”

They nodded before heading towards the diner, leaving the two of you alone. 

“You should teach that hillbilly- boyfriend of yours some manners. If I remember correctly, last time I saw him, he drove through a puddle to splash me.”

You bit back a grin as you recalled the moment he was referring to. “I’m sure it wasn’t on purpose,” you lied (it was absolutely on purpose). 

Anderson chuckled. “You know– I don’t know if we’ve ever had a conversation just us, without him lingering around. You’re much more pleasant. Both in conversation and in looks.” 

You felt a chill run down the length of your spine at his words– but the way he was looking at you was infinitely worse. You watched as his eyes flickered from your face to your chest– currently more exposed than you would like in the tanktop you wore in the stifling Oklahoma heat. You wished you had grabbed a shirt to cover up in– but they were all either dirty and packed away somewhere in your duffel. 

Clearing your throat, you stood up straight and crossed your arms, attempting to shield yourself from his lingering gaze. 

“Oh, hey now darlin’, don’t cover up. I’ve been stuck in the van all day with these jokers, this is the most action I’ve gotten all summer.” 

You could feel the blood rushing to your cheeks as you tried desperately to remain level headed. Anderson was a jerk– and he’d definitely make you uncomfortable… but you couldn’t imagine that he’d ever actually do anything to harm you.  

Then again, you’d never interacted with him for longer than a minute or two with Tyler and the rest of the crew at your side. This was uncharted territory that you didn’t care to explore. You felt your earlier determination to handle him on your own fade away with uneasiness.  

You turned your head towards the diner, hoping you might catch Tyler’s gaze through the window or something. Of course you were too far away for that– all you caught was the glare from the sun. 

“You know I’m not used to seeing you in clothes like this, usually you’re all covered up,” Anderson whistled. 

As soon as he took a step closer, you instinctively moved too. Except your legs collided with Tyler’s truck– preventing you from actually going anywhere. For some dumb reason, you felt obligated to hold your ground– to not let him see how uncomfortable he was really making you. But with each passing comment, you grew more and more fearful. 

Anderson now had his body angled towards you with a look that could only be described as predatorial. “God, it’s true you don’t know what you’re missin’ til you see it. We should have these heat waves more often if it means I get to take a look at this every day.”

You tried and failed to remain stoic. You wanted to yell– to tell him to shut the fuck up. But for some reason, your body and brain weren’t connecting. 

“C’mon, where is she?” he taunted. “You know, your sweet side has its perks. But I much prefer ‘em a little spicy.” 

He took another few steps closer to you. It was subtle, but you noticed. Anderson was so obviously getting a kick out of whatever the hell he was doing here, and you were doing a piss-poor job at withholding from it, like you’d originally planned. 

“Why don’t you come on back in my van with me,” he winked. “I’m not sure how your hillbilly does it, but I can show ya a real good time.” 

Get away from me, you wanted to scream. But your mouth wouldn’t move– your voice was lost somewhere inside of you. And all you could get your body to do was lean away from him slightly. 

“Don’t be like that, darlin’,” he cooed. He was so close that you could almost smell his breath. Your brain told you to fight– to shove or kick or do something to get him away from you. But all those previous instincts you had to fight back faded into paralyzing fear. 

Anderson reached across the space between you to move a loose strand of hair from your face as you began to tremble. “And don’t be afraid, baby doll. I don’t bite… too hard. Owens ain’t gotta know–”

“Anderson!” 

Your head snapped at the sound of a familiar voice… Not just any familiar voice– Tyler’s voice. He was currently storming across the parking lot with a look of pure hatred across his face. The second his eyes landed on you– undoubtedly and obviously terrified, that anger only intensified. 

“Get the fuck away from her,” he demanded. His eyes were narrowed and shockingly darker than their normal shade of sage. 

“Here he is!” Anderson taunted. “Her douche bag in shining armor.”

You couldn’t help but notice Anderson didn’t step away. In fact, if anything, he looked like he was about to step closer, just to really test his limits. But then, to your relief, you saw Boone, Dani, and Lily storming out of the diner in Tyler’s wake– all coming to your rescue. 

In an instant, Tyler was there, stepping between you and Anderson– forming the protective barrier you needed to finally feel safe again. Without thinking, you fisted the back of Tyler’s T-shirt for good measure. 

“Easy, Rambo,” Anderson sneered. “I was just tellin’ your sweetheart here how much I enjoy her new look. Who knew she had all this hidin’ under those baggy shirts? That the reason you keep her hangin’ around, Owens? I knew she had to be good for something–”

But Anderson didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence. Because before you knew what was happening, Tyler was lunging forward and connecting his fist with Anderson’s nose. 

The crack as it broke was deafening, you released Tyler’s shirt to cover your mouth in shock. Tyler hit him with enough force that he went staggering back a few steps, his hands instantly moving to cup his face. 

Tyler was still shaking off his hand when Anderson stood up straight, blood pouring out of both nostrils. 

“Damn, that bitch must be as good as she looks if she’s worth all this,” Anderson continued to taunt. Even with a broken nose, he didn’t back down.  

Without even hesitating, Tyler moved to strike again. But as soon as he did, Boone and Dani were both stepping in front of him to break things up. 

“Easy, T–” Boone said. 

“Stay the fuck away from her,” Tyler snarled in warning, pointing his finger over Boone’s shoulder. You’d never quite heard his voice so malicious or threatening before, and even though it was in your defense, it sent shivers down your spine.   

Suddenly, Lily grabbed your hand from the side, causing you to flinch. “It’s okay,” she said, tugging you a few steps away from the chaos– like she knew how badly you needed space from everything. “You alright?”

You nodded, flustered.  

“Next time you want to settle this without your little army of strays, you let me know, Owens. And next time you want a good time, Y/N, you know where to find me,” Anderson said, offering you a wink that churned your stomach. With that, he wiped some blood from his nose and began sauntering back towards his van. 

“I’m gonna fucking kill him,” Tyler snarled, still being physically held back by Dani and Boone. 

“Yeah, and he’d deserve it. But he’s not worth catchin’ a charge,” Boone said. “It’s been a slow season and we don’t got the kind of money to bail you out of jail.”

“Take a breath, T,” Dani said. “He’s walkin’ away. Take a breath.”

You watched Tyler slowly come back to his body. He listened to Dani and took a deep breath– his shoulders visibly relaxing when he exhaled. It seemed to be enough for his friends to finally release him. 

As soon as he was free from their grasp, Tyler turned around– his attention landing on you. “Are you okay?” he asked, his previously menacing voice now laced with so much care and concern. He stood in front of you– his body blocking all views of Anderson and their vans. His hands moved to cup your cheeks gently. 

“I’m fine,” you said, attempting to convince yourself more than anyone else. But even you knew it didn’t sound convincing. Your voice subtly cracked on the final word. 

Tyler stroked his thumb along your skin. The look on his face told you he didn’t quite believe you as his eyes flickered down to your trembling hands. Thankfully he didn’t ask more. 

“I gotta say that was a nasty right hook, T,” Boone said, clapping Tyler on the back as he approached. “I didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“What’d that asshat say to you?” Lily asked. “You looked really shaken up when we saw you out the diner window.”

“Nothing,” you mumbled, too embarrassed to repeat his taunts. You were shocked by how self-conscious you suddenly felt with everyone’s eyes on you. Anderson’s previous words had made you incredibly aware of every inch of yourself– like there was an electrical current humming underneath the surface of your skin. 

“Just the usual shit,” you tried to brush it off.  

You felt grateful when they didn’t push. 

Eventually, the crew disassembled– everyone focused on getting their stuff together to hit the road again. Anderson didn’t reemerge from his van, but as you sat idly in the passenger seat of Tyler’s truck, you didn’t take your eyes off from where it was parked– like you were anticipating some sort of retaliation. 

You remained hidden from the team– feeling so awkward and uncomfortable– like you didn’t want to be perceived or noticed by anyone. And you hated that Anderson’s words were the ones to make you feel that way. You couldn’t find any shirts in your duffel bag that weren’t disgusting. And currently you didn’t have the time or patience to dig through your second bag in the RV. So instead, you wrapped your arms awkwardly over your chest, trying to make yourself as small as possible just as Tyler climbed into the front seat. 

“Everyone else is riding in the RV, it’s just us,” he said, eyes lingering on you. 

“Okay,” you said, trying your best to sound casual. You wondered if he ordered everyone in the RV so that you’d feel more comfortable. You made a mental note to thank him for that later, he was always so good at reading between the lines.  

Tyler instantly noticed your uneasiness. “Baby, what’d he say to you?” 

You shrugged, refusing to meet his gaze out of sheer embarrassment. “I mean, I think you caught the gist of it at the end there… Just a lot of that.”

You heard his loud exhale. “Just say the word and I’ll barge into that stupid van and kill him right now.”

The corner of your lip tugged into a small smile. “I just want you to stay here,” you admitted. 

He nodded solemnly. Without another word, Tyler passed you something he had scrunched up in his fist. It was one of his T-shirts– like he knew you wanted to cover up without even having to say it. You took the shirt– the thanks you wanted to offer him remained stuck in your throat, but Tyler didn’t seem to mind. 

Instead, he pretended to fiddle with the radio while you silently slipped the shirt on. Almost instantly, you felt like you could relax underneath the fabric of his clothes. 

You curled your arms around yourself and tucked your knees to your chest. When Tyler asked if you were ready to head out, you nodded without another word. 

…

It was only seven when you arrived at the motel. Tyler went into the lobby to book the rooms while everyone else hung back. Boone and Lily were going on and on about using the pool later that night, but once you’d grabbed your bags from the truck, you sort of tuned it all out. 

Tyler found you sitting on the curb once he’d passed out everyone else’s room keys. He picked up your duffel from the ground before speaking for the first time in almost an hour. 

“You ready for bed?”

You nodded, offering him your best attempt at a convincing smile.  

“C’mon,” he motioned his head to the left. “We’re upstairs.”

Tyler led the way to your room– and even though this was a dingy motel, you’d never seen anything more perfect. The shades were dark, the AC worked, and there was a single, plush-looking queen bed in the middle of the room just screaming your name. 

Tyler let you shower first. And when you emerged from the bathroom, all the sweat and grime finally washed from your skin, he was gone. But in his place, he’d laid out one of his T-shirts and a pair of his boxers on the bed for you to use. You almost teared up at the sight of just how thoughtful he was… Still reading between the lines. 

You’d spent the entire duration of your shower trying to convince yourself that what had happened earlier wasn’t that big of a deal. Anderson was a jerk– of course he was going to say some jerk-ish things. It shouldn’t have been a surprise– and yet, you couldn’t shake the discomfort you felt. It was like all the words he’d said to you had nestled underneath your skin and made a home for themselves. 

In an attempt to shake the thoughts away, you quickly shrugged on Tyler’s clothes before sitting on the edge of the bed and wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Almost as soon as you sat down, you heard the front door to the motel open up. Tyler stepped into the room carrying his own bag and a couple of water bottles he must’ve grabbed for the two of you. 

“Better?” he asked, handing you one. 

You nodded and cracked it open. “Much.”

Tyler sighed before joining you on the edge of the bed. “Baby, are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I-” you started and then stopped. Your hands were shaking, but you jumped when you felt Tyler’s hand close around yours, steadying them. His touch gave you just an ounce of courage to speak. 

“It wasn’t even anything that bad–” you admitted. “I meant it earlier, you heard the worst of it… I just, I don't know, I can't explain it. But everything he said made me feel so gross… and dirty, and…” And, well, you didn’t quite know what else. Words were hard to come by tonight. 

“Oh, baby,” Tyler exhaled. He released your hand to wind his arm around your shoulders, tugging you to his chest instead.  

It wasn’t until he shushed you that you even realized you were crying, but it came out in a rush. You clung to him, instantly impressed by his ability to just make you feel so much safer. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. 

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he assured you, only squeezing tighter. 

“I don’t know why this bothered me so much–” 

“Because Anderson is an asshole and he intentionally said some gross shit to shake you up,” he answered for you. “You’re allowed to be upset by that.” 

You exhaled against his shirt, and when you licked your lips, you tasted salt. 

“I’m the sorry one,” he said. 

“What?” you shook your head. “You don’t have to be sorry–”

“I should have been there.”

“You were there,” you reminded him. “Unless I blacked out or something and I was really the one who punched him in the nose…”

Tyler chuckled softly, you felt the vibration against your chest– instantly soothing you. 

You sighed after a moment, trying to decide if you wanted to share what was really bothering you. You bit the inside of your cheek. It was so tempting to keep it to yourself, but more tempting than that was the idea of finally feeling a little more at ease again after just telling Tyler the truth. 

“I just–” you paused again. “I–” 

“Hey,” he said. You looked up at him briefly. “It’s just me.” 

That was the problem– it was Tyler. And you didn’t want Tyler thinking less of you because of what had happened. 

“I didn’t fight back,” you said quietly. “I just froze up– it was like I couldn’t even think straight. And he kept going and going, and I just stood there– taking it.”

Tyler ran his hand up and down your arm reassuringly. “What are you talking about?”

“It just felt like…” your voice tapered off. 

Tyler waited a moment before asking gently, “Like what?” 

“It just felt like I didn’t do anything to stop it,” you whispered so quietly you weren’t even sure he’d heard you. “Like I let it happen.”

“Baby,” Tyler sighed. “Baby, no. Anderson is such a jackass, it wouldn’t have mattered what you said–”

“But I could have told him to get the fuck away from me–”

“You were just trying to keep yourself safe. Baby, we can’t control how we react when we’re scared. It’s fight or flight–”

“Or freeze,” you mumbled, embarrassed. 

“Or freeze. I’m pretty sure fawning is one too, now,” he said. “But it doesn’t matter– what matters is you can’t control that you froze. Just like–”

“Just like you couldn’t control punching him in the face?” you asked. 

You glanced up just in time to see Tyler’s lips tug into a smile. “Exactly,” he said. 

“I just wish my fear reaction was a little more effective,” you pouted. “Freezing didn’t do much.”

You let your eyes fall shut when Tyler tugged you closed to his chest. “I guess it’s a good thing you have a douchebag in shining armor to come help whenever you need it,” he smirked. 

“Thanks for protecting me,” you said quietly. 

“I’ll always protect you, you know that,” he said, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

You smiled against his chest. You really did know that. “And thanks for punching him in the nose.”

Tyler snorted. “Anderson’s had that coming for a long time.”

[alltheirdamn]

Rotten | cowboy!joel x f!reader

Part II

Summary: Joel just can't leave you alone, and you hate it. Rating: 18+ Explicit MDNI Word Count: 6.5k Warnings: No-Outbreak AU, banter and arguing, mentions of guns/violence, smoking, explicit language, sexual tension, brat taming, mild dubious elements, spanking, slapping, choking, rough unprotected piv sex, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms, squirting, facial/cum eating, joel doesn't really take no for an answer, lots of angst A/N: I just couldn't get enough of these two. all my love to @lotusbxtch and @mermaidgirl30 for squealing over the filth every single day with me. ride that cowboy girlies, it's worth it ;) Part I

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Your fingers were wet from the condensation rolling off your glass of sweet tea, the steady stream of droplets splattering against your bare thighs. The day had been exhausting; the cattle were abnormally restless and decided to drift too far out in the fields. Hours riding Mac left your legs sore, and honestly, you just wanted to smoke your Marlboros and sip on your tea. With your boots kicked up on the porch railing and a cigarette between your lips, you were blissfully content. 

That is, until your peace and quiet were shattered.

Dirt kicked up in the distance, and the steady rhythmic hum of an engine grew louder as it drifted closer to your house. You groaned in frustration, already knowing who to expect. Dear God, was Joel Miller relentless. You reached behind your porch chair, fingers curling around the shotgun propped up against the wood. You warned him. 

His beat-up Red Chevy stopped beside your home, and you tracked his movements as he opened the door. Lifting the gun to your eye level, you aimed the barrel toward his truck. Your finger hovered over the trigger, steady and calm. Joel stepped out of the driver's seat, adjusting his belt buckle against his stomach. You wouldn’t kill him; you weren’t that mean, although it was tempting. 

One quick pull of the trigger and you sent a warning shot into the side door of his truck, rupturing the metal with a resounding bang. Joel ducked down, letting out a startled grunt before turning his head to inspect the damage. Whipping head toward you, Joel stared you down with narrowed eyes.

“Fuckin’ Christ,” he huffed. “That how y’welcome all your visitors?”

“Only the ones who piss me off!” You shouted.

Joel ran a hand down his scruff, swaying in place as if deciding whether to approach you. Do it, you thought. He made one cautious step, and you rewarded him with another cock of your shotgun, the barrel loaded and ready to fire. 

“Take it easy, darlin’. I only wanted to come talk,” Joel cautioned, his hands raised in defeat.

“S’nothin’ to fuckin’ talk about, Miller,” you said, your eye squinting down the barrel line.

Each step of his cowboy boots crunched the earth below, slow steps progressing forward. Joel walked to the edge of the porch; his shoulders hiked to his ears and arms still raised as if he were approaching a wild bull. Serves him right to be scared of you. You may have let him get the best of you the first time around, but you wouldn’t let that happen again.

“Can y’put the damn gun down, darlin’?” He barked.

“Can y’take your ass back to your side of the pasture?” You tossed back.

The closer he got, the clearer his features became; the scruffy graying beard with small bare patches against his jawline, the worry lines deeply etched into his tan skin, and those damn brown eyes that plagued your thoughts night and day. You still thought about how soft they were when he looked at you before he left the stables, a kindness that flickered through the amber specks and filtered out that rage. It was truly unfair that such an insufferable man could be so damn handsome. 

Joel’s boots knocked against the first step of the stairs, and your grip tightened around the shotgun. His eyes tracked your fingers as they flexed around the metal, your knuckles tense.

“I ain’t take you for the murderin’ type,” he said cooley.

“Reckon you don’t know much ‘bout me to be assumin’ that. Who knows, maybe I got myself a pile of bodies lyin’ in the grass behind my house.”

A low chuckle rumbled through his chest as he advanced another step, still testing the waters with you. You rocked back in your chair, propping the heel of your boot on the railing for stability. 

“Wanna show me all them dead bodies then, darlin’? Prove that you’re not all bark and no bite?” He smirked.

You angled the shotgun past the side of his head and sent a shot flying out into the yard. Joel flinched hard enough to knock himself into the stair railing, his weight jostling the porch. With a coy grin, you lowered the gun an inch and shrugged your shoulders.

“Can’t show ya’ if you’re dead,” you grinned.

Joel lunged at you, ripping the gun from your hand and tossing it feet away from you. He gripped the back of your chair and drew his face closer, his pupils dilating the longer he glared at you. Rolling your tongue across your teeth, you raised your hand to his neck, drifting it up the scruff under his jaw. A shallow breath exhaled from his lips, and he stared at you in anticipation. Oh, he thought you were going to kiss him? Cute.

With a quick snap of your wrist, you smacked your hand across his cheek before shoving him out of your face. Joel barely moved an inch, your hands smacking into solid muscle that wouldn’t budge. All that softness in his eyes was displaced with an unmistakable sense of rage, his friendliness shattering away as his cheek flushed from the impact. 

“Now y’done pissed me off, you fuckin’ brat,” Joel snarled.

His hand shot out to your throat, yanking you from your porch chair and to your feet. His grip was hardly as tight as last time but still forceful enough to render you powerless. Your eyes flickered toward the gun across the porch, so far out of reach and unattainable. You should have shot him when you had the chance. 

“Be a good girl and invite me in,” Joel ordered, nodding toward your front door. 

You wagged your head back and forth, your lips curled up and ready to spew venom. Joel only brought your face closer, his upper lip twitching under his mustache. 

“Do it. Now. Or I swear to God, I’ll make last time look like a goddamn walk in the park.”

“Surprised y’got any sex drive left in you, old man,” you gasped, his fingers tightening around your neck. 

“Christ, you fuckin’ infuriate me,” Joel grumbled.

He used his grip on your neck to propel your feet backward, guiding you toward your front door and over the threshold. The heel of your boot snagged on the lip of the door, sending you flailing back, only for him to grab you by the waist and yank you forward into his sturdy frame.

Even with his hand wrapped around your throat, Joel had never looked more gorgeous than he did at that moment. Swimming through the rage inside his eyes was a hint of worry, as if he genuinely thought you’d stumble to the ground. The reaction time of his arm circling your waist and the small exhale of breath off his lips, a quiet I got you in his own way. 

The moment dwindled as fast as it came, a flickering flame extinguished somewhere between the threshold and the entryway of your tiny farm home. Joel reverted to his aggressive tendencies, manhandling you onto your worn-down floral sofa. The springs beneath the cushions squeaked under the weight of your bodies as he pinned you down, his face a breath apart from yours. 

“You ready to play nice, darlin’? Or am I gonna have to ruin that pussy again just to shut you up?” He questioned. 

Your hands grazed over his torso, tracing the outline of his soft stomach and over the buttons traveling up toward the collar of his shirt. You watched Joel’s eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment, only to fly wide open as you sunk your nails into the hair at the nape of his neck. You tugged hard on his salt and pepper hair, enough so that his neck strained back. 

“Get the fuck off me, Joel,” you seethed, the words snarling out between your teeth. 

“We both know that ain’t fuckin’ happenin’.”

Joel wrangled you over and onto your stomach, his hand still firmly clasped around your throat. He quickly caged your legs in between his muscular thighs, molding your body into the sofa cushions. Half your face was smothered into the dingy couch, your hair tossed in streaks over your eyes and clouding your vision. With his free hand, Joel cupped the curve of your ass, his fingers digging into the flesh that peaked out beneath the cut-off of the denim. 

“Y’still got my handprints branded into your ass, darlin?” Joel asked.

He didn’t care to know the answer as he smacked his hand down, the bite of his skin against the fabric sending electric jolts of pain up your spine. Truth was, the bruises he left were still there—yellow, horrid welts that were a ceaseless reminder of last time. You wouldn’t ever admit it, but sometimes you found yourself in the mirror tracing the outline of his fingerprints, fantasizing about his hands on your body. 

“Answer me,” Joel commanded.

“Fuck you,” you said, your voice muffled into the couch.

“Always gotta have an attitude, don’t you?”

Joel’s hand connected with your ass again, this time hard enough to elicit a small whimper from your lips. You could deny it all you wanted, but it was making you unbearably wet. You squirmed under his grip, finding some sort of relief within the friction of your shorts. Joel caught onto your movements and chuckled at your lost efforts.

“Got you all riled up, huh? This sweet lil’ pussy need takin’ care of?”

He cupped your sex through your jeans, the roughness of his hand spurring you on even more—stupid body for responding the way it did to this man. Joel pressed his fingers against the seam of the denim, finding your swollen clit hidden beneath. You exhaled loudly, your body sagging further into the cushions as he rubbed rough circles over the aching bundle of nerves.

“Right there, darlin’? That feel good for you?” Joel taunted. 

“Mhmm,” you whined.

“You wanna cum for me?” 

You sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, holding back the plea for release. Joel knew what he was doing; he knew you wouldn’t beg. You were too stubborn and too defiant to ever beg for it. At least, not again. But his fingers worked faster—harder—keeping you on the edge of ecstasy the longer you stayed silent.

“C’mon,” he urged. “Ask nicely, and I’ll let you cum.”

You turned your head into the sofa, burying your face into the cushions as you let out a frustrated cry. Fuck this man. Fuck his ability to turn you pliant and easy. Your body bucked against his hand as he worked at you in tantalizing movements, the friction of his palm against your sex becoming dizzying. 

“Please,” you muttered, your voice muffled and quiet.

Joel’s hand unwound from your neck, taking its place within the tresses of your hair. A swift tug back, and your eyes strained to meet his as he loomed over you. 

“I didn’t hear you,” he growled.

You swallowed thickly, trying to form another plea, but you couldn’t make a sound. Joel tugged on your hair harder, enough to make you cry at the pain. Your nails dug into the couch, and you managed a small please through a strangled moan.

“Too bad, darlin’. Bratty lil sluts don’t get to cum. I just wanted to hear y’beg for it.”

He released his grip on your head, shoving you back down. You groaned in frustration as his hand vanished from between your legs. The couch shifted beneath you as Joel rose to his feet, wandering around your living room and into your kitchen. 

“Where’s your smokes?” He asked, rifling through the drawers as if he owned the place.

You lifted yourself, stretching your neck and detangling your hair with your fingers. Your clit painfully throbbed against your panties, your core still fluttering from the phantom orgasm that never came. Joel continued his search, slamming drawers shut and opening cupboards without a care in the world as if he didn’t just have you pinned down and begging for release. The temptation to run out and grab your gun was thrumming inside your veins; just one shot and you’d be free of him. Joel glanced up at the exact moment you shot to your feet, gunning for the door. 

“Don’t even think about it, darlin’,” Joel warned.

“You expect me to let you roam ‘round my house uninvited?” You questioned. 

“I expect you to be a good host and find me a damn cigarette,” he snapped. 

“Well, they’re on my porch. So, if you’ll let me leave for a damn second, I can bring you one.”

Joel leaned against the kitchen counter, considering you with eyes narrowed. You folded your arms over your chest and stared at him, both of you in a silent showdown. With a lift of his chin, he motioned for you to go ahead and retrieve them. Disappearing out onto the porch, you scooped up your pack of reds and lighter, lingering an extra moment as you considered the gun lying on the ground.

“I’m waitin’!” He called from inside.

“Christ, I fuckin’ hate you,” you said, walking back into the house.

Joel had made himself all too comfortable on your couch, his legs spread open and arm lazily draped over the back cushion. You immediately noticed the bulge in his jeans, a telltale sign that he was just as worked up as you were. Tough fucking luck. If he wouldn’t get you off, you wouldn’t help him either. 

“Y’ hate me, huh?” Joel asked, his lips curving into a smug grin.

You didn’t respond as you smacked the bottom of the cigarette carton against your palm. Joel flicked his fingers, urging you closer, yet you stayed planted to the ground. 

“Gonna give me one of those, darlin’?”

“Why should I?” You huffed. “Y’come into my home uninvited and act like you own the damn place. Actin’ all demandin’ and rude.”

Joel let out a low whistle, rolling his neck back and forth. You continued smacking the carton, your lips set in a firm line.

“What’s rude is tryna kill someone who only came to talk. So, come here and sit.”

“And if I don’t wanna?”

“For one goddamn minute, can y’just not be so fuckin’ stubborn?” Joel huffed.

“Fine.”

You strode toward the couch, aiming to sit beside Joel, only to have him wrap an arm around your waist and pull you into his lap. Your thighs pressed against his as you settled into his body, the rugged muscles of his legs flexing beneath you. You were too close to him, too aware of the way his eyes sparkled with rich amber flecks in this nearness. Joel studied you without an ounce of anger as if none of what had happened between you ever existed. It made it terribly hard to continue hating him when he looked at you that way.

“Y’gonna be a good girl and give me a smoke now?” Joel asked.

Rolling your eyes, you removed a cigarette from the carton, offering it to him. Joel only shrugged, parting his lips ever so slightly to invite it into his awaiting mouth. Your fingers brushed against the scruff of his jaw as you placed it between his lips, his mouth quirked up in satisfaction. 

“You trust me with a light?” You questioned.

Joel squeezed your waist softly, his other arm still thrown across the couch. You twirled the lighter between your fingers, your thumb rolling over the sparkwheel haphazardly. One good flick of the lighter, and you could send him up in flames—burn your whole house down with him inside, and you’d finally be at peace. He was a ceaseless man with little regard for you or your damn peace, and you were growing tired of entertaining him.

“Light it,” he ordered, the cigarette hanging between his teeth.

You sparked the flame, letting the heat of it ripple over your skin as you brought it to the butt of the cig. The tip ignited with a flicker of embers, the cherry end burning bright as Joel took a long drag. He lifted his hand from the couch—still keeping one firm on your body—and situated the cigarette between two fingers.

“Wanna tell me where y’learned to shoot like that?” He asked, his head tilted to the side.

“My parents. They taught me everything I know,” you admitted.

“Everythin’ aside from manners,” Joel countered.

“Shut up,” you snapped. “I ain’t gonna sit here and let you speak of my parents like that.”

You didn’t like talking about them; the reminder of their absence was sometimes too much to bear. You had so many responsibilities thrown onto your shoulders when they died, and although you took those responsibilities willingly, it didn’t quell the grief still lingering. You didn’t have your parents anymore, but you had their land to care for and their wishes to uphold. 

Joel took a sharp inhale from the cigarette, letting the smoke plume between your faces. The stench of smoke was something comforting to you, always had been, but coming from his mouth, it pissed you off. 

“Hey, now,” he said softly. “Was only kiddin’, darlin’. Didn’t mean to strike a nerve.”

“Your entire presence strikes a fuckin’ nerve, Joel. Why are y’even here?”

“Like I said, I came here to talk.”

You pulled the cigarette from his lips, taking it to your own and inhaling a long drag. Joel arched a brow, watching as you hollowed your cheeks around it, the flicker of the butt burning brightly in his face. 

“Then talk,” you hissed, tilting your head to exhale the smoke.

You leaned back, discarding some of the ashes against the tray on your coffee table. Joel’s hand urged you back to his chest, pinning you closer than you wished to be. You adjusted yourself on his lap, absentmindedly, shifting your body over his hardened cock. Joel choked on a breath, his fingers digging into your waist. Oh. Funny how you had all the power now. 

“Talk,” you repeated, grinding your body down against his again.

“I know what you’re doin’,” Joel grumbled.

“Y’gonna talk or what, Miller? I’m waitin’.”

Joel cursed under his breath, grabbing the cigarette from your fingers and returning it to his lips. His eyes never left yours as he drew in a breath, letting the smoke linger inside his mouth a second too long before exhaling. The smoke billowed around your face, and you scrunched your nose in annoyance. 

“I wanna negotiate,” Joel offered.

“No.”

It was a quick response, one without a second thought. You wouldn’t even entertain the idea of negotiations. Why? Because there was nothing to fucking negotiate. This land was yours, passed down through generations, and would remain that way. No amount of bitching and moaning from Joel would make you reconsider. 

“Y’didn’t even let me finish,” Joel remarked. 

“I don’t need to listen to you. I ain’t negotiating my land.”

You reached for the cigarette again, yet Joel suspended it in the air and out of reach. You glared at him, trying to grab his hand to drag it toward you. Joel’s strength outweighed yours, and he had you beat every time you tried aiming for it again. Shoving at his chest, you moved to swing a leg over his lap and climb off, but he dragged you right back to his chest. His hand roamed up your side, curving along your hip and over the swell of your breast. Cupping your face with one large hang, Joel squeezed your cheeks together and forced your lips to part. 

You struggled against his grip, your eyes full of rage as you watched him take another drag of the cigarette. With your mouth partially open, he leaned close and blew the smoke over your lips and into your mouth. The fragrant odor of the smoke licked up your nose as you inhaled, your lips inches away from his. You didn’t like it. You didn’t want him close. Joel’s eyes bounced between your eyes and lips, the temptation of drawing you closer palpable in his body language. The nicotine buzzed inside your head, and you pulled away from his face right at the same moment he leaned closer. 

“Don’t,” you warned, smoke exhaling from your lips. 

Joel dropped his hand from your face, a clear shift in his mood arising as you watched his eyes flicker with disappointment. It was all over his face: the furrow between his brows, the downturn of his lips… He wanted to kiss you. You wouldn’t let him, though; that was too much. If he wanted to manhandle you and fuck you however he pleased, that was fine. You welcomed it, actually, because you knew one taste of his mouth, and you’d be ruined. You didn’t want intimacy with Joel, not when your family’s land was hanging in the balance. He’d reel you in with false pretenses and have you aching for more, only to tear it all away.

He cursed under his breath as he pressed his body to yours, leaning forward to discard the cigarette into the ashtray. The bulge beneath his jeans prodded your sex at this angle, eliciting a ripple of pleasure up your spine. A small gasp bubbled out of you as Joel readjusted himself beneath you. 

“You don’t wanna talk?” Joel asked, raising his voice. “Fine. Better not say a damn word unless it’s my name while I fuck you.”

In a millisecond, Joel had you pinned down to the couch again, your hair splayed around you and your breath whooshing from your lungs. His fingers worked at the zipper of your jeans, yanking them down your legs and discarding them over his shoulder. Propping a knee onto the couch, Joel undid his belt buckle and freed his cock from the confines of his jeans. Precum glistened on the tip, and he stroked himself slowly as he pulled your legs apart, molding you into the position he desired. 

“Only wanna hear y’scream my name. Y’understand that?” He growled. 

Joel coated the head of his cock with the slick covering your folds, pushing himself in with one deep thrust. You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut as your body adjusted to his size. This angle was so much different than last time, and you could feel every vein and ridge of his cock rub against your fluttering walls. You focused on your breathing while he plunged deeper, breaking you open and fucking into you with hard thrusts. 

Caressing the back of your knee, Joel drew your leg up and over his shoulder, bending you in half until he was spearing into your core. 

“Look at me,” he ordered. 

You shook your head, whimpering at the sensation of his cock splitting you in half. Searing pain bloomed across your face as Joel’s hand connected with your cheek. Your eyes shot open, tears welling on your waterline, the sting of the pain churning into a wave of pleasure through your core. You forgot how addictive his touch could be when he was angry. His pupils swallowed the entirety of his eyes, a dark, endless abyss staring straight back at you.

“Do. You. Understand?” He grunted between thrusts.

You didn’t respond, a tear slipping down your cheek. The phantom touch of his fingers on your skin lingered still, and your clit throbbed with a sudden flurry of arousal. Joel’s hand wrapped around your jaw, forcing your mouth open. He leaned down, pressing his weight into you as his face neared yours. A trail of spit fell off his tongue and crashed into the back of your throat, and you flinched away from Joel as he pressed harder. 

“Swallow, brat.”

You struggled to swallow it; your throat constricted as his grip around your jaw tightened. He plowed into you, drilling your core with violent strokes until a gargled wail left your mouth. His spit slid down your throat, and he hummed in approval. 

“Good girl.”

He stretched your other leg up and over his shoulder, your ass lifting off the couch. You wanted to beg him to stop, yet nothing would leave your lips. Not even a sound as the noise of his hips slapping against yours filled the air. The thrum of your heartbeat vibrated through your chest, the pressure inside your stomach growing stronger as you propelled closer to the edge of your orgasm. Every muscle in your body grew taut, your clit aching to be touched…aching for relief from the violent flames lapping at your spine. So close. It was so close you craved for more. 

Maybe you didn’t want him to stop. 

“If you ain’t gonna listen to me in a normal conversation, then you’re gonna listen now,” he gritted. 

You flexed your jaw under his hand, trying to shy away from his piercing stare. You didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to listen… didn’t want anything but the opportunity to seek release. You could handle the pain—you welcomed it. The harder he fucked you, the less you had to think. And if you kept thinking, you’d drown in the consequences of your doubt. Keep him angry, you thought. Keep him the enemy. You couldn’t let him be anything more. 

“I don’t want your land,” Joel punched out through clenched teeth. “Keep it. I don’t give a shit.”

The buzzing inside your skin dulled out at his words. It was so hard to focus on what he was saying when your mind was melting from the inside out, his cock driving into you with brutal speed. He didn’t want…

“What?” You choked out.

Joel’s hand clamped down on your mouth, muffling your words as he bottomed out and kept himself seated inside you. The rhythm of his thrusts stopped, and he let his hips press into yours as he stared down at your tearful face. You were so fucking full of him you couldn’t breathe.

“Listen,” he snapped. 

You muffled out his name, the sound slipping through the space between his fingers. He only pressed harder, your body folded in half beneath his weight. You clenched around his cock, rocking your hips slightly to quell the need curling inside your stomach.

“I ain’t gonna take your land from you, ‘kay? All I’m askin’ for is permission to come ‘round without you tryna kill me.”

No. The word was lost inside the palm of his hand. You wanted your land, and you wanted Joel gone. You didn’t trust him when he said he didn’t want your land. How could you trust him when he had you pinned to the sofa? 

“This is what’s gonna happen,” Joel offered, snaking a free hand down between your legs. “You’re gonna agree with me and let me come and go as I please. Then maybe I’ll let you cum.” 

Calloused fingers circled your clit, forcing a cry from your mouth. Tantalizing, slow draws over your sensitive bud pulled desperate sounds out of you, each one of them stifled against his warm hand. Joel worked himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out to the tip and driving right back into you. You couldn’t fend off the orgasm bubbling under the surface, the nerves inside you lighting on fire. 

“Please!” You screamed between his fingers.

Joel’s lips twisted into a sneer, beads of sweat rolling down his temples as he pressed his fingers harder against your clit. Your eyes glossed over with fresh tears as you fought off the impending release rolling through your body.

“Say it.”

Your back arched off the couch as you chased the strokes of Joel’s fingers. Circling and circling… You were so close to the threshold of ecstasy, and you knew he’d tear it away from you if you didn’t relent. 

Joel ripped his hand from your mouth, tangling in the hair at the crown of your head. He forced your eyes down to where your bodies connected, your focus on his cock as it disappeared inside you. 

“Y’wanna cum on my cock, darlin’?” Joel taunted. 

“Fuck! Please, Joel!” You gasped.

With your chin tucked into your chest, your legs dangling over his shoulders, and his cock spearing into your core… you couldn’t hold back your orgasm any longer. 

“Say it!” Joel commanded.

“Okay!” You sobbed. “Just let me cum, Joel! Please!”

Joel assaulted you with a repetition of thrusts, each stronger than the last, until your orgasm exploded through your body. His name tore from your lips as your back curved off the couch and your legs squeezed around his neck. He kept his thumb circling your clit, your orgasm never ceasing to end as the inferno burned inside your core. Wet, hot arousal gushed out of you, splattering onto Joel’s navel and staining his denim shirt. His eyes flicked up to yours, a wicked grin splitting his face. 

“Look at the mess you’re makin’. Just drenchin’ my fuckin’ cock.”

“Joel!” You whined, squirming against his hand.

“Nuh uh, darlin’. Wanna see how messy y’can get. Keep goin’.”

He released his grip on your hair, forcing your head to fall against the arm of the sofa. Shuffling his knees forward, Joel continued his brutal thrusts until your arousal sprayed around his cock and dripped down the seam of your ass. There wasn’t enough air in your lungs as you alternated between screaming his name and begging him to stop. 

“Since y’wanted to cum so goddamn bad, you’re gonna keep takin’ my fuckin’ cock ‘til you ruin this damn couch,” Joel grunted. 

You were crying… hard. Your mind was on the precipice of hysteria as waves of your orgasm bolted through your veins. Lewd sounds of his body slapping against your wetness echoed through the room, the cushion beneath you soaked from your arousal. You attempted to claw yourself backward and away from Joel, but his grip was violent, and he only yanked you closer. 

“I can’t—I can’t anymore!” you sobbed. “Please, Joel…please.”

“Gimmie one more,” he demanded. 

You shook your head in protest, your sobs hiccuping inside your chest. Your core was too fucked out, your clit was painfully sensitive, and you were sitting in a pool of your arousal. How did Joel manage to turn the events of the day around in his favor? You had control at the start—you had the gun— but now he had you folded in half and strewn out in a heap of tears. 

“I can’t!” You wailed. “Too much—too much…”

“Poor thing,” Joel taunted. “Always beggin’ for it but can’t take it.”

You writhed beneath him, your body twisting and bending to alleviate the painful sensations rolling through your nerve endings. This was it; this was how you died. Drunk on pleasure and torn apart by the man you wanted to hate. 

Another orgasm tore through your body, consuming you from the inside out. Your scream pierced through the air, and you collapsed into the cushions, soaked with sweat and tears. Joel made a strangled noise above you as your sex clamped down around his cock, no doubt pulsating harder than it had the last several orgasms. His cock slipped from inside you, leaving you hollow and aching to be filled again. Your body craved the fullness, yet you sagged with relief knowing he stopped.

“C’mere,” Joel grunted. 

He slung your legs off his shoulders and yanked you down the couch by your ankle. Positioned over your face, Joel stroked his cock above you, his fingers glistening from the arousal that stuck to his velvety skin. 

“Open that fuckin’ mouth, darlin',” Joel urged. 

Your head was so hazy you hardly registered his words. Parting your lips, you whined softly and stared at him…waiting. Joel’s eyes connected with yours, that deep furrow in his brow more prominent than before. Rage still sparked behind his eyes, but in your delirium, you saw more. You saw right past his facade, just as he saw right past yours. Whatever terror etched itself into your features, it caught his attention, but he was painting your lips and face with his release before he could decipher it. Hot ropes of cum spattered against your lips, the salty taste covering your tongue as it trailed into your mouth. Remnants of his release coated your chin and neck, warm reminders of his futile efforts at staking his claim.

He hadn’t claimed you, no matter how hard he fucked you. You wouldn’t let him claim you. And you most certainly wouldn’t let him claim your land. 

Joel slid his finger through the mess along your neck, scooping his cum onto the pad of his finger and dragging it across your lips. 

“So fuckin’ pretty all covered in my cum,” he praised.

“Fuck you,” you whispered, though your words meant shit, as you rolled your tongue over your bottom lip.

Joel gave you a soft grin, smoothing down your hair and cleaning the mess off your face with one hand. The same hand that had inflicted pain just moments ago, the hand that brought you to release more times than you could physically endure. 

But now the touch was soft—caring, even. And that frightened you more than the violence he showed when he was provoked. It was this side of Joel that made you scared, and you wanted to run as far from it as you could. 

“Let’s get you up, darlin’,” Joel said, hoisting you by the shoulders until you sat under his shadow. 

He massaged your legs as you swung them over the couch, attempting to relieve the tension within your muscles. You shrunk away, standing on unbalanced limbs, and distanced yourself from his wandering hands.

“I need a shower,” you decided. “Y’can see yourself out.”

“I ain’t done talkin’ to you.”

“Well, I’m done fuckin’ talking!” You argued. 

You spun on your heel, your hands clenched at your sides. Joel’s eyes stayed focused on you as he worked at stuffing his cock back into his jeans. Half-naked before him, you felt a million times smaller than you had when he arrived. 

“Why are you so hateful?” He questioned, rising to his feet.

Your lips curled up, a slew of spiteful words dancing on the tip of your tongue. But Joel wasn’t finished. 

“This is your land,” he said, stepping closer. “I ain’t gonna argue that anymore ‘cause it’s a lost cause. And I ain’t tryna steal it from you. I can promise you that.” Another step closer. “So, why do y’hate the idea of me comin’ around?”

“Because I hate you,” you responded. 

“You hate me, huh? Is that how y’feel ‘bout me when I’m pullin’ orgasms from your body? ‘Cause I think you fuckin’ love it. You love bein’ fucked by me. You get me all riled up ‘cause y’know what’s comin’ for you.”

“I hate you,” you repeated.

Joel lifted his hand to your face, cupping your cheek with a featherlike touch. You wanted to shy away, but you were too tired to move.

“I don’t think y’hate me at all, darlin’,” he whispered. 

He leaned closer, placing a kiss on your forehead. You squeezed your eyes shut, holding off another round of tears brimming over the surface. Pushing your hands against his chest, you shoved Joel away, your body staggering back with the force of your action.

“Get the hell outta my house,” you cried, no longer keeping the tears at bay. 

Joel stared at you with a pained expression, his eyes searching through your glassy eyes for the falter within your words. He didn’t budge; he didn’t move an inch. You shoved at his chest again, but it was no use as he wrangled you into his arms and lifted your chin to meet his eyes.

“When are you gonna quit fightin’ me?” He asked softly. 

It was a sincere question; you saw it swimming behind the rich chocolate of his irises. Pleading. Begging. He wanted the truth, but you wouldn’t give in. You couldn’t.

“I’ll quit fightin’ when y’learn to leave me alone.”

“What if I don’t wanna?”

He was a breath away from your lips, the rich scent of farmland wafting off his skin as it mixed with the smell of sex. It was intoxicating being this close—close enough to wonder what his lips would feel like on yours. While your body ached for him in one way, your heart ached differently. It was an ache you wanted to keep fighting because the moment you lost that battle, you’d lose everything. 

“I don’t want you comin’ here anymore, Joel.”

“Why?” he pressed. 

Silence blanketed over you, weighing down the words lodged in your throat. The rapid beating of your heart matched his as he kept you tight to his chest. You were suffocated by the emotions you couldn’t say, and you were slowly sinking further down. 

You struggled against the arm that bound around your waist, helplessly trying to break free of his hold. He finally relented in defeat, letting you shuffle back until there was a healthy gap between your bodies. Running a hand down the scruff on his chin, Joel gave you a simple nod and retreated toward the front door. 

“Until you can give me a reason, I’m gonna keep comin’ back.”

He left without a glance over his shoulder, the room around you shrinking in size without his presence looming over you. Searching for your shorts, you quickly dressed and hid behind the window curtains as you watched his truck rumble to life and speed down the dirt roads. There was no goodbye between you, and you knew there wouldn’t be. Joel wasn’t giving up, no matter how hard you pushed him away, and eventually, he’d win. 

And you hated knowing the truth. 

**

Behind the billowing dirt trail of his truck, Joel watched as your house faded from view. His knuckles were white around the steering wheel as he thought about the way he left. He was doing this for fun; at least, that’s what it felt like at the start. Getting on your nerves, pissing you off, seeing you completely unraveled underneath his hands, Joel loved it. He loved the thrill of having you tamed down and quiet, compliant to anything he asked and did. 

Then he had you pinned underneath him, and he saw the fear in your eyes. You weren’t scared of him. You were scared of the emotions electrifying between the both of you. Then you pulled away from him, denying him any affection, and he fucking hated it. 

He couldn’t understand why you got under his skin the way you did, nor why he cared so much. It wasn’t supposed to end up this way, yet Joel wanted to keep tearing down your walls. He wanted to hear you tell him the truth.

He wasn’t going to stop until he got it.

[lyjen]

In The Right Place Part 1 | Evan “Buck” Buckley

Summary: When a new recruit joins the 118, she immediately clashes with Buck. As (Y/n) gets partnered up with Buck during a rescue mission in an unstable, partly collapsed building, their teamwork becomes the only thing standing between survival and disaster.

Trope: Enemies to lovers

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• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

A deep sigh rolled from her lips as she turned off the motor of the car and got out the keys. Here she was, the new adventure she had been waiting for.

(Y/n) got transferred from her old firehouse down in Long Beach, the one she called home, to her soon to be called home in West Glendale, also known as the 118. Her stomach was filled with jitters, maybe it was the nerves, or maybe she was just excited to start somewhere new. She couldn’t quite place what she was feeling at that moment.

She had been doing this job for three years now, she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Okay, here we go..” she mumbled under her breath as she opened her door on the driver's side and clamped her hand around the LAFD duffle bag as she stepped out of the car. (Y/n) took a second to scan the building she was about to walk into.

Without looking, she closed the car door as she took in a deep breath. It’s just another day. Nothing more, nothing less. (Y/n) clicked on the button of her car keys to lock her doors, and placed the keys into her bag as she started walking to the open garage doors of the 118.

Her boots clapped against the floor of the firehouse as she made her way through the garage doors into the firehouse. Her jaw was set, her uniform crisp as she scanned the room quietly with confidence as her eyes fell right in front of her, there were a few people in the gym at the back, but also a few were chatting around at some kind of briefing place right in front of the trucks and beside the locker room.

She could sense multiple eyes burning onto her skin as she walked towards the locker room she spotted. The second she stepped closer, even more eyes were locked onto her, as the voices stopped chatting for a moment, pausing as they took in the sight of the newcomer stepping into their fire station.

It wasn’t like there were hundreds of people looking at her, you could count them on two hands. But it sure felt like she was being stared at, as if she was an intruder.

“So, you’re the new recruit” one of the guy’s voices took over the silence in the room, his voice sounded teasing. He was standing with his arms crossed over his chest. “Heard you’re the best at your old firehouse. Big shoes to fill here.” he added, as he leaned forward. Placing foot onto the small bright red bench in front of him.

“I don’t plan on filling anyone’s shoes,” she replied sharply and fiercely, locking her eyes with his. “Just doing my job. Try to keep up..” she paused for a second as she let her eyes wander to his name tag which was clicked onto his uniform. “Buckley.” she added. She didn’t miss a beat, and she knew it.

(Y/n) could hear a low chuckle coming from the other guy who was standing nearby Buck. ”Oh, this is going to get good.” he muttered under his breath as he switched looks between (Y/n) and his best friend as he fished, placing his watch on his wrist.

Buck tilted his head slightly, his grin slowly fading from his face. “I’ll keep up just fine. Just don’t trip over yourself trying to show off.” he shot back.

(Y/n) couldn’t help but smirk at his reaction, but she didn’t bother to react to his words. She walked past him towards the locker room. She wasn’t here on a warpath, she was here to do her job.

Buck on the other hand, didn’t like someone infiltrating his family, his firehouse where he had been working for, for over five years now. He didn’t like change, and some new recruit had just done that. Infiltrating the place he called home.

Buck’s eyes followed her footsteps, his eyes filled with disapproval. “You hear that Hen?” Eddie grinned as he leaned over to Hen who had just exited the locker room, passing by (Y/n) on her way out. “I think Buck finally met someone who can outtalk him,” he added.

Hen softly chuckled at Eddie’s words as she stopped in her tracks. “I don’t think Buck is ready for this one. He usually likes people who’ll let him win.” she said as she locked her eyes on Buck.

He rolled his eyes at both their laughter, “Oh, come on” he reacted back at his colleagues. “I’m just.. being friendly.” he said, trying to keep his voice as low as possible.

Eddie’s eyes grew with surprise when he heard those words fall off Buck’s lips. “Friendly?” he quipped, “If that’s friendly, I’d hate to see you when you’re hostile.” he continued as he shook his head as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Everyone, give it a rest,” Bobby’s voice cut through the room as he walked in with a clipboard in his hand.

Bobby’s eyes locked onto the new recruit who just exited the locker room. Bobby stepped forward with a welcoming smile, “You must be (Y/n). Captain Bobby Nash.” he held out his hand to her.

(Y/n) stepped forward, shaking his hand firmly. “Nice to meet you, Captain.” she said as she gave him a small smile as the feeling of the jitters she felt when she entered had completely disappeared.

“Likewise,” Bobby said. “I’ve heard good things about you. Welcome to Station 118.” He glanced over his shoulder at the rest of the team, his brow raising slightly. “Though it seems you’ve already been introduced to some of the team.” He continued as he scanned the faces of his team.

“Just breaking the ice, Cap,” Buck said with an innocent look projected on his face as he folded his arms over his chest, sending him a smile.

Bobby sighed as he locked eyes with Buck for a quick second, but smiled as his eyes wandelend back to the female firefighter who was standing in front of his nose. He knew Buck wasn’t good with change, but (Y/n) was a good firefighter, maybe even the best at her old house. Someone they could use in their team. So he’ll just have to suck it up.

“Don’t worry about Buck,” Bobby said to (Y/n). “He’s all bark, no bite.” He added. Maybe a little too hard, so Buck would hear it, purposely.

But the second those words left Bobby’s mouth, Buck’s voice sounded through the space. “Are you sure of that Cap?” He interjected, his eyes locked on (Y/n). Typically Buck, he tried his best to shoot back at her, trying to make her feel intimidated.

(Y/n) smiled faintly, a challenge sparking in her eyes as she glanced over her shoulder at Buck. “Well, then it’s a good thing I know how to handle both.” She answered back.

Hen’s laugh that quickly turned into a cough filled the room, as Eddie and Chimney both grinned at the situation that was happening. They were clearly enjoying the moment that was happening in front of their eyes.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Bobby said, though his tone was light. He didn’t want to let this get out of hand already. “Let’s give (Y/n) a proper welcome and get ready for the day.” He said as he placed the clipboard into his other hand and watched part of his team go towards the new recruit.

Buck on the other hand, had his hand placed on the back of his neck. Not knowing what to do with himself as he watched his closest colleagues making their way towards (Y/n). Buck watched her like a hawk, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Oh and Buck?” The captain’s voice sounded through his eardrums as he quickly turned on his heels and stepped closer to Bobby. “Yeah, Cap?”

Bobby gave him a pointed look as he placed his hand onto his shoulder. “Play nice.” He said as he patted his shoulder and turned away from Buck to go back to his office.

Leaving Buck a little bit confused. What?

He was pulled from his thoughts as he felt Hen nudging him with her elbow. “Hey-“ Buck said, a little offended as he looked at the person now standing next to him.

“Don’t,” she said with a grin as the both of them looked at Eddie and Chim who were chatting with (Y/n). “What?” Buck asked, all innocent as he kept his eyes locked on (Y/n).

“You’re already planning how to one-up them,” she said knowingly as she looked up at her friend. “You just can’t help yourself, can’t you?” she added.

“What? No- I- I would never.” he said seriously, but the moment he looked at Hen, his all innocent look faded and made place for a grin that was spread on his face. He folded his arms over his chest, as his eyes wandered back to the small trio, talking.

She wasn’t wrong.

______

The truck pulled to a stop, making (Y/n) unbuckle her seatbelt and hop out of the truck as she scanned the scene immediately. Basically burning the scene like a picture into her brain.

The scene was nothing but chaos.

A six-story apartment building had partly collapsed, the left side of the building was completely leaning onto the rubble on the bottom of the collapse. As if a part of a jenga tower had fallen.

The side of the collapsed part was completely gone. Almost like you were in some kind of decorating mode of an architect program.

Flames were coming from the lower floor as a loud noise took over the scene. The sound of metal creaking told the team just how unstable and fragile the building was at the moment.

This was her first call she would be doing with the team. She didn’t have the feeling she had to prove herself, but this was a new team, a new house, she had to show them what she was capable of.

Buck stepped out of the truck and directly opened the compartment where he had tossed in his helmet. He let the lid of the compartment lift itself by the gas springs as he locked his eyes on (Y/n) who was looking at the scene.

But he got pulled from his thoughts as Bobby’s voice cut through the noise of the scene. “Hen, Chim, assist with evac and set up a medical triage area. Buck, Eddie, (Y/n), you’re with me on search and rescue. Let’s get in there before this whole thing comes down!” Bobby commanded his team, making his team, including the newest addition nod and calling out they copied what he had just ordered.

With that said, Buck reached for his helmet, getting it out of the compartment he was standing in front of, as (Y/n) took place next to him, quickly sliding her helmet from the compartment too.

He shot a glance at (Y/n), as he followed her towards the other compartment to get their oxygen tanks.

(Y/n) could feel his eyes burning into her skin, into her back as she felt Buck following her tracks to get her oxygen tank as soon as possible. He was getting on her nerves, at least that’s how she felt. But he didn’t even do that much.

(Y/n) got the oxygen tank from the right compartment, and took a few steps back from the truck so she could get ready to get inside. She placed the tank on the ground as she slipped her right arm through one of the loopholes and placed the tank onto her back.

Buck did exactly the same, but as (Y/n) pushed her other arm through the second loop and he placed the tank on his back, he glanced at her. “You ready for this?” he asked her, trying to sense if he could find any spark of anxiousness, or some weakness.

But she was focussed, she didn’t break the routine of preparing herself for going inside the burning building. She didn’t even spare him a glance. “Let’s just get it done.” she said as she stood up and clicked everything in place.

The four of the team that were assigned to the search and rescue entered the building, the air was thick with dust and smoke from the fallen structure. Every size of concrete could be found on the ground.

The entrance hall was a mess, like some kind of bomb had gone off. Broken beams, shattered glass and tons of concrete were spread throughout the space. Bobby scanned the area as he tried to communicate with his team. “We’re splitting up. Buck, take (Y/n) and head left. Check the upper floors. Me and Eddie will take the lower levels. Stay on the radio and watch for falling debris.” he commanded half of his team.

He wanted to roll his eyes so badly, but he didn’t. He knew he’d get a comment from his captain if he did. But why had Bobby paired him with her? Bobby knew he worked best with Eddie, they knew both what the other needed when they gave each other a glance.

But, Buck pushed his pride aside as he nodded at the Captain’s orders. He moved towards the already unstable staircase, as he looked back at (Y/n), who was checking her gear for a split second. “Come on, rookie. Clock is ticking.” he said, a bit annoyed.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes at the words that came out of his mouth. They climbed the unstable stairs, (Y/n) closely following her teammate. Suddenly the building started to shake and shudder violently. As if (Y/n) had stepped onto the vibration plate her mom used to have.

Dust was coming from the cracking ceiling above her, mixed with some small pieces of concrete down the space. But the small pieces became larger within a second, they became chunks.

(Y/n)’s eyes wandered to the ceiling above her as abruptly her stomach turned at the loud sound that overtook the scene. This wasn’t good.

A loud creak echoed from above, little cracks were being created, without a single thought, (Y/n)’s hand was placed onto Buck’s upper arm. She yanked him back on the fabric of his turn out jacket as hard as she could.

“Watch it!” she yelled, trying to be louder than the sound on the scene.

A piece of ceiling collapsed in front of Buck. He paused for a split second as he looked at the large piece of ceiling that could have landed on Buck himself. His eyes wandered to (Y/n), her hand was still holding his jacket, as he shrugged off her hand with a stupid grin on his face. “Relax. Close calls are part of the job.” he said.

He acted like he could’ve been hit by a pillow instead of a concrete ceiling. Was he just trying to be cool, or was he just that stupid? An expression appeared on (Y/n)’s face, which said: are you serious?

“Yeah, we’ll close calls get people killed,” (Y/n) sounded annoyed by his calm reaction. “Try paying attention.” She sighed, but Buck didn’t react to it. Instead he just resumed making his way to the first floor with (Y/n) on his heels, following him in his steps.

The second floor was even worse than the first, half of the hallway had completely come down.

The two of them were carefully but quickly sweeping the second floor right now, trying to search for victims. Cries for help sounded softly through the hall, entering Buck’s ears.

His pace quickened as he worms himself past the debris of the building that had broken and came down. “Someone’s still alive over there!”

His feet were moving quicker than his mind.

(Y/n) followed him, and caught up to him when he scanned the door where the voice came from. “Help! I’m in here! Please!” A female voice shouted, which sounded more muffled.

“LAFD ma’am, we’re coming to get you!” Buck reacted to the woman inside of the apartment, as he was making a plan on how to deal with the barricaded door in front of him.

The apartment door was being blocked by a massive steel beam that had fallen across the frame.

“We need to get this open now!” he said as Buck grabbed the halligan tool that he had attached like some kind of backpack or shoulder bag on his back.

But just when Buck placed his halligan between the door and the metal beam, to get it out of their way, (Y/n) held up a hand. “Hold on. The ceiling is unstable, one wrong move and it’s coming down on top of us.” she said as she inspected the ceiling above the two of them again.

“There’s no time to waste, we have to get her out!” Buck argued, placing the tool once again on the right spot. But just as Buck wanted to start to push and pull, (Y/n) stepped in front of him, placing her hand around the halligan to make him stop. “We do this wrong, and we’re digging out bodies instead of saving lives here, Buck.” she said with a firm tone.

He didn’t even look at her as he hesitated his own decision. His eyes were glued to the halligan, clearly doubting if he was making the right choice. But finally he nodded in frustration. She was right, he was wrong, and he knew it.

Together they quickly set up a support brace to hold the almost collapsing ceiling a little longer in place.

The building started to make more sounds when Buck placed the halligan in between the door and the frame, cracking it open. Cries of the woman grew louder the second the door was opened.

Smoke was taking over the entire room as the woman tried to breath and call out for help through the suffocating air. The woman was trapped underneath a large bookshelf. The multiple books were covering the floor.

Buck rushed across the room as he knelt beside the woman on his knees, “LAFD ma’m, we’re getting you out of here.” he tried to reassure her. “What is your name?” he asked the young woman, who was trapped. While (Y/n) quickly crouched behind the bookshelf, inspecting how it had pinned the female.

The metal frame had collapsed awkwardly, one corner was hitting the floor. (Y/n) planted both her hands against the bookcase, testing without actually lifting it, the weight and position.

The woman grunted at the weight that was being pushed onto her body due to gravity. “Ann” she gasped as she tried to breathe through the pain she was experiencing. “Ann, you’re going to be okay. My colleague will lift the bookshelf so we can slide you out from underneath, okay?” He explained to her as he connected his eyes with (Y/n), basically telling her what to do.

He was doing this on purpose, he wanted to test her. See if she really had it in her to lift that large bookshelf from the ground. But (Y/n) wasn’t going to let him get to her. She was going to lift that if he ordered her to do so.

“Are you sure you can hold it?” Buck asked her, sounding a little bit hesitant. What was he trying to do? Trying to see if she’d chicken out of it and switch places with him? He was for sure second guessing her abilities.

(Y/n) shot him a glare, “Just be quick about it.” she said as her eyes wandered from Buck towards the ceiling once again. “We don’t have much time.” she added as she motioned her head towards the cracks that were spreading across the ceiling.

She placed her boots firmly onto the floor, trying to merge her feet into the floor. She got this.

(Y/n) shifted her weight and pushed against the bookshelf with all her strength she had in her body. She could feel her muscles straining as the bookshelf disconnected itself from the ground.

“Now, Buck!” she gasped, trying to hold the weight.

Not even a millisecond after she told him to get in there, he assessed Ann checking her on any injuries. It almost felt like he was taking his sweet time to check on any injuries. “I can’t hold this forever, Buckley!” she groaned, annoyed.

Buck nodded as he smoothly but carefully placed the c-collar around the woman’s neck and slid her out from underneath. The woman cried in pain as Buck moved her, but once she was moved (Y/n) dropped the large piece of furniture.

In the perfect moment, they’d have asked for a backboard, but since this structure was about to come down, they didn’t have any other choice but to carry the woman down.

(Y/n) tried to catch her breath as she listened to the building, making more and more angry noises. This wasn’t good. “This building isn’t going to hold any longer!” (Y/n) said as she felt her normal rhythm of breathing come back. Buck had the woman in his arms, “Let’s get out of here!” he said as they moved across the apartment again, maneuvering towards the exit of the building.

They made it safely to the entrance of the apartment door again. Step by step, they tried their best to not make the building even angrier than it already was. (Y/n) followed him down the hall. But the building started to shake and rumble, making more and more debris fall down.

Dust was coming from the floor above them, but then another chunk of concrete made its way down. Directly pointed at Buck who was carrying Ann. “Buck, look out!” she yelled, as she gave him a hard push, pushing him out of the way. Just in time to avoid the debris, as the piece of concrete landed in between (Y/n) and Buck.

Buck quickly turned on his heels to see if his partner was okay. He stopped breathing for a second, until his eyes were met by (Y/n)’s. She was okay. For a quick second, they just stared at each other.

“You okay?” (Y/n) asked as she tried to catch her breath again. Buck nodded, “Yeah. Thanks.”

The building started to groan even louder than ever as the hallway started to just disappear from sight. As if someone had clicked on the delete button.

More rubble was crashing down not too far from where they were standing. Buck stumbled as he kept moving, the adrenaline had entered both their veins as they ran.

“Hurry!” (Y/n) yelled as she moved past Buck, grabbing his arm in her action to steady him as they ran down the stairs.

They were only one hallway left from reaching the outdoors again. (Y/n) could feel her legs wanting to cave in from underneath her. She used so much strength in pushing that bookcase up, her legs were trembling.

But she had to push through. She wasn’t going to give up. Pulling Buck on his arm as he was carrying the woman, they ran towards the light that was coming through the door of the entrance of the building.

An ear deafening noise echoed through the building. Making more dust and small pieces of debris falling from above. It sounded like thunder but way more angrier and intense.

Just a few more steps. They were so close.

On the last few steps, (Y/n) pulled Buck’s arm, pushing past herself, giving him just a little more speed.

Buck was just a few feet in front of her right now. Exiting the building three seconds earlier than (Y/n). Another crack sounded through the building as (Y/n) made her last few steps. She dived out the front door, falling onto the pavement as the entire building they were just in collapsed like a card house being blown down by air.

A huge plume of dust was sent in the air mixed with the smoke from the fire from inside. Buck was standing with his back towards the building as he protected the woman from the most dust. The woman was still conscious, but dizzy because of the amount of smoke that had entered her lungs.

(Y/n) pushed herself up, glaring at him as she caught their breath again, for the almost tenth time during this call. Hen took Ann over from Buck, bringing her back to triage as Buck turned on his heels facing the back of the one he was partnered with this call.

“See?” Buck with a grin on his face. “I told you we’d get her out.” he added. (Y/n) wasn’t amused. She closed her eyes as she shook her head softly to herself and sighed. She turned around to face Buck, who was still standing with that stupid grin on his face.

“And if I hadn’t stopped you back there, we’d be under that collapsed building right now.” she shot back, as she stepped closer. She took a deep breath, she had to calm down before she’d actually push him or do something she might regret. ”God, you’re insane-” (Y/n) said as she shook her head again, and walked past Buck making a beeline for triage.

She was not in the mood and didn’t have the energy to argue, but she wanted so badly to knock some sense into that brain.

Buck turned, as he followed her with his eyes. He opened his mouth to argue, but then Bobby appeared in Buck’s line of sight. “Buck, that’s enough.” he said with a sharp tone.

“But Cap-” Buck wanted to defend himself, but immediately got cut off by the voice of his captain. “No, no, no- I don’t want to hear it. Get to triage and regroup. We’re not done here.” Bobby pointed towards the triage, following Buck with his eyes as he walked towards the triage. Buck muttered something under his breath as he held his helmet in his hand.

(Y/n) took off her oxygen tank, placing it next to the ambulance to get some weight off of her. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear as she glanced over her shoulder. (Y/n) shook her head and she placed the oxygen mask by the tank.

“You’ve got your hands full with that one.” Another female voice said. (Y/n) turned on her heels as she heard the female voice talking. Hen was approaching her, giving her a knowing look. (Y/n) sighed as she brushed the dust from her gear. “If he keeps pulling stunts like that, I might actually lose it.”

Hen smiled at her knowing all too well what she meant. She shook her head, “I’ve seen him drive people crazy, but you? You’re giving him a run for his money.” she said.

Another sigh fell off her lips, taking off her helmet which she locked between her arm and the side of her body. She ran a hand through her hair that was covered in dust. “It’s like he’s got this hero complex, but zero common sense. He’s going to get himself or someone else killed one of these days if he keeps this attitude.”

Hen chuckled. “Oh, trust me, we’ve all been there with Buck. He’s got a habit of doing things before he thinks.” she said with a small smile.

(Y/n) crossed her arms, shooting a glance at Buck, who was checking on the victim they had saved minutes ago. “I don’t know how you guys put up with him.” she shrugged her shoulders as she looked at Hen with a desperate look in her eyes.

“Because when it matters most, he comes through,” Hen replied with a small smile as she glanced at the guy she thought of like a brother. “Annoying? Sure. Reckless? Sometimes. But his heart’s always in the right place.” she explained to (Y/n).

(Y/n) scoffed but couldn’t hide the corners of her mouth curling faintly. “Are you sure about that? His heart might be as stubborn as his head.” she said.

Hen laughed as she placed a hand on (Y/n)’s shoulder “Welcome to the 118. You’ll get used to him, eventually. And if you don’t? Well, at least it’ll be entertaining to watch you two go at it.” she told the newest recruit as she retrieved her hand.

(Y/n) shook her head, slipping their helmet back on. “If he pulls another stunt like that, ‘entertaining’ won’t be the word you’re using.” she laughed. Making Hen glance a smile at (Y/n) as they started walking back to regroup with the others. “Oh, I’m definitely going to enjoy having you around.”

_______

It has been quite a few hours into shift, and after the first call of the day. They had a few other smaller calls after the collapsed building one.

(Y/n) was sitting at the kitchen counter, her left elbow placed onto the surface as she had her chin placed onto her hand, reading the reports about what happened on scene. Looking for anything that might have been wrong in the report and they had to change.

It was already late at night, one by one, people were slowly going towards the bunk room, trying to get some sleep. But (Y/n) wanted this work to be done before she’d get to any other tasks. With her eyes locked on the papers that were spread over the counter, (Y/n) read the words in peace.

Buck walked towards the kitchen, on a mission to pour himself a cup of coffee as he swiftly glanced over at (Y/n) on his way to the kitchen. He almost never slept during a twenty four hour shift. He was standing with his back towards (Y/n), as he opened a cabinet from the kitchen and took a second to stare at the mugs on the shelves.

He glanced over his shoulder, looking at (Y/n) for a small second, and then back to the mugs. The feeling of guilt took over as he thought back to the first call of this morning. He let out a soft sigh as he grabbed two cups and got the can of coffee, pouring the two cups full.

With one cup of coffee in his left hand, and another one in his right hand he turned around as he walked over to (Y/n).

“Hey” Buck said, as he set one of the mugs down on the counter where she was reading. “Peace offering?” he added as he pushed the mug forward to (Y/n).

She looked up from her papers, and let her eyes wander to the mug he had placed in front of her. “Thanks” she said as she wrapped her hand around the cup and placed her other hand around it too to catch the warmth.

“Reviewing papers?” he said as he motioned his head towards the papers and placed his free hand onto the counter. Making her nod. “How is Ann? I mean you checked on her at triage.” (Y/n) asked curiously, as she looked at Buck. “She’s lucky, we got her out just in time.” he answered her question as he glanced over meeting her gaze.

(Y/n) nodded, as she let her eyes wander towards her mug again. The silence took over the conversation. It was a bit awkward maybe, especially after them arguing and Bobby coming in between the two of them to stop them.

“You did good this morning.” Buck finally said, breaking the silence. “Holding up that bookshelf.. You’re stronger than you look.” he added. (Y/n) raised an eyebrow, making the corners of her mouth start to curl at the compliment she had just received. “And you’re heavier than you look. Pulling you forward and pushing you almost did me in.”

Buck scoffed and grinned at the words, as he ran a hand through his hair. “’ll take that as a compliment.” he said then, with a smile on his face. (Y/n) let out a soft laugh as she shook her head. “It wasn’t.”

At that exact moment, footsteps on the loft were coming closer. “You two are flirting already? Took longer than I thought.” Hen’s voice sounded. Making the both of them look to their side, finding Hen with a small grin on her face, glancing between the two of them.

“Not flirting!” (Y/n) defended herself, “She wishes” Buck added with a smirk, both saying the words at the same time. (Y/n)’s eyes shot towards Buck, “Keep pushing your luck Buckley.” she said.

Hen laughed as she continued walking, leaving the two alone again.

(Y/n) took a sip from her coffee as she turned her attention back to Buck, as did Buck. “I guess what I wanted to say is.. Thanks. I’d be a mess if you hadn’t pulled me out of there.” Buck continued as he swallowed the sip of coffee.

“You really need to stop acting like you’re indestructible, because you’re not. That stunt you pulled? Not smart.” she answered. Buck pushed himself off the counter as he placed his cup on the counter, his eyes softening. “Look, I get it. You think I’m reckless. And maybe you’re not wrong. But when someone’s life is on the line, I’m not going to waste time second guessing myself.”

(Y/n) closed her eyes for a quick second, as she placed her mug onto the counter too. “That’s not what I’m saying.” (Y/n)’s tone in voice shifted, her frustration overruling her voice, mixed with something deeper. “It’s not about you, it’s about the people who rely on you. Your team. The people you save. You get yourself hurt, and it doesn’t just affect you.” She could feel the tears burning in her eyes, trying to break through the barrier.

Buck opened his mouth to say something back, but her words were coming through harder than he had expected. For once, he didn’t have a quick comeback. She actually made him speechless.

(Y/n) shrugged her shoulders as she glanced away from him. “Just.. don’t make me have to dig you out of the rubble next time, okay?” she said. Buck looked at her for a moment before responding. “Deal” he said then, his voice quieter than before.

Her eyes wandered back, meeting his eyes and for a moment, it was only the two of them. The world around them didn’t seem to exist anymore. Buck’s usual annoying, macho behavior had left the room, leaving only quiet sincerity in his eyes.

“Maybe you’re not so bad after all, Buckley.” (Y/n) said finally, her voice softer than usual. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like you like me.” Buck said as he quickly took a sip from his coffee with his eyebrows furrowed.

(Y/n) rolled her eyes, as a smile appeared on her face. “Don’t push your luck.” she said as she gave him a small push on his arm.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

9-1-1 Masterlist | Next chapter >>>

[nastybuckybarnes]

Stowaway

Pairing: Ghost X Reader

Summary: You find something fun and want to share it with the skull-face man.

Warnings: Language, allusions to violence, fluff, slow burn

Word Count: 2.4K

A/n: another part of my ghost x mouse thing. if any of you have seen Freeform's Siren, i imagine reader to sound a bit like Ryn when she speaks. if y'all have no idea what im talking about, thats okay too, i still love ya!

~*~

You watch the black vehicle as it rolls to a stop, all but the driver emerging.

This is it. This is your one chance and you cannot fuck it up.

Taking a few deep breaths to steady yourself, you slowly keep forward, keeping your back to the wall and successfully keeping yourself hidden in the shadows.

The men outside the armoured vehicle move away, toward whatever their target of the day is, and you use that to your advantage.

You crouch down, the darkness of the night your best friend as you slink closer and closer to the vehicle, glass bottle held tightly in your grasp.

Finally, with your back to the bed of the vehicle, you throw the bottle as far as you can, wincing at the sharp shatter.

Instead of dwelling on making a sound, something that you’ve been carefully trained never to do, you climb into the back of the vehicle and quietly bury yourself under duffle bags of supplies as the driver emerges.

You hear the driver get out, listen as his heavy boots lead over to where the bottle broke, and you let out a soft breath.

Safe for now.

You snuggle up beneath the bags, steeling yourself for a long night.

Somehow, even with the velcro, clips, and pins digging into your flesh, you manage to doze off, waking up only when you feel the vehicle jerk to a halt, the brakes squeaking lightly.

“Good work, boys! First round’s on me tonight,” a muffled voice says.

You tense up as the tailgate gets dropped, bags being lifted from you one by one.

Finally, there’s a pause.

“Uh, Captain?”

You’ve been spotted, you know that, and you knew it would happen. It doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

You’ve seen firsthand what these men can do. You only hope the one you’re familiar with will be around.

“What’s going on, MacTavish?”

Another duffle gets lifted from you and you squint against the harsh light, blinking furiously but making no other move to get up lest you startle one of them.

“What’s this?” The older man asks, his face slowly coming into view.

“Looks like we’ve got a stowaway,” the Scottish one says.

You still make no movements, staying perfectly still as they toss the other bags off of you.

One of them then grabs you by the arm and hauls you to your feet, making you stumble the slightest bit.

“Gimme your hands.”

You don’t fight them as they snap cool metal cuffs around your wrists. Nor do you fight them when they force you to your knees on the hard concrete floor.

Two of them stand farther back with their hands on their guns, the driver and the Scot, and the older man, the Captain, stands tall in front of you.

"Now, why were you hidin' out in the back of our truck, hmm? What're you doin' here? What are you hoping to find?"

You look at each man carefully, frowning when none of their eyes match the ones in your memory.

"Ghost," you finally say.

Soap and Price exchange glances before the older man leans forward, crouching down to be at eye level with you.

"Come again?"

You huff out a frustrated breath then point toward his breast pocket where a pen and a pad of paper lie.

He glances down at it and then, after a moment of careful consideration, slides the items across the floor to you.

You’re quick to scribble something down as neatly as you can with your hands bound, sliding the objects back over to him once you've finished.

There, on the paper, lies the exact same skull that has been strewn on walls and windows, leading them to hostages and intel.

"Ghost. Or no talk."

The men get tense, the two in the back looking at their Captain, waiting for his next move.

Price cocks his head to the side and gives it a shake.

“Listen, sweetheart. You seem nice enough, yeah? Let me tell you somethin’,” he leans closer, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“You’re on my base. You don’t get to call the shots around here. If you wanna sweat it out, fine. I’ll go grab a drink and a nice hot shower, and then when I get back we’ll see if you feel like talking. And don’t worry about being alone - Gaz over there will be keepin’ a close eye on you. Got it?”

His threat hangs in the air for a long while, but all you do is press your lips together and shift back off your knees to sit cross-legged on the floor.

Swallowing his irritation, Price straightens up and leaves the room, Soap hot on his heels.

“Where’re you goin’?” Soap asks when they’re out of the parkade.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. You’re gonna go get the Lieutenant.”

With a nod of his head, Soap is jogging toward Ghost’s quarters.

It takes him no more than five minutes to return, and with him is the big burly man you asked for.

“Better have a damn good reason for gettin’ me up at this hour,” he grumbles, black balaclava covering his face.

He’s dressed in his tac pants and a black t-shirt, thick arms on full display.

Price only nods toward the window he’s staring through, watching you as you look around the garage.

“What’s she doin’ here?” Ghost asks, brows drawing together.

Price chuckles dryly, “was hoping you could tell me. She snuck into the back of the truck unnoticed and stowed away all the way back to base. She’s been… agreeable for the most part. But she won’t talk.”

He’s hardly surprised.

“Drew this and said ‘Ghost or no talk’. Accent’s not from here.” Price turns and looks up at the lieutenant, handing him the picture you drew. “Where’d you find this one?”

Giving his head a shake, Ghost huffs a sigh and pushes into the garage, feet silent as he makes his way over to you.

“Whatt’re you doing here, mouse?” He asks, his voice echoing through the space.

You snap your gaze to his, eyes lighting up the tiniest bit.

Soap walks in after him, hand on his gun.

You shift onto your hip when he’s in front of you, reaching to grab something from your pants but freezing when the other men in the room act.

Gaz and Soap each draw their guns, aiming them at your chest.

"Hands where we can see 'em," Soap warns harshly.

"Easy boys. She's not stupid," Ghost says with a chuckle.

He gives you a nod of encouragement, watching as you move purposefully slowly.

You grab a few items from the waistband of your jeans, sliding the first across the floor to Ghost.

He picks up the small folder, brows drawing together as he briefly wonders how you fit it in there, but those thoughts vanish when he flips it open.

It's full of highly classified documents. Documents that they've been trying to get their hands on for months.

"Where did you get this?" He asks quietly.

You glance at the other two men in the room then back over to him, pressing your lips together once more.

He sighs and glances over his shoulder, holding the folder out to the two men.

"Take this and go get us a tea, yeah?"

They obey without another word, taking the folder and exiting the parkade.

"Where'd you get that folder?" He asks again, crouching down to be at your level and uncuffing your wrists carefully.

"City centre... big..." You frown, searching for the right word, but Ghost knows exactly what you're talking about.

"Warehouse?" He asks.

You nod while rubbing your wrists, happy that he understands.

"If I bring you to a map, can you show me where you were?"

You nod again, pushing onto your knees as he rises to his feet. He helps you up then leads you to the door.

Price, Gaz, and Soap are right outside the door, scanning over the documents within the folder.

"Where are you bringing her?" Price asks, even more intrigued than he was before.

"A map," is all Ghost says.

The three other men fall into a step behind you two, and you try to stay as close to Ghost as you possibly can.

He makes it hard, with his large strides, but you stay all but glued to his side.

He stops suddenly, and you nearly crash into his back, being careful to keep your balance as he turns to a door.

You try to look around him as he unlocks it, but his frame is too broad.

The lock beeps twice then clicks, and then he’s holding the door open for you and motioning for you to head inside.

You do so carefully, eyeing the dark room and shuddering as memories creep into your mind. Memories of a dark cold room with nothing but a leaky pipe.

This isn’t that room. And you’re not alone.

The men enter behind you and then a dim light is flicked on, illuminating what looks to be a board room.

“Here, show me exactly where you found this,” Ghost says, walking over to a map on the wall.

You follow him and inspect it carefully, tracing your finger over a few familiar streets before stopping near the heart of the city.

You tap the spot twice for good measure and look up at him, waiting for his response.

He says nothing, but his eyes are filled with questions.

“How’s a little thing like you get in without setting off alarms?” Soap asks curiously.

You don’t respond, instead you dig in your pants pocket until you find the other souvenir you took.

“For Ghost,” you whisper, holding the USB stick out to him.

He takes it carefully, then tosses it over to Soap.

“Check this. On a secure laptop this time. Don’t need a repeat of-“

“Secure laptop, got it Lt,” the Scot interrupts, turning on his heel and leaving the room.

“Do you know who you stole from?” Ghost asks, capturing your attention once more.

You frown at his word choice.

“I don’t steal. They leave it. It’s mine.”

Price chuckles, “street rats and their squatters rights, hmm?”

You glare at the man with the moustache.

“Not rat,” you murmur, crossing your arms over your chest.

Ghost chuckles and gives you a gentle pat on the head.

“No, rats are vermin. Pests. You’re a harmless little mouse, arentcha?”

You cock your head to the side, looking between him and the other man carefully, trying to understand what he’s saying.

“Once Johnny’s done with that stick we’ll reconvene. In the meantime, bring this one back to her den. Can’t have her roaming around,” Price says, rubbing his forehead.

Ghost gives him a sharp nod.

“Say bye, mouse. Time to go home.” He steps toward the door, holding it open for you.

You follow him, pausing in the doorway and turning to Price and Gaz.

“Bye-bye.” You wave your farewell and the two men exchange glances before each giving you a wave of their own.

Ghost leads you silently through the halls and out of the base, opting to walk rather than drive. S’not far anyway. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to spend as much time with you as possible.

Even though you walk in silence, it feels good to be in his presence. You feel safe.

Finally, as you approach the city, he speaks.

“So you do speak English, cheeky fuck.”

You glance up at him and give your head a small shake.

“Not… not good… not lots.”

He hums, eyes darting around checking for threats.

“S’good.”

You say nothing, only continue walking silently by his side.

He breaks the silence once again, surprising the both of you.

“Why do you help us? Why put yourself at risk for us and our cause?”

You furrow your brows, not understanding the question.

“What does this mean?” You ask.

He chuckles and glances over at you.

“Why help me?”

“Help Ghost.”

“Yes, but why?”

“To help.” You stop walking and grab his hand, giving it a firm squeeze, then put your other hand against his chest.

You stare at your hand, how small it is on the broad expanse of his gear-covered chest, then flutter your gaze up toward his eyes.

“Good man,” you whisper, pressing your fingers harder into his chest.

He swears, through all the layers, he can feel the warmth of your skin.

His upper and lower lashes kiss for a moment before he inhales deeply and chuckles. His gaze softens and he shakes his head, giving your hand a squeeze.

“You must be confused, little one. I’m a lotta things but a good man ain’t one of ‘em.”

You glare up at him and yank on his hand. Though you’re not nearly strong enough to force him to move, he takes a step closer, so close that your bodies are nearly pressed against each other.

“Not confused. Not wrong. Ghost… good man… in here.” You slide your hand up to rest over where you imagine his heart is, your own skipping a beat when he covers your hand with his.

“You’re not wrong? No, never,” he muses, a grin pulling at his lips beneath his mask.

You nod, happy that the two of you are in agreement.

Slowly, you look up at him through your lashes.

The intensity of your gaze has sweat tickling his palms and for a very brief moment he wishes his mask wasn’t in the way.

A soft sigh like the flutter of a butterfly’s wings leaves your parted lips, and then you’re taking a step away from him and toward the dark shadows of the city.

“I go now. Bye-bye, Ghost.”

“This is where I leave you?”

You nod your agreement, taking another step away from him.

“You’ll be safe, mouse, yeah?”

You grin at him and pull out the skull picture you snagged from his pocket, showing it to him proudly.

“With Ghost… always safe.”

A soft smile tugs at his lips and he nods, “always safe with me.”

You give him a small wave then turn around and all but disappear into the darkness, much like you always do.

He stands there for a long while, a thousand thoughts racing through his mind but the one that sticks out like a sore thumb is

Stay.

[azelmawrites]

ive missed you!! :(( I’m so glad you’re thinking abt hange again— might I suggest cowboy/horse rancher hange

I missed the blog and writing and most importantly everyone who was helping me develop the concepts or giving me new ideas to talk about, I missed y’all even more!!! ALSO Hange as a cowboy has my heart. Y’all know what cowboys do to me but HANGE as a cowboy???!!! I remember before I talked about farmhand Hange and rich daughter which was a great concept but this time I wanna lean more into a slightly cliche concept. City girl with the sweet and kind cowboy.

You’re a modern city girl, you’re a fresh university graduate and still clutching onto your hot degree. Your aunt is in need of company and you’re in a desperate need of a break after the hectic life of the city. At least that’s what Hange’s been told by your aunt on one fine Saturday afternoon.

Your aunt’s been very ecstatic about having you around, Hange couldn’t hear the end of it—not like they were complaining or anything, your aunt is a lovely woman and they were glad that the lonely woman would finally have company and someone to look after her when needed, especially after the night your aunt fell on the way back from the bathroom.

Hange didn’t really have any expectations of you, just that you were some fancy city girl with your cool university degree and your cool city life. It’s not like Hange had any hatred for city folk, but they didn’t particularly have the best experiences with them.

They’re all obnoxious and stuck up. With no manners whatsoever.

It was on a hot Tuesday afternoon that your aunt picked up your call, and she drowned you with questions of worry at you being very late to your supposed arrival time. Hange’s mild curiosity is quenched when your aunt says, “Sweet suffering jesus! You stay right there sweetie, don’t you worry! I will send Hange to fetch you right now!”

Then the woman turns to look at Hange and explains, “her car broke down on the way to town, thankfully she is right by the highway leading here—but bad news is that she barely has signal and no one ever comes to this god forsaken town so no one would be able to rescue her—” she’s hyperventilating and Hange places their two hands on her shoulder and calm her down.

“It’s okay, I will find her and go get her fast.” Hange doesn’t even wait for one more second to hear your aunt crying words of gratitude.

When Hange reaches you in their red beat up ford truck, they were taken back at the sight of you.

You were outside your car, leaning against the hood in your tiny jean shorts and equally tiny white tank top, sunglasses on your eyes and your feet clad in brown cowboy boots. It looked like a textbook outfit that you would find if you looked up what to wear in the countryside.

Except people in town don’t actually wear that, none of the women in town wear things like that.

You push yourself away from your car when you Hange exits their car. They can’t see your eyes, but you smile and introduce yourself. Hange shakes your hand, slightly surprised that someone from the city was actually polite to smile and shake hands and introduce themselves.

This had to be the first time it ever happened to them.

“Thank you for coming all this way to get me,” you say and head to open the driver’s door to pop open the hood as you explain, “I think it just needs water honestly, because it overheated and the ac wasn’t working that well before it stopped.”

When Hange took a quick look, your words were true. It was an issue with the coolant water, and it could’ve been solved in five minutes but they doubt a pretty thing like you knew how a car even works.

They wanted to affirm your theory, but it would mean that they could solve it in less than five minutes and you would drive yourself back to your aunt’s house and some other man would lay their eyes on you and want you immediately, and what’s worse you might want them back too.

So, Hange lied, and they didn’t really feel bad about it. “No, the wire for the radiator is pretty messed up too, we need to tow your car.”

Your face blanched, “really?”

“Really.” Hange affirmed, shutting the hood and seeing the luggage on your back seats, “I’ll just drive you to your aunt myself.”

As you stood by your car, Hange strolled over to your backseat without a word and started grabbing your luggage. You opened your mouth to protest but quickly realized there was no point—they were already stacking your bags into their truck with surprising ease.

“I can help with that, you know,” you said, watching as they lifted your heaviest suitcase like it weighed nothing.

Hange shot you a quick grin, wiping their hands on their jeans. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it covered.” They hoisted the last bag into the truck and shut the door with a thud, brushing their hands off like it was the easiest thing in the world.

You stood there, a little stunned by how effortlessly they’d handled everything. “Well, thanks,” you said, trying not to sound too surprised.

“Not a problem,” Hange replied, sliding into the driver’s seat again. You followed suit, glancing over at them as they started the engine.

As the truck bounced along the uneven road, you adjusted yourself in the seat, trying to get comfortable. “Do you always rescue stranded city girls, or am I just special?” you asked with a smirk, your eyes flicking over to Hange.

Hange shot you a sidelong glance, a grin tugging at the corner of their mouth. “You’re definitely special. Not every day someone shows up in boots that look fresh out of a country music video.”

You laughed, playfully nudging your boot against the dashboard. “Hey, don’t knock the boots. Thought I’d try to blend in, you know, get that whole ‘small town’ vibe going.”

Hange raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh. You’re blending in real well, I’ll give you that.” There was a teasing glint in their eyes. “But just so you know, no one here actually wears that unless they’re going line dancing. Maybe if you stick around, we can test how well you can hold your own on the dance floor.”

“Line dancing? I think I’ve only done that with auntie when I was like…four or something?” you answered, unsure. You glance at Hange, catching their own eyes set on you.

“Four? How long ago was that?”

“You’re asking for my age? You never ask a lady her age, I thought you country people knew the basics of manners…” you tsk and roll your eyes playfully.

Hange laughs heartily, the sound filling the truck. “Touché. Guess I walked right into that one.” They glance at you again, still grinning. “But if I had to guess, I’d say… twenty-four? You’ve got that ‘fresh grad but still figuring it all out’ look.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back into the seat with a playful grin. “Alright, now it’s my turn. Let me guess… thirty-five?”

Hange nearly choked on their laughter, eyes widening in mock offense. “Thirty-five? Thirty-five?! You’re killing me here.”

You stifled a laugh, holding up your hands. “What? It’s not that bad. Thirty-five is prime, right?”

“Yeah, sure, if you’ve lived in dog years,” Hange shot back, shaking their head, still amused but clearly not letting it go. “I’m thirty four.”

You stifled a laugh, eyes wide. “Wait, is that offensive? It’s not that much older—just a decade or so.”

They huffed dramatically. “I’m thirty-four, not thirty-five, and yes, it kind of is when you’re still technically in your prime.”

You bit your lip, holding back a grin. “Oh, come on! Thirty-four, thirty-five… it’s practically the same thing.”

Hange gave you a side-eye, clearly trying not to laugh. “Not to us thirty-four-year-olds, it isn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow, leaning in a bit. “Well, you’re not exactly ancient. Plus, with all that wisdom, I’d say it suits you.”

Hange’s playful scowl broke into a grin. “Nice save.”

“Wasn’t trying to save anything,” you teased, “just stating facts.”

They shook their head, chuckling. “Yeah, yeah. Remind me not to invite you to my birthday party though. Next thing I know, you’ll have me hitting forty.”

The car rolls over the pebbles leading to your aunt’s entry, then it stops right before. Hange kills the engine and you just feel the need to say, “thirty five, forty…doesn’t matter, I think you’re sexy anyways.”

Hange’s eyes widened, and they let out a surprised laugh, their cheeks tinged with a faint blush. You smirk, then push the passenger door open and hopping down as your boots let out a satisfying sound as they crush against the stones.

You know Hange’s looking, so you walk with a sway on your hips.

[acotarxreader]

Timing

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: Timing works against you and Azriel as a series of unfortunate events lands the two of you alone for the night with a broken down car and a breaking down friendship

Warnings: Angst, Modern, I don't know how cars work, rough draft writing

A/N: My first modern fic for these guys, hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think of a more modern setting!

Requests Open!

-------------------------------------------

“We're going to die”

“We're not going to die Cassian, calm down”

“We're going to die”

“We're not going to...GET THE FUCK OUT OF THE WAY JACKASS!!!”

“I agree, we're definitely going to die” Rhysand chimes in from the backseat.

“Would you babies calm down for fucksake I know what I'm doi...OI PEABRAIN! YEAH YOU! YOUR BRAIN IS THE SIZE OF THAT GAP YOU LEFT! SHARE THE FUCKING ROAD!.... Bastard” 

“Yup, we're dead” you heard Feyre whine from behind you before launching into a prayer. You swerve the car tightly around the corner, the only way you know how, sending your friends in the backseat skewed.

“Fucking hell YNN!” Cassian grabbed the overhead handle whispering his own prayers. 

“If you cook like you drive then Gods help us” A now slightly green Rhysand adds, helping Feyre to sit back upright and tighten her safety belt further.

“If we even live that long” you hear Feyre whisper.

“The utter lack of faith that my friends have in me is really quite disheartening….who wants to bet I can make all these green lights before they change?”

“No!” They all scream in unison as you laugh and accept the challenge.

The car hit the curb outside of Azriel’s house, it hardly reaching its stop before Rhysand tumbled out onto the grass practically kissing the ground leaving you rolling your eyes from the driver's seat. Cassian lay across the grass alongside Rhysand shortly after, both thanking the Gods to be in one piece. Azriel laughed from the porch of his home, slogging his rucksack over his shoulder before locking the front door and strutting down to his friends. 

“Let me guess, YNN is driving?” You replied with a small wave of your fingertips as you leaned against your car door. 

“Nope no definitely not, I'm driving the rest of the way, I refuse to arrive at the camp in a casket” Cassian rights himself again before standing to remove the keys from the ignition, receiving a dirty look from you. 

“You’re all such cry babies” you laughed, pulling your bag out from the trunk of the car as the rest of your friends tried to fight off the seasickness your driving provided. 

“Shit!”

“What’s wrong YNN?” Feyre rested her head along the headrest of the back seat to meet your eyes on the other side of the car boot. You had begun to pull out the contents of your bag, Rhysand now joining your side. 

“I forgot my medication, I have to go back” the group groaned, causing a guilty feeling in your stomach to form. You were all already behind schedule, with a lot of other college students already well on their way to blackout drunk at the campsite for spring break. 

“I’ll drive you back in my truck for it, let all the others go ahead so we don’t lose our spot?” Azriel offered

“How unusually kind of you Az” You scoffed

“Fine, die, suits me, I’m on music” Azriel shrugged, throwing his bag on top of the contents of yours in the trunk. The two of you locked eyes, a standoff beginning to take shape. The both of you had a rocky relationship at best, it being amplified when Azriel slept with your cousin when she visited last year. 

“Okay but I drive”

“Suits me, I hate driving” Rhysand looked between the two of you, almost certain someone would be arriving at the campsite in a casket. 

—-------------

“YN, if you crash my truck we're going to have some serious issues”

“I paid for gas so therefore it's my truck” you chewed out, the wheel spinning through your hands as you went along the mountain trail, a good two or three hours behind the rest of your friends. 

“That wouldn’t hold in a court of law” You accelerated into the turn, sending Azriel crashing into the car door with a thud. You had been driving for almost an hour, taking one of Azriel's shortcuts that had taken you well and truly off the beaten path through a wooded area.

“Seriously! Was that necessary!?”

“I don’t want to miss out on any more of the fun”

“It’s not my fault we had a leak in the tyre, I never drive this thing, it was bad timing!” he folded his arms tightly into his chest, regretting his act of kindness. The engine screeched at your harsh handling, Azriel clenching his fists until they drained of colour, his leg bouncing off the floor. 

“Stop shaking your leg it's distracting me”

“You’re making me nervous!”

“And you’re making me insane!” Your hand found the knob of the radio, twisting it to release 80’s pop music at deafening volumes to drown out your singing.

“YN! SERIOUSLY! YOU’RE IMPOSSIBLE” He moved to turn it down, you batting away his hand as the car ploughed up the steep incline of the hillside before barreling down the open road. 

“Driver controls the music!”

“It’s my truck!” Azriel shouted back, you drowning him out with George Micheal. Azriel huffed, reaching for the two-litre bottle of Coke at his feet. 

“WAIT A-” It was too late, the bottle practically exploded as Azriel opened it, the speed of your driving shaking every ounce of the liquid sugar. 

“HOLY SHIT!”

“YOU FUCKING IDIOT!!!” You finally slammed down on the brakes, skirting the truck off the side of the road into the dirt, the vehicle screaming out to you. 

“ME?! IT'S YOU WHO'S DRIVING LIKE WE'RE IN A RALLY!"

“OH MY GOODNESS IT'S FUCKING EVERYWHERE!” You ran your hands across your soaked face, the cabin of the truck now tinged caramel brown forevermore. 

“NO SHIT SHERLOCK” He snapped at you

“YOU’RE GOING TO DRIVE ME INSANE!” You shouted down at your ruined clothes. Azriel cautiously lifted the bottle to his mouth as you watched him out of the corner of your eye, infuriating you further and causing you to bat the bottle out of his hands back to his feet. 

“Fucking idiot” You scrunched your eyes together. 

“We’ll sort it out at the camp, it's only another…three hours” he groaned as you rested your head on the sticky steering wheel before exhaling deeply. 

“Its fine, this is fine” You readjusted yourself before turning the keys in the ignition, the truck huffing back at you.

“NO NO NO NO” you banged the steering wheel as the bonnet began to flood with smoke. 

“FUCK!” You threw yourself back against the soaked chair in frustration before leaping out and banging open the hood, followed by a string of colourful language as smoke filled the road. 

“How bad is it?” Azriel cautiously stuck his head out of the window as you attempted to look past the smoke. You stomped to his window, a piece of hot rubber in your hands.

“Oh...that looks like it's important…”

“Yeah it is...was, it's your timing belt...it was the timing belt. We're fucked! All because you don't do car maintenance!” 

“If you didn’t drive like a fucking lunatic it would have been fine!” You gave an exasperated shriek in reply, tossing the rubber to the floor and storming back to the hood of the car, hands on your hips. Azriel texted Cassian before sliding out of his truck to join your side, the smoke clearing. 

“Do you want the bad news or the really bad news?” You replied to him with a glare. 

“Okay okay, they’re already all way too drunk to get behind the wheel and Rhysand called his dad’s mechanic, I sent him our location and he can’t get up here until the morning, it's his kid's birthday” he said almost timidly. 

“Fuck” You cleared your lungs of oxygen, your hands lacing together on the top of your head. 

“And we can’t fix it? I thought you were good with cars”

“I’m not fucking magic, I can’t just pull a new belt out of thin air” You slammed down the hood before whipping the driver-side door back open, the sweet liquid now drying into a pure sticky mess.

“What the fuck are we going to do Azriel?”

“I guess we’re staying here for the night” He left the rusting hood to circle to the back of the truck, extremely thankful he had put your things in the back of it before splitting the group up. 

“We can’t sleep in here, it's disgusting” You huffed, slamming the door. 

“No need to break the door as well-” he regretted the joke once he became the recipient of your famous death stare “-we can sleep in the back” 

“Maybe you can take a look under the bonnet and think of something, you’re the engineering student” You were becoming desperate, the thought of being stuck in the middle of the woods with your best frenemy as night closed in becoming too much to process. 

“I’m doing civil engineering YN” he scoffed, throwing a leg over the back of the truck and spreading his sleeping bag across the freezing metal. 

“Oh great so if it was the road we were driving on that exploded you’d be of some use” you laughed, standing up on the tow bar to aid the swing of your leg into the back. 

“Precisely” He grinned, offering you his hand to help pull you in. 

The two of you exchanged your coke-covered clothing for the spare thicker layers you both had thankfully packed, settling into the small nest you had built in the back of the truck as the stars began to show you their faces in the sky. Azriel dug through his rucksack, fishing out two cans of beer chilled from the night air and offering you it with a smile. 

“We don’t have to miss out on all the fun” he tipped the top of his can off of yours as you both leaned on the cabin of the truck, watching the stars twinkle, hoping it would be enough to distract you from the growing cold. 

“This day has been crazy”

“Sorry I added to your stress YNN” You rolled your head along the metal of the cabin to smile softly up to him. 

“Sorry I drive like a maniac”

“I'm sorry you drive like a maniac too” You swung your hand out from under the sleeping bag to hit him into the chest with a thud as he chuckled.

“Sorry I called you impossible and a bitch YNN”

“You didn't call me a bitch?”

“Maybe not out loud” You laughed to him, finishing off your beer and sinking down further beneath your covers. The night sky was beautiful but the accompanying bite in the air was undeniable. 

“We’re going to die out here” you chattered out, the warmth the beer had provided to your system leaking out as Azriel discarded the two empty cans in his bag. 

“Probably, but at least it's a nice night” his shivering rattled against the metal mattress. 

“Maybe bears will eat us before we freeze to death”

“No bear is gonna catch me”

“Azriel there’s no way you could outrun a bear”

“Who says I had to outrun the bear? I just need to outrun you” his laugh carried through the woods to match yours until the strangely comfortable silence swaddled the two of you until the stress of the day took its full toll, lulling you both to sleep. 

-

The bright sun shone through the slots in the tall evergreen trees, heating the metal of the truck to a cosy temperature until those very rays crossed the path of your eyes, waking you from your deep and surprisingly comfortable sleep. 

“OH MY GOD!” You shot upright, the world blotting into focus, your sudden movement causing Azriel’s breath to hitch as he dragged an arm across his face, your legs still slightly tangled in one another. 

“For fucksake, its like living with a Chihuahua, what the fuck is wrong with you now Lassie?” His hand crossed his chest in an attempt to slow down his heart rate again. 

“Nothing, nothing happened, we were just cold, that's all” you collapsed back down beside him, breath returning to you. 

“Would it really have been that bad if something were to happen?” Azriel laughed through his stretch, the metal mattress a cruel mistress for his back muscles. 

“If you ever tell anyone about this I'll remove your kneecaps” you threaten.

“What? That you tried to make advances and planned this whole thing to get in my pants? No, I would never YNN” His laugh echoed across the hills again as you thought about his previous comment. You groaned again, running your hands through your hair.

“We were just cold, why are you acting like this is the worst thing to ever happen ever”

“Because it is the worst thing” You sat up again and Azriel followed suit, covering the part of him that showed all his cards. 

“Why?”

“WE’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO-TO INTERACT LIKE THIS! I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO LIKE YOU! ” Your hand gestured between the two of you.

“WELL WHAT IF I LIKE YOU?!” his raising voice only matched yours as frustration grew.

“WELL I DON'T LIKE YOU!”

“REALLY!?”

“NO!” In the heat of the moment, you lunged slightly forward, colliding your lips with Azriel’s. His warm hand cupped your face gently as your hands ran across his thighs. You pulled back almost as fast as you lunged forward. 

“Oh my Gods oh my Gods oh my Gods” You leapt out of the truck, pulling your sweatshirt tighter across yourself and began pacing while Azriel stared at you, mouth slightly agape.

“Did you just kiss me?” His voice was low as though trying to speak to a spooked horse. 

“I-” The slam of a car door caused you both to jump as the mechanic rounded the truck with a smile and perfect timing. 

“Right let's get you two love birds back on the road”

“We're just friends!” You quickly shot back, the mechanic giving you a weird look before heading back to the bonnet of the car alongside you. What the hell just happened was all Azriel could think.

-----------------------------------------

Whatcha think?!

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Hurricane

pairing: Joel Miller No Apocalypse x F! wife reader

summary: legit me with hurricane francine yesterday/last night, you guys know i love protective daddy joel. p.s my house is still without power 🫠

The wind whipped fiercely outside, rattling the windows as the sky turned an ominous shade of gray. Joel stood at the front door, staring at the water creeping up the driveway. The outer bands of the hurricane were already making their presence known, and the storm wasn’t even close to landfall yet. His jaw tightened as he wiped his hands on his jeans, adrenaline kicking in.

“Honey!” Joel called, his voice urgent as he hurried toward the bedroom. “We need to pack. Now. The water’s gonna get in the house if we don’t leave soon.”

Y/N appeared in the doorway, holding their newborn close against her chest, her eyes wide with concern. “Is it that bad already?”

“Yeah, it’s that bad,” Joel muttered, grabbing his boots from the closet and throwing them on the bed. “Pack the bags yours, mine, and the kids’. Essentials. I’ll load the truck.”

Without another word, Joel was out the door, his heart racing as he made his way through the garage. The lifted F-150 was their best bet for getting out safely, especially with the rising water, and he wasted no time throwing in bags of snacks, bottles of water, and the kids’ favorite toys. The wind was howling now, rattling the garage door as he loaded the portable crib for the baby.

Inside, Y/N rushed through the house, packing clothes for everyone in a frenzy. Her hands trembled as she grabbed shirts, jeans, and socks from Joel’s dresser, tossing them into the duffel bag. She couldn’t believe the storm had gotten this bad so fast. But if Joel said they had to go, she trusted him.

She scooped up the newborn’s diapers, formula, and bottles, stuffing them into another bag before returning to the living room where their two older kids were huddled on the couch, their little faces full of worry. “Come on, babies. We’re going for a little trip, okay? Daddy’s loading the truck.”

Joel was back in a flash, sweeping through the door, sweat already glistening on his forehead from the effort. He grabbed the bags Y/N had packed and hauled them outside, stuffing them into the back of the truck with barely a grunt.

"Get your pretty ass in the car," Joel growled, his voice firm but soft as he glanced at Y/N, holding their baby in her arms. “Take the kids, millie, and go to your parents’ house. I’ll stay here and make sure the floodwater doesn’t get into the house.”

Y/N froze in her tracks, blinking up at him like he’d lost his mind. “No, Joel. You’re not staying behind. Your safety is more important to me than this house.” Her voice cracked with emotion as she stood her ground.

Joel hesitated, eyes softening as he looked at her. He wanted to argue, but seeing her like this, standing tall in the middle of chaos, broke down any resistance. He let out a heavy sigh, his resolve crumbling. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

He grabbed the last of the essentials and tossed them into the truck, As Joel loaded the last of the bags into the back of the truck, he gave a sharp whistle, the kind that always got their chocolate lab, Millie, bounding over. Sure enough, Millie came trotting out from the porch, her tail wagging despite the chaos around them.

“Come on, girl,” Joel called, motioning toward the truck. He walked over to Y/N’s side and opened the door, making room for Millie. “Hop in.”

Without hesitation, Millie leapt up into the backseat beside the kids, settling in like she knew they were heading somewhere safe.Then Joel climbed into the driver’s seat. Y/N quickly secured the kids in the back, holding the newborn close as she settled in next to Joel.

“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Joel muttered, gripping the wheel tightly as the rain started to come down harder. The water was already licking at the edge of their driveway, but he pulled away just in time, the tires of the truck splashing through puddles as they headed toward her parents’ house.

Y/N reached over, resting a hand on Joel’s arm as they drove, her heart still racing from the panic. “I’m glad you didn’t stay behind.”

Joel glanced at her, squeezing her hand with a small smile. “Me too darlin’, I just want to keep you and the kids safe.” Y/n cupped his check with her hand and said “Wherever you are, we’re safe. “

As the storm raged behind them, Joel kept his focus on getting his family to safety.

The drive to Y/N’s parents’ house was tense, the rain pelting the windshield as Joel carefully navigated through flooded streets. By the time they pulled into the driveway, the winds were howling, and the power was already flickering. Y/N’s parents rushed out to help everyone inside as Joel grabbed the bags and Millie’s food and dog bed from the truck, everyone hurrying to get in before the weather worsened.

As soon as they stepped through the door, the lights went out, leaving the house in darkness. The kids immediately grew scared, clinging to Y/N as they looked around nervously.

“It’s okay, everything’s alright,” Y/N soothed, her voice calm and steady as she knelt down in front of them. “Daddy’s going to get the power back on. We’re safe here.”

Joel shot her a reassuring look before heading toward the back porch with her father. The wind was still howling, but Joel’s focus was on getting the generator running. He filled it with gas and fresh oil, working quickly alongside her father as the storm raged around them.

Inside, Y/N kept the kids close, getting them settled in the living room. The baby stirred in her arms but didn’t fully wake, and Y/N gently placed her back in the portable crib, giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. She tucked blankets around the two older kids, calming their fears with gentle words.

Once the generator was up and running, the hum of power returned, filling the house with a comforting buzz. Joel came back inside, his clothes slightly damp from the rain, and nodded toward Y/N, a proud smile on his face.

“It’s set up outside,” Joel said, moving toward the couch. “The TV’s plugged into extension cord which is plugged up to the generator so we can keep an eye on the news.”

Y/N nodded, sinking onto the couch beside him, her hand finding his as they both exhaled in relief. The kids were now calm, settled on their makeshift beds, and the baby was fast asleep. Millie was asleep in her dog bed, still on high alert.

Together, Joel and Y/N sat in the dimly lit room, the flickering glow of the TV illuminating their faces. The weather report showed the storm intensifying, but they were safe riding it out together as a family.

Joel wrapped his arm around Y/N’s shoulders, pulling her closer as the wind howled outside. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered, kissing her temple.

Y/N nodded, leaning into him. "As long as we're together, we can get through anything."

They stayed like that for hours, watching the storm outside but feeling secure in each other’s arms. Despite the chaos outside, inside they were safe and sound, riding out the hurricane as one.

[thelastofhyde]

hit the road, jack!

pairing. ex!jack daniels x fem!reader synopsis. the last time you sat in jack’s infamous bronco, you broke his heart. now, a year later, you’re sitting in it with a mud-stained wedding dress and he’s driving you back to the man you left at the altar. is one night, a thousand miles, and a well-timed car radio enough to remind you of the love you shared? warnings. road trip au, exes to lovers, runaway bride!reader, mutual pining, miscommunication/no communication, idiots in love, exes in love, minor character death, infidelity, one ( 1 ) comment regarding food restriction, mentions of period, smut ( unprotected piv, dirty talk, sex in public spaces, implied creampie, fairly non-descriptive ) the reader of this fic is mostly non-descript, with mentions of having hair long enough to stick to her neck when wet and hands smaller than jack's. word count. 14.7k hyde's input. quick disclaimer that this fic was admittedly better in my head, but i tried my best :') it unfortunately never got to reach it's full potential as my friends dragged me off on an unexpected trip on friday for my birthday (which is today aka the 23rd). because of that, i've not had time to finish the last few scenes as well as i'd hoped to (it's literally 5 am as i'm editing it bc it's the only chance i've had) but i don't want to post this any later as this is my entry to the #SummerLovin'24 event, organised and hosted by @pedgito, @chaotic-mystery & @amanitacowboy , a massive thank you to them for creating such a fun event. i really enjoyed taking part and i can not wait to sink my teeth into the other amazing fics from this event. if you care to listen, here is a playlist of songs mentioned/featured in the fic.

INTRO — silver springs.

“Time cast a spell on you, but you won’t forget me.”

Stevie Nicks et al chant out of old speakers, a bass blown out over time and an intruding static that demands to play alongside the band. Perched upon the bar counter, they sit adjacent to a cash register that shakes each time it opens, a slam seemingly the only way to close it. The swish of a mop over chequered vinyl flooring and the squeaks of a waitress’ coffee-stained sneakers play to their own tune. The passing of time turns it all to background noise.

Through lunch, through dinner, and two shift changes you’ve survived. Out in the parking lot now sits only a semi-truck, its drivers, two men in scuffed boots and jeans that fray at their seams, the only other customers that remain. One tucks into a Sloppy Joe, the other has fallen asleep against the table, his coffee turning as cold as your own.

You ordered the coffee for nothing more than an excuse to sit a while longer. Time for figuring out what’s next. What you’ll do, where you’ll go, how you’ll get there. The elderly couple who’d been kind enough to take you off the side of the road, moving luggage into the trunk to make space for you in the backseats, are now long gone from the roadside diner.

It wasn’t a sorrowful departure. You were quite happy to see them leave, and take their pitiful glances and unasked questions with them. The looks still linger on in others. Each pair of eyes you’ve encountered, dragging over the expanse of your messed up hair, and your smudged eyes, and your mud-stained gown. It’s not hard to imagine the scenes they play out in their heads, of a bride scorned and abandoned on what was meant to be the happiest day of her life, a day meant for vows and first dances twisted into one of heartbroken wandering and roadside pit-stops.

You wonder if any of them know you’re not the victim, but the aggressor. The one who fled, leaving behind a bouquet of striped carnations, marigolds, and purple hyacinths.

Tires crunch on gravel as a car rolls into the parking lot. Whichever fool sits behind the wheel has their full beams on. A light flickers over your head. It’s been doing so for the past hour, an irritating reflection in the window that steals your attention back into the diner.

The waitress is eyeing you again, a weary look on her face that tells you she wants to approach but doesn’t know how. Maybe she wants to ask if you’re okay, or enquire about the events that led you here, deep in the middle of nowhere. Or maybe she just wants you to close your tab and leave. 

The bell above the door rings as it opens. It’s been a while since you heard it do so. A smile comes over the waitress as she greets the newcomer. Her eyes seem to take them in, slowly. From top to bottom, and right back to the top. Innocent, if not a little flirtatious. She’d not looked at either of the truckers that way. Perhaps this is her lover, here to wait about and keep a watchful eye as she works the night shift. You can’t imagine it’s the safest place in the world for a woman to find herself working through the twilight hours, nothing but open road and sky-rise trees surrounding the diner.

A sip from your coffee. It’s as cold as you expected. Bitter too, having not found your voice in time to ask for sugar. Your stomach growls, a plea for a meal. If you’d only stayed at the venue, you’d be full of vanilla frosting, and smoked oysters, and… had it been the coronation chicken or the roast sirloin the wedding planner had gone with in the end? You can’t remember. What you do remember is her unwanted advice: just stick to some light bites, no bride wants a food-baby in her pictures.

In retrospect, you’d disliked her from the moment you met her. But you had no desire to plan a wedding. And no time either, much to your future mother-in-law’s chagrin. So out she’d gone, a cat on the hunt, dragging home some mousy-brown haired wedding planner as a sacrificial lamb. Better it be her than you who stresses over the shade of napkins, and the taste of merlots, and the seating arrangements.

Footsteps thud against the floor. Slow, deliberate, not a stumble in the way they move. You stare back out the window and spy a cowboy hat reflected in it. It belongs to the waitress’ lover, who by now is likely making his way over to pull her in real close and swoon her with a kiss only men blessed by southern charm possess.

A different version of you, a happier version, used to be kissed like that every morning.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” The voice of a man echoes. Softly spoken, yet loudly heard in the quiet of the diner. In the window, the cowboy hat stands right behind you. You turn slowly, let your eyes dance over its owner. Like a sculpture plucked out of ancient Rome, he’s a fine art only the most delicate hands could shape. He’s brown-eyed affection. He’s an aquiline nose. He’s a well-groomed moustache. He’s Jack. “Think it’s a few miles up north they’re expecting a pretty bride.”

Leather jackets and well-fitted jeans have been traded in for a suit. Simple, classic. White shirt, black tie, a trademark cowboy hat you’d never failed to spot amongst any crowd. There’s a crinkle where a cheeky grin meets eyes framed by full brows and lashes, a scar on his right temple a reminder of the kind of man he is. Dauntless, righteous, brave. An undercover agent, posing as the CFO of one of the largest whiskey distilleries in the world. 

An illusion plays out where no time has passed and his is still the face you come home to each night. A lot can change in a year, however, like the bed you sleep in, or the ring upon your finger.

He welcomes himself into the seat across from you. The protective barrier of a water-ring stained table keeps a safe distance between you both, yet you still feel his knee knock against your own as he makes himself comfortable. One arm stretched over the backrest, the other rests against the table and drums a nervous tune with his fingers.

“You’ve worried a lot of people, darliln’,” his gaze studies you. You wonder if it’s the same look he used to give his targets. The thought sours the sweetness of seeing his pretty eyes after all these months. “Runnin’ off like that, not even a hoot or a holler to let your daddy know you’re alright.”

Your dad. He’d slipped off to the bathroom, a kiss to your cheek and a promise he’d be back in time to walk you down the aisle. What must he have thought, rounding the corner to the sight of a bouquet, abandoned a la Cinderella and her glass slipper. Before you stew in guilt for too long, the rest of Jack’s words catch up to you.

He knew you ranaway. That glimpse of a cowboy hat amongst the pews had not been an illusion.

Jack was at the wedding.

“What happened?” His hand seeks you out. Warm as you remember him to be, large enough to engulf your smaller palm in his. “Why’d you run?” You stay quiet. Shrug your shoulders, eventually, and stare down as his thumb brushes over your knuckles. “You gonna give me a proper answer, sweetheart?”

Another shoulder shrug leads Jack to a sigh. There’s a pause in the quiet tension brewing between you, in the shape of the smiling waitress, pen and pad in hand. Her eyes seem to dart between you both, and you can almost hear her wondering who Jack is, if he’s the man you were meant to meet at the end of the aisle. There’d been a time when yes was the only possible answer to such a question.

“A glass of your finest whiskey. Neat, of course. And how ‘bout somethin’ to please a sweet tooth, hm?” His foot bumps yours beneath the table, calling you to look at him. You meet his eyes, watch him raise his brows in question. “Spied a pretty mean lookin’ cherry pie on my way in. That sound good to you, darlin’?” Your mute staring continues. Your stomach takes control, answers him with a disgruntled growl from within. His head turns to the side, laughing, and he nods at the waitress. “Think she’s gonna need a slice of that pie, miss!”

The right to speak returns to you at last, as you watch the glass of liquid caramel be placed down in front of him, head turning to stare out the window, a familiar Bronco sits poorly parked, obnoxious in the way it treads the line of two parking spaces.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive.”

Surprise flashes over his face, but he recovers quickly, untensing his shoulders as he sinks further into the booth. “Didn't order it for me,” he slides the glass of whiskey over to you. “Eat up, drink up. You need it.”

Though it kills you to admit it, the first bite out of the pie feels like heaven in your mouth. Tart, sweet, with pastry so golden it’s as if King Midas baked it under the heat of his own hands. A sip of the whiskey isn’t so great, but you stomach the burn and accept the erasure of nerves it promises. Your eagerness to clear the plate and empty the glass has nothing to do with the approving smile Jack watches you with.

“How did you find me?” 

“You doubtin’ my skills?” He’s teasing. You know this. Still, you fall into the trap of a panicked head shake, a cough over the final bite of cherry goodness. “I stopped at a gas station. Runnin’ on an empty in the middle of nowhere ain’t on my list of wants, you see. Overheard two kids talkin’ about some bride sittin’ at a dinner a few miles down. Don’t take no Hercule Poirot to figure it was you”

“Oh.”

You shouldn’t feel disappointed by his answer, there’s no reason a man you hurt so deeply would have any vested interest in finding you.

The last you’d seen of Jack was through your car’s rear-view mirror, his tear stricken face watching you drive away, five years of clothes, and shoes, and memories stuffed into your car. He’d begged you not to leave your shared home; offered to sleep in the spare room, give you both time to work things out between you. You’d been the one to declare it useless.

“This isn’t something we can fix, Jack!”

“But, darlin’, I love you.”

“A happy coincidence, I was lookin’ for ya anyway. You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on inside that head of yours yet?” At least this time your mute stare is paired with a head shake. “Look, I mean well when I say this, but darlin’, you’re lookin’ a mighty mess. Now, a pretty mess that may be, but a mess all the same.” His hand is back on yours, squeezing with enough strength to ground you and keep you from floating off into the landscape of your own conflicted mind. “So here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m gonna take a trip to the gents, then I’m gonna square up whatever we owe this fine establishment, and then we’re gettin’ that pretty caboose of yours up'n out of here.”

Frozen where you sit, it takes a few moments for the warmth of whiskey to settle in your bones, lurching you forward when it does, a gasp and a tight grip at his wrist, holding him back before he can stroll away from the table.

“Where are we going?”

“For a drive, sweetheart.”

TRACK 1 — vienna

You and Jack are no strangers to a late night drive.

An entire love story, told within the confines of four wheels and a chassis. The very night you met, you wound up in his passenger seat, arms up in the air and the wind blowing through your hair, the charming cowboy next to you taking every joyful laugh as a plea to go faster, nothing ahead but the open road and a southern voice crooning out of the radio. Too lost in your own head, that’s what he’d claimed you to be, having strolled up to a lonely-you in a crowded bar, lamenting over a glass of bitter white wine, freshly fired and with no real clue of what you were going to do next. Never one to entertain a stranger, you’d tried to brush him off, but he flashed that smile and invited you, so tenderly as the intro to a Bruce Springsteen song began to play, to just give him one dance.

One dance led to unimaginable love.

As time passed, a relationship burst into full bloom, the imprint of you carved into the car’s leather. Jack insisted you grow accustomed to the life of a passenger princess. He picked you up from work, drove you to all your girls’ night outs, sacrificed hours of necessary sleep to drop you at airports, and train stations, and whatever other public transport your work trips demanded you to travel upon. But how could you dream of saying no when you got to ogle the view of him, one hand on the wheel, the other on your thigh, effortlessly manoeuvring his beloved vehicle. 

The car came on couples' vacations, too, road trip getaways. Up north, past the Canadian borders, and down south to the skyline of Mexico City. Out west, a trail up to the Grand Canyon, the Empire State Building in the east. But the late night drives, those were your favourite. Times when life felt too much, with work stressing you out, or your parents giving you grief, or a stress headache gnawing away at your remaining sanity, Jack would tug you wordlessly out into the driveway, buckle your seatbelt, and drive off into the night. Roof down, radio on, the cool breeze clearing your mind.

The only breeze you feel now blows in through an open window.

Pulling away from the diner, Jack turned the wheels south, out into the dark of the night. Trees wall the road in, a never ending sea of pine-green lit by headlights, the looming presence of a dark, dangerous, rumbling sky above. A storm brews ahead, awaiting the perfect moment to crack open and drop a downpour on the world. Little words have been exchanged between you, most of them spoken by Jack, as he tells you about the nightmare he had checking in at his hotel, and the difficulty he had finding the venue, and just how beautiful you look in your dress, tears tracks and messy hair aside. Softly playing over the radio, Billy Joel seems to speak to you, pleading that you slow down, you crazy child.

“D’you remember our trip to Vienna?”

Your head snaps over to Jack. His eyes remain on the road ahead, and a part of you is thankful, unsure of how you’d fare gazing into them as melancholy tangles itself in their shades of brown. The other part misses how it used to feel to catch him watching you from the driver’s seat, affection incarnate as his loving gaze burned heat into your cheeks, your own voice pleading him to pay attention to the road, the light’s already green, Jack!

“How could I forget you almost getting us kicked out of Saint Peter’s church?”

“Hey, now darlin’, let’s not start playin’ the blame game!” His head turns once in your direction, a teasing smile splashed upon his rosy lips. You try not to think about how you’ve felt that very smile pressed against your mouth, memorised the shape of it so perfectly you could draw it with your eyes shut. “You knew what you were doin’ wearin’ that pretty little sundress.”

The dress in question had been a purposeful attack, an attempt at getting payback for the night prior, in which Jack found pleasure in reducing you to tears, begging for release hour after hour, after hour of edging touches. Never the best at putting up a fight against his pouting lips, pleading eyes, and filthy tongue, you’d caved into his hands the moment they skimmed their way up the length of your thigh, the watchful eyes of any Lord above be damned.

“I still dream of the garden’s at Schönbrunn Palace,” a sigh floats out of you as your brain hits play on a kaleidoscope of memories of strolling the grounds, hand in hand with a man you’d imagined yourself being with for the rest of your life.

If I asked you to marry me, would you say yes? He’d asked, as you watched a couple get engaged before your very eyes.

Promise me we’ll get married here, and I’ll consider it.

“I still have nightmares of the boat.”

“The boat!” The patterns in the kaleidoscope shift into images of a viennan skyline reflected upon glassy waters, a city cruise dragging you down the canal. “I still can’t believe you fell off it!”

“I jumped.”

“Backwards? Just admit it, you fell into that water!”

“I jumped, to make you laugh!”

“Oh, don’t worry, me and the coast guard were definitely laughing!”

A silence settles between you both. Jack drums his fingers along to the closing notes of the song, your foot does the same. It crosses your mind that this, in itself, may very well be a dream. Sitting back in the Bronco, staring over at Jack as he drives you both into the aimless night. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s visited your dreams.

You watch him inhale, deeply. With a blink, his eyes reflect the moonlight, glassy with unfallen tears, the image of him too beautiful to be fiction. 

“Sometimes I wish we’d never left Vienna.”

His words cut you deep, the sorrow he speaks them with cuts you deeper. Barely a week back in your own home, suitcases still unpacked, pulling into the driveway hours after the unexpected funeral of a friend, you broke both your hearts.

All that goes up must come down and, in the very same place your relationship started, it ended. Sat across from him, rain beating down on the windows, tears trailing down your face. He begged you to stop before those words came out of your mouth, tried his best to switch the engine back on and pull out into the road. You’re just stressed, darlin’, he’d said, a deceptive whine in his voice cracking his straight-faced facade. Just need to clear your head, right? Lemme take ya for a drive. It was too late, your own hand curling back around the handle and forcing the door open, the water from outside flooding in. I’m sorry, I can’t be with you. Not anymore.

“Yeah,” you exhale, shaky. Swallowed emotions, a tight lipped smile, eyes that search for sanctuary out the window. “Me too.”

In the wing-mirror, lighting crashes amidst the sea of pine-green.

TRACK 2 — purple rain

A perfect summer’s storm.

Mother nature’s mid-June release of pent-up heat, making space amongst the skies for what’s yet to come in the scorching months of July and August, the last of any rain to be seen until September brings back the sombre skies and cooler weather. The rain falls heavily, a persistent thump-thump-thump of water that bounces off the car’s roof, bonnet, windows. In the sky, thunder roars an angry sound, each one louder than the last, followed by an even brighter flash of lighting that electrifies its surroundings, turning the black night into shades of violet, and midnight, and indigo, and purple.

“You’ve not bought any new albums? None at all?” The question comes as you flip through Jack’s collection of discs, a notable lack of change in his roster since the last time you’d sat in his car.

This lack of change is likely not without good reason, like the lack of time to go CD hunting between secret missions to save the world, or a general lack of interest in newer records. He’s always been a fan of the old fashion, after all, the home you’d once shared made up of collections of vintage whiskeys, and classic records, and faded wallpaper that he convinced you gave the kitchen charm.

“Nothin’ new since…” His eyes shift over your way, the look in them enough to wordlessly end his sentence. “You were always the one buyin’ me music. Said you didn’t want me get-”

“Getting bored on missions,” impulse seems to be what forces you to speak, an honest smile sent his way. “I remember.”

It had been a while into your relationship, with i-love-yous and apartment keys exchanged, until the truth of Jack’s job came up.

On your first date, he’d told you he was a businessman. A few dates later, he specified that he was an investor, dipping his fingers into the honey jar of some classically Texa whiskey distillery. Only a half lie, and not one that was hard to believe. Every fibre of his being, stitches and loose threads included, made sense as a man in the business of selling whiskey. The overzealous amount of Statesman whiskeys occupying the shelves in his apartment, the photos he’d send of the view from his high-rise office, the endless number of suits and ties that occupied his wardrobe, even his damn name, Jack Daniels. 

Then, out came the truth.

A phone call from one of Jack’s co-workers, Ginger, lasting no more than five minutes and of which only three words mattered: Jack’s been shot.

A bullet through his head. Any ordinary man would have died. Yet there was your Jack, eyes open, a measly bandage over his temple, and standing up-right. To your own credit, you managed to keep a grasp on your sanity long enough to drive him home, cook him dinner, and sit yourself down across from him at the table. But when he pricked his finger on the tip of his knife, the rivulet of blood dripping down his finger was enough to send you over the edge. Open mouthed sobs, hands clinging to him the instant he sank down on his knees at your side, tears staining every inch of his white cotton t-shirt.

You could’ve died, Jack.

Now how could I go dyin’, when I got such a pretty reason to live for?

You begged with questions, he promised with answers. Hands intertwining with your own, a gentle voice guiding you out the apartment, the soft slam of a car door closing. He turned the key in the ignition, pulled your hand up to his mouth for a kiss, and drove you both off into the night. Under the melodic fall of rain beating down on the car, you came to terms with three facts: Jack was involved in the business of selling whiskey; Jack was otherwise known as agent Whiskey, esteemed senior agent to the Statesmen secret intelligence agency; and Jack was not often shot- at least not in the head.

Arriving home that night, with the rain falling heavy on your front lawn, you’d tried your best to dash from the car and into the house but Jack had other plans. He’d gripped your hand, and pulled you close, and kissed you under the flash of lighting. And when you dared whine that your clothes were soaked, he held you tighter and let himself guide your body into a gentle sway, two lovers under the moonlight and the storm. That night had ended with a fatal promise from Jack, your limbs entangled upon a shared bed, his lips pressing into your forehead.

I promise I’ll always come home to you safe.

“Don’t need no discs anyway, already got all I need right here,” Jack’s impeccable timing, seemingly sensing the shift in your demeanour. It’s like he knows what you’re thinking about, and trying to drag you out of the past and back to the present, his fingers stretching over to turn the volume up. A familiar set of haunting chords plays over the radio, a grin instantly appearing on his face. “Shit, they even got Princ-”

“Stop the car.”

“Huh?”

“Just pull over, Jack!”

Despite the confusion, he abides by your words, foot pressing down on the break, hands steering the wheels off-road, fingers switch the car off. Without the hum of the engine, the rainfall grows louder, the view out the windscreen suddenly blocked behind a wall of flowing water. The radio plays on, the voice of an angel singing lyrics that so aptly match the purple shades painted across the sky by the storm above. There’s a cautious echo of your name, and, for a moment, it’s easy to forget this is the first time you’ve heard him actually say it in over a year. It feels like just yesterday he was calling out to you, begging with solutions you weren’t willing to give.

Your heart beats with a longing to escape your chest, hard and steady against the cage that is your ribs. Your eyes fill with emotions from the past and of the present, as every version of yourself that’s sat within this car comes together as one. Your hand curls around the silver grip of the door, pulling it open and lunging yourself out into the pouring rain.

Under the storm's wrath, you’re reborn. Baptised by mother nature, a soul cleansed of all its prior troubles, returned to you brand new and free of heartbreak. As the rain soaks your face, your neck, your dress, it washes all the pain away. Breathing easy, head tilted back, eyes closed. It's the feeling of being alive, an anomalous euphoria found only beneath a thunderous sky. The tears that dare fall here mean little, a known comfort that they’ll mix with the rain and be swept away.

Enthralled under the moonlight and barefoot, you drift on through the trees that line these woods, chasing the sweet promise of petrichor. You’re unsure if it comes from the sky, or the trees, or Jack, but something calls your name. A fallen tree trunk becomes your own personal tightrope as you dance over the length of it, one careful foot in front of the other, arms stretched out to the heavens above. All it takes is one misplaced step and you lose your footing, slipping over moss and bracing for impact that never arrives.

“Heaven to Betsy, darlin’!” Jack’s hands, warm as a summer breeze, catch you by the waist, your shoulder socking him square in the face as you fall back into his figure. He makes no complaint of pain, taking it like a champ and placing you back down on steady ground, upon unsteady feet. “Did’ya sneak a few extra whiskeys when I was takin’ a leak?”

You open your mouth to reply, to deny, but the rain comes to a stop, and the thunder no longer rumbles, and the moonlight breaks through the parting blanket of clouds, and you’re suddenly so aware of how close you both are.

Like his hands, do his lips still feel the same? Soft as a feather, pillowy as a cloud, as sweet as a peach? It’s not something a married woman should be thinking about another man, about the man another version of her had loved.

But you’re not a married woman, are you?

Wet to the bone, it's as if your wedding dress has shrunk, possessive linen meant to warn you away from leaning forward till your face meets his.

“Careful where you point those eyes, sweetheart. Don’t go givin’ me a reason to make a dishonest woman out of you.” His warning only makes you want to lean in more, test just how dishonest he’s willing to make you, in a dress you wore for another man, upon a forest floor covered by moss, and mud, and rainfall.

He’s stepping back and holding out his hand before you can even try, saving you the trouble of mixing up your head even more. 

Careful steps back to his car, where the radio plays on as Prince’s voice slowly fades out. The headlights are back on, the key sits in the ignition, and you half wonder just how quickly he chased after you, abandoning his precious car so carelessly at the side of a darkened country road, free for any Tom, Bill, or Sally to claim for themselves.

“You’re lucky I got spare clothes in the back,” Jack’s voice echoes out from where he stands, bent at the waist, and rummaging through the floor of the back seats. You want to think he’s not going this on purpose, putting himself on display so obviously, but it feels easier on your conscience to blame him for your own inability to stray your eyes away from how snugly the soaked dress pants hug his behind. “Ain’t no hope in hell I’d let you in my car, all drippin’ wet.”

“You never used to complain about me being wet in your car.”

It’s a quickfire response, the kind you don’t quite get the chance to think over before you say it. Though it may shock your own ears to hear, it seems to shock poor Jack more, the smack with which his head hits against the car’s roof loud enough that you almost feel it in your skull.

You rush over to his side, dress dragging through more mud, and more leaves, and more broken gravel. No chance to even rest your hand upon his arm, Jack’s already pulled himself out the car to face you, a splash of pink brewing across his cheeks and a hand soothing over the back of his head. In the backseats, his hat lays abandoned, knocked off in the commotion.

“Can’t just be sayin’ things like that, darlin’,” he says as he holds out a change of clothes for you, smugness in his voice yet a shake in his hand. “Not unless you’re tryin’ to give old Jack over here a heart attack.”

In silence, you both turn your back on each other. Jack does so in spare of your modesty, and you, in search of someplace dry to lay down his clothes. You do so upon the passenger seat, hands immediately contorting every manner of way they can to reach the dress’ buttons that span down the length of your spine, each more finicky than the last. You manage to free only two, in the very centre, before you sigh and wonder if the entrapment you feel in the white gown could get any more literal than this.

“Jack,” it only feels right to seek out his aid, you tell yourself, the sooner the buttons are undone, the sooner the dress will be off, the sooner you’ll be changed, and the sooner you’ll both get back on the road again, destination unknown. It only makes sense, really, so who could blame you when you say, “come help me out my dress.”

No reply comes your way.

At first, you think he’s not heard you. Then, you worry that he has, and is choosing to ignore such a request, thinking it best he keeps his hands away from any act that involves undressing you. Then, fear that you’ve given him that heart attack after all. Fingers brush wet hair off your shoulders before you can turn to check on the cowboy.

Cicadas scream out into the night, and some faceless host rants over the car radio about the rising conspiracy theory of spycams in childrens’ toys, and your heart beats louder than any set of drums could ever hope, but all you can hear is the steady breaths Jack pulls in and blows out behind you, so close you feel each exhale brush your skin. His fingers do so too, with each button they pop loose, each inch of skin he reveals.

Before you can ask him to touch you with more than just his mouth and breath, his own voice fills your ears.

“I used to dream about doin’ this someday.”

“I think we both know this isn’t the first time you’ve gotten a girl out her dress, Jack.”

“Is your mind ever anywhere but the damn gutter?” A pinch delivered against your left side, a chastising tsk accompanying his words. “I meant that I dreamt about this, me helpin’ you take your weddin’ dress off.”

There’s an audible hitch in your breath, one that perfectly tells Jack everything your own voice seems to fail to. Air stings at your eyes, yet you refuse to blink, too aware of the tears building within them. His warm hands dance back up your spine as the final button is loosened, tracing slowly over skin he’d once memorised, a missionary returning to the land it once knew.

Your dress falls to the floor.

“‘Course I never thought I’d be doin’ it on the side of the road, but beggars can’t be choosers.”

TRACK 3 — lover you should’ve come over

“Wait, are these pyjama pants?”

The realisation dawns upon you twenty minutes after you hit the road again. Confined to the small space of the Bronco with little to look at— besides Jack, his clothes still damp and smelling of summer rain, a towel laid over his seat— you’ve resorted to the finer details, picking apart the scraps of clothing he’d handed you. A plain white t-shirt that, when paired with one of his tight-fitting jeans and a corduroy-lined leather bomber jacket, becomes a Jack Daniels staple. You find it best to ignore how it smells of campfire, and sweat, and the cologne you’d bought Jack on your last anniversary. He’s paired it with a pair of blue chequered pyjama pants, loose-fitting yet tied securely around your waist by a fraying draw-string.

“Took myself and the old gal up to Alaska a few weeks back, chasin’ after a view of the Northern Lights.” There’s a flash of something hot, bright, green as you register his words, myself and the old gal, tamed and dampened only when you remember that’s what Jack calls the Bronco, his old gal. “I was livin’ out my car the whole trip, figured it was easier than trynna find some inn out in the middle of the Alaskan woods. In fact, if you check down there, pretty sure you’ll find some uneaten energy bars I packed for the trip.”

He seems to point aimlessly down at a space around your legs, hand back on the wheel and guiding the wheels around a harsh bend before you can truly pinpoint what he’s referring to. You settle on the glove compartment, sitting upright and reaching a hand out to pop it open.

Then you remember what it houses, the weapons Jack carries in there. The lasso, the whip, the pistol, the bullets. A sickness burns your throat, your eyes unable to even glance down at the opened compartment, instead searching for Jack’s own eyes that stare back with equal amounts of surprise.

“I forgot those were in there.” He steals the words right out your own mouth, a nervous chuckle following them. You’d known to never touch the dreaded compartment, for your own sake, too eager to forget about the parts of him that made him an agent, the parts of him that put him in danger. “You can read ‘em, if you want. They were written for you anyway.”

Confusion floods the soul, curiosity winning over survival and dictating that you muster the courage to turn your head, take a peak at what sits inside the glove box. When you do look, you find there’s no whip nor pistol, no piece of Agent Whiskey in sight. What is there are the energy bars he’d promised, a hiking guidebook of sorts, a map, and a stack of wrinkled envelopes.

One glance back at Jack, he encourages you to take them with a nod, and so, you do. Feel the weight of them all in your hands, do your best to not drop any as you pull them out onto your lap. They scatter all over you, each a different shade of white, unopened and all sporting a red return to sender stamp. All appear addressed to the same place, and it takes only a moment of wondering why it seems so familiar for you to realise.

It’s your old address.

“They’re all labelled with dates, I wrote the first one a few weeks after you left. Wasn’t sure where you’d moved to, I figured there was a chance you’d gone back to your old place. I never forgot about how much you loved that apartment,” he says, and you did. Leaving it behind had been hard, the first real home you’d made for yourself since moving out of your parent’s place, the first space you made your own in the world. The idea of making a new space with Jack, a place you could build together, share together, had outweighed the pain of saying goodbye to your little one-bed apartment. “Wrote the second one because you didn’t reply, and I was missin’ you. Then I just kept writin’ em, and sendin’ em, and waitin’ on you writin’ back, even if just to tell me to get lost. I got a note back, along with the letters, but it wasn’t from you. Some older couple moved in to your old place, told me they’d been keepin’ em all safe incase you ever came round to collect your old mail, but they figured it was time I stopped writin’ to a ghost.”

Attentive to his every word, you search for the letter with the earliest date. Sent two weeks after things ended, with a colourful stamp and a seal that’s slightly opened at the edges, the glue’s hold loosening with time and neglect. You tear it open completely and unfold the sheets of paper found within, eyes drawn immediately three quarters down the page.

I saw our friends tonight for the first time since you left. They asked how you’re doing and where you were. I thought they were just being cruel at first but no, they didn’t know about the break up. I told them you weren’t feeling well, that you decided to stay home tonight. I guess I just wanted one more night where you were still mine, even if it was just in the eyes of our friends. I will tell the truth next time I see them.

You feel as though you’re invading his privacy, reading over words he’d written months ago, despite being the intended audience. That doesn’t mean you have the willpower to stop, however, eyes diving deeper down the page.

Or maybe I won’t have to tell them. Maybe, next time I see them, you’ll have come home. There’s still a chance for us. I believe it because I love you. You said this wasn’t something we can fix. I think you’re wrong. There’s never been an issue we couldn’t solve by talking it through, why should this one be any different? Let’s get coffee, darling. Our usual place, our usual time, next Tuesday. We can get through this, you just have to let me know it’s something you want, that I’m something you still want. 

Jack’s quiet in the driver’s seat, forgiving with the time he gives you to read over his letters. When the turning of pages and the ripping of envelopes rings too heavy in the car, your shoulders tensing up in a discomfort of disrupting the peaceful silence, he wordlessly turns the radio back up and the voice of Jeff Buckley greets you both.

You return to his letters, the second he’d sent already open in your palm.

I went to our usual spot. You never showed up. Your lack of reply to my letter should have been enough to tell me that, but I still had hope. Maybe I really am a fool. Our friends seem to think so. I told them about us and they immediately asked what I’d done wrong. There was no answer I could give them. The worst thing isn’t just that I’ve lost you, it’s that I don’t even know why.

You open the next envelope, and the next one, and the next one, paragraphs melting together into a heartbroken shape.

I tried to sleep in our bed. I lasted half an hour before crawling back to the guest room.  Our room just feels too empty without you. I smell you everywhere no matter how many new sheets I buy.

Eggsy and Tilde got married. It’s the first wedding I’ve been to without you. I’m doing a lot of firsts without you recently. I hate it. Our friends (am I wrong to call them our friends? I’m not ready to just call them mine) tried setting me up with someone new. They showed me a picture and she’s beautiful, but I just kept comparing her to you. Against your beauty, she’s nothing.

Your mother was at the Statesman ground tour today. I was surprised to see her, she already done the tour years ago. I tried not to talk about you too much, I didn’t want her knowing how desperate I am to hear about you. Congratulations on your promotion, I always knew you’d get it. I’m so proud of you for finally applying for it. I heard you’ve started seeing somebody, a veteran turned mechanic. Your mother was kind enough to give me his name. I hope you understand that I don’t want to invade your privacy but I had to make sure you’re safe. The guy’s got a clean slate, other than a sketchy trip down to South America with some other vets. He seems like a good man. I want you to get your happy ending. Are you happy? I’m not. 

Only one envelope remains unopened. The weight of it sits heavy in your lap, a fear settling in that has you not wanting to open it. You study the front of it, find out it was mailed three months ago. The radio moves in sync with you, it seems, the song that plays reaching its climatic moment at the same time as you do, tearing open the final letter. Next to you, Jack clears his throat and wrings his hands over the steering wheel.

This last one, you read the letter in full.

Darling girl,

Spring came faster this year. The daffodils you planted bloomed in early March. I’ve been tending to the garden, I know how much love you put into it. The flowers are coming up alright, the fruit and vegetables not so much. If only I had your green thumb.

I visited Tequila last week. I don’t know if it’s right to call him that anymore. Champ’s still not named his successor, part of me thinks he wants to retire it. That’s not what Tequila would’ve wanted. He would’ve wanted Ginger taking on the mantle. The grounds he’s on are beautiful, if not sombre. They overlook a lake, and the grass is cut everyday, and the sun shines on his grave from sunrise to sunset. I didn’t say much to him, just sat and enjoyed the view. Thought about a lot of things, and finally realised why you left.

You were scared. For me. I thought you were being selfish, breaking my heart like that, but I finally understand how awful that day must’ve been for you. We’d just buried my comrade, our friend, and you had to watch Tequila’s wife say her last goodbye, knowing it was almost me in that casket and you on the podium. That was my mission he went on, I could’ve been the one who didn’t come home to the woman I love.

I’m sorry I took so long to understand. I retired from my position at Statesman. I’m agent Whiskey no more. I’m coming to find you, and hope you give me one last real try at fixing us.

Love always,

your Jack.

“Your wedding invitation found me first,” Jack says, foot off the accelerator, eyes off the road, hands on the wheel.

The weight of his stare drags down to your lap, where the heap of papers now all sit, piled atop one another and rustling with every movement you make. Your own eyes have welled with tears that slip down the apples of your cheeks and splash the papers below, smudging the ink.

The confirmation of his invite knocks out the questions of how he wound up in the pews.

“I didn’t invite you,” you’re unsure if the truth is crueller than fiction. No part of you wants him to think you’d be so spiteful, so hurtful as to invite him to a day you’d once promised to share together. “I didn’t invite anyone. I was… busy, with work. My mom dealt with the invites, she must’ve written you down by accident.”

Your lips may be the ones to say it, but your own ears struggle to believe. Your mother’s always been a meticulous woman, practical, with her affairs eternally in order. The only mistakes she makes are the ones she means to.

“Yeah,” Jack sighs out from the driver’s seat, resignation in his voice. “I figured you didn’t invite me.”

TRACK 4 — 50 ways to leave your lover

Jack drives deeper into the night.

Out the car window, you watch as the world flies by, a blur of unlit trees and unmarked road signs. Earlier’s storm has rolled away and revealed the blanket of stars above, twinkling alongside a full moon. The road is long, and winding, and seemingly never ending. There’s no discussion of destination, no sanctuary you’re waiting to reach. You feel no urgency for it, either. So long as you sit right where you are, passenger in a car, you don’t have to take the wheel, you don’t have to choose where to go, or what to do. You can just exist within this liminal space, where no wedding lies in the balance and no hearts lay broken.

It’s just you and Jack, like the old days, going for a drive.

“Ask me,” permission comes off your tongue as you observe the driver and his less than subtle glances your way. “I can see the wheels turning in your head. Everything you wanted to know in the diner, I promise I’ll answer this time.”

“I guess I’m tryin’ to put myself in your shoes, figure out what was runnin’ through that pretty head of yours,” Jack is, at his core, a gentleman. For hours, he’s let you sit beside him, biting his own tongue and fighting back his own curiosity, a trait so vital to his existence it led him into a world of spies, and guns, and movie-esque kinds of evil. Even now, with your promised approval, he eases his way into his questioning, the part of him that knows you better than your own self dictating that this is something he must address with care.  “How’d you do it?”

“I just slipped out the back, Jack,” there’s a chuckle of sorts that welcomes itself out the depths of Jack’s chest, your choice of words going hand in hand with that of the Paul Simon record reaching its end over the radio. As quick as the humour appears, it goes, leaving nothing but the unfortunate reality of the situation. “Someone left a door open, it led out onto the back gardens. The further away I got, the faster I started to run. I made it all the way past the highway on foot before an older couple pulled over. They dropped me off at a diner, and that’s where I stayed until-”

“Until I found you,” it’s a reminder you shouldn’t want, the image of Jack setting off to find you in the midst of the commotion of a missing bride. It’s not healthy for your poor psyche, already at odds with what it wants, no need for further complications brought on by unresolved feelings. You can’t help but smile at him, however, no filter strong enough to cover your subconscious’ joy. “Why did you run away?”

Your smile fades.

The promise you made is already at threat of being broken. You thought there’d be more questions, more time until he hit you with the heaviest of them all.

Why did you run away?

You know the answer. Of course you’ve known the answer, from the moment you decided to turn on your heel and sprint down the halls, in search of an escape. As much as you can pretend otherwise, and feign naivete, you can’t change the truth. That doesn’t mean you’re ready to admit it out loud, and so you refute it with a question of your own: “Why did you come to the wedding?”

It would be easy to forgive Jack for getting irate when faced with your avoidant response. He doesn’t even acknowledge it. Instead, he spins the steering wheel and shoots you a smile, the kind that used to keep you warm at night.

“I wasn’t goin’ to come at first,” comes his admittance. You can’t say you blame him, really, a picture of yourself in his shoes, receiving an invite to his wedding. The thought conjures a painful throb from your heart. “Nearly tossed the damn thing into the fireplace when I got it. A few weeks later, I met with Champ for a drink. Drank myself blind, till I started tellin’ him all about the invite. He told me I had to come.”

A lift of your eyebrows, a snap of your head towards him. There’s a desire to have his full attention on you. There’s also the awareness that the road acts as a buffer for the tensing heartache that swells and lulls between you, each exchange of words a game of painful chess. You make the choice to bring forth a pawn this once, a simple why?

“He said I’ve been livin’ with life on pause since you left, maybe watchin’ you marry another man would be the thing to help me hit play at last.”

INTERLUDE — go your own way

Like tires upon gravel, time rolls on.

No matter how easy it is to forget about the world outside, look out the window and pretend you’re simply on a train, trapped in a constant onward motion, there’s no ignoring the orange glow that begins to grow on the horizon, nor the red lights on the car radio that read 05:38. A new day grows fast upon you and, where you remain mute to it, Jack can not allow the fantasy to go on any longer.

The tires screech against the gravel and everything comes to a stop.

“Thinkin’ time’s up, sweetheart,” his hands retreat from the wheel, finding purchase on his thighs. You try not to follow their descent over the tailored suit, try not to think about the thick muscles that sit hidden beneath the black trousers. It’s not your place to think about them anymore. “Where are you goin’?”

Decision has never been something you’ve struggled with, much less when the choices are so simple and limited. Either you go back to the wedding venue, and meet whatever fate awaits you of scornful mothers, and disappointed fathers, and abandoned fiances. Or, you can go anywhere.

You make a mistake, let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t, and end up asking yourself where will Jack go. He still lives in the home you once shared, this you know. Will he go there, pour himself a drink, and try to forget this night even happened?

You can still picture it all. The coffee table Jack hand-carved, both your initials engraved on the side. The picture frames all along the wall, a mural of memories shared between you. The matching set of mugs, eternally sitting on the drying board, waiting for Jack to stagger his way down the stairs and fill them with boiling coffee. If you walked through that door again, would you find everything just the way you left it? Or, has he gotten a new table, changed the pictures in the frames, bought new mugs? Is there someone there, right now, sleeping in his bed and waiting on his return?

A bitter taste overcomes your tongue at the thought, your insides twisting up like you’ve not spent the past few months sleeping next to someone else and saying yes to proposals you weren’t expecting.

“What do you think I should do?” You don’t want him to tell you to go home, you want him to say come home.

“You can’t ask that of me. My answer’s gonna be nothin’ but selfish.” Would it really be so bad, you wish to ask, if Jack was selfish? Maybe life would be easier if he was. He clears his throat, like he clears his mind, and gone is your moment to tell him you want selfish. “I can say this, though… Your fiance’s a good man, a kind man. Kind enough to trust your parents words and let me, a stranger, go searchin’ for you. He deserves to know what decision you make. It ain’t just your weddin’, it’s his too.”

He’s right, and you hate it.

There’s no way you can tell him now that you were even contemplating not going back, of disappearing into the sunrise with him, driving till life leads you down the right roads to find a new home, your old home, Jack.

The muddied wedding dress seems to call to you from the car boot, a whispering of your name that tells you to put it back on, go back, and walk down that aisle. You owe that much to your fiance, if he’ll still have you. With him, you’ve never had to worry about him coming home safe. With him, you could live a happy enough life, keep yourself busy enough to ignore all the what-ifs your mind would try seduce you with.

Besides, that’s what Jack needs, right? To see you marry another man, a final nail in the coffin named us, so he can finally move on with his life. You owe him that much, at least.

With a nod of your head and the straightening of your spine, you set your choice in stone, “drive me back to him, Jack.”

The engine shudders to life and the radio sets itself back on course, some upbeat voice that demands you go your own way, a musical slap delivered upon your face. Jack turns the steering wheel, rerouting the car’s course with an effortless u-turn before he presses down on the accelerator, propelling you forward down the paths you’ve already travelled.

You tell yourself you’re doing the right thing, even if a familiar dread starts to settle in the pit of your stomach, brushing them off as rational nerves. Who wouldn’t be anxious when facing a man they left at the altar?

A yawn escapes you.

“We’re a few hours out from the chateau.” There’s something in his voice that weighs on him, the tone between you shifting to something of desperation. Goodbye is a few hours away. This time, for good. “Sleep, it’s late.”

“Aren’t you tired?” Pull over, you want to say. Let’s sleep. The wedding can wait a few more hours.

How unfortunate that he cannot read your thoughts, understand the intentions behind your staring as you recline your chair, turn to face him on your side, hands crossed protectively over your abdomen.

One blink, and your eyes are already fighting to stay open, dragging you down into the depths of slumber.

“I’m fine. Don’t sleep much these days anyway,” the sound of Jack’s voice fades slowly into the background, melting away with the hum of the engine, and the turn of the wheels, and the voice on the radio. “Never got used to the feeling of an empty bed.”

TRACK 5 — i’m on fire

When your eyes next open, the sun’s warmth is caressing your face.

The sound of children’s laughter fills the air, and the smell of smoke fills your lungs, and the feeling of resting against Jack’s shoulder fills you with dread. Fearful to move, you take in all of him that you can see from this angle.

There’s no suit upon him, replaced with the casualness of a cotton t-shirt and a pair of faded denims. The hat’s back on his head, the curls of ungelled hair that peak through dry as a bone. A cigarette rests neatly between fingers on his left hand, the right one grasping at the neck of a beer bottle. No wheel sits in front of him, no gear shift keeps space between you. The Bronco’s been replaced with the view of your parent’s backyard and the comfort of a well cushioned outdoor couch.

You know this memory.

You’ve lived this memory.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” just like you remember, Jack’s stubbing out the half-smoked cigarette the moment he notices your open eyes. “How you feelin’?”

“Like my uterus is trying to carve its way out of me,” your mouth plays along with the dream, speaking the same words it had years ago.

“That good, huh?” A beer stained kiss meets the corner of your mouth, another follows up to your forehead, as Jack’s free hand reaches into his pocket, reemerging with silver foil between two fingers. “Got these off your mother. Let me go get you somethin’ to eat, then you can take two, hm?”

You remember thinking that you love him. You didn't dare speak it, however, simply nodding as you took the blister packet of paracetamol out his offering grasp and uncurled your legs back down onto the floor, stretching your arms. Jack bends down, presses his lips against the crown of your head, and then he’s off, venturing over to where your father stands grilling another round of burgers on the barbeque.

Jack’s always been a confident man. He carries himself with a head held high and a careless smile on his face, no chip on his shoulder and no flare for anger in his bones. A southern gentleman, who knows his own charms and, most dangerously, how to use them. Place him alone with your father, however, and watch how he crumbles like a house of cards. To the untrained eye, it’s unnoticeable, but you don’t miss the glances he spies your father with each time he throws out a joke, nor the way his hands can never seem to relax, a nervous tic of drumming against his thighs or balling into fists as he makes conversation with the older man. He’s desperate for the approval of your monotonous father, so desperate he fails to see he won it months ago, 

“Eat up, drink up, you need it,” he says as he hands you the paper plate, and his half-drunk bottle of beer. He settles back down on the couch, pulling you into him once more. “Your old man was sayin’ we should probably head off soon, ‘fore it gets too late. Think he’s startin’ to warm up to me, he’s even worryin’ bout me drivin’ in the dark.”

“Oh, he loves you,” you take a bite, break two of the pills out their casing, wash them down with a swig of bitter beer. The summer sun burns in the corners of your eyes, forcing them into a squint. “He kept looking for you at the dinner table at my mom’s birthday, you should’ve seen his reaction when I told him you were stuck in New York slaving away in your office.”

Months later, you’d come to find out he wasn’t in New York, surrounded by mountains of paperwork, but somewhere in the south of France, hunting down some billionaire wine-maker with plans to poison the crops of surrounding vineyards, leaving only his wine safe to consume.

In your memory, Jack plucks the hat off his own head and rests it gently upon your own, a shaded barrier against the bright light in the sky. You thank him, he watches on quietly as you continue to eat, gaze not peeling itself away from you the whole time.

“What? Do I have ketchup on my face? Or, in my hair?” You’d asked him, mid-chew. No answer, more staring. Panic made a debut in your mind, suddenly alert to his unusual behaviour. “Wait, is it a bug? Jack, is there a bug in my hair?”

“I love you.”

No build up, no grand-speech, no overly romantic setting.

He said it like one shares the weather, or the time, or what they’re wanting for lunch. He said it like it was something he always said, would always say, despite it being the very first time you’d heard him do so. Tears had flown in quickly, your hormones already gone haywire with the unexpected arrival of shark week earlier that morning. There’s a vague assurance that you told him you loved him too, through tears, and he teased your weepy face with kisses down your cheeks and full-chested laughter.

“Bless your cotton socks, my sweet girl, cryin’ all cause old Jack says-”

“Tell me now baby, is he good to you?”

You jolt awake.

Jack’s by your side, suit on, hair air dried, one hand on the wheel, the other rests out the window. The roof is down, letting the sun shine on you and his caramel eyes. An old Springstein song plays in the background, the very same thing that coaxed you awake. Just like the dream, he takes a few minutes to notice your opened eyes, head turning your way as another car shoots off ahead of you both, overtaking him.

“You were mumblin’ in your sleep. Were you dreamin’ of somethin’ sweet?”

“I was,” too quick comes your reply. Too honest. Nerves have you stumbling over words, scrambling to pick them off the floor of your mind and spew out the first thing that doesn’t involve Jack and his easy-going professions of love. “About the first time my fiance told me he loves me.”

You regret it as soon as you speak, the visible halt to his smile. He overcorrects it, forcing a grin that stretches the corners of his mouth so tight it almost looks painful. “Well, c’mon, don’t go keepin’ it to yourself!”

“He, uh, wrote it in the sky.”

“How romantic. Pricey too, I bet.”

“It was his best man who did it, an ex military pilot.”

As you try to reminisce on the day, little memories blossom in your mind. Instead of vivid motion capture, the day is black and white, no sound. You don’t remember where you were, what he was wearing, how you felt when you read those words up above.

It happened only two months into your relationship, that you do remember. You also remember being parked in your old neighbourhood the night before, twenty minutes spent trying to will yourself to go knock on the door to your old home. The Bronco was in its usual spot, parked outside. No lights were on as you pulled away and willed yourself back to rational thinking.

“Jeez, if that’s how he’s tellin’ you he loves you, I can’t imagine how he proposed.”

You wonder if this is as tortuous for him as it is for you, listening to you detail the life you’d gone on to live just months after walking away from five years of love. “In a restaurant,” you can’t remember the name, or what you ate, or what you wore, as if the memory is one that doesn’t belong to you, never belonged to you. “I ordered dessert, ‘will you marry me?’ was written on it in cherry sauce.”

“You must’ve said yes immediately.”

“I did.”

You leave out the part where the whole restaurant had watched him get down on one knee, or the part where you rushed to the restroom right after accepting the ring, spewing your guts out in a stall. By morning, you told yourself it was fine, you were just feeling nervous. 

After all, you loved him enough to spend time with him, so why not spend the rest of your life with him?

TRACK 6 — she’s always a woman

It had been too easy to forget the thing you loved most about road trips with Jack.

It wasn’t his constant commentary of interesting facts on sites you’d drive past, or his love for taking the long-way to anywhere and everywhere, or his ever-present need to drag your hand up to his lips with every few miles.

The thing you loved most was listening to his voice, unfiltered, unashamed, outloud, singing along to his favourite songs. The voice of a crooning angel and the shyness of a bashful fox. Every so often, when he’d catch you watching him a little too fondly as he sang along, he’d throw in a voice crack, or twist up a lyric into a sickly innuendo.

In the present, it’s you who interrupts his spirited rendition of a Billy Joel classic.

“You were right, in the letters,” the leather of your seat squeaks as you fix your posture, sit yourself up straight if only to force yourself to stop observing the way his lips fall into a natural pout and, instead, focus on memorising the licence plate that drives ahead. “I’m sorry.”

“Right about what?” As though nothing has changed, his hand extends towards your own, effortlessly intertwining your fingers, beginning an ascent to his mouth before mind takes over instinct and he’s letting you go, setting you free.

You give up on the licence plate ahead, turn your face once more towards Jack and his pouty lips.

“I couldn’t be with Agent Whiskey anymore.” A relationship made up of a man, a woman, and an agent. Whiskey would kiss you goodbye in the morning, while Jack would be the one to come home to you. With the passing of time, three became a crowd, and so you removed yourself. “I didn’t want to break your heart, Jack, I swear. But I also didn’t want to let you break mine. And you did, every time you walked out of our home and left me wondering if you’d ever come back. Then, when Tequila… You loved your job. You loved being Agent Whiskey. How could I ask you to leave that part of you behind?”

“Darlin’ if you think there’s any world where losin’ you was easier than losin’ Whiskey, you’re out of your mind.” Like his first I love you, he speaks words that flow out of him as easily as an exhale, as though they carry no weight to them. As though they do not momentarily flip your world on its axis and have you wishing he’d turn the car around, driving you both off into the forever you never got.

Yet another car overtakes the Bronco, its driver angrily pressing on his horn. You both continue to ignore the speed at which Jack drives. Up ahead, everything you’ve been dreading comes into view, an unmissable billboard. Clearview Manor.

50 miles to go. 50 miles till goodbye. 

“I’m hungry.”

“Those energy bars should still be in there, if you’re wantin’-”

“Jack, I’m hungry,” you say it louder, hoping he’ll pick up what you’re laying down.“Can’t we stop somewhere for breakfast?”

His answer comes in the form of a left blinker switching on, wheels cutting over gravel and carrying you off the main road. Then, as if to break your heart some more than his last declaration, he turns to you. “If it had been me waitin’ on you at the end of the aisle, would you have ran?”

You try to picture it.

Jack, in his suit and tie, hands clasped behind his back to keep him from drumming nervous fingers over his thighs, eyes brimming with tears as you take your first step down the aisle. Would the panic have settled in? Would you have felt that same wrongness as when you’d been sneaking a peak at your fiance waiting down the aisle?

Would you have ran?

“It’s not something I planned, y’know? Running. I didn’t think it was even an option,” you’re laying your final card on the table, a truth you couldn't bring yourself to admit earlier at last coming out to play. You’re unsure if it dismisses or further condemns you for your runaway crimes. “I took a peak, at the ceremony hall, while waiting for my father. I needed to see what I was about to walk into. I guess I thought the nerves were just from that, the unknown. Then I saw you, a few rows from the back. At first I thought I was hallucinating, that you were just a man who happened to be wearing a cowboy hat. But then I saw my mum pulling you in for a hug, and I caught a glimpse of your face. That’s why I ran. I couldn’t… marry another man, not with you standing in the crowd.”

“You’ve not answered my question,” it’s the first you’ve seen Jack put his foot down since he dragged you out the diner, the seriousness etched into his frowning forehead and stamped onto his lips. “Would you have ran?”

“No.”

Jack just keeps driving.

TRACK 7 — dancing in the dark

“You can’t be serious!”

Squeezed into the corner booth of a dingy, run-down bar, you and Jack sit across from one another, digging into a stack of pancakes lathered in maple syrup.

The bartender and two of his patrons glance at you both every so often, and you have to wonder how odd a pair you and Jack must make. One dressed to the nines, if you ignore the dried mud at the bottom of his dress pants and his loosening tie, the other wearing yesterday’s make-up paired with cotton pyjama pants. You prefer it to the stares you’d gained in your wrinkled gown.

“Deadly. I’m a serious tap-dancin’ student,” his fork stabs into the fluffy goodness, dragging it along the plate, soaking the pancake in as much syrup as possible. You try not to think of mornings that used to be spent like this, sitting at your own table, flour in his hair and eggshells in your own, both of you ignoring the disastrous mess in the kitchen begging to be cleaned as you tuck into your homemade pancakes. “Retirement breeds weird hobbies.”

“Before long, you’ll be playing bingo at the old folks home.”

“I just have to ask, I really do,” a dread you haven’t felt since stepping out the car— with the help of Jack and his offering hand, the other holding your door open— creeps back in. You don’t want to talk about your own current reality, not when it’s been so easy to pretend none of the wedding fiasco happened and, instead, you’re simply catching up with Jack after bumping into each other in this bar.  “This fiance of yours… is he bigger than me?”

As quick as it inflates, the tension pops. 

“Oh my god, Jack!” You laugh, a little too loudly, and dip your head as other tables turn their heads your way.

“What?”

“You did not just ask me that.”

“Oh, but I did.”

“You can’t just say things like that!” In mock surrender, he throws his hands up. Your own grab ahold of your knife and fork once more, an ironclad focus on the near-empty plate as you will the shameful heat away from your face, mumbling over your words. “But, no, he isn’t bigger. Happy?”

“You’ve no idea.” As though you’re being haunted by music, a song begins to play over the speakers. You’re not the only one who takes notice, Jack’s eyes lighting up with a devious look, his legs already rising out of his seat. “Think that’s our queue, darlin’.”

“Sit back down.”

“Oh, c’mon now, don’t be so uptight,” he lays out his hand, begging for you to place your own in it. Flashes of a memory, six years back, the very same song playing as the very same man attempted to coax a dance out of you. “One dance, sweetheart, then I’ll leave you in peace.”

Just like your younger self, you’re incapable of resisting his baby cow eyes, letting him guide you out onto a makeshift dance floor before it’s too late to run back and hide in your seat, the eyes of strangers already piercing you with their questioning stares. If you weren’t deemed a strange pair with your attire alone, you certainly are now, feet stumbling awkwardly along with Bruce Springstein.

“This song was playin’ when we met,” he says it like you don’t know, like you don’t remember, like you aren’t replaying that night as you speak, pretending you’re both in that same crowd of swaying bodies, young, and naive, and on the cusp of experiencing the greatest love you’ll ever know, rather than here, on an empty dance floor, stumbling blindly through the hardships of holding each other so close, mutually aware you’re dancing on borrowed time and, soon, you’ll have to go. “Knowin’ now how it ends, if I was sent back in time, I’d still ask you to dance. I’d do it all again.”

“This gun’s for hire, even if we’re just…”

He spins you, drags you closer, sways you. It’s far less care-free than the first dance you shared, no alcohol to dull the shame and a whole lot of history packed between your bodies.

The first dance had been the thing you had dreaded most about your wedding, dancing with your husband, to a whole room of loved ones watching. Dancing now with Jack— even through all the embarrassment you feel as an elderly couple point over at you— feels easier, less daunting, so much so that you can’t help the way you start to laugh, arms loosening around his shoulders, hips moving less abashedly.

The two of you inch closer, and closer, and closer as the song reaches its end. Like a happy couple finishes their first dance, Jack’s mouth lands atop yours.

A gentle kiss, innocent of sin, it begs you to give back, to press your own mouth against his. You answer its calling, hand clasping at the back of his neck, holding him safely against you, less he drifts away and reveals this all to have been a dream, a nightmare, a delusion. Like coming home after a cold winter’s day, his kiss is the comfort of knowing you’re exactly where you belong.

And it’s absolutely terrifying.

You rip away from him, flashes of your fiance’s face blinding you as you stumble off, doing what you do best: running away. You miss the way the patrons all go back to their own drinks, and the way a new song comes on, and the way Jack chases after you, stopped only by the slamming of a bathroom door.

You come up for air when you find yourself faced with the image you paint in the mirror.

Never has there been a more heartbroken girl, eyes a mess of tears, and faded eyeliner, and smudged mascara, hair a nest fit enough for any bird to build its home in, body draped in the clothing of an ex-lover. It’s almost as frightening as the image you made yesterday, wedding gown freshly laced and make-up pristinely done.

A knock rings against the door. 

It’s followed by a gentle call of your name.

You switch on the tap, welcome the cold splash of water over your face. Pray that, if you scrub hard enough, you’ll wipe away the taste of him, forget the shape of his touch, purge yourself of the desire to follow anywhere he may go. Your hand slips down your face, the dim bathroom light catches on something.

Your engagement ring, a tight shackle that binds you to someone else, reminds you of the closure you owe to Jack.

He calls your name again.

“Darlin’,” it’s muffled behind the door, but the regret in his voice is all too clear. “I just got caught up, I’m sorry. Come on out and we’ll get back on the road-”

The hinges creak as the door opens, only a crack, and your hand shoots out, grabbing a hold of Jack’s tie before you can will yourself to be rational.

He lets you invade his space with little protest, mouths returning to the dance they never got to complete. Hands move, slipping off ties, and undoing draw strings, and locking doors. There’s a mumble, are you sure, followed by a moan, please.

All hope of forgetting his skin is lost, a leg hooked around his waist, fingers tangled in his hair. He bites at your neck, and kisses along your jaw, and pants into your ear, all the while his hips rock back and forth against your own, filling you inch by inch. Mouth covered by your own hand, muffling a cry of his name as you feel him brush against that spine-tingling spot inside you. Your head falls back, eyes slip shut. Jack’s quick to rectify it.

“Watch, darlin’,” he whispers, a hand tilting your eyes down to where your two bodies meet. “ Want you to see how perfectly your lil’ pussy takes me.”

You do as he says, hypnotised by the sight of his cock, glistening in your own arousal, sawing in and out of you, each thrust deeper than the last.  

“He can’t fuck you like this, can he?” Despite his ego-fueled words, there’s a desperation in his voice, a soul lost in a sea of darkness, searching for a life jacket. “Tell me he can’t.”

He can’t, you tell him, clinging onto him tighter, needier, begging him to never leave.

Any minute now, you worry, someone’s going to knock on the bathroom door, kick you both out. Instead, the music that plays outside the door seems to increase in volume.

“Fuckin’ made for me, meant for me,” both of you grow increasingly desperate, fingernails digging into flesh, and mouths rejoining in a frenzy of kisses, and the tightening of an invisible string, drawing you nearer and nearer to the edge. “My sweet girl.”

An end that comes all too soon, both of you exhausted, and spent, and collapsing against one another, a sticky mess left between your legs where his hips continue to rut into you through his own overstimulation.

“I’m sorry,” his head falls against your shoulder, burrows into the warmth of your neck. There’s a press of his lips against your skin, and a million apologies that follow. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry I love you.”

“It’s okay, Jack,” you lie, sooth a hand over his back, ignore the tears you feel falling against your skin.

TRACK 8 — hit the road jack

The clock reads 13:18 as Jack brings the car to a stop.

A set of stairs lead up to a grand double-doored entrance, a sign post declaring the extravagant building as Clearview Manor. Rented for the whole weekend, the wedding party isn’t cited to leave until late Monday evening. Though all cars remain parked in the driveway, no familiar faces await your arrival.

“I hope you get your happy ending,” the two of you step out of the car in sync. A voice whispers that it’s the last time you’ll step out the Bronco, you brush it off and follow Jack as he makes his way over to the boot. “No one deserves it more than you, Jack.”

“No promises, darlin’,” he extends his arms to you, you almost move in for a hug.

The sight of your wedding dress, no longer porcelain white, stains of brown upon a greying fabric, reminds you of why you’re here. You try your best to smile earnestly as you take it off his hands, but fear it only heightens the distress that dilates your pupils. “I’ll see you inside, right?”

The boot slams shut, and it’s an awful reminder that your time together is coming to a close, Jack dons his signature smile, cowboy hat back on his head, a head that’s shaking no.

“The mighty fool that I am, thinkin’ I could stomach watchin’ you get married to another man. After this little road trip of ours… well, I guess I just ain’t ready to hit play yet.” A tongue made of lead, shoes filled with weights. Moving feels impossible, talking even more so. You want to say his name, tell him you don’t need to marry another man, crawl back into the Bronco and beg him to drive off. “Go’on, get! There’s a good man in there, waitin’ to give you everythin’ you deserve.”

Instead, you just turn on your heel, take the first step towards the rest of your life. A life without Jack.

Halfway up the stairway, the sound of Jack’s engine reaches your ears, followed quickly by the obnoxiously poignant car radio, giving its final performance for you both.

“Hit the road, Jack, and don’t you come back, no more, no more, no more, no more!”

Eyes meeting where Jack sits, back in the driver’s seat, you share one last laugh.

OUTRO — everywhere

“Thank god you’re okay.”

Two arms, strong and secure, wrap around your waist.

On the other side of the bridal suite door stands both your mother and your mother in law, ushered out by your fiance upon your return the moment he noticed the panic on your face as questions and fingers prodded at you.

You block out the thought of the scowling faces, burrowing your own into the space between his shoulder and neck, whispering your inquiry on, “how bad is the damage?”

“We told everyone you were suffering from food poisoning. All our guests think you’ve been spewing out of both ends the past few hours, but I think that’s justified for the bruising you’ve given my ego.”

“Santi,” the shape of your fiance’s name feels foreign in your mouth, the taste of it sour on your tongue, so much so that you can’t say it in full. “I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be, what matters is you’re here now.”

Jack was right, your fiance is a nice man. A good man. A man anyone would be lucky to land in the arms of, the kind of man people dream of, and romance authors write of.

But to you, his arms just feel like a cage you’ve lost the key for. “Why did you ask me to marry you?”

“I don’t know. We just… make sense.”

“We do,” you pull apart, at last, nodding your head along to his answer. “But is that all marriage should be? Two people who make sense?” You stumble a few steps back from him, feet needing space to begin pacing back and forth as your filter slips and the word-vomit begins to spew itself out onto the pristine carpeted floors. “Do you really love me enough to spend the rest of your days with me? Because I don’t think you do, and I don’t think I love you like that either.”

Santiago is calm, collected, and completely unresponsive.

The longer he watches you pace and rant, the quicker you do each thing, as though you’re racing ahead to escape the fear of breaking his heart more than you already have, his love possibly more intense than you make it seem. He ends that fear in one foul swoop of words.

“When you didn’t walk down the aisle, I felt relieved. I also slept with someone at my bachelor party and the guilt has been eating me alive.”

“I just fucked my ex in a bathroom!” In an almost paradoxical response, the pair of you keen over in laughter, any expected animosity thrown out the metaphorical window and leaving you both no choice but to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. “God, we’re a mess.”

“Wait, the cowboy’s your ex? I should’ve known, your dad told him you were gone before he even bothered to tell me.” Santiago had little luck at winning over your dad, though admittedly it was no fault of his own but, rather, your father had yet to move on from Jack. There’s a sudden commotion as Santi rushes past you, peeling back the curtains and peering down out the window. “What car is it the cowboy drives?”

“A Bronco.”

“Well, you might wanna hurry, because he’s just pulling out of the parking bays.” It’s more than just a warning. It’s a blessing to leave. Overcome with emotion, you dive back into his arms and find there’s no fear of goodbye, not like there had been with Jack. An engagement ring that slips off with no resistance, no longer a shackle that ties you both together. You hand it back to him gently. “Go, before it’s too late! I’ll take care of this mess, see if I can spin this in a way that’s heartbreaking enough to get our deposit back.”

There’s more you want to say, but now’s not the time. Apologies and thank-yous can wait till you pick up your things from his apartment, right now you’re too busy rushing to the door.

A call of your name comes when you’ve got one foot out it, treading into the now motherless hallway. You face Santiago with a smile, ready to say that magic word. 

Goodbye.

“Promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t invite me to your wedding.”

You make it out the double-doors, which slam loudly shut behind you, before you spot the retreating shape of Jack’s car and an anxious glee commands you to break out into a sprint, legs kicking faster than they ever have before.

Don’t speed up, you think, watching as the Bronco slowly creeps down the driveway.

“Jack!” You call out to him, hoping that, with the open roof, he’ll somehow hear you over the radio. Pushing your feet to move a little faster, your arms join the mix, waving wildly to the wind, a careless attempt to catch his attention in the rearview mirror. “Wait!”

The car breaks with a squeak, the blaring music comes to a halt, and Jack turns to face you with his own eyes, as though he can’t trust the mirrors. When you reach the car, you pull at the door handle and find he’s already unlocked it. You slide in with ease, back into the seat you’ve always belonged in: by his side.

He can’t seem to move, frozen with his eyes focused on nothing but you.

“Drive, jack,” you finally proclaim, asking him what you should’ve the moment you saw him in that diner, in the pews, in the heartbreaking hours post-burying a friend.

“Where to, darlin’?”

“Anywhere, everywhere!” You can’t help the smile that overcomes you as he pulls your hand up to his mouth, planting a familiar kiss upon it, before the engine hums back to life. “It doesn’t matter, as long as I’m with you, all roads lead home.”

Like old times, you lean forward and turn up the radio, a familiar tune filling the air as you sink back into your seat, the wind back in your hair and an open road laying ahead, ready to lead you both wherever the wheels may take you.

“Oh I, I wanna be with you everywhere.”

bts with hyde. this is just a little reflective commentary that i put down here, to avoid flooding my author's note with too much rambling. please feel free to skip this!!

this fic is a compilation of firsts for me. it's the first challenge i've taken part in within the pedro fanspace, which has been equally exciting as it has been daunting. i struggle immensely with writing on a time schedule, and so i'm pretty proud of myself for not posting this (too) late.

this is also my first time writing for jack. admitedly, i'm not sure if i've done justice to him, as his character is somehow incredibly strong and, yet, so open for interpretation that i found myself struggling to connect with him in my writing. i have no plans to write for him in any future wips, but that might change. it was definitely fun to push myself out my comfort zone and write for a new character!

something i want to praise myself for is the attention i put into smaller details of this fic. for example, each flower mentioned in this fic has a very specific symbol/meaning attached to it, fitting with the themes of the scenes in which they're mentioned. the other place i hyperfocused on very unimportant details is the playlist. it opens and closes on the only two songs fronted by a female vocalist, with my intention being that these songs are a representation of the reader's inner turmoils and thoughts in the opening and closing scenes. the rest of the playlist is full of male vocalists, giving a peak into jack's mind despite the entire fic being told through the reader's eyes.

okay, i've given myself enough delusional and unnecesary praise, i'm going to sleep now. please don't be mean if you didn't like this fic, it's literally my birthday 🫡

if you've read this far, ily, i hope you have a good day !

[i-heart-yellowstone]

My Cowboy Casanova

Request from @nothingc001 hello! I hope you are doing well, I was wondering if you could do a Kayce Dutton story about the song “cowboy casanova” by Carrie underwood

Everybody always has an opinion about something. Whether they know the whole truth or not. They will always think they know best, especially when it comes to the fact that people know you’re involved with a Dutton.

John and his ranch wasn’t something unknown to the residents of Montana. He would do anything to keep the land his family fought for and so would his children. Specifically his youngest son Kayce that had caught my eye.

“Are you sure you want to get involved with a Dutton?” One of my friends Miranda asked me after we had finished our work day at the sheriff's department.

I held the door opened for her, giving her a look. “Look I know you’re worried about me. But you don’t have to be. I can take care of myself.”

“You heard the rumor around here years ago that he got a girl pregnant and that’s why he joined the Navy. Then when he comes back don’t you find it suspicious that he is divorcing her.” Miranda raised a brow at me.

Shrugging my shoulders, I wasn't following her worries. “Clearly they must not have been able to work things out. Divorce ain’t an uncommon thing.”

“I’m just worried he’ll break your heart. It’s just a matter of time.” She warned me before we turned our heads hearing his truck pulling into the parking lot right up to us to pick me up for our date.

I waved bye to my friend climbing in the passenger seat when he opened the door helping me up inside and closing it before getting back in the driver's seat. “I’ll see you later, Miranda.” He drove us back to his family’s ranch to get some supplies before we made the drive up to what he referred to as the Summer Camp.

Kayce unloaded the camping stuff from the bed of the truck. He laid out a picnic blanket, pulled out two camping chairs and a basket of food before I jumped down from sitting on the edge of the tailgate. “So what were you and Mirdana talking about when I came to pick you up tonight?” He asked lifting me down by my hips putting my boots on the dirt.

“It was actually about us.” I muttered under my breath sitting down on the blanket.

He joined me down on the blanket. “What particularly about us hmm?”

“Oh I don’t know if I should say anything more.” I avoided his gaze, feeling his eyes focused on me until I finally glanced in his direction. “Basically she’s worried about our long term relationship. Considering we heard that you recently broke up with the woman you got pregnant.”

Kayce removed his black cowboy hat and removed his head running his fingers through his curly hair. “Gezz. I knew this would happen after I divorced her.”

“Kayce, I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said a word. Look, she's my best friend and is just worried about me getting hurt since you’re my first real relationship that I’ve had in my life. But I’m not worried about our relationship.”

He lifted his head up, raising a brow. “Why aren’t you?”

“I’m not sure. I just think that it isn’t your fault that your relationship with your ex didn’t work out. Certain people think they’ll work out and sometimes they don’t in the end.”

The youngest Dutton leaned forward with his mouth inches from my own. “So what do you think about us? Are we a long term or short term type of thing?”

“I - I don’t know yet. I’d like to imagine that you and I can be a long term thing.”

He smirked, shifting his brown eyes over mine. “Oh yeah. I can 100% agree on that.”

“So what are we thinking of doing on this date night you’ve been planning since the first day I met you.” I teased him with a smirk playing on my lips.

Kayce closed the gap between us, putting his lips over mine. It wasn’t long before I leaned in kissing him back enjoying the feeling. We kissed each other for quite a few minutes scooting closer to the other until I climbed up into his lap.

He moved one hand behind my back when I leaned my body forward against his chest. Threading my fingers into his tousled brown curls, tugging on them, hearing him moan when I did so. Kayce broke the kiss smirking into when he instructed the next one pushing me onto my back on the picnic blanket we were sitting on.

We finally had to break the heated kiss, needing to catch our breath. “How do you feel about keeping this going, hmm darling?” He smirked where some of his curls fell down in front of my eyes.

I brushed them away, smiling up at him. “I ain’t gonna say no to you cowboy.”

“Miranda might be right about this whole possibly dangerous cowboy Casanova. The kind of guy who seems nice but is much more dangerous than you’d imagine.” Kayce ran one hand over my hip and slightly underneath my shirt.

Tracing the Yellowstone brand he had underneath his shirt I wasn’t nervous around him. He had a past obviously, everybody has one. “She said she’d never date a cowboy. It’s a really good thing I’m not entirely like her. So let’s do this thing, Dutton.” Tugging him down by the collar of his tan shirt, drawing his lips to mine.

Kayce chuckled, helping me sit up and shrug my shirt over my head. I unbuttoned his shirt, tossing his down with wherever he had thrown mine on the blanket. “I’d love for your name to be Mrs. Dutton in the future.” He mumbled in between kisses, running his fingers through my hair with his freehand.

“Make me yours, cowboy.” I whispered not saying anything more and just got lost in the other and the area surrounding us. The Dutton name and all the whispers around it didn’t matter to me. My friends could all worry about me but I wasn’t gonna turn back now.

Kayce John Dutton was always meant to be my Casanova.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[octuscle]

Now open under new management (remake)

Edward Parker III rolled down the car window a crack. Peter, his driver, had switched off the air conditioning to save fuel. The fuel gauge was practically at 0.00. Here, in the middle of nowhere, they had no mobile network. The last Google message said that a petrol station would appear at some point. And Peter claimed that it should open in five minutes. Open from 10:40 am. Strange opening times. Edward's stomach grumbled. Something had gone wrong at breakfast. The car desperately needed a gas pump. And he needed a toilet just as badly. Then, like an oasis in the desert, a building appeared in the middle of endless cornfields and pastures full of stupidly staring cattle. It was 10:39:50 a.m. when Peter steered the car into the dusty gas station with the last drop of gas. At 10:40 sharp, Edward yanked open the car door and jumped out. And the moment his spotless Oxfords touched the ground, the neon sign flashed. Open!

Edward ran towards the little store where the neon sign was shining. He was far too intent on not wetting his pants to notice the leather soles of his shoes turning into a firm rubber tread. When he pushed the door handle down, he got something like an electric shock. He didn't care. The store was empty. His palm became calloused. His fingernails were black. There was a door at the back labeled "Private". Hopefully there was a toilet there. Thank God the door was open. And thank God there was a toilet. In the middle of a room full of tools, car tires and packages. It stank miserably. But Edward didn't care at all. He had already undone his belt while running, unzipped his trousers, pulled them down and dropped onto the dirty toilet seat at the last moment. And he had to shit like never before in his life. The stench was overwhelming. But the relief was immense. Edward finally relaxed again. But only for a second. Then his eyes fell on the dirty biker boots. They contained a pair of completely filthy jeans, pulled down as far as they would go. And what was even more irritating: his right hand was the hand of a construction worker, the sleeve of his shirt had disappeared. And the fabric of the right sleeve of his jacket was also coming undone. And on his chest and back, the color changed from a navy blue to a washed-out red. What the hell was going on here?

Even greater than the panic was the disgust at the stench. His left hand, still freshly manicured, reached for the toilet flush. And again he was hit by an electric shock. Panicked, he watched as his fingernails became dirty and his hand calloused. Edward's gaze fell between his legs. That wasn't his circumcised, shaved penis. That was a cheesy, hairy cock. Much bigger than it normally was. Edward had to get out of here! He hastily wiped his ass. A tight, hairy ass, sitting there on a familiar toilet seat. A man needs a good place to shit. Hehehe, this was a good place to shit. Stumbling, Edward stood up, his head spinning. He looked in the mirror. That was still his head. But the rest of him? His stiff white collar and tie knot vanished into thin air, revealing a well-toned chest. The last remnants of the finest navy blue wool on his upper left arm disappeared, and the transformation of his jacket into a washed-out and worn-out tank top was complete. I look like a fucking hillbilly, were his last thoughts before he grew a scruffy three-day fuzzy beard. His $100 haircut became a home-cut mullet. Damn, the greasy hair hadn't been washed in a while.

Loud honking from outside. "Damn, I've taken a shit! Can't you wait?" Edward shouted. He wiped his hands on the dirty cloth stuck in his pants. Washing hands was for sissies in the city. He entered the yard of his gas station.

Hehehe, he knew the dirty truck that was parked there at the gas pump. "Pete's services of all kinds" was written on the door. And Pete Jr. was hanging in the cab with a visible bulge. "Eddy, don't you always promise the best service at your gas station?" said Pete with a grin. Ed spat out the chewing tobacco and licked his lips. "Go ahead, gas station attendant. The belt buckle won't undo itself!"

Full service and guaranteed customer satisfaction. That's what Ed's gas station was famous for.

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS DRIVING

scout: scout is actually one of the better drivers. undistracted, and he will lecture anyone who attempts to take his eyes off the road. knows stick shift because soldier taught him how to drive stick shift because “men know stick shift”. however, he doesn’t have his license, so he is legally not allowed to drive for Mann Co. for whatever reason, THAT rule is the one they follow.

soldier: he’s…. definitely capable of driving. nobody would willingly ask him to drive anything that handles better than a campbells soup can, the dogshit cars always act so well maintained with him. he eats at mario kart tho. he’s allowed one (1) shitty car that doesn’t even turn over unless he’s the one with the key in hand. if you ask him about how he happens to start the car he says “just jiggle it!”

pyro: will eat up a vespa. wants so badly to drive a fire truck. can’t for obvious reasons. also eats at mario kart.

engineer: a GREAT driver until you get him on the back roads. then it’s “darlin’, i’ve been driving on texas roads longer than you could see above the wheel, i got this” while your drink is splashing onto your shirt and you’re holding onto the the car handles for dear life and it seems like he’s actively going out of his way to hit every single pot hole and whooping like he’s a kid jesus fucking christ—

heavy: also a great driver! does his best driving on snowy roads, and will not drive a car not within legal parameters. he refuses to allow sascha to be taken because of something as silly as the insurance. easily distracted on the roads though, does better with a passenger princess taking care of directions. brakes for critters, brakes harder for road rage. he does love a good fight.

demo: a bad driver with a lead foot. treats the actual roads like mario kart. he’s also not allowed in the drivers seat of the company cars. that’s why he’s the main user of the teleporters. he uses his turn signals though, and frankly he thinks that’s all that should matter. once tailgated heavy so hard that heavy pulled over and as demo got out, fully ready to fight, and made eye contact with heavy he jumped back in his car and sped off. that was a sobering experience. heavy still laughs about it though.

medic: please do not ask this man to drive. he will be making calls, eating, drinking, changing the radio station, yelling at everyone in the backseat who’s “distracting him”, swerving in and out of lanes, using his knees to keep the wheel straight so he can clap to whatever music he decides on, and if you try to call him out on it, this fucker… this fucker scoffs. “don’t be a baby! i’ve been driving longer than i haven’t been driving, i am a wonderful driver!” with road rage to boot. he is not in his lane half the time. the last time he was allowed to drive for the company he also got into it with heavy. he’s the only one who didn’t get back in his car, but he did apologize. he will fight anyone who asks to fight on the roads, he will race anyone who asks to race. it’s lawless country. sighs about the autobahn often.

sniper: a good enough, responsible enough driver, because he’s the only one (aside from soldier…. technically….) with his own van to maintain. he will never let anyone else in the car if he’s in the car; he has no interest in letting people find out if he’s a good driver or not because his van is his sanctuary and that means everyone else get out. spends most of his time in his van anyway. doesn’t like sedans. does have a habit of tailgating people, and if you are allowed the rare opportunity to be in the vehicle with him and say something about it he’ll go “oh! am i? i’ll stop, thanks for letting me know mate” and then you will never be allowed in the car again. only thing he hates more than passengers are backseat drivers. he will tailgate whoever he wants to. fuck off. has also tailgated heavy so hard heavy pulled over to fight him, and he also got immediately back in his car and waved him off with an appeasing smile. heavy laughs about that too.

spy: you ever wanted to feel like you’re the worst driver in the world? get in a car with spy. feels like james bond. drives with no music, and one of the few times he won’t smoke. feels like an uber frfr. please do not speak to him when he’s driving, he would like to forget about the life he’s actively living and you are a part of that. makes a KILLER getaway car driver. prompt, punctual, professional. won’t drive anything without window tints.

[aothotties]

Country Boy!Jean x Reader

Word Count: 1199

Warnings: MDNI, Swearing, pet names, Car sex (kinda), Cunnilingus (F. Receiving), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slight dacryphilia, creampie.

Notes: y’all Rachel did her mf thing with this one. I also had to re-upload it, because tumblr hid it.

_____

One thing you absolutely loved was a country boy. The southern drawl, jeans with the cowboy boots, you loved it all

That's how Jean got you tangled in his web. He approached you at a fair while you were with your friends and you've been hooked ever since.

One night Jean asked you to join him at a rodeo. You were hesitant to go at first but after some smooth talking he was eventually able to convince you to go.

You put on your best rodeo outfit and waited for him to come pick you up

Jean held your hand as you walked through the crowd of people

“You know you’re the prettiest girl out here tonight right?” He said as he looked over to you

“Jean stop” you said as you giggled

He rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb and blushed

You enjoyed the night with Jean going from booth to booth getting snacks and drinks and watching bull rides. There was one area where you were able to ride a horse and Jean walked beside you as you rode.

The night ended and Jean walked you to the truck and opened the passenger side door.

“Hope you had a great night pretty lady” he said as he hoped in the drivers side

“Any night with you is a great night” you responded

Jean placed his hand on your thigh and started driving towards your house

As he sped down the road Jean’s hand slid further up your thigh

“You look so good tonight. The prettiest little cowgirl” he said as his hand got closer to your crotch

You squirmed in your seat and your body got hot, you knew exactly what little game he was playing

“You look pretty handsome yourself Mr. cowboy” you responded as you spread your legs to give him access to your cunt

Jean rubbed you lightly through your pants and you grinded onto his hand. You couldn't wait to get home, knowing exactly what was about to happen

As soon as you got through the door he slammed it shut and lifted you up so your legs were wrapped around his waist. His lips crashed onto yours and you passionately kissed as he carried you up to your room

“Mm jean – slow down, take your time” you said between kisses

“Can’t, need you now princess” he responded as he laid your body down on the bed

He tore the thin fabric of your small shirt and before you could even protest his lips met yours again. He slipped his tongue in your mouth and intertwined it with yours

As he kissed you he fumbled around with your belt until he was able to unbuckle it. He then slipped off your black jeans, your panties coming down with them

Jean kneeled down, face-to-face with your throbbing cunt

“She's glistening for me darlin’” he said as he ran a finger up and down your wet hole

He lapped at your cunt greedily causing your back to arch off the bed. Your hands found their way to his hair, you didn't care about ruffling his mullet all you could do was whine and moan from the pleasure.

He didnt stop until you were shaking and cuming on his face. Jean slurped up every drop

“Fuck- you taste as good as you look princess” he said as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand

He began taking his own clothes off and you laid there in anticipation

He grabbed your legs and turned you so you were face down on the bed. He lifted your ass in the air and lined his thick cock up with your soaked hole.

He slid in slowly and you both let out a sigh as he bottomed out

“Fuck jean-” you moaned into the blanket under you

He started moving his hips back and forth fucking you at a steady pace. He was a mess behind you. Grunting and moaning at the feeling of your tight walls around him

“You're sucking me in mama” he moaned

He quickened his pace and his strokes got deeper. He was hitting that sweet spot and you were being pushed closer to the edge

“Just like that papa, feels s’good” you whined

You started matching his energy and began throwing your ass back onto him. The clapping of skin could be heard throughout the house, luckily you lived alone

You gripped the blanket and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you were about to cum for him

“Jean, baby, im cuming” you whined as you approached your orgasm

“Good girl, cum for me baby” he said in response

Your legs shook and you saw white as you came. Jean smirked because he knew nobody else could fuck like this

He picked you up off the bed and lifted you into a full nelson. He bounced your body on his dick, his tip was brushing your cervix.

The feeling was too much, you were drooling and seeing stars

“Papa, too much , i c-can't” you whined

“Awe princess i know you can take it” he said and he continued bouncing you on his dick

“Can’t papa, too much” there were tears running down your face, it was all too much to handle

He giggled at the sight of your fucked out expression

“Ok mama, it’s okay” he said as he put you back down on the bed

You thought you were getting a moment to catch your breath but Jean had other plans

He grabbed your legs and put them over his shoulders. Your gold anklet with the “J” on it was dangling next to his head

He slid back into you without giving you a moment to adjust. Your hand went to his abdomen to try and get some relief but he was having none of that shit

“Move your hand mama” he said sternly

You did as you were told and let him continue fucking you

Jean was going crazy at this point, fucking you like a mad man. Both of your bodies were covered in sweat and you both were moaning loudly

You grew closer and closer to your orgasm and he could feel you spasming around him.

“Fuck- keep squeezing me like that mama and ill fill this pussy up” he said through gritted teeth

“Cum with me papa” you moaned in response

Jean kept going and you both neared your orgasm. Once again your eyes rolled back and his head fell back from the pleasure

You released your orgasm on his dick and squirted on his abdomen as he came inside of you

He slid out and gave you both a second to breathe

“Fuck princess, that was so good” he said but you were too fucked out to speak

He smiled at you and grabbed a wet towel to clean you up

He spent the night at your place and you both watched movies until it was time to sleep

You cuddled up next to him and he placed a kiss on your forehead

“Goodnight papa” you said as you dozed off.

“Goodnight mama” he responded before closing his eyes

Rachel

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 15: ~

You're Home:

Who's ready to meet the Muirs? This is the longest arc. I'm calling it 'Farming and Family.' If this was ever a book, yes, someone said I should publish it like Portal's Blue Sky, then these chapters would be the first novel. Also, yes, I did write this alongside all of the Operation Spy mini-arc. Next chapter might not be out till next week because of this.

Part 16:

Fiona Muir wasn't alarmed when she heard the roaring of trucks from the kitchen window. Sometimes deliveries can be made in the evening. Farming wasn't exactly a job where you could stick to a time schedule. But, when the headlights began to meet her eyes, she frowned. Her mind began to race. Were they expecting a delivery? Did Angus not tell her? Perhaps they were lost?

Then she saw the logo on the side. Cadal. Her heart sank, and her mind began to race further. She turned the tap off. She didn't notice everyone else in the house had the same reaction and began to hover. Fiona didn't wait or listen. Something in her gut told her this wasn't good. She marched to the front door, swung her oversized brown cardigan on, slipped into her muddy wellington boots, and opened the door.

'Fiona, where are you going?' her husband Logan called. She ignored him.

'Ma, wait,' her eldest Angus called. She ignored him.

'Ma,' her youngest Harris called. She ignored him.

Fiona might be a woman in her early sixties, but she still had the mental and physical energy of someone in her forties. Farming will either make you or break you. For the Muir's, it was never the latter.

Her boots crunched under the freshly layered snow. The passenger door opened, and O'Connor, Roy, and Caz jumped out. The driver kept the engine running, both for heat and to prevent it icing over. Roy, feeling like he hadn't done anything to contribute other than hide and do stock intake, took it upon himself to explain the very normalised situation. At least to everyone else on the property. They're all prepared for the reaction and it's outcomes. Caz and O'Connor went to open the van door. Roy felt like he was delivering news of Muir's death.

'Are you Fiona Muir?'

'Yes.' She took a laboured breath. 'Is this about Ewan?'

Roy nodded. Fiona's face dropped. He was quick to react. 'He's fine - don't worry - but he's - well, he's different.'

'Was it an accident?'

'Yes.' Fiona covered her mouth in shock. Her mind instantly came up with wild theories. How can Ewan even be okay if there was an accident? 'I'm sorry, but it's best you see for yourself.' The rest of the family, apart from Muir's nephew who was alseep in his crib, appeared on the doorstep. Roy noticed and made eye contact with them. 'You all can, but I must warn you, this will be a bit of a shock.'

'Well, where is-'

'I'm here, ma.' Muir's voice was weak. Shy. The usual playfulness was full of dread. It wasn't until they got into the drive that the excitement of going home became one of nerves. He was shaking, and not because of the cold. Not even Innes' touch could help. He had to let go, retreating the tendril Innes now knew every crease and line of. 'Just...Just don't scream, eh?'

The truck swung side to side, and everyone waited with baited breath. Muir's family approached, believing Ewan was going to be wheeled out on a hospital bed with 3rd degree burns or a broken bone. Why he didn't come home in an ambulance was something that didn't cross their minds. Then they saw him. His mum, dad, two brothers, their wives, and his two nieces saw what Muir had become. He towered over them, yet he felt so small. Like a toddler who's been caught drawing over the freshly painted living room walls. He couldn't look them in the eye. He felt their hearts sink and then race. What hurt was seeing Angus lightly push his nieces behind him. Muir hung his head low, as if this was all his fault.

'H-Hey, everyone. I...' What do you even say? 'I hope you had a good Christmas.' A light whimper escaped his mostly melted lips. 'I'm sorry I didn't rin-'

'Ewan?' Fiona stepped forward and gently cupped her sons face, slowly forcing him to look at her. She held back a gasp when she noticed all of his eyes moved to look at her. She began to study her middle child. From the bubbled flesh to the exposed ribs that kept his upper body from toppling over. Then she noticed his intestines hanging out. That got her to let out a deflated breath. 'I don't know where to look.' Muir's eyes filled with tears. Oddly enough, until now, he was content with his new body. He never felt ashamed, but hearing those words crushed him. He lowered his head again and silently cried. Fiona quickly knelt down to keep in his eyeline.

'Oh, baby, I'm sorry.' It was genuine. Quick to correct her mistake. 'Please forgive me. I just don't-' No. No excuses. She cried with him. 'We can fix this.'

'No, you can't,' he mumbled. 'I'm stuck like this forever.' Oh, how those words were a knife to her heart, but she was a Muir. And Muirs don't break.

'Then we'll be with you every step of the way.' With one hand, Fiona stroked Muir's arm and wiped his tears with the other. 'Please don't cry. You're home.'

Logan approached and patted Muir on the side of what should have been his shoulder. He knelt down beside his wife and pulled him into a hug. 'You're my son. How can I ever stop loving you?'

'You don't find me repulsive?'

'Well, you never were the handsome one,' Harris joked, causing his wife, Moira, to lightly smack him on the arm. Muir stifled a small laugh as his worries began to leave his mind. Why would he ever think his family would reject him? They hugged Muir as he cried. He wrapped a tendril around them all in return.

Caz turned to Roy, who was crying at the sight. 'Alright, Roy?'

'Y-Yeah.' He sniffed loudly, completely killing the moment. 'Just being silly.' But he wasn't alone. O'Connor and Raffs shed a few tears, and even the driver he sat besides was openly bawling. Whilst the family had their moment, Brodie opened the second truck for Gibbo and Addair. Innes led Rennick outside, and Trots used his tendrils to not land flat on his face in the inch thick snow and slush. Getting into the truck without legs was easier than getting out. Bonnie, Muir's eldest niece from his older brother Angus, noticed them and gasped loudly.

'Mummy. Daddy!' She pulled on their sleeves, trying to pull them away as she slipped under Muir's tendril. Bonnie was the eldest, but that doesn't mean much when you're only seven. 'There's more! There's more!' She pointed at Addair, who awkwardly froze and glanced between her and her parents before giving a small wave. Now, the initial shock just became confusion.

Muir pulled away and turned for his family to see everyone. 'Ah, so, everyone.' He wiped his tears and put on a smile. 'These are me work mates.' Yes, even Rennick and Addair, who looked surprised. 'I was hoping they could stay here. Please?' He sounded like a teenager begging for his friend to sleep over on a school night, rather than a thirty-five year old man. 'They can't go back to the cities, and they can help. What about the old barn? We can all fit and-'

'Ewan.' Logan interpreted, noticing his son began to talk too fast. 'They can stay. I'm not gonna leave you lot out in the cold. But, yes, we'll need all the help we can get. After some names, though.'

'Thank you, dad.' Muir turned and gestured for the group to approach whilst he easily stepped over his family, with his back now facing the house. 'Everyone, this is me ma and pa. Fiona and Logan. Big brother Agnus. Little shit brother 'arris.'

'Ewan, stop swearing in front of-'

'Lily, wife of Angus and Moira.' Yes, Moira Muir. 'Wife of 'arris. Bonnie and-' Muir stopped and knelt down to reach his second nieces' eyes. 'I'm sorry, I always forget your name.' An obvious joke. The girl puffed out her chest and bellowed.

'I'm Amber Night. Queen on the Universe!' Grace. Her name is Grace. She's five. Roy held back a laugh. Rennick tried not to react to the ear-piercing screams from a little girl. He's just been sleeping for the past 3 hours. He didn't need that as an alarm.

'And my nephew upstairs is Oliver.'

'Quiet the family, then?' Caz joked. Being a single child, he's never known or understood what it's like to have so many relatives. Two daughters and a wife just felt right for him. 'Pleasure to meet you.' He shook Logan and then Fiona's hands. 'We'll try and,' he let out a single chuckle. 'Answer any questions you might have.'

'Oh! Oh!' Grace yelled as she jumped up and down to get everyone's attention as she held Moira and Bonnie's hand. 'Uncle Ewan. Why are you a crab?'

'Grace!' Moira snapped. 'Don't be rude.'

'No, it's fine, Moira.' Because Muir was quick to think of an explanation a child could understand. He grinned. 'You see. I've been cursed.' Cue the dramatics. 'Cursed by the sea for stirring its waters. But, you know what's worse?'

'What?'

'I must feed. And do you know what on?'

'What?'

Muir leaned in close. Three tendrils from each side of his body sprouted and slowly reached for them. 'Children.' Cue the girls running, and Muir giving chase across the 5 acres of snowy garden before reaching the fields, laughing like a sterotypical villain from a children's show. 'You can't escape me!' Well, they're happy to have their favourite uncle back.

Caz's eyes matched Angus, and he noticed that star-struck look in his eye. Yep. Another fan. 'Wait. You're Caz McLeary.' Rennick, who was rolling his eyes to the moon and back, was right. He really was the height of shite on shore. He didn't give Caz time to answer. 'Okay. Wow. I wondered what happened to you after you retired.'

'Eh. It just felt right. Met me wife, and I could feel me body telling me to stop.' Suze. 'Oh, do you have a phone we can borrow?'

'Of course.' He turned to Logan. 'Dad.' He turned to Angus. 'I'll take who I can inside. You set Ewan and his friends up with the barn.'

The barn sat just after the cattle guard that joined the field to the garden. Logan led the infected and Innes, who should be there for Muir, but he was still too busy playing pretend with his nieces. Currently, he hung Bonnie by her ankle above his head, pretending he was going to eat her alive. Grace tapped his leg with a makeshift stick she used as a sword to save her cousin. He lightly dropped Bonnie into the snow and acted as if they had found his weak spot. Now, he was the one being chased, begging for mercy.

'So, let me get this straight.' Logan opened the barn doors, where they were greeted to stacks of hay and several barn cats. Rennick's eyes widened because that man adored cats, but he didn't want anyone to know. He lingered at the back, but he could see a couple of calico kittens as clear as day. Whatever conversation was happening around completely went in one non-existent ear and out the other. 'You drilled into something living in the oil?'

'That's the gist of it,' Addair replied. 'We came into contact with it, so we look like this now.'

'But, it suddenly died,' Trots continued.

Logan raised a brow. 'Just like that?'

'Just like that. It came from the sea, so maybe it couldn't breathe?' Trots didn't know, and he didn't care. 'It turned to dust before we could ask it anything.'

'Well, I'm sorry for what you blokes have gone through. Now,' Logan banged the door and went inside. 'We'll bring blankets. Give ye a tour if you want. Watch out for the barn cats. They hide in here most days.' Not that Rennick minded. 'It's early for bed, so please, come and sit with us. Got a lot to talk about.'

'You're too kind, Logan,' Gibbo's warm smile dropped when he heard Muir drop into the snow besides him. By now, everyone else had gone inside. He turned and saw his co-worker reaching out with a look of pain. Bonnie and Grace had somehow managed to get onto his back, where they began to tickle him. He wasn't ticklish but anything for his nieces' playtime.

'Gib...bo...Avenge me...'

Gibbo raised a brow, smiled, and turned away. 'Keep up the good work, girls.' And with that, he walked inside, leaving him to his fate.

Gently, Muir hoisted his nieces up, rolled onto his back, and set the girls down on his chest. They hugged what they could of him. Muir smiled and looked up at the clear night sky. The waning crescent moon shone brightly, and Muir's mind was at peace with himself. Despite everything that's happened to him, from the pain of transforming and losing himself to The Shape, to finally being one with Innes, he felt better than he had in months. Of course, he didn't know what was coming next, but he was ready because Ewan Derek Muir was finally home.

[small-sinclair]

Little Lady

Young!Rusty Nail x college fem!reader

Rusty is the same age as reader (think 20-25).

I'll write a part 3 and that's going to be smutty/fluffy. Not profread!

Welcomed readers: @sketchy-rosewitch, @fluffy-little-demon, @poir0t-houck, @waxxl0ver, @crumb, @ninakuli, @whimsyvixen, @roadkillerx, @hope4rain19, @vicl0v3

Part 2 to Little Lady

He drove the through your college a couple times, and every time he saw you.

You would smile, wave, and he would pull over and hop out the cab to see you if he had time or if he didn’t have blood on his hands. Rusty would smile brightly and put out his cigarette so you didn’t smell like it. Someone as beautiful and young like you shouldn’t smell like smoke and dried blood. Mostly, he just liked seeing you, his little lady, and hearing how school was.

At first, he didn’t care about your schooling and your dreams, but he had a change of heart when you showed off your fashion designs in your sketch book one day. And the way you lit up about you passing a hard test? He want to bottle it up and put it in his pocket. Everything from your laughter to your smile made him want you more. But it was the way you said his name when you saw him and he slowed down; so nice and light… Rusty would run every red light to hear you whisper his name. Even on those cold and lonely nights, he hears your voice and sees your eyes in the stars.

When he looks down at the reflection of his victim’s blood, he could see you by his side with your eyes closed.

And you couldn’t help but look forward to seeing the young truck driver. He was always so nice to you, and he would bring you sweet treats from a place he’s been or a sweatshirt. His hands were rough and callous already for being in his young twenties, but you couldn’t help but ache to hold his hand. Whatever was in the glimmer of his eyes and light in his voice, you almost felt at home with him.

When he came to town and drove on the main road pass your class, he came in a different truck. A faded, one-seated, red pickup truck with rust around the rims. The back window had a large crack from the passenger side to the center, and there was a bumper sized dent on the tailgate on the driver side. He was parked on the side of the road as you came out of the building, snow gathering to the side of the walkway.

He was leaning against the side with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Smoke curled around his head like a broken halo as he blew up into the air. When his eyes landed on you, he quickly put the cigarette out with his boot and straightened himself up as if he was about to meet a queen.

“Afternoon, little lady,” he greeted with a big smile. His eyes sparkled in the fading sunlight. “It’s a bit late, ya know? With winter and all, sun goes down.”

You hugged your coat closer and your backpack, that hung from your hip with a star key chain he gave you, came tighter. “There’s supposed to be a winter storm tonight, too,” you hummed. You looked at him up and down. “Where’s your truck?”

He gave a soft grin and chuckled. “Got the next two weeks off, doll.” He looked down the road then back at you. “Decided to visit you for the weekend if that’s okay?”

He earned a little laugh from you as you stepped closer to him. “I don’t mind, Rusty. Besides, I feel better seeing you now; it wasn’t the best day.”

He lifted a brow. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No. Just want to go home, really,” you answered, a tried smile forming on your lips. “I’m tired, Rusty.”

Your defeated voice my his heart ache for a moment. He licked his lips quickly then asked, “Do you want me to drive you home?”

You thought for a moment. How well did you really know him? Sure, he would stop sometimes, pull over, and have you hop in for a drive or to take you to the diner off campus if it was really late. You yeah, he would hang out with you, talk to you, let you sleep on his should when you got sleepy, and listen to your week like you would for him. But he never really told you much about his life. He knows about your family and your golf fish, Larry, but you don’t even know if he has a house or a shed!

You didn’t know if you should let him take you home, but it is getting darker and colder…

You came from your thoughts when a sudden blast of cold wind hits your back. Before you could even bundle up, Rusty took you in his arms and hid your face in his chest as the wind picked up. He lowered his head and closed his eyes as snow hit his body, and he shivered as it went down his shirt. He remembered what his aching arms are for when he shields your from the blast of snow and wind as he tucked your head under his chin. He was cold, yes; but he felt your warmth and smelt your sweet cherry scent in the cold air. You are worth getting cold for.

When the wind died down for a moment, he already made his mind up. “I’m taking you home,” he says in the fabric of your winter hat. “It’s too damn cold for ya ta’walk.” Without you protesting or even thinking about having a say, he pushes you to his truck and got you in.

You slid from the driver side to the passenger side easily as he followed in. He started the engine and turned the heater up. He leaned back in his seat then glanced at you. The light snow in his hair and on his eye lashes made him look like a wolf hunting in the winter. If that’s the case, then you might as well be the rabbit.

As the heat circled the truck, he buckled up, looked both ways, and pulled out into the road. “Wanna get food first before I drop you off?”

You buckled yourself up at the stoplight. “I have food in the slow cooker,” you glanced at him then at the snow coming down. “Bet you hadn’t had a good home meal in a while, huh?”

Rusty’s thumb taped on the wheel in thought. “It’s been a while, yeah,” the truck moved forward, “you don’t mind, do you?”

“It’ll be nice not to eat by myself tonight,” you answered. “Besides, I have beef and noodles cooking. Larry can’t have that.”

“Gotta keep that fish happy,” he answered. “But if we fed him gold fish crackers…”

“Cannibalism.”

He snorted out a laugh. “It’s crackers!”

“In the shape of a fish, Rusty!” You protested, giving him an offended look before laughing to yourself.

The snow flakes were starting to fall fast and grew bigger. Rusty glances at you then the road. His smile was warm and serene. “Whatever you say, doll.”

***********

After a missed turn and a quick stop for gas and soda, he parked in front of your apartment. it wasn't too big, only being three stories tall, but it wasn't too small, either. It was close to campus, but it was still far from your college class rooms.

"I live in the basement," you said, pointed at a window that was ground level. "It's a studio, so it's small."

Rusty shrugged as he closed the car door. "Big enough for two people, right?"

"Big enough for two people plus a fish," you answered. "I live on the quiet side of college. Nothing happens around here besides hearing the train at night."

Rusty closed the door tight and followed you down the five steps to the basement. Across from your apartment was the laundry room; no neighbors to say hello or to bother you. As much as Rusty was glad that he got you all to himself, he didn't like that you were alone when you came back from a long day. Come to think of it, he doesn't remember you telling him about your friends. He only knew that your family was three hours away and hardly visit.

When you opened the door to your apartment, he could help but marvel at your room. You apartment was lit by soft yellow and white Christmas tree lights, giving it a warm feeling, and it was clean. You had a couch with pillows, a little coffee table, and a bookshelf in a corner by the kitchen. To the left, your bed was neatly made with stuffed animals and fluffy pillows, and his sweatshirt you stole laid with your p.j. pants. There was a desk with a photo of your family, and Larry's fish bowl was on the dresser. He had a little castle and a dragon skull in the tank and Larry was a fat fish that swam peacefully and carelessly around. When he looked up, he saw printed pictures of you and him taped to the wall, but one photo of him by his truck was in a little circle frame that said "Bless the 18 Wheeler" at the bottom. When he looked closer, he could make out faded lips on his face; your lips.

He looked back at you as you entered the kitchen and pulled down some bowls and cups. "You didn't have to put me in a frame, y/n."

"I know," you answered as you fixed him a bowl of noodles from your slow cooker. "But I did. You're the first person I see in the morning." You exited the kitchen and placed the bowls on the coffee table. "I think you look cute in that photo, too."

"Cute?" He asked. "I ain't cute."

You rolled your eyes as you patted the seat next to you on the couch for him to join you. "I know, I know. You're a big, strong, tough truck driver."

He hung his jacket on the back of your computer chair then sat next to you. His dark brown plaid he normally wears was warn and still dirty. Rusty took the bowl and started eating. "Don't you forget it," he said with a mouthful of noodles. His eyes rolled back at the taste and he started wolfing down his meal. It's been so long since Rusty had a good meal like this. He's so used to gas station food and microwaved food that he forgot was a home meal tasted like. Best of all, it was made by your hands and love.

You ate with him and felt happy. You and Larry weren't alone tonight during the snow storm. Some was with you to keep you warm for the weekend.

"Are you staying the night?" You asked as you brought him another bowl.

He looked out the window at the big snowflakes and watched how fast they were falling. "You sure? I don't wanna intrude."

"I don't mind. Besides," you nodded at his truck. "You're already snowed in, the motels are probly full with other travelers, and the roads were already covered in black ice when you came down," swallowed a spoonful of noodles. "I feel safer with you here than driving in this weather. I have plenty of blankets and pillows for you to use, too."

Rusty acted like he was thinking, but he already had his mind made up. he was going to stay no matter if you said no or didn't ask. He was going to have you for himself tonight even if you like it or not. This is what he was looking forward to ever since he laid eyes on you, but why did he feel disgusted with himself when he looked at your sweet smile? Why did he feel sick when his lustful desires took over and his mind raced with images of you pinned to the bed, begging him to stop fucking you so rough? His stomach turned when his own actions and sinful wishes took over; he couldn't do that to you. He realizes that now. All he want so do is hold his little lady tonight and keep her warm through the winter storm.

"Alright," he said in a low voice. "I'll stay with you, little lady."

[lyjen]

Ask for help | Part 2

Evan Buckley x Sister reader

A request by: @shauna-carsley - The request

Summary: As (y/n) and her fiancé get hit by a drunk driver, she loses the love of her life. Her family and best friend are trying to help her whenever and where they possibly can. Until she shuts them out.

<< Previous Chapter | 9-1-1 masterlist

Taglist: Let me know if you want to be added in the comments or message me! 😊🫶🏽

______

(Y/n) is standing in front of the station. Simply just staring at the giant red garage doors. After weeks of physical therapy, and talking to Frank she was back at work. She took one more deep breath, and walked into the firehouse.

With her bag slung over her shoulder, she walked over the threshold into the firehouse and made her way towards the locker room. When she heard a familiar voice calling through the firehouse. “Well if it isn’t my favorite paramedic!” Eddie’s voice spoke as he ran down stairs and across the floor towards his best friend. He opened his arms and pulled her into a hug. “Finally we get to work together again” he spoke as he almost squeezed her to death.

A smile formed on (y/n)’s face, Eddie’s arm patted on her back and he pulled back. Eddie held her shoulders as he scanned her body. She was looking good. She finally was dragged out of that deep dark hole.”I'm so proud of you” he said as he once more pulled her close and pressed a small kiss on the back of her head.

Eddie was happy to see that she actually was getting better.He slung his arm around her shoulder as he walked with her between the trucks, towards the locker room. “Are you ready for your first shift back?” he asked. She sighed, “Yeah.. I think I'm ready to get back out there, and actually do what I love.”

It has been a rough couple of weeks, months. Ever since Eddie came over to her house and confronted her with her problems, they’ve been closer than ever. Which even (y/n) didn’t know that was possible. She has been close to Eddie for years, but to think that this horrible situation actually made them become even closer, filled her heart with love. Eddie had helped (y/n) a lot in these last couple of weeks. If Eddie didn’t show up when he did, she still might have been in her bed, crying over Jay, or maybe she wouldn’t even have made it this far.

She went to therapy, which helped a lot. (Y/n) wasn’t the kind of person to talk to a stranger about her feelings, it made her uncomfortable. But she knew she needed help, so she had to just step out of her comfort zone, and set her standards aside and talk to Frank. What also helped was that she knew she had the entire 118 who had her back. Even if it was only a phone call or a text, it was enough for her. It made her feel like she was being seen.

A smile was spread across Eddie’s face as she said those words. “We’re happy to have you back (y/n), It hasn’t been the same here without you.” he spoke. (Y/n) softly nodded, while she pressed her lips into a thin line, not really knowing what to say.

She was happy to be back at the firehouse, but she was scared for this shift. It has been a while since she gave medical advice. But she knew she had her fellow paramedics to lean on, Eddie, Hen and Chimney would be there every step of the way.

(Y/n) walked into the locker room, following after Eddie. “Well if it isn’t my favorite Buckley sibling!” Bobby said as his eyes spotted her walking into the room. Bobby tied the lace of his boot and made his way towards the female firefighter who just entered the room.

Her brother was right there, just pressing the last button of his shirt. Evan scoffed at Bobby’s words, “Hello? "I'm right here!” he said offended, but Bobby just ignored him. Evan didn't seem too happy with Bobby calling her his favorite Buckley. But, for now he could live with that. He loved his sister, and he was happy to see her back at work again. So if that would mean that she was at the moment Bobby’s favorite, he was okay with that.

Evan felt a hand land on his shoulder, when he looks to the left he sees Eddie just laughing at his comment.

“Welcome back firefighter Buckley, glad to have you back.” Bobby said as he squeezed her shoulder. Her eyes wandered from the hand on her shoulder to Bobby. “Thanks cap, it’s good to be back again.” Bobby’s hand slipped away from her shoulder and he left the locker room.

“Ready for the chaos today, sis?” Evan spoke as (Y/n) let her bag fall onto the bench in front of her locker. “Are you ever really ready?” she asked as she started to peel off the taped on name of the floater who used the locker. Evan smiled at her reaction, that was the kind of reaction he would’ve expected from his sister. He was happy to see this side of her again. This time she wasn’t screaming at him, crying or feeling down. “We’ll leave you to it.” Eddie said as he walked out of the locker room with Evan following close behind him, when Evan stopped as he passed by his sister.

“If there’s anything wrong, just tell me. Okay? I'm here for you.” he spoke as he reassuringly squeezed her upper arm. “I know..” she says as she lays her hand on his and rubs up and down on the back of his hand. Evan gave her a small smile and jogged out of the locker room. “Oh and Buck..” Evan stopped in his tracks and turned around to face his sister once more. “Thank you… for not giving up on me.” she said while she fiddled her uniform shirt in her hands.

“Always.”

______

The sirens of the trucks and ambulance roared through the streets of Los Angeles. The blue and red lights were lighting up the night sky of Los Angeles, as they raced towards the scene.

The entire day the 118 had been on small calls like: cats that needed rescuing from trees and small kitchen fires. But this one sounded like they were going to be busy for a moment.

The ambulance pulled to a stop as Hen stepped on the brake. “We got this, lets go” Hen gave (y/n) a small peptalk. She trusted her, even though this was her first shift after her accident.

(Y/n) pushed the passenger door of the ambulance open and hopped out. She opened the door of the ambulance and she grabbed the medic bag from the back. But when she turned her face towards the scene, her stomach turned and she got the feeling like she couldn’t breathe.

It was exactly the situation she would’ve been in if she steered one inch to the left or right. She just stood there, like she had turned into a statue. The chaotic sounds on scene became an echo, nothing came through. Everything around her seems to be moving in slow motion.

She wanted to move, she really did. But it felt like her legs were made of stone, and she couldn’t seem to move. “(Y/n)?” An echo of her name sounded through her eardrums, but as soon as she felt a hand on her shoulder, she woke up from her trance. “(Y/n)? Are you coming?” Hen asked her partner. (Y/n) shook off the thought, “Yeah” she whispered, barely audible, and she followed Hen towards the scene.

The car crashed into a concrete wall and had just missed a tree.

Before the team came up with a plan on how to open the driver's door, (y/n) quickly put her index and middle finger on the neck of the victim, checking for his pulse. “He has a pulse but it’s barely there!” she said as she ran towards the other side of the car, which was busted open with a halligan so (Y/n) could enter the car.

Before she could get into the passenger side of the car, she stopped in her tracks as a vague figure stepped forward. “That could’ve been you.” his voice spoke. It was Jay. His voice. His body. The whole picture, it was here.

She felt like she was going to lose it right here, right now. (Y/n) closed her eyes for a second, “He’s not real.” she whispered to herself, and she got in the car. She had to stay focussed, she was going to prove herself and her team that she still could do her job, after all she had been through.

(Y/n) had heard his voice inside her head for weeks. But it looked like, just as everything in her life started to get good again, her mind was telling her no.

She leaned her left leg onto the chair and her right leg was balancing her on the floor of the car as she tried to access the man. The victim's head was leaning against the steering wheel, with lots of blood on the right side of the person's face. His head had hit the windshield. (Y/n) could see his eye rolling to the back of his head as she carefully helped the man to sit up straight so she could put on the neck brace.

The figure she was imagining was now in the back of the car, leaning over to look at what she was doing. “Well, that was too late for me” he said. That was typically what he would’ve said. He was the one with the darkest humor and the sarcasm all over the place.

She shook her head at the reaction of the figure. Maybe it would go away if she just ignored it and stayed focussed on the job. A shiver rolled down her spine as she took a look at the man’s face. It looked so much worse than she thought. “Hen, get me a neck brace!” she called over to her partner, who passed her a neck brace. She carefully slipped on the brace and secured it around her neck.

In the meanwhile Eddie was opening the driver’s door with the jaws so they could easily help the man get out of the car on a backboard.

“Let’s get a backboard!” Eddie yelled at the team, who passed the backboard towards the driver’s side of the car.

“Watch his head” Eddie warned the other firefighters as Eddie and Evan turned the man on his seat and slipped him onto a backboard. Another firefighter already had the gurney waiting on the side “Let’s move it!” Eddie spoke as a bunch of firefighters carried the backboard with the man on it towards the gurney and carefully heaved him over onto the gurney.

When (Y/n) stepped out of the car, and took a few steps back from the vehicle.

“You did a great job.” Jay’s voice sounded proud.

She let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding in, but it sounded more like a cry. Both her hands went into her hair and she let herself fall down on her knees. She felt like she was going to lose her mind all over again. Tears were rolling down her face.

(Y/n) knew she had to step into that ambulance with Hen, but as soon as Bobby saw her there, in the middle of the street. He told Chimney to get in the back of the ambulance and drive with Hen towards the hospital. Bobby knew she needed a minute as soon as he looked at her face.

“Hey hey hey! You okay?” Evan spoke up as he kneeled down beside his sister and slid his hand onto her shoulder, trying to comfort her.

She let her hands slide over her face, to wipe away her tears and to process what the hell just happened. (Y/n) looked silently at her brother, “I think so.. just, some stress I guess.” she whispered as she leaned her forehead against his shoulder.

“Sounds like this call was a little too close to home, Am I right?” Evan asked as he placed his hand on the back of her head, reeling her into his body. He felt her head nod against his shoulder as an answer to his question.

Her hands slipped underneath his arms to reach his back and she turned her head so her ear was now against his chest. They just stayed silent for a bit, hugging each other. That’s what she needed for a long time, someone who would just give her a hug sometimes.

Sure, she would get hugs from Eddie. But right now what she wanted was a hug from her brother, the brother who raised her, the same way Maddie raised Evan. And just tell her that everything was going to be okay. That she would be okay.

She pulled back from the hug and let her hands rest on his forearms. “This all made me think of.. what I’ve been through or what could’ve happened.” she spoke up as she looked down at her knees that were connected with the asphalt.

Evan nodded at her confession, he understood what she meant. This call was almost an exact copy of the situation she was in months ago. He remembered that night, the way his heart dropped at the sight. The way he wished that it wasn’t his sister’s car that crashed into the tree. The way he screamed her name on the top of his lungs.

After a few counts of silence (y/n)’s voice made its way through Evan’s eardrums. “I’ve been seeing him.” she whispered.

Evan’s face morphed into a confused look, he didn’t understand what she said. She has been seeing him? What did she mean by that? “What?” Evan said as he furrowed his eyebrows at his sister.

“Jay. Sometimes I can just see him, and sometimes I can only hear his voice. I know I sound like a crazy person-”

“No, no, no! Not at all. You’re not crazy.” Evan interrupted as he felt like (Y/n) was sounding like she was going to rattle. “You’ve been through a traumatizing event, of course it’s gonna leave its scars. And I do believe that you can hear him or sometimes see him, and that’s fine.” He tries to comfort her.

He moved his hand to the back of her head as he looked into his sister’s eyes.

“To me it sounds like you will never forget Jay the way he was. That you won’t remember him as the Jay you saw when you crashed your car.” Tears were welling into her eyes again as he said those words. She closed her eyes as she looked down to her knees and a tear escaped her eyelids. She pressed her lips into a thin line as she faced Evan once more. “Thank you” she cried. “Always” And he pushed the hand which was resting on the back of her head towards his chest, so she could bury her face into his chest. “I’ll always be there for you.”