#business signs colorado

[batboyblog]

Things the Biden-Harris Administration Did This Week #35

Sep 20-27 2024

President Biden and Vice-President Harris announced new actions to curb gun violence at the one year anniversary of the White House Office of Gun Violence Prevention. The Office is the first ever White House office to deal with the issue of guns and has been overseen by the Vice-President. President Biden signed a new Executive Order aimed at combatting the emerging threat of machinegun conversion devices. These devices allow the conversion of semi-automatic firearms to a rate of fire that can match military machineguns, up to 20 bullets in one second. The EO also targets the threat of 3-D printed guns. The EO also addresses active schooler drills at schools. While almost every school conducts them there is little uniformity in how they are carried out, and no consensus on the most effective version of a drill. President Biden's EO directions the development of a research based active shooter drills, which maximize both student physical and mental safety.

President Biden celebrated the one year anniversary of the American Climate Corps and announced new Climate Corp programs. The Climate Corps has seen 15,000 young people connected to well paid jobs in clean energy and climate resilience jobs across America. The EPA and AmeriCorps announced a new Environmental Justice Climate Corps program which will connect 250 American Climate Corps members with local communities and over the next 3 help them achieve environmental justice projects. In addition HUD announced it will be the 8th federal agency to partner with the Climate Corp, opening the door to its involvement in Housing. Since its launch the American Climate Corp has inspired 14 states to launch their own state level version of the program, most recently just this week the New Jersey Climate Corps.

The Biden-Harris Administration announced that 4.2 million small business owners and self-employed people get their health insurance through the ACA marketplace. Up from 1.4 million ten years ago when President Obama and then Vice-President Biden rolled out the marketplaces. The self-employed are 3 times as likely as other Americans to use the marketplaces for their insurance, one out of every 5 getting coverage there. The ACA passed by President Obama, defended and expanded by President Biden, has freed millions of Americans to start their own businesses without fear of losing health coverage for them and their families.

The Departments of Transportation and Labor pressed freight railroad companies to close the gap and offer paid sick time to all their employees. Since 2022 under President Biden's leadership the number of Class I freight railroad employees who have access to paid sick days increased from 5% to 90%. Now the Biden-Harris Administration is pushing to finish the job and get coverage to the last 10%.

The EPA announced $965 million to help school districts buy clean energy buses. This comes on top of the 3 billion the EPA has already spent to bring clean energy buses to America's schools. So far the EPA has helped replace 8,700 school buses, across 1,300 school districts in all 50 states, DC, tribal nations, and US Territories. 95% of these buses are zero-emission, battery-electric. The clean bus program is responsible for over 2/3rds of the electric school buses on the road today.

The Biden-Harris Administration took another step forward in its historic efforts to protect the Colorado River System by signing 5 water conservation agreements with local water authorities in California and Arizona. The two short term agreements will conserve over 717,000 acre-feet of water by 2026. Collectively adding 10 feet to Lake Mead’s elevation by 2026. The Colorado River Basin provides water for more than 40 million people and fuels hydropower resources in seven U.S. states.

The Department of The Interior announced $254 million to help support local parks, the largest such investment in history. The money will go to 54 projects across 24 states hoping to redevelopment or create new parks.

HHS announced $1.5 billion to help combat opioid addiction and prevent opioid overdose deaths. The money will support state and tribal governments and help pay for mobile clinics, naloxone kits, and treatment centers. This comes as nationwide overdose rates drop for the first time since 2020, thanks to strong investment in harm reduction efforts by the Biden-Harris team.

The Department of Agriculture announced it'll spend $466.5 million in food assistance and development worldwide this year. Through its McGovern-Dole Program, the United States is the largest donor to global school feeding programs. The USDA will help feed 1.2 million children in Angola, Bangladesh, El Salvador, Ethiopia, Guatemala, Guinea-Bissau, Laos, Malawi and Rwanda. Through its Food for Progress the USDA will help support 200,000 farmers in Benin, Cambodia, Madagascar, Rwanda, Sri Lanka, Tanzania and Tunisia shift to climate-smart agriculture boosting food security in those nations and the wider region.

At a meeting at the UN First Lady Jill Biden announced a partnership between USAID and UNICEF to end childhood exposer to lead worldwide. Lead exposure kills 1.5 million people each year, mostly in the developing world.

The Senate approved the appointment of Byron Conway to a federal judgeship in Wisconsin. This makes the 213th federal judge that President Biden has appointed.

[reidmarieprentiss]

Something's Gotta Give

Summary: Chip hitchhikes his way away from where his life fell apart. He meets a beautiful woman, you, and his brain, once again, becomes a potato.

Pairing: Chip Taylor x fem!reader

Category: fluff, smut (18+), angst

Warnings/Includes: smut (18+) additional warnings under the cut, mentions of what happened in 68-kill, insecurities, jealousy, boss/employee relationship, happy ending

Word count: 18.7k

a/n: i love me some spencer reid but chip taylor is sooo pathetic it just gets me going

main masterlist

Additional warnings: unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it), oral (m receiving), mild consensual degradation

28-year-old Chip Taylor was a mess, to put it simply. After narrowly escaping the chaos of Louisiana, he drove as far as he could on what little gas money he had, before resorting to hitchhiking. His path was aimless, following wherever someone would take him, until he somehow ended up in Colorado. In Aurora, he found a shelter where he could sleep while he searched for a job.

Now, with his face healed and dressed in some half-decent clothes—no longer stained with blood—Chip wandered the streets of Aurora, unsure of what his next move would be, but grateful for the temporary calm.

Chip quickly discovered that his search for work wasn’t going to be as simple as he’d hoped. Every place he walked into seemed to size him up before kindly, but firmly, turning him away. His stomach sank a little more with each rejection, though he tried to brush it off and keep moving forward.

At a diner, the older woman behind the counter smiled apologetically, her eyes flicking over his application. “I’m sorry, hon. We’re really looking for someone with experience in the kitchen. It’s just so busy around here, you know? Best of luck, though.”

Chip nodded, his heart sinking, but he mustered a smile. “Thanks, I understand.”

At a hardware store, the manager gave him a once-over, scratching his chin. “You ever worked with tools before? We need someone who knows their way around equipment, construction, that kind of thing.”

Chip shook his head, feeling the weight of his own uselessness. “No, but I can learn fast.”

The man offered a tight-lipped smile. “I’m sure you can, but we need someone who can hit the ground running. Sorry, pal.”

Even the local gas station didn’t seem to have room for him. The young guy at the counter barely looked up from his phone as he spoke. “Yeah, we’re fully staffed right now. You could leave your number, but… I wouldn’t count on anything soon.”

Chip stood there for a moment, the rejection almost stinging more because of how little the guy cared. He turned away without leaving his number.

By the time the sun began to set, Chip was exhausted from walking up and down the streets of Aurora, facing rejection after rejection. His new clothes felt heavier with every polite smile and apologetic glance, and he wondered how much longer he could keep this up.

Chip wandered across the neon-lit streets, his eyes catching the glow from a sign that cast an inviting red hue over the sidewalk. He stopped to take it in: Lovers of Today. The name was bold, practically daring someone like him to step inside and forget his troubles for a while.

He didn’t have a cent to his name, but at least he could probably score a glass of water, and the idea of sitting somewhere that wasn’t a shelter felt like a brief escape.

As he pushed the door open, the warmth of the dive bar’s dim lighting greeted him. The red neon heart in the window flickered, casting playful shadows on the walls. The smell of old wood, cigarette smoke, and stale beer hung in the air, but Chip didn’t mind. It was a welcome change from the streets outside.

He plopped down on a worn stool at the bar, letting out a soft sigh of relief as he surveyed the room. The bar was cluttered but lively, bottles lined up with care, their glass shimmering under the soft red glow. Music hummed low in the background, a melancholic tune that fit the slow pulse of the room. A man played pool in the back, his movements lazy and unhurried, while a few scattered patrons sat at tables, lost in their own thoughts.

“What can I get you, sweetheart?” A melodic voice pulled Chip from his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

He turned to face the bartender, and for a moment, his brain seemed to short-circuit. There she was—easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. That realization sent a jolt of fear through him, more intense than any excitement he might have felt. Her soft, playful smile made his chest tighten in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

You noticed his hesitation, his wide-eyed look, and leaned forward slightly, tilting your head. “…Can I get you anything?” you asked again, this time with a bit of a laugh in your voice, clearly entertained by his flustered state.

“Uh—um, yeah, just a water?” Chip finally managed, though he cursed himself for sounding so awkward.

You smiled, the amusement twinkling in your eyes. “Sure thing, sugar,” you replied, effortlessly cool as you turned to get his drink, leaving Chip to collect his scattered thoughts.

You placed the glass down in front of him with another smile. “Here you go.”

“Th-thanks,” Chip stammered, looking up at you with wide, innocent eyes, his nerves getting the better of him.

You winked, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips, before turning to tend to your other customers. Chip couldn’t help himself—he leaned up slightly, watching you as you bent down to grab a beer from the fridge. His eyes lingered on your curves, his mind briefly distracted from the pit of anxiety that had been gnawing at him all day.

After you served the other patrons, you made your way back to the bar, your eyes flicking over the handsome, if not charmingly pathetic, man in front of you. His awkwardness was almost endearing.

“Anything else?” you asked, putting away freshly cleaned glasses.

“No, just water is fine,” Chip said, though the way he gulped and avoided looking at how your top clung to your chest told you he was flustered.

You sighed softly, setting down the glass you’d been holding. “Are you sure, sweetheart? You look like you’ve had a tough day.”

Chip’s shoulders slumped as he exhaled heavily, the weight of everything pressing down on him. “Yeah. I have, but I, uh… I don’t really have any money on me.”

You nodded thoughtfully, your gaze softening with understanding. “I see…” You turned around, and Chip’s heart sank, deflating even more as he stared at his water. He really was such a loser.

But then you spun back toward him, setting a nice cold beer in front of him with a wink. “It’s on the house, sugar,” you said, your smile making the tension in Chip’s chest ease just a little. “In exchange, you can tell me what’s got you so down?”

Chip blinked at the beer, surprised by the unexpected kindness. His lips twitched into a small, grateful smile as he glanced up at you. 

“Really? You want to hear about my day?” Chip asked, a bit incredulous, his eyes narrowing slightly in confusion. He wasn’t used to someone actually wanting to listen, especially not someone like you.

“Yeah,” you replied, offering a sweet smile that seemed to melt away some of the guardedness he’d been holding onto. “Tell me what’s got you so down.”

For a moment, Chip hesitated. Part of him wondered if he should just shrug it off, make something up, or dodge the question entirely. He couldn’t exactly spill everything—the illegal activities, the women, and all the madness that led to his escape from Louisiana. That was a story no one needed to hear. But maybe he could share the rest of it, the overwhelming feeling of being lost, broken, and more useless than ever.

“Well,” he began, keeping his gaze on the beer in front of him, fingers tracing the rim of the bottle. “It’s been a rough few weeks, to be honest. I, uh, kinda lost everything back home. Decided to leave, and… here I am, trying to start fresh, I guess.”

He took a sip of the beer, the cold liquid soothing his parched throat. “I thought I’d find a job, but, you know, turns out I’m not exactly qualified for… well, anything. Been walking all over town getting turned away.”

You leaned in a little, listening intently, your face soft with empathy. He glanced at you nervously, his words fumbling but flowing now that the gates had cracked open.

“I don’t know, it’s just… I keep messing up, everywhere I go. Feels like I can’t catch a break.” He paused, staring into his beer again, his voice lowering. “Feels like maybe I don’t deserve one.”

You frowned slightly, your heart tugged by the self-deprecating tone in his voice. “Hey,” you said, your voice kind but firm, “don’t say that. We all have rough patches. It doesn’t mean you’re not worth something. It just means things are tough right now. Doesn’t mean it’ll always be that way.”

Chip looked up at you, surprised by the sincerity in your voice. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond. He hadn’t expected kindness from anyone, much less a stranger. His lips twitched into a faint smile, the first real one he’d felt in days.

“Thanks,” he said quietly, genuinely. “I needed to hear that.”

You smiled at him again, that same warm and genuine expression softening your features. “Anytime, sugar.” A slight pause lingered between you before you leaned in just a bit, voice dropping to a playful tone. “Tell me though, do you have any experience bartending?”

Chip shook his head quickly, a little embarrassed. “No, not really,” he admitted, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Hmm… are you strong?” you giggled, clearly having some fun with him.

Chip instinctively looked down at his arms, making you swoon just a bit as the way his muscles strained against the fabric of his sleeves caught your eye.

“I guess?” he said, though his voice carried uncertainty, like he wasn’t sure if he should be bragging.

You laughed softly. “Do you scare easily?”

“Uhhh…” Chip blinked, clearly unsure how to answer that, given everything he’d been through recently.

“Do you think you could be a bouncer?” you asked, leaning forward a little more. “Kick people out for being assholes?”

His brow furrowed slightly. “What are you asking?”

“I’m trying to offer you a job here,” you said with a smile, your words hanging in the air like an unexpected lifeline.

Chip’s eyes widened in surprise, his breath catching in his throat. “A job? Here?” He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He had walked in hoping for nothing more than a glass of water, and now here you were, offering him a shot at something better.

You nodded, your expression kind but still playful. “Yeah, I need someone to keep an eye on things. It’s a dive bar, after all, and we get our fair share of rowdy customers. Plus, it’d be nice to have a strong pair of arms around, don’t you think?”

Chip felt a wave of relief mixed with cautious optimism wash over him. It wasn’t a glamorous job, but it was a start. A chance. And right now, that was all he needed.

“I—yeah. I could do that,” he said, his voice steadier now. “I mean, I’ll do my best.”

You grinned, clearly pleased with his answer. “That’s all I’m asking, sugar. Can you start tomorrow?”

Chip stared at you in disbelief, unable to suppress the small, hopeful smile forming on his lips as he nodded. Maybe, just maybe, this was the break he’d been waiting for.

That night, Chip walked back to the shelter with a smile tugging at his lips, something that had been a rare visitor in recent weeks. The cool night air felt refreshing against his skin as he moved through the dimly lit streets of Aurora, replaying the events of the evening in his head. He couldn’t quite believe it—after days of dead-end rejections, here he was with a job offer. 

And it wasn’t just any job; it was from you. A beautiful, confident woman who had seemed to see something in him, even when he wasn’t sure what he had left to offer. Your kindness had caught him off guard, leaving him feeling a mix of gratitude and something he couldn’t quite place—maybe hope? It had been so long since he’d felt even a flicker of optimism.

But as much as he tried to bask in the good fortune of the moment, there was a nagging feeling creeping at the edges of his mind. Ominous, maybe. It felt almost too lucky to have met you and been offered a job so quickly. Nothing in his life had ever come easy, and now that something finally had, he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a catch. 

Still, for now, Chip allowed himself to enjoy the victory. He shoved his hands into his pockets, his mind wandering to what tomorrow might bring. It wasn’t much—a job as a bouncer at a dive bar—but it was something. It was a start. Maybe he could pull his life together after all.

As he neared the shelter, his smile widened just a bit, despite that faint feeling of unease lingering in the back of his mind. For the first time in a long time, he had something to look forward to.

—

The next day, Chip walked into the bar, nerves buzzing in his chest as he stepped through the doors of Lovers of Today for his first day. The place was quieter now, with the neon signs flickering softly, casting their warm red glow over the room. Behind the counter, there you were again, moving gracefully as you set up for the night. Your presence instantly caught his eye, and before he knew it, that same anxious excitement was bubbling up inside him.

You looked up when he entered, smiling sweetly in his direction. “Hey there, sugar! Glad you made it,” you said, your voice warm and welcoming.

Chip swallowed, nodding as he approached the bar. “Yeah, of course,” he replied, his hands already feeling clammy with anticipation. He’d thought about this moment all night, and now that he was here, standing in front of you again, he felt even more flustered than before.

You gestured for him to come closer, pulling him next to you behind the bar. "Alright, so here's the rundown," you began, your tone casual but professional. You started explaining the basics of what you expected from him—keeping an eye on the patrons, making sure things didn’t get out of hand, and if someone got too rowdy, he'd be the one to step in.

But as you talked, Chip found it harder and harder to focus. You were standing so close that he could catch the faint, intoxicating scent of your perfume. It wasn’t overpowering, just enough to make his head spin a little, like a soft whisper of musk and something sweet that lingered in the air. The way you moved, the subtle brush of your arm against his as you pointed things out, made his concentration slip further.

“So, if someone refuses to pay or starts causing trouble…” you continued, but Chip’s attention wavered as his eyes darted to your lips when you spoke, then back to the glass you were polishing.

He blinked, snapping himself out of his haze for a moment. “Right, uh, got it,” he muttered, though he wasn’t sure if he had actually retained anything useful. His heart was pounding, but not from nerves about the job. No, this was something else entirely—something about you had his pulse racing.

You paused, tilting your head slightly, a knowing glimmer in your eyes as you glanced at him. "You listening, Chip? Or am I gonna have to repeat myself?"

“Sorry,” Chip stammered, embarrassed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m listening. Just—uh—it’s a lot to take in, I guess.”

You chuckled softly, leaning just a little closer. “It’s okay, sugar. You’ll get the hang of it. Just focus on keeping things calm, and don’t worry, I’ll be here if you need help.”

Chip nodded, forcing himself to concentrate, but the scent of you, the warmth of your presence, made it feel like the room was spinning just a bit. He knew he had to pull it together—he couldn’t let his head get lost every time he was around you. But right now, standing next to you, it was harder than he’d ever imagined.

Chip’s first night went off without a hitch. The bar’s steady rhythm felt almost soothing to him, and by the time his second week rolled around, he had settled into a routine. He’d met the other bartenders and bouncers, learned the ins and outs of the place, and even found himself relaxing a little more with each shift. Nothing too wild had happened yet—just the usual drunken antics that were easily manageable.

That was, until that one night.

It started out like any other, the low hum of conversations mixing with the clinking of glasses and the soft pulse of music in the background. Chip had been stationed near the entrance, keeping an eye on things, when the commotion began. At first, it was just muffled noise, some guy raising his voice near the bar. But then Chip heard your voice, calm but firm, cutting through the clamor.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t serve you anymore,” you said, keeping your cool as you leaned against the bar. “You’ve had enough for the night.”

That’s when the man—clearly drunk, clearly angry—decided to escalate things. His voice grew louder, slurred words laced with irritation. “You can’t cut me off, bitch! I paid good money, and I’m not done drinking!”

Chip’s body tensed as he watched from a distance, the sudden surge of protectiveness coursing through him. He felt his heart rate pick up as the drunk man leaned closer to you, his gestures growing more aggressive. Chip knew he had to step in. He had to protect you. 

No, he reminded himself, forcing his mind to stay clear. Protect the bar. That’s your job. But despite the internal reminder, the thought of someone yelling at you, someone daring to treat you like that, sent a surge of adrenaline through his veins.

He moved quickly, weaving through the tables and patrons until he was by your side. The drunk man was still fuming, his face red and twisted in frustration. Chip didn’t wait for an invitation.

“Hey,” Chip said, his voice low but firm, stepping between you and the man. “You need to calm down.”

The drunk guy’s eyes flicked toward Chip, sizing him up, before he sneered. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the guy telling you to leave,” Chip responded, standing his ground. His heart pounded in his chest, but he kept his voice steady, refusing to let the guy see any hesitation. “You’ve had enough. Time to go.”

The man puffed up his chest, clearly not interested in backing down. “I paid for my damn drinks!”

“You paid,” Chip agreed, “and now you’re done. Let’s not make this harder than it needs to be.” He subtly shifted his stance, ready to intervene if the guy got any more aggressive.

For a moment, the man looked like he might push his luck, but then he glanced around the bar. Eyes were starting to turn his way. The whole scene had drawn enough attention that even he seemed to realize he wasn’t going to win this one.

With a final curse under his breath, the man shoved his stool back and stumbled toward the door. Chip kept an eye on him until he was out of sight, his muscles still tense and ready, just in case.

Once the man was gone, Chip let out a slow breath, the adrenaline ebbing away. He turned to you, still feeling the lingering need to make sure you were okay.

“You alright?” he asked, his voice softer now.

You smiled at him, clearly impressed. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks, Chip.”

Chip couldn’t help the small, sheepish smile that crossed his face. “Just doing my job.”

“Still,” you said, leaning against the bar, your eyes softening a bit as you looked at him. “I appreciate it, sweetheart.”

And just like that, all the tension that had built up in Chip’s body melted away, replaced with something else. A warmth, a quiet sense of accomplishment, knowing that he had done what he needed to do—both for the bar and for you.

—

Chip Taylor was no stranger to unhealthy obsessions. His life had been a series of poor decisions and misplaced emotions, but this—this crush, or what he feared had crossed into love—was different. It was deeper, more consuming, and incredibly stupid. He wanted to believe he was incapable of falling in love after only knowing you for a month. And not just any person, but his boss. Yet here he was, his heart doing that dumb little flip every time you smiled at him, and he hated himself for it.

But what was he supposed to do? You were everything. Kind, charismatic, caring, brilliant, sexy, funny, and nonjudgmental. It wasn’t like you were just some passing fancy. You had given him a chance when no one else would. You made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t doomed to be the screw-up he’d always been. And when you found out he was living in a shelter, you didn’t blink before offering him your guest room. Free of charge.

Chip had spent a lot of nights staring at the ceiling in that guest room, wondering how the hell he ended up in the presence of someone like you. With the kind of karma he had, he should’ve ended up with someone cold, manipulative, and cruel. But instead, there you were, offering kindness he didn’t think he deserved.

But that’s where the crush—no, love—came back to bite him. It was suffocating, this unspoken feeling gnawing at him every time you were near. The worst part? He had to watch night after night as men, women, and everyone in between flirted with you. It wasn’t like he could blame them. You were magnetic. You usually laughed off the flirtations with that casual grace you had, deflecting like a pro.

But tonight… tonight was different.

There was someone—a very attractive person who seemed to catch your eye. Chip had been half-watching from his usual spot near the entrance when he noticed it. The way you drifted toward this stranger more than once. The way your laughter was a bit more genuine, your eyes a little brighter. And then you touched their arm, leaning in closer to hear whatever charming thing they were saying.

Chip felt the sharp pang of jealousy twist inside him, the kind that makes your stomach drop and your chest ache. His grip tightened on the back of the barstool, the wood creaking under his hands as he watched the interaction unfold. He knew he was neglecting his job, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from you and that person.

It was like a slow-motion train wreck in his head. His heart clenched with every laugh you shared, every glance you shot their way. And when you touched their arm, a part of him shattered. The universe, it seemed, had a sick sense of humor.

Of course you didn’t feel the same way about him. Why would you? He was just Chip. The guy who wandered into your bar broke, desperate, and hopeless. The guy you’d kindly helped, but that didn’t mean you saw him that way. No, his karmic retribution had arrived in the form of the most amazing person he’d ever met being deposited into his life—but only so he could feel the crushing weight of wanting something he could never have.

Chip stared bitterly as you continued to smile at the stranger, his heart sinking deeper with every moment. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, cursing the universe for dangling you in front of him like a cruel joke.

Good one, universe, he thought bitterly to himself, his hands still gripping the stool as if it could keep him grounded. Real good one.

He looked away, but the ache in his chest remained. It wasn’t fair. None of this was.

As closing time rolled around, Chip’s bitterness hadn’t faded. If anything, it had intensified, simmering under the surface as he quietly went about his tasks. His mind was still replaying the way you had laughed, the way you had touched that stranger’s arm, and it stung more than he wanted to admit.

Conor, one of the other bartenders, smirked as they wiped down the counter, throwing a teasing glance your way. “You gonna let that beautiful thing take you out, boss?” They shimmied their shoulders, their grin wide and playful.

Cody, who had known you longer, joined in with a chuckle. “Yeah, girl, it’s been way too long. You should go out! You never do.”

Chip’s stomach twisted into knots as he listened, pretending to focus on stacking the chairs, though he could hear every word. His heart braced for what he expected to hear next—how excited you were, how you couldn’t wait to go on this date with the person who had flirted with you all night.

He could almost hear it now: your voice light, maybe even a little giddy, as you talked about how charming they were, how nice it would be to go out with someone after so long.

He clenched his jaw, feeling the anticipation of heartbreak wash over him as he steeled himself for the worst.

But then you laughed—soft and genuine, but not in the way Chip had feared. “Oh, please,” you said, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “You both know I’m not looking to go on dates.”

Conor raised an eyebrow, still teasing. “Oh, come on. They were totally into you! You’re really just gonna let that walk away?”

You shrugged, nonchalant. “Yeah, I’m really just gonna let that walk away. It’s not my thing right now.”

Cody shook their head with a smile, but didn’t push it further. “Well, alright, if you say so.”

Chip, who had been silently bracing for a different outcome, felt the tension in his chest ease ever so slightly. He hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d been, how much he had feared hearing you talk about someone else with excitement.

You weren’t going on a date. You weren’t interested in that person, after all.

But then again… you weren’t interested in anyone. Not them. And definitely not him.

His relief was short-lived, replaced by the sinking realization that while you weren’t swooning over anyone else, it didn’t mean you felt anything for him either. He was still just your employee. A friend, maybe. But not anything more.

He finished stacking the chairs, his thoughts still tangled, trying to come to terms with the bittersweet mix of emotions swirling in his mind.

—

It was the middle of another shift, the bar alive with the usual chatter and clinking glasses, but Chip’s mind was far from the job. He was distracted—more than distracted. His thoughts kept looping back to you, the strangers who flirted with you, and the nagging ache in his chest that wouldn’t go away. 

He’d been on autopilot for most of the night, his interactions with customers robotic, his movements stiff. Conor, ever the observant one, had noticed.

“Hey, man,” Conor said during a rare lull, when they were both by the back counter. They leaned casually against the wall, arms crossed, eyeing Chip curiously. “You’ve been off lately. What’s going on with you?”

Chip froze for a moment, his mind scrambling for a response. “I’m fine,” he muttered, glancing away and hoping Conor would drop it. 

But Conor wasn’t one to let things slide so easily. They tilted their head, narrowing their eyes. “Bullshit. You’ve been acting weird for days. Is it the job? Or… something else?”

Chip sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the question pressing down on him. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to say it out loud because that would make it real, and the last thing he needed was more complications.

“It’s nothing,” he tried again, though his voice lacked conviction.

Conor wasn’t buying it. “Dude, we work together, like, every night. I know when something’s up. Come on, what is it? You’ve been looking like a kicked puppy for days.”

Chip hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek as he weighed whether to say anything. But the more he tried to hold it in, the more it gnawed at him, until he couldn’t keep it inside anymore.

“It’s… it’s her,” Chip finally admitted, his voice low, almost ashamed. He glanced toward the bar, where you were laughing with a regular, completely oblivious to the conversation happening in the back.

Conor raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Her? You mean… Y/N… the boss?” They glanced at you, then back at Chip, their expression a mix of curiosity and something else—concern, maybe. 

Chip nodded, running a hand over his face, feeling like an idiot for even saying it out loud. “Yeah. I know it’s stupid. I know I shouldn’t—she’s my boss. But I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s… it’s driving me crazy.”

Conor’s expression softened, and they let out a low whistle. “Ah, man. That’s rough.”

Chip scoffed, shaking his head. “Yeah, tell me about it. It’s not like she’d ever go for someone like me anyway. I mean, look at her—she’s amazing. I’m just the guy she took pity on.”

Conor took a moment, looking thoughtful before they spoke again. “Look, man. I’m not gonna say it’s not complicated. She is your boss, and that makes things tricky. But…” They paused, leaning in a bit. “I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit.”

Chip blinked, not expecting that. “What do you mean?”

Conor shrugged. “You’re not just some random guy, Chip. You’ve been here for a while now, and she clearly cares about you. I see the way she talks to you—it’s not the same as the way she talks to everyone else.”

Chip frowned, trying to process what Conor was saying. “You really think so?”

Conor nodded. “Yeah, I do. But you’ve gotta be careful. If you’re really into her, you can’t just keep bottling it up like this. It’ll mess with your head. Maybe it’s time to feel her out—see if she’d ever be interested in someone like you. Just… be subtle. Tread carefully.”

Chip’s heart raced at the thought. The idea of making his feelings known, even subtly, terrified him. But Conor’s words sparked a tiny flicker of hope that he hadn’t let himself feel before. 

“What if she’s not?” Chip asked, his voice barely above a whisper, the fear of rejection creeping in. 

Conor gave him a sympathetic look. “Then you know, and you can move on. But if you don’t at least try, you’re gonna drive yourself insane wondering ‘what if.’”

Chip mulled that over for a moment, glancing at you again as you poured drinks, completely unaware of the storm raging in his head. Conor was right—he couldn’t keep going like this, silently pining, letting it eat him alive. He had to do something, or the weight of it would crush him.

“Maybe,” Chip muttered, half to himself. “Maybe I will.”

Conor clapped him on the shoulder, offering a reassuring grin. “That’s the spirit. Just… don’t be a dumbass about it, okay?”

Chip chuckled softly, despite the turmoil in his chest. “I’ll try not to.”

As Conor wandered back to the front, Chip remained by the counter, his thoughts swirling. The idea of letting you in on his feelings terrified him, but maybe, just maybe, there was a chance. And for the first time, Chip allowed himself to think that maybe he wasn’t completely out of your league.

The only question now was when—and how—to take that terrifying first step.

—

The night had been rough—one of those nights where everything felt like it was spiraling out of control. Rowdy customers, spilled drinks, broken glasses, and more than one argument that had to be diffused before it turned into something worse. By the time the last patron staggered out the door, the bar felt like a battlefield, and the two of you were left with the aftermath.

Chip glanced over at you as you wiped down the bar, noticing how much more subdued you were than usual. The playful energy you typically carried with you seemed drained, replaced by exhaustion that tugged at your features. You didn’t say anything at first, just sighed deeply, letting out a breath that seemed to carry the weight of the night with it.

“Man, sometimes this job really wears you down,” you muttered, your voice tired, your shoulders slumping slightly as you leaned against the bar.

Chip hesitated, watching you, feeling that tug inside him again—an overwhelming need to comfort you, to say something that might make you feel better. He’d been watching you all night, seeing how you held it together even when things got chaotic, but now that the crowd was gone, you looked more vulnerable than he’d ever seen you.

“You’re amazing at what you do,” Chip said quietly, stepping a little closer, his voice soft but sincere. “Don’t let nights like this get to you.”

You glanced at him, a small, tired smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “Thanks, Chip. I try, but… it’s hard sometimes, you know?”

He nodded, unsure what to say next but wanting to fill the silence, to keep the moment from slipping away. The air between you felt different—quieter, more intimate, like the walls around both of you had come down just a little.

You sighed again, setting down the rag you’d been using to clean the counter. “I guess nights like this remind me why I don’t… go out much. Or really have a life. It’s just too much sometimes, trying to balance everything. Running this place, taking care of everyone, making sure things don’t fall apart.”

Chip blinked, taken aback by how candid you were being. He’d never heard you talk like this before. Usually, you were so in control, so confident, like nothing could rattle you. But now, standing here in the quiet aftermath of a long night, you seemed… tired. Maybe even a little lonely.

You leaned against the bar, your gaze softening as you stared at the worn wood beneath your hands. “I spend so much time here, making sure everything’s running smoothly, making sure everyone’s taken care of, that there’s just… not a lot of room left for anything else.”

Chip swallowed, his chest tightening at your words. He had wondered before why you never seemed interested in the flirtations that came your way, why you brushed off attention so easily. Now, it made sense. You weren’t uninterested in romance—you were just too busy being everything to everyone else.

“I didn’t know,” Chip said, his voice quiet, almost hesitant. “I guess I never thought about how much you have on your plate.”

You smiled, a little sad but genuine. “Yeah, well, that’s the life, right? Someone’s gotta keep this place going. And I guess I’m just used to taking care of people. I don’t mind it… but it doesn’t leave much room for… other stuff.”

Chip stood there, the weight of your words settling over him. He felt a pang of guilt for all the times he’d watched you flirt with customers and felt jealousy burn inside him. He hadn’t understood before—hadn’t realized how much you were carrying, how much you were sacrificing to keep things together.

But now, in this quiet moment, he saw you differently. Not just as the confident, flirtatious bartender who always had a smile and a witty remark, but as someone who was just as vulnerable, just as human, as anyone else. Someone who gave so much of themselves that there wasn’t much left over.

The silence between you stretched on for a moment, comfortable and filled with unspoken understanding. Chip didn’t know what to say, how to fix the exhaustion he saw in your eyes, but he wanted to offer something, anything, to let you know you weren’t alone.

“You’re really good at taking care of people,” he said softly. “But don’t forget to take care of yourself too.”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his, and for a brief second, something passed between you—a quiet, shared moment that neither of you had expected. You smiled, a real smile this time, one that made Chip’s heart stutter in his chest.

“Thanks, Chip,” you said, your voice gentle, and there was something different in the way you looked at him now, something softer. “I mean it.”

He nodded, not trusting himself to say anything more, afraid of ruining the fragile connection that had just been made. He didn’t know what this moment meant—whether it changed anything between you, whether it was just a fleeting glimpse of something deeper—but it felt important.

As you both finished cleaning up, the bar seemed quieter than usual, the air between you charged with a subtle, unspoken shift. Chip walked out that night feeling closer to you than he ever had before, even if he still wasn’t sure what to do with the feelings tangled up inside him.

He felt like maybe you saw him, not just as an employee or a friend, but as someone who might be able to share a little bit of that weight you carried.

—

Chip got to work the next day extra early, sneaking into the bar while you were behind the counter, mixing drinks to prep for the evening. He didn’t want to risk bumping into you just yet—his nerves were already on edge from Conor’s advice and the conversation you two had—so he headed straight to the back. Inventory was the part of the job he knew you hated the most, so he wanted to take some of the load off for you. And… maybe if he took care of it (and you), you'd notice him in a different light. Maybe.

He was half-hidden behind stacks of bottles when Cody caught him.

“Chip?” Cody's voice rang through the storage room, followed by a soft laugh. “You know you won’t get paid for this, right?”

Chip startled, his fingers fumbling the bottle of sour mixer he was holding. It slipped from his hands, but luckily it was plastic and hit the ground with a soft thud. Still, he couldn’t help but glare at Cody, irritation mingling with embarrassment. “Your point?”

Cody leaned against the doorway, arms crossed and an amused smirk playing on their lips. “Why are you doing it, then?”

Chip exhaled sharply, setting the bottle back on the shelf with a bit more force than necessary. “Just helping out the boss,” he muttered, trying to sound casual.

“Uh-huh,” Cody dragged the words out, that knowing look never leaving their face. “Because you’re in loooove?” they teased, stretching the word out obnoxiously.

“No!” Chip squeaked, his voice shooting up a pitch. He felt his face flush instantly, and he inwardly cursed himself for the involuntary reaction. “I am not,” he added, more firmly this time, though he could hear how unconvincing it sounded even to his own ears.

Cody raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying this far too much. “Uh huh. Sure, whatever you say.” They winked, their smirk widening. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. That woman is oblivious as hell, though.”

Chip’s shoulders slumped, his heart racing with a mixture of panic and frustration. “She’s not… it’s not like that,” he grumbled, though he knew Cody wasn’t buying it for a second.

“Sure, it’s not like that,” Cody teased, mimicking his tone. “Look, man, I don’t blame you. I mean, she’s great. But maybe you should stop hiding back here, doing unpaid inventory, and, you know, actually talk to her.”

Chip groaned, rubbing the back of his neck as he shot Cody a half-hearted glare. “It’s not that simple.”

Cody shrugged, pushing off the wall and tossing him a sympathetic smile. “It never is. But, hey, I’m rooting for you.”

Chip watched as Cody walked out, leaving him alone with the bottles and his now much louder thoughts. Cody was right, of course, but Chip couldn’t help feeling stuck. Helping out with the busywork was a small way to get closer to you, but it wasn’t enough. 

He sighed heavily, staring at the neatly organized bottles in front of him. He knew he couldn’t keep this up, couldn’t just lurk in the background hoping you’d magically see him the way he saw you. Something had to give. But what?

Chip's question was answered moments later when you burst into the back, clearly not expecting to find anyone there. "Ah!" you screamed, your hand flying to your chest as you nearly dropped the empty glass you were holding. “Chip!” you gasped, still catching your breath. “What the hell?”

Chip jumped, just as startled. “Sorry, Y/N!” He quickly stepped forward, his own heart pounding. “I just… wanted to help. I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, and I—I know you hate doing inventory, so I thought I’d, you know—” His words were tumbling out, awkward and rushed, trying desperately to explain himself.

But you cut him off with a light, melodic laugh, and the sound of it stopped him in his tracks. “You’re a very sweet man, Chip Taylor. Do you know that?”

The way you were looking at him—it was new. Different. There was something softer in your gaze, something warm, and Chip felt his pulse quicken. He liked it. No, he loved it.

He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool. “Just trying to help,” he said with a casual shrug, though his insides were far from calm.

You smiled again, that affectionate, teasing grin that made his heart flutter. “Well,” you said softly, “I really appreciate it, but you don’t have to do this.”

“I want to,” Chip blurted, almost too quickly. He met your gaze, feeling the heat rise in his face. His words weren’t just about inventory anymore, and he wondered if you could tell.

You grinned, rolling your eyes in that way that made him feel like you were amused by his awkwardness but found it endearing all the same. Then, without warning, you stepped even closer, reaching around him to grab a bottle of vodka from the shelf behind him. In that brief moment, your chest pressed against his, and Chip was sure his heart was going to beat out of his chest.

“Thanks, Chip,” you breathed, your voice low and soft, your minty breath brushing against his skin as you pulled away slightly. For a second, he could barely think—your scent, your closeness, everything about you had him utterly captivated.

Chip felt frozen in place, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “Yeah,” he stammered, his throat suddenly dry, “no problem.”

You gave him another warm smile, lingering just a moment longer before you took the vodka and turned to head back out to the bar. Chip stood there, still trying to process what had just happened, the lingering scent of you and the feel of your closeness imprinted in his mind.

As the door swung closed behind you, Chip let out a shaky breath, leaning against the shelf. His mind was spinning. That brief moment—your chest against his, the way your breath had ghosted across his face—felt like it had flipped a switch inside him. 

—

After that brief but electrifying moment in the backroom, Chip couldn’t help but start noticing everything you did. It was as if every little thing you did seemed loaded with meaning—whether you intended it or not.

At home, things had shifted too. It used to be that you’d take your clothes into the bathroom when you showered, emerging fully dressed and casual. But lately, it had been different. Now, you would stroll around the apartment in a tiny towel, your damp hair clinging to your neck, droplets of water glistening on your skin. And every time you did, Chip’s brain short-circuited, turning into something the size of a pea. He'd try to focus on anything else, but his gaze always drifted back to you—your bare legs, the curve of your shoulders, the way that towel seemed dangerously close to slipping.

Then there were the groceries. You came home one day with bags full of food, seemingly innocent at first glance, until Chip noticed the trend. You had brought bananas, popsicles, cucumbers—foods that were all, well… suggestive. Chip tried not to notice, he really did. But it was impossible when you were sitting across from him at the table, casually peeling a banana and slowly taking bites in the most torturous way possible. The worst part was, you seemed completely oblivious to the effect it was having on him.

And then there were the popsicles. One hot evening, after a long shift, you sat on the couch next to Chip, legs tucked under you, enjoying a cherry popsicle. The way your lips wrapped around it, the slow, deliberate licks as you savored the cold treat—it was enough to make Chip feel like he was about to combust. He tried to keep his eyes glued to the TV, pretending he wasn’t completely fixated on the way the red juice dripped down your chin, but every glance made his heart race.

One afternoon, you were in the kitchen, casually preparing a salad. Chip, seated nearby with his phone in hand, was pretending—poorly—to focus on whatever was on his screen. But the second you pulled out an enormous cucumber from the fridge, all his concentration shattered. He told himself not to look, not to pay attention, but his eyes betrayed him, drifting back to you with every movement.

You stood there at the counter, holding the cucumber with ease as you peeled it, your fingers gripping the base in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. Chip tried to remind himself it was just a vegetable. A completely innocent act. But the way you were handling it, slicing it with such careful precision, each stroke of the knife agonizingly slow—it felt like some kind of sensual tease meant only for him, though you were completely unaware of his growing torment.

His heart raced as you absentmindedly brought a slice to your lips, biting into it with a soft crunch. The way your teeth sank into the crisp flesh of the cucumber, your lips wrapping around it, made Chip’s grip on his phone tighten. His palms were sweating, and he could feel his pulse hammering in his ears. He knew he was staring, but he couldn’t stop. 

You chewed slowly, blissfully unaware of the effect you were having on him. When you reached for another slice, it was like slow motion—the way you brought it up, your tongue brushing it ever so slightly before you bit into it again. The movement was subtle, but it sent a jolt through Chip that he struggled to suppress.

He swallowed hard, trying to shift his attention back to his phone, but it was useless. His entire focus was on you—on the way your fingers held the cucumber, on the soft sigh that escaped your lips as you savored the taste, on the way your eyes remained distant, clearly lost in thought while he was trapped in his own private torment.

Then, as if to push him further into the abyss, you grabbed the entire cucumber in your hand again, taking a bite straight from it. Chip's mind went blank, his breath hitching as he watched your lips part, teeth sinking into the cucumber’s firm flesh, your lips lingering just a bit longer than necessary. 

Completely unaware of his wide-eyed stare, you chewed thoughtfully, then shot him a playful grin, wiping juice from the corner of your mouth. "Want some?" you asked innocently, holding up a slice.

Chip nearly choked, his mind reeling. “Uh, no. I’m—uh, I’m good,” he stammered, his voice strangled with tension.

You shrugged, your smile casual and sweet. “Suit yourself,” you replied, popping another slice into your mouth with a satisfied hum.

Chip, feeling like he was about to combust, swallowed hard and forced himself to look away, but the image of your lips on that cucumber, the soft bite, the way your eyes sparkled without a hint of understanding of what you were doing to him—it was seared into his mind.

And he knew—there was no escaping this.

Before work one evening, you casually announced that you were trying a new stretching routine. Chip had been lounging on the couch, trying to unwind after the shift, but when you spread out a yoga mat right in front of him, his entire focus shifted.

You didn’t seem to notice his sudden tension as you knelt down and began stretching, starting with simple movements. But it wasn’t long before you bent forward, your fingers sliding toward your toes, your back arching as you stretched deeper. Chip’s breath caught in his throat as he watched, his heart hammering in his chest.

Your bottoms hugged every curve, and as you stretched, the material pulled tighter, highlighting the shape of your hips, the dip of your waist, and the way your legs seemed to go on forever. The soft sighs you let out with each motion—small sounds of exertion—sent shivers down his spine. 

Chip tried desperately not to look, to focus on the TV, on his phone, on anything else, but it was impossible. The sight of you in front of him, completely absorbed in your routine, was maddening. Every movement seemed deliberate, sensual, though you had no idea what you were doing to him.

You moved into a deeper stretch, bending down again, this time with your legs spread slightly apart. Chip’s pulse quickened, his fingers gripping the edge of the couch as he fought to keep himself calm. The way your body moved, so fluid, so confident, had him mesmerized.

And then you shifted into a backbend, your body arching gracefully, your chest rising, the soft line of your neck exposed. You groaned softly, a sound of satisfaction from the stretch, but to Chip, it was something else entirely—a sound that sent heat flooding through his veins.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, his pulse racing in his ears. His mind was spinning, trying to reign in his thoughts, but the way your body curved, the way your breathing deepened, was driving him wild. Every inch of you was in his line of sight, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop staring. 

You looked up at him briefly, giving him an innocent smile as you reached for your toes again. “You should try this sometime, Chip,” you said, completely oblivious to the chaos in his head. “It’s a great way to relax.”

Chip could barely respond, his throat tight. “Y-yeah, maybe,” he managed to croak, though the last thing he felt was relaxed. His body was tense, every muscle wound tight as he sat there, barely able to breathe, knowing that if you kept this up any longer, he might just lose his mind.

As you continued your stretches, Chip’s gaze flicked over every inch of you, burning with desire he couldn’t control, and he knew, deep down, that this slow torture couldn’t last much longer. Something had to give.

—

Later that week at the bar, Chip’s jealousy was reaching a boiling point. He had been dealing with it quietly for weeks now, keeping it buried beneath the surface as best as he could, but tonight was different. Someone had started flirting with you again—a regular, someone smooth and confident, who clearly knew what they were doing. And unlike all the other times, this time you seemed more receptive. Even if it was just for a brief moment, you laughed at their jokes, leaned in a little closer, your smile warmer than it usually was with other customers.

Chip could feel his stomach twist with bitterness, his jaw tightening as he tried to stay focused on his work. But he couldn’t. His eyes kept drifting back to you, watching as you exchanged banter with the customer, completely unaware of how much it was tearing him apart inside. 

For weeks, you’d been teasing him—whether you knew it or not—walking around the apartment in towels, eating suggestive foods, brushing up against him, filling his mind with all kinds of thoughts. And now this? Flirting with someone else right in front of him? It felt like a punch to the gut.

As the night went on, Chip found himself pulling away, becoming more distant, his usual tasks done with robotic efficiency but none of his usual energy. He stayed out of sight as much as possible, avoiding you, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. He couldn’t bring himself to be around you right now, not when his feelings were so close to breaking free.

After the bar finally closed and the last of the patrons trickled out, you noticed the shift in him. You wiped down the last of the counters, glancing over at Chip as he quietly stacked chairs, avoiding eye contact. Something was off.

“Chip?” you called out softly as you approached him. “You’ve been acting weird tonight. What’s going on?”

Chip didn’t look up, muttering a quick, “Nothing.”

You frowned, stepping closer and gently grabbing his arm. “I know that’s not true,” you said softly, your voice tinged with concern. “Are you okay?”

Chip flinched at your touch, a surge of frustration boiling over. He could feel it all bubbling to the surface, and before he could stop himself, the words spilled out. “It’s just… it’s hard watching everyone else flirt with you all the time.”

His voice was low, almost bitter, and it surprised even him how much emotion was packed into that one sentence. He finally looked at you, his eyes dark with something more than just jealousy.

You blinked, clearly taken aback by his confession. “Chip…” you started, your brows knitting together in confusion. “That’s just part of the job. It doesn’t mean anything.”

But Chip wasn’t convinced. He shook his head, his frustration seeping through. “Does it ever mean anything to you?”

Your breath caught for a second, surprised by the intensity in his question. You hadn’t seen just how much all the casual flirting, all the little interactions with customers, had been affecting him. You’d always seen it as part of the business, part of keeping the bar running smoothly. But Chip wasn’t just a customer. He wasn’t just another person passing through.

You let go of his arm, your expression softening as you took in the frustration in his voice, the way he was holding so much back. “Chip, I don’t know…” you started softly. 

“Yeah,” he muttered, his voice rough, his walls crumbling down as all the emotions he had been holding back started to bleed through. 

For a moment, the silence hung heavy between you, the air thick with unspoken words and the tension that had been simmering between you both for weeks. You were seeing him in a new light—one filled with longing, frustration, and something deeper. Something that had been building up inside Chip for a while, and it was clear he couldn’t keep it locked away any longer.

He looked away, unable to meet your eyes, his voice softening with vulnerability. For the first time, you saw just how much you’d affected him. You weren’t sure what to say next, how to navigate the mess of emotions swirling between you two, but one thing was clear: this wasn’t just about flirting anymore. This was about something much deeper, and now it was out in the open, there was no turning back.

—

Feeling that his crush on you had become unbearable, Chip found himself standing in the back room of the bar, leaning against the shelves as his thoughts spiraled. Every night seemed worse than the last. Every time you smiled at someone else, laughed at their jokes, or leaned in a little too close to a customer, Chip felt something twist painfully in his chest. It had become too much. His feelings were no longer a crush—they were an anchor, weighing him down, making him feel like he couldn’t breathe in the same room as you.

The problem was, these feelings were starting to get in the way of his work. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t pretend to just be your employee anymore. How could he when his heart was tangled up in you? Watching you flirt with customers, even in the most harmless way, made him feel like he was drowning. And worse—it wasn’t your fault. You were just doing your job, being yourself. But the jealousy, the frustration, the hopeless longing were making it impossible for him to do his.

And it wasn’t just at work anymore. At home, things had changed too. Chip had noticed that lately, you seemed more careful around him. For a while, you had been casual, carefree—walking around in towels, making playful jokes, teasing him without a second thought. But now? Now, there was an unspoken tension in the air between you. It was subtle, but Chip could feel it. You no longer strolled around the apartment with the same lightness, no longer lingered in the kitchen wearing nothing but a towel after a shower. You’d take your clothes into the bathroom again, your playful banter tinged with something more reserved, more cautious. 

It was like you could sense something had shifted in him, and in response, you’d adjusted too. Maybe you hadn’t realized just how much he was struggling with his feelings, but you’d picked up on something. And that made everything worse. The easy comfort of being roommates had vanished, replaced by a growing awkwardness that gnawed at Chip constantly.

He couldn’t escape it. Not at work, where he had to watch you be charming and kind to everyone else. And not at home, where your sudden carefulness only reminded him of how complicated things had become. It was like he was trapped, unable to breathe, unable to think of anything but you and the growing distance between you.

It was too much. The weight of it was suffocating.

He couldn’t keep living like this.

So, the only option he saw was to leave. If he couldn’t have you—if you’d never look at him the way he looked at you—then maybe he needed to get out before it broke him completely. The idea of walking away felt like a fresh cut, sharp and deep, but staying felt like a slow, agonizing burn. 

Cody and Conor were chatting by the bar, laughing about something when Chip walked up, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Conor was the first to notice Chip’s demeanor and raised an eyebrow.

“Whoa, man. You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Conor teased, though there was concern in his voice. “What’s going on?”

Chip sighed, running a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. “I… I think I’m gonna quit.”

Cody stopped mid-laugh, their smile fading as they blinked at him in surprise. “Wait, what?”

Conor frowned, crossing their arms. “Man, you can’t just drop that on us. What the hell’s going on?”

Chip swallowed hard, his throat dry. He hadn’t wanted to admit how much he was struggling, but he couldn’t keep this to himself anymore. “It’s just—my feelings. For her. It’s getting in the way of everything. I can’t… I can’t do it anymore. Every night, it feels like I’m watching her with other people, and it’s driving me crazy. I don’t want to feel this way, but I do. And I think the only way to stop it is to leave.”

Cody exchanged a glance with Conor before stepping closer to Chip, their expression softer now. “Chip, I get it. Believe me, I do. But quitting your job because of it? That’s a big decision.”

Conor nodded, their playful demeanor gone as they looked at Chip seriously. “You’ve gotta think carefully about this, man. You’re not just giving up a job—you’re giving up on being around her completely. Are you sure you’re ready for that?”

Chip felt his heart ache at the thought of not seeing you anymore, not hearing your laugh or seeing your smile every night. But at the same time, he didn’t know how much longer he could take the constant emotional rollercoaster of wanting something that seemed impossible. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” he admitted, his voice strained. “But I don’t think I can stay and keep feeling like this. It’s tearing me apart.”

Cody sighed, placing a hand on Chip’s shoulder. “Look, man, we’re not telling you what to do, but maybe don’t make any rash decisions just yet. Take some time to really think about it. If you leave now, it might hurt just as much as staying does.”

“Yeah,” Conor added, “and finding another job won’t necessarily fix how you feel. Your heart’s wrapped up in this. It’s not gonna just go away because you work somewhere else.”

Chip nodded, knowing deep down they were right. It wasn’t just the job—it was you. His heart was tangled up in you, and no matter where he went, those feelings weren’t going to magically disappear. Still, the thought of staying felt unbearable, and he couldn’t shake the idea of leaving, of starting over somewhere where he wouldn’t have to feel like this every day.

“I’ve even started looking for other jobs,” Chip muttered, his voice quiet. “Just to see if there’s anything else out there. Something to distract me from… this.”

Cody sighed, glancing at Conor before turning back to Chip. “Look, maybe there’s another way. Have you thought about… I don’t know… talking to her? Telling her how you feel?”

Chip shook his head, his face a mask of pain. “I can’t. She’s my boss, my roommate. It would just make things weird. I don’t want to mess things up even more.”

Conor raised an eyebrow. “Weirder than you quitting out of nowhere without explaining why? Where would you live then?”

Chip bit his lip, his hands balling into fists as he stared at the floor. He hadn’t thought about it like that. Leaving without saying anything would raise questions. It would leave things unresolved. 

Cody squeezed his shoulder gently. “Just… think about it, okay? Don’t do anything you’ll regret later. Talk to her if you can. And if it’s really too much to handle, we’ll support whatever decision you make.”

Cody and Conor had noticed things changing between you and Chip for a while now. They weren’t blind to the way Chip had started acting—more distant, more withdrawn, especially when you were around. His mood had shifted, and while he was still doing his job, there was a tension between the two of you that hadn’t been there before. 

And now, with Chip thinking about quitting, they couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there was more to the story—something you hadn’t said yet.

It was a quiet afternoon at the bar, just before the evening rush. You were behind the counter, absentmindedly polishing glasses, and Cody and Conor shared a look before they approached. They weren’t going to be obvious, but they needed to get a feel for where your head was at when it came to Chip.

Conor leaned against the counter first, flashing you a playful grin. “So, boss, how’s it going with our boy Chip lately? He’s been acting a little off, don’t you think?”

You glanced up, your brow furrowing slightly as you met Conor’s eyes. “Yeah, I’ve noticed,” you admitted, setting down the glass you were working on. “I don’t know what’s going on with him. He’s been so… distant. Different.”

Cody, leaning on the bar next to Conor, raised an eyebrow, watching your reaction closely. “Different how?” they asked casually, though there was a clear curiosity in their voice.

You shrugged, not entirely sure how to explain it. “I don’t know… He just seems quieter lately. I’ve tried asking him if he’s okay, but he always brushes it off, says he’s fine. But it doesn’t feel like he is.”

Conor exchanged a quick glance with Cody before turning back to you. “You think maybe it’s something to do with work? Or… maybe something else?”

You paused for a moment, considering the question. Chip had been acting strange both at work and at home, but you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. “I don’t know. I mean, he’s been fine at work, mostly, just a little more distracted than usual. And at home… well, it feels like things are weird there too. Like there’s some kind of… tension between us. But I don’t know why.”

Cody leaned in a little closer, their tone softer now, as if they were testing the waters. “Tension? Like what kind of tension? You think maybe Chip’s feeling some kind of way about you?”

Your eyes widened slightly at the implication, blinking in surprise. “What? No, I mean… why would he?” You laughed, but there was a nervous edge to it now. “We’re just friends. Roommates. He’s probably just going through something.”

Conor smirked, crossing their arms and leaning in a little closer. “Maybe. But we’ve seen the way he looks at you, you know? Kind of seems like there’s more there…”

You hesitated, feeling a flicker of uncertainty at their words. You’d noticed Chip acting strange, sure, but you hadn’t really considered the idea that it might be because of you. “I don’t know,” you said, a little quieter now. “He’s never said anything like that to me.”

“Yeah, well,” Cody said with a knowing smile, “sometimes guys don’t say stuff like that because they’re scared of messing things up. But, I mean, if he did feel that way… how would you feel about it?”

You looked between Cody and Conor, realizing they weren’t just casually asking anymore. They were digging, trying to gauge your reaction, and it left you feeling a little off-balance. “I don’t know,” you answered honestly. “He’s an amazing person, but…”

Conor raised an eyebrow, waiting for you to finish. “But?”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair in frustration. “But he’s never made a move, you know? We’ve been living together for a while, and I guess there have been a few times when I thought he might say something. Maybe he wanted something more, but he never opens up. I never know what he’s thinking.”

Cody nodded, a knowing look in their eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like Chip. He’s got a lot going on in that head of his, but he keeps it all bottled up. Doesn’t make it easy to figure out what he wants.”

Conor leaned in a little closer, lowering their voice. “But here’s the thing—you probably know him better than anyone. You’ve seen the way he is when he’s comfortable, and when he’s not. And if you’ve felt those moments—those times when you thought he might say something—well, chances are, he’s felt them too.”

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking back to those moments. The times when you caught him looking at you a second too long, or when he seemed to shy away from getting too close. The way he acted differently around you lately, quieter, more distant, like he was trying to avoid something. Or maybe trying to avoid you.

“I just don’t get it,” you admitted, shaking your head. “If he feels something, why doesn’t he say anything? Why pull away?”

Cody smiled sympathetically. “Fear, probably. He’s scared of messing things up between you two. I mean, think about it—you’re his boss, his roommate, his friend. That’s a lot to risk if he’s worried it’s not mutual.”

Conor added, “And from what I’ve seen, it’s eating him up. Dude’s been in a weird headspace lately. He probably thinks if he says something, it’ll make things weird or worse, so instead he just… suffers in silence.”

You exhaled heavily, feeling the weight of their words settle over you. Maybe you’d been missing something, maybe Chip had been struggling with this for longer than you realized. But if he wasn’t going to say anything, if he was just going to pull away, what could you do?

“Should I… talk to him?” you asked hesitantly, unsure of how to approach something like this. It wasn’t like you could just march up to him and demand he tell you how he felt.

Cody gave you an encouraging nod. “I think you should. Just be honest with him. If you care about him—and I know you do—then don’t let this thing fester. He’s not going to be the one to start that conversation, so it’s gotta be you.”

You nodded slowly, feeling a swirl of emotions you weren’t entirely ready to confront. It was one thing to speculate about Chip’s feelings, but if you were going to talk to him—if you were going to open this door—then you’d have to be ready for what might come next.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice firm but uncertain. “I’ll talk to him. I just hope I’m not too late.”

Conor patted your shoulder, flashing you a supportive grin. “You’re not. Just don’t wait too long. Chip’s a good guy, but he seems like he might have a habit of retreating when things get hard. You don’t want to lose him.”

As they walked away, leaving you alone to process everything, you found yourself staring at the empty bar, your thoughts circling back to Chip. Maybe you had missed something, maybe you hadn’t been paying close enough attention. But one thing was certain—things couldn’t go on like this. Something had to change, and soon.

—

It was late, the bar now silent after the last customer had trickled out into the night. The air was still, thick with the smell of spilled drinks and fading laughter, but it was peaceful in a way that only came after a long shift. You wiped down the last glass, casting a glance over at Chip as he finished stacking the chairs. 

“Hey, Chip,” you called softly, breaking the quiet, “how about we have a drink before heading home?”

Chip hesitated, surprised by the offer. His heart leapt into his throat, immediately overthinking every possible implication. You just wanted to relax, he told himself. It was just a drink, no big deal. Still, he was nervous. Too nervous, given the circumstances. But after a second, he nodded, trying to play it cool. “Yeah, sure. That sounds nice.”

You smiled at him, that easy, genuine smile that always seemed to put him at ease, and it made his stomach twist with all the feelings he’d been trying to keep buried. He followed you to the back of the bar, where it was quieter, and you grabbed two beers from the cooler, handing one to him as you sat down at one of the small, dimly lit tables. 

The two of you clinked your bottles together lightly, the gesture casual, but Chip could feel the tension thrumming in his chest. He took a sip, trying to settle his nerves as you both sat in comfortable silence for a few moments.

“So,” you began after a while, your voice soft but curious, “how’ve you been? I mean, really been? I feel like we haven’t talked much lately.”

Chip blinked, caught off guard by the question. He swallowed, his fingers tightening around the neck of the beer bottle. “Uh, I’ve been… okay, I guess,” he said, trying to sound neutral, though his voice faltered slightly. 

You tilted your head, giving him that look that told him you could see right through him. “Come on, Chip. I know you better than that.”

Chip looked down, the familiar feeling of guilt creeping up on him. He knew he hadn’t been the same, but how could he explain that it was all because of you? That every time he saw you, every time you smiled or laughed, it felt like his heart was being ripped in two? He couldn’t tell you that—not completely. Not yet.

“I’ve just been… dealing with some stuff,” he finally admitted, his voice quieter now. “Got a lot on my mind.”

You nodded, sipping your beer thoughtfully. “I get that. We all have our moments, right? But if there’s something going on, you know you can talk to me, right? I care about you, Chip.”

Chip felt his heart clench at your words. The way you said it—I care about you—it was so simple, so kind, but it only reminded him of what he couldn’t have. He took a deep breath, deciding to let a little bit of his guard down. “Yeah, I know. It’s just… I’ve been thinking a lot about the future, I guess. What I’m doing here. What I want to be doing. And sometimes, it feels like I’m stuck.”

You leaned in slightly, your eyes soft with understanding. “I’ve felt the same way a lot over the years. Like, what am I doing here? Where am I going? It’s hard to figure out sometimes, especially when things feel complicated.”

Chip glanced at you, surprised at your openness. “You seem like you have it all figured out,” Chip said, his tone slightly teasing but genuine. “Running this place, handling everything so well. I’ve always admired that about you.”

You smiled, a little sadly. “Thanks, Chip, but trust me, I don’t have it all figured out. Sometimes I’m just as lost as anyone else. I just try not to let it show too much.”

There was a pause, a comfortable silence settling between you two as you both sipped your beers, each lost in your own thoughts. The conversation was quieter now, but there was an ease to it, a closeness that hadn’t been there before. 

After a few more minutes of silence, you set your beer down and looked at Chip, your expression shifting slightly, more serious now. “Chip,” you began, your voice softer, more hesitant, “can I ask you something?”

He glanced up at you, his heart immediately jumping into his throat again. “Yeah, of course.”

You bit your lip, seeming to choose your words carefully before finally asking, “How do you feel about me?”

Chip froze. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse loud in his ears. This was it. The moment he’d been avoiding, the conversation he’d been dreading and longing for all at once. His hands tightened around the bottle, and for a second, he wasn’t sure if he could find the words. But he couldn’t avoid it any longer. 

“I—” He hesitated, feeling the weight of the question settle heavily over him. He could feel your eyes on him, waiting for an answer, and he knew he had to give you one. “I care about you. A lot. More than I should.”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “More than you should?”

Chip took a deep breath, his throat tight. “Yeah. You’re my boss, and my friend, and… I don’t want to mess things up between us. But it’s been hard. Really hard. I’ve been trying to ignore it, to push it down, but it’s just—” He paused, searching for the right words. “It’s hard watching you, being around you, and not being able to say anything. Because I know it’ll change things, and I don’t want to ruin what we have. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel the way I do.”

There it was. Not a full confession, but enough to crack open the wall he’d been hiding behind. Enough to give you a glimpse into how much he’d been struggling with his feelings for you.

You sat back, processing his words, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was heavy, filled with everything that had been left unsaid for weeks, months. Finally, you let out a soft breath, your gaze meeting his.

“I didn’t realize,” you said gently. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

Chip nodded, his eyes downcast. “I wasn’t sure if I should say anything. I didn’t want to make things weird.”

You were quiet for a moment longer before you spoke again, your voice softer now. “Things aren’t weird, Chip. Not for me. I just… I wish you would’ve told me sooner.”

Chip looked up at you, his heart racing. There was something in your voice, something in the way you were looking at him that made him think, for the first time, that maybe he hadn’t been wrong to feel the way he did. Maybe there was more between you than just friendship and work. Maybe things weren’t as impossible as he’d thought.

"Why?" Chip asked, his voice barely above a whisper, uncertainty lacing every syllable. His heart pounded in his chest, torn between hope and the fear of misunderstanding everything.

You smiled softly, and in that moment, Chip felt the world shift, the air between you charged with something different—something real. Your eyes met his, filled with a warmth and sincerity he hadn’t allowed himself to believe was possible.

“Because then I could have told you sooner that I feel the same way,” you said, your voice gentle but sure.

Chip stared at you, his mind struggling to catch up with what you’d just said. Feel the same way? His heart skipped a beat, his pulse thundering in his ears as your words sank in. He had spent so long convincing himself that you were out of reach, that his feelings were one-sided, a hopeless crush he’d never be able to confess.

But now—now—you were looking at him with that soft, genuine smile, and everything he’d been holding back for so long felt like it was about to come crashing down. His heart was pounding in his chest, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of it all. “What… what way do you feel?” he asked, his voice quiet, filled with disbelief. He needed to hear it again, just to be sure, just to know this wasn’t a dream or some misunderstanding.

You grinned, the warmth in your eyes making his pulse race even faster. “I really like you, Chip,” you said softly, your voice steady but filled with affection. “And right now, I really want to kiss you.”

Chip’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as the words hit him with full force. His heart seemed to skip a beat, the reality of the moment sinking in. He had imagined this—dreamt about it, wished for it—but hearing it, actually hearing it, was something entirely different.

“You… you do?” he stammered, the disbelief still lingering even as his heart swelled with hope.

You nodded, stepping closer, closing the space between you. “Yeah, Chip. I do.”

The air between you was charged now, thick with anticipation and a tension that had been building for so long. He could feel the warmth radiating from you, the soft hum of something electric as your gaze held his. His mind was still spinning, but there was no mistaking the look in your eyes, the way your lips curved into that gentle, inviting smile.

For once, Chip didn’t overthink it. He didn’t retreat into his head or worry about the consequences. He didn’t think about you being his boss, his roommate, or the fear that had kept him silent for so long. All he could think about was you—standing there, telling him you felt the same way he had for so long.

So, without another word, Chip leaned in, his breath shaky but his heart certain. His lips brushed yours, tentative at first, like he was testing the waters. But the moment your lips touched, everything fell into place. The hesitation melted away, and Chip deepened the kiss, his hand gently reaching up to cup your cheek as he pulled you closer.

The kiss was soft, tender, but filled with everything you both had held back for so long. It was like a floodgate had opened, all the emotions, the longing, the unsaid words finally spilling out in that one moment. Chip couldn’t believe it was happening—that after all this time, you wanted this too.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead resting against his, you were both slightly breathless, a quiet, giddy laughter bubbling between you.

“I can’t believe we waited so long to do that,” you whispered, your hand still resting on his arm.

Chip smiled, his heart still racing. “I can’t believe this is real.”

You chuckled softly, your thumb brushing gently over his arm. “It’s real, Chip.”

You both stood there for a moment, the weight of everything that had been unsaid between you now lifted, leaving only the warmth of something new, something real. Chip felt lighter than he had in weeks, months, honestly ever. 

He smiled softly at you, his voice filled with quiet sincerity as he whispered, “I think I want to kiss you again.” 

And when you smiled, leaning in for another kiss, it felt like the start of something he’d been waiting for all along.

But this next kiss was different. It wasn’t soft or tentative—it was filled with the desire that had been simmering beneath the surface for so long, finally unleashed. You gripped his biceps, feeling the strength you’d been secretly drooling over for months, your fingers curling around the muscle as if you couldn’t get close enough. 

Chip’s hands slid down to your hips, and with a sudden, heated movement, he yanked you into his lap. The shift was quick, fluid, and before you could even react, you were straddling him, your chest pressed against his, the air between you charged with a hunger that neither of you could deny anymore.

“Whoa, there, cowboy,” you laughed breathlessly, pulling back just enough to catch your breath, your lips swollen from the intensity of the kiss. Your hands stayed on his arms, but your body trembled with excitement, anticipation coursing through your veins.

Chip grinned, that boyish, almost shy smile you’d grown so fond of breaking through the lustful haze in his eyes. “Sorry, got a little carried away,” he murmured, though his hands stayed firm on your hips, his fingers digging into the fabric of your clothes as though he couldn’t bear to let go.

You laughed again, your eyes sparkling with mischief. “I didn’t say I minded,” you teased, leaning back in, your lips brushing his with just enough pressure to drive him wild. You could feel his heartbeat under your palms, could sense the way he was holding back, still cautious despite the fire burning between you.

Chip groaned softly, the sound vibrating between your lips as his hands tightened on your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. “You’re making it really hard to behave,” he whispered against your mouth, his breath warm and ragged, sending shivers down your spine.

“Who said I want you to behave?” you whispered back, the words sending a surge of heat through him. You could feel him tense beneath you, his grip on your hips tightening as he kissed you again, this time with more urgency, more need.

Your hands slipped from his biceps to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as you let yourself melt into him, the heat between you intensifying with every second. Chip’s hands roamed from your hips, sliding down to your ass, his grip firm, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you.

The bar was quiet, the world outside forgotten as the two of you lost yourselves in each other, in the kiss that had been building for so long. It was like the floodgates had opened, all the pent-up tension, the unsaid words, the longing finally released in this moment.

And as you kissed him again, his lips soft yet demanding against yours, you realized just how much you had wanted this—how much you had wanted him. 

“God, I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” Chip murmured between kisses, his voice low and rough, sending another thrill through you.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, your heart racing. “Me too, Chip,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. 

When your fingers crept up the bottom of Chip’s shirt, brushing against his skin and tangling in the soft hair on his stomach, you felt him shiver under your touch. His breath hitched, and for a brief moment, he seemed to freeze. His hands, which had been resting firmly on your ass, loosened slightly as if his mind caught up to what was happening.

“We—um, we probably shouldn’t do this here? Right?” Chip's voice was shaky, caught between desire and hesitation, his words more a question than a statement. 

You paused, leaning back just enough to look at him, the playful gleam still shining in your eyes. “My bar, my rules,” you whispered, your voice dripping with mischief. Without giving him time to respond, you leaned forward, licking a slow, deliberate line up the side of his neck, feeling the way he trembled under your lips.

Chip let out a low groan, his eyes fluttering shut as your teeth dug into the sensitive skin of his neck. He gripped you tighter, trying to catch his breath, his mind spinning. The line between right and wrong blurred as the heat between you intensified. 

He swallowed hard, as his thoughts unraveled with every kiss, every bite, the world outside forgotten as your lips sent electricity coursing through him. Your teeth scraped lightly against his neck again, making him gasp, his body arching beneath you. He felt like he was losing himself in you, in this moment, and he wasn’t sure he cared anymore. The tension, the need that had built up for so long was too much to ignore now.

"Fuck," Chip groaned lowly as you finally settled fully on his lap, his body responding instantly to the pressure of you pressed so intimately against him. You could feel just how much he wanted this, wanted you, his breath hitching as his hands gripped your hips tighter, trying to steady himself.

You leaned in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “You gonna let me take care of you, Chip?” Your voice was soft, sweet, but dripping with a seductive promise that made his head spin. 

For a moment, Chip couldn’t think—his mind spiraling as your words sank in. Take care of him. All he’d ever wanted was for someone to see him, to really see him, and care about him in the way you were offering. It was overwhelming, the idea that you could feel this way about him, that you wanted him as much as he wanted you.

His chest tightened, a mixture of desire and something deeper bubbling up inside him. He nodded slowly, his voice hoarse when he finally spoke. “Yeah… yeah, I want that.” His words were barely audible, filled with need and vulnerability all at once.

You grinned, your lips brushing against his neck again as your hands slid up his chest, feeling the way his heart pounded beneath your fingertips. "Good," you whispered, your tone filled with a confidence that sent a shiver down his spine. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

Chip swallowed hard, his body trembling slightly as he let go of the tension he'd been holding onto for so long. He felt your hands on him, the warmth of your body pressed against his, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn’t feel like he had to hold back. He didn’t feel like he had to be in control or guard himself.

You moved against him slowly, teasingly, your body swaying in just the right way to make him lose all sense of restraint. Chip’s breath came in ragged gasps, his hands clutching at your waist, his mind lost in the haze of sensation. The idea that you wanted to take care of him—him—felt unreal, like a fantasy he'd never dared to hope for.

“God, you feel so good,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire as you rocked against him, his head falling back as he gave in completely. 

You smiled, feeling the heat of the moment rise as you saw just how much you were affecting him, how vulnerable he was beneath you, how completely lost he was in the feeling of being wanted. You leaned in close, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “I can make you feel a whole lot better.”

Chip blinked, confusion flashing in his eyes as he tried to process your words. His brow furrowed, and before he could even ask what you meant, you were climbing off his lap. He squawked in protest, his hands instinctively reaching for you, not wanting the moment to end.

But any protest he had died on his lips when he saw what you were doing.

Your knees hit the floor, and his heart nearly stopped. His breath hitched in his throat, his entire body freezing as he watched you kneel between his legs. The sight of you looking up at him, that wicked, playful glint in your eyes, made his mind spin. He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe what you were about to do.

Your hand slid over him, pressing firmly through the denim of his jeans, and Chip’s breath left him in a shaky exhale. His hands clenched the arms of the chair as he looked down at you, his pulse roaring in his ears. The feel of your touch, even through the fabric, sent a jolt of electricity through his entire body.

“Y/N…” Chip breathed, his voice breaking as his mind struggled to catch up with what was happening. He wanted to say something—anything—but the words wouldn’t come. His body reacted before his mind could, his hips shifting under your hand as he swallowed hard, his throat tight with anticipation.

You grinned up at him, your hand moving slowly, teasingly, as you kept your gaze locked on his. You could see the way his breath quickened, the way his body tensed, completely at your mercy. "Relax," you whispered, your voice soft and commanding all at once.

Chip could only nod, his mind spinning as he let go of the last shred of control he had. He watched you, unable to look away, as your fingers began working on the button of his jeans, the sound of the zipper echoing in the quiet room. His breath caught in his throat as your hand slipped beneath the fabric, the feel of your skin on his sending a shockwave of desire through him.

This was what he had wanted—what he had dreamed of for so long. But now that it was happening, it was almost too much, too overwhelming, and yet, he couldn’t imagine anything more perfect. 

Of course, everything intensified when you pulled him completely free from his jeans, the fabric sliding down his hips as you worked with deliberate care. Chip’s breath hitched in disbelief as you wasted no time, nuzzling in at the base of him with a teasing smile, your warm breath against his skin sending a shockwave of sensation through him. His hands gripped the arms of the chair tighter, his knuckles turning white as he tried to process what was happening.

He couldn’t believe his luck. This—this—wasn’t something that ever happened to him. He was usually the one giving, always wanting to please, whether or not he wanted to receive in return. But now, you were turning everything on its head, taking control in a way that left him utterly helpless and overwhelmed with pleasure.

His mind raced, torn between the urge to let go completely and the instinct to pull back, but the moment your lips brushed against him, soft and teasing, any thought of retreat vanished. His body betrayed him, responding instantly, hips jerking slightly as a low groan escaped his throat.

"Fuck," Chip muttered, the word drawn out, his voice rough with desire. His head fell back against the chair, his mind clouded with the heat of the moment, the feel of your hands, your mouth, completely undoing him.

You looked up at him, your eyes locking onto his as you moved slowly, deliberately, taking your time as if savoring every second. The sight of you kneeling before him, your lips teasing, your hands firm but gentle, was enough to drive him wild. His heart pounded in his chest, his pulse racing as you took him further, inch by inch, your touch making it impossible for him to think straight.

Chip’s breathing grew ragged, his fingers flexing uselessly on the chair, trying to find something—anything—to hold onto as you worked him over. He could barely string a thought together, his mind reduced to a haze of pure sensation, and it took everything in him not to lose himself entirely.

“You’re… you’re really doing this,” he mumbled, his voice breathless, as though he still couldn’t believe it was real. And, God, he didn’t want you to stop. 

You smiled up at him, your eyes gleaming with mischief as your hand tightened around him, sending a fresh wave of sensation crashing through his body. "And you taste really good," you teased, your voice low and sultry, laced with a sweetness that made Chip’s breath stutter in his chest.

Before he could even process your words, you leaned back in, this time with a newfound determination. You wasted no time, your mouth enveloping him in a way that sent his mind spiraling into a dizzying blur of pleasure. Chip’s body tensed, a strangled moan escaping his lips as he leaned his head back against the chair, gripping the edges so hard his knuckles turned white.

It felt like his brain was melting, the heat of your mouth, the way you moved with deliberate, agonizing precision, unraveling him inch by inch. His vision blurred, his breath coming in ragged gasps, each one more desperate than the last. Every sensation, every touch, was heightened, the world around him fading away until all he could feel, all he could think about, was you.

You were relentless, going to town on him like you were on a mission, and Chip could do nothing but surrender to the waves of pleasure rolling through him. His hips bucked involuntarily as you worked him over, your lips, your tongue, moving in perfect sync with your hand. It was almost too much, and yet, not enough all at once. He couldn’t get enough of you.

"Fuck," he groaned the only word he seemed to remember, his voice rough, almost breaking as you pulled another shiver from deep within him. His mind was gone, lost somewhere between reality and bliss, his only tether to this world the sensation of your mouth on him. 

Chip was falling apart, his body trembling under your expert touch, and the more you moved, the more he let go. Every moan, every gasp, every choked sound he made only seemed to spur you on, pushing him further and further until he was right on the edge, teetering dangerously close to losing himself completely.

He didn’t care anymore if he was too loud, didn’t care if the world outside the bar was still spinning. He could barely even remember where he was, his entire existence narrowed down to this one moment, to you, to the way you made him feel like he was coming undone at the seams.

It was overwhelming, the pleasure hitting him like a tidal wave, crashing over him in relentless waves until all he could do was let go. His hands fumbled for purchase, his fingers tangling in your hair as he groaned your name, the sound breaking off into a desperate plea as you pushed him closer, and closer to the edge.

And when Chip finally couldn’t take it anymore, when the pressure that had been building inside him finally broke, his body tensed, and a low, guttural moan escaped his throat. His voice was thick with desperation as he warned, "I’m going to come—"

But before he could get there, you pulled away suddenly, your hand gripping him firmly at the base, cutting off all sensation. His entire body jolted, and a broken, frustrated cry tore from his lips. "Why?!" he whined, his eyes wide, desperate, and full of disbelief.

You smirked, your voice teasing yet full of promise as you whispered, “Because I’m not done with you.”

Chip's frustration was palpable, his body still thrumming with need, every muscle coiled tight as he struggled to recover from the abrupt stop. But the moment he saw you rise to your feet, that playful gleam still in your eyes, and begin to slowly remove your top, his breath caught in his throat. 

His eyes widened as you peeled away the fabric, revealing your skin inch by inch, and the irritation that had been burning inside him vanished in an instant. Instead, all he could do was stare, his gaze locked on you, completely entranced. The soft glow of the dim lights in the bar cast a warm glow over your skin, and Chip's heart raced in his chest as he took in every detail.

"Fuck..." he breathed, his voice a low rasp, filled with awe and desire. The sight of you—standing there, unashamed, confident, and wanting him—was enough to make his mind go blank all over again.

“Do you know any other words, honey? Or are you fucked stupid already?” you teased, your voice dripping with playful dominance as you hovered over him. The wicked grin on your face sent a shiver down Chip’s spine, and his mind struggled to keep up with the sensation coursing through his body.

“I–uh…” Chip stuttered, completely flustered by the combination of your words and the feel of your body pressed against his. His mind was hazy, his thoughts scattered, and he couldn’t think straight. His lips parted, desperate for words, but all that came out was a needy, “Y/N, please…”

You smirked, clearly enjoying the effect you were having on him, your hands sliding over his chest as you leaned in close. “I’m glad you still have your manners, my dumb boy,” you cooed, your tone both sweet and condescending, the words sending another wave of heat rushing through his veins.

Chip thought he would hate it—the way you were teasing him, degrading him just enough to make him feel like he was completely under your control. But instead, it had the opposite effect. His heart raced faster, his skin flushed, and every word you said made his desire for you burn hotter, stronger. He was already so far gone, so completely consumed by the moment, that he didn’t care anymore. He wanted more—needed more of you, no matter how you gave it to him.

His eyes locked onto yours, wide and desperate, his voice barely a whisper as he choked out, “Please… don’t stop.”

Your grin widened, your fingers trailing down his stomach, teasing him as you took your time. “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear as you stepped closer until you were right in front of him. 

His hands instinctively reached for you, but you gently pushed him back against the chair, keeping control, your gaze locked with his. "You're going to sit back," you whispered, your voice low and commanding, "and let me take care of you."

Chip’s chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his pulse racing as he nodded, his eyes still glued to you. His body was already on fire, every nerve on edge, but now the anticipation of what you were about to do was almost unbearable.

You grinned, clearly loving the effect you were having on him, the power you held over him in this moment. With a slow, deliberate motion, you began to slide your bottoms down, letting them drop to the floor, exposing yourself completely to Chip. His eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat as he stared up at you, utterly entranced by the sight.

Without a word, you climbed back into his lap, the heat of your bare skin pressing against his as you kissed him, deep and slow, savoring the way he responded. Chip groaned into your mouth, his hands moving immediately, instinctively, to cup your breasts. His touch was needy, desperate, his fingers squeezing gently as he explored you, his thumbs brushing over your nipples as you moaned in his mouth.

The feeling of his hands on you, the way his breath hitched as you kissed him, made your whole body hum with anticipation. You could feel how badly he wanted this—how badly he wanted you—and the way his touch became more urgent, more insistent, only fueled your desire.

You pressed your body closer, grinding against him as your lips moved together, your hands tangling in his hair as you deepened the kiss. Chip's moans grew louder, his grip on you tightening as he lost himself in the sensation, every inch of his body responding to your touch.

He pulled back for just a second, breathless and wide-eyed, his voice hoarse as he whispered, "You're perfect... so perfect."

You smiled against his lips, your voice teasing as you whispered back, "Good boy."

“Fuck me, please, please, please,” Chip cried out, his voice ragged and desperate, his entire body trembling beneath you. The words came out in a rush, his need overtaking every ounce of restraint he had left.

You leaned in close, teasing him with a soft, mocking coo, “Oh, my stupid little baby, I will. You don’t have to cry.” You grinned wickedly, swiping your thumbs under his eyes, even though there were no actual tears, your touch just enough to send another shiver down his spine.

Chip lifted his arms obediently, his breathing heavy, and you helped him out of his shirt, tossing it aside as you admired the way his chest rose and fell with each labored breath. The tension between you was electric, the air thick with anticipation as you positioned yourself above him, his hands gripping your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

And then, with a slow, deliberate motion, you finally sank down on him.

Chip let out a guttural moan, his head falling back against the chair as you took him in completely, the overwhelming sensation making his entire body tense beneath you. His hands tightened on your hips, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he tried to process the rush of pleasure flooding through him.

"Fuck," he breathed, his voice barely audible as you began to move, your body sliding against his in a slow, teasing rhythm. You could feel the way his muscles tensed, the way his grip on you tightened as if he was trying to keep himself grounded, but the more you moved, the more he lost himself in the sensation.

You smiled down at him, your own breath hitching as you leaned in close, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, "There you go, baby."

Chip’s response was nothing more than a broken moan, his mind completely gone, lost to the feeling of you, of the way your body moved against his, of the overwhelming pleasure that had been building for what felt like forever. And as you rode him, slow and deliberate, Chip could only cling to you, completely at your mercy, and loving every second of it.

“Does it–ahh–does it feel good for you?” Chip whimpered, his voice shaky and breathless, his eyes wide with need as he looked up at you. His hands gripped your hips tighter, desperate to make sure you were feeling even a fraction of the intensity that was flooding through him.

You smiled down at him, your breath catching as you moved against him, your body sinking deeper with each slow, deliberate motion. “Oh, baby,” you purred, leaning in close enough that your lips brushed against his ear, “it feels fucking amazing.”

Your words made Chip’s body jolt beneath you, a needy groan escaping his lips as you continued to move, each motion slow but firm, driving him wild. The way your body enveloped him, the heat and friction between you both, had his mind spinning, but hearing that it felt good for you—really good—made his heart pound even harder.

"God, you're perfect," he whispered, his voice hoarse, his hips bucking up instinctively as you continued to ride him, his need to please you overriding everything else. "I just want to make you feel good."

You smiled, your hands sliding up his chest, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingers as you leaned in close again, your lips brushing against his. "You already are, baby," you whispered, your voice breathy and filled with a teasing warmth. "You're being so good for me."

Chip whimpered at your words, his mind overwhelmed by the heady mix of praise and raw sensation. Every nerve in his body was on fire, his control slipping with every second. He barely knew what he was doing, lost in the whirlwind of desire, but somehow, in a blur of movement, the positions had shifted.

Suddenly, you were laying down on the table, your back arching slightly as Chip found himself on top of you. His breath came out in ragged gasps, his body trembling as he thrust into you, more instinct than thought guiding his movements now. His hands gripped your waist, his fingers digging into your skin as he moved, his rhythm uneven but full of intensity.

“Fuck,” Chip breathed, his voice rough, almost broken. He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe how good it felt to be this close to you, to be buried inside you, moving with reckless abandon. He wanted to last, to savor the moment, but the way you felt beneath him, the soft gasps that escaped your lips, were driving him wild.

Your hands slid up his arms, gripping his shoulders as you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper. “That’s it, Chip,” you murmured, your voice sultry and filled with encouragement. “Just like that.”

Your words only fueled the fire inside him. Chip’s hips snapped forward harder, more desperate, his body completely giving in to the pleasure as he chased the high that had been building between you. He could barely think, barely breathe, but he didn’t care—he was completely lost in the moment, in you.

The table creaked beneath you, your bodies moving in sync, every thrust sending a wave of electricity through both of you. Chip’s forehead rested against yours, his breath hot and ragged as he continued, his need to please you overtaking everything else.

“Am I—ah—doing good?” he managed to choke out between thrusts, his voice barely a whisper, filled with a raw vulnerability. He was desperate for reassurance, desperate to know that he was making you feel as good as you were making him feel.

Your nails scraped lightly down his back, sending a shiver through him as you smiled up at him, your voice low and sultry as you whispered, “So good, Chip. You’re amazing.”

Those words sent Chip over the edge. His body tensed, every muscle tightening as he lost himself in the rhythm, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. The only thing on his mind now was you, the way your body moved beneath his, the way you felt so perfectly wrapped around him. 

"I’m gonna come, Y/N," Chip groaned, his voice strained, trembling with the intensity of everything building inside him. His movements grew more erratic, his hips snapping harder against you as he fought to keep control, though he knew he was seconds away from losing it completely.

You could feel how close he was, his body trembling with the effort, his breath ragged and uneven. Your hands gripped his shoulders, pulling him even closer as you whispered, your voice dripping with need, "Give it to me, baby."

Those words, that permission, sent him spiraling over the edge.

With a broken, desperate moan, Chip’s body tensed, his hips bucking one last time as he lost himself completely in the pleasure. His entire body shuddered, waves of heat crashing over him as he buried himself inside you, giving you everything he had. 

His breath came out in short, gasping pants, his head dropping to rest against your shoulder as the last of the tension drained from him. He was shaking, overwhelmed by the intensity of the release, and for a moment, he could barely think, his mind blank as he clung to you.

"Fuck," he whispered, his voice hoarse and trembling as he tried to catch his breath, still lost in the haze of everything that had just happened.

You smiled, your hands sliding up his back in a soothing gesture as you held him close, your own breath still ragged from the intensity of it all. "That’s my good boy," you whispered, your lips brushing his ear as you ran your fingers through his hair.

You and Chip sorted yourselves out, getting cleaned up and dressed before stepping back into the quiet night, the air cool against your flushed skin. As you began walking home, Chip felt a warmth settle in his chest that had nothing to do with the physical heat between you earlier. His heart soared when you casually grabbed his hand, lacing your fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world. That small, intimate gesture made him feel like everything had changed—for the better.

But then, suddenly, a cold realization hit him, causing his steps to falter. “Oh my god,” Chip said, his voice full of panic as he looked at you with wide eyes. “You never came!”

You burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the quiet street, and you stopped walking, tugging him into a hug. Chip immediately wrapped his arms around you, holding you close, but still looking slightly panicked. “What’s this for?” he asked, confusion lacing his words.

“You’re the sweetest man alive, Chip,” you said through your laughter, pulling back just enough to grin up at him. You leaned in, giving him a soft, lingering kiss that made his mind spin all over again. When you pulled away, Chip’s lips followed yours instinctively, still looking dazed and concerned.

Before he could speak, you brushed your thumb over his cheek, whispering, “I was only worried about you.” Then, with a playful glint in your eyes, you tickled his sides, making him jump and giggle, his worry dissolving into laughter.

“But,” you added, your tone turning teasing again as you looked up at him with a wink, “if you want to go again, you can sleep in my bed tonight.”

Chip’s eyes went wide, his mouth hanging open in shock and excitement. Without missing a beat, he nodded, completely floored by your offer. And then—he was off. Grabbing your hand, he tugged you down the street, practically dragging you along as he picked up the pace.

You couldn’t help but laugh maniacally as Chip half-sprinted down the street, pulling you behind him like a man on a mission. You’d never seen him move so fast in your life, and it only made your laughter echo louder.

Chip glanced back at you, his face flushed with a mix of excitement and affection, but his steps didn’t slow. He wasn’t going to waste any time getting home tonight—not with the promise of you waiting for him. And as you both hurried through the night, hand in hand, the laughter between you felt like the start of something new, something neither of you were going to let go of anytime soon.

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tag list <333 @yokaimoon @khxna @noelliece @dreamsarebig @sleepey-looney @cocobean16 @placidus @criminalmindssworld @lilu842 @greatoperawombategg @charismatic-writer @fxoxo @hearts4spensco @furrybouquettrash @kathrynlakestone @chaneladdicted @time-himself @mentallyunwellsposts @sapph1re @idefktbh17 @gilwm @reggieswriter @loumouse @spencerreidsreads @i-live-in-spite @fanfic-viewer @bootylovers44 @atheniandrinkscoffee @niktwazny303 @dead-universe @hbwrelic @kniselle @cynbx @danielle143 @katemusic @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @laurakirsten0502 @geepinky @mxlviaa @libraprincessfairy @fortheloveofgubler @super-nerd22 @k-illdarlings @softestqueeen @eliscannotdance @pleasantwitchgarden @alexxavicry @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @criminal-spence @navs-bhat @taygrls

[ralfmaximus]

Okay which one of you is responsible for this?

[miley1442111]

Hi! I don’t know if you were already planning this but I was wondering if I could request a part 2 of your new fic ‘Regrets’? Maybe like a few years later they see each other again? You can decide if it’s a happy or sad ending, I love your work!

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regrets, part 2- s.reid

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a/n: thank you so much for requesting, i think this is becomign a series !!! (aka it's got it's own google doc, yay!)

summary: 5 years after you and spencer call of the engagement, he's back in your life. For a case. obviously.

pairing: spencer reid x fem reader

warnings: fighting, brief spencer in prison mentions (nothing about the storyline though dw), set a few years after so ik he's 'no in the bau' but just go with it please.

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You didn’t see him. For 5 long years in your new town of Colorado. You became a nanny for a wonderful family, you were paid well, and you were happy. That was until one fateful day. 

When Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Jennifer Jareou, David Rossi, Penelope Garcia, and Luke Alves, showed up at the doorstep of the O’Connor family mansion. 

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Knock knock knock

“One second!” you shouted, juggling Annaleise, the youngest of the O’Connor children, in your arms as you tried to peel a banana for Xander’s, the second youngest, breakfast. “Xander, stop playing with your porridge, eat it!” You playfully scolded, resulting in a laughing fit from Xander, and the surrounding four children. 

Annaleise was 2, Xander was 3, Jamie was 6, Poppy was 9, Juliet was 14, and Megan was 16. All the kids adored you, you lived with them as their parents went on various business, and pleasure trips. They were typical rich parents who didn’t exactly care about their children, but you did. You cared about them alot and you’d grown to love taking care of them.

“Coming!” You shouted as you bounced Annaleise in your arms and rushed to the front door.

You wished you hadn’t opened it. Then, the world wouldn’t have stood still. Then, you wouldn’t have seen Spencer. You wouldn’t have seen the awful dark rings under his eyes, his sunken and pale skin, the shock in his eyes when you came to the door with a child. “Hello?” 

“Mrs. O’Connor-” David started. 

“I’m not Mrs. O’Connor. She’s on a business trip with Mr. O’Connor,” you explained quickly. Had you not been making eye-contact with David, you would’ve seen how Spencer’s entire body untensed. The small breath of air he didn’t realise he’d been holding left his mouth in a spluttering cough of sorts and Jj had to slap him on the back to stop him from choking on his own spit. 

“My apologies, Y/n how are you?” David had always been kind to you. 

“Fine, I’m good David. Thank you,” you smiled. “I’m the nanny.”

“Do you mind if we come in to ask you some questions?” he asked, flipping over his FBI badge. 

“I wouldn’t mind if you came in but everyone is getting ready for school and this isn’t really an ideal time. Would you like to come back later?” You asked and Emily nodded. 

“That’d be perfect,” she smiled. “It’s good to see you Y/n.”

“You too,” you smiled and went back inside, 5 sets of eyes on you. 

“Who was that?” Megan practically screamed. 

“Old friends,” you lied, rushing back to get everyone’s breakfast plates away, and Annaleise in his chair.

5 voices were speaking over each other, aided by Annaleise’s incoherent babbling and you genuinely had to shout over all of them. 

“Get in the car!” You shouted. “We’re going to be late!” You reminded them. Soon, everyone was springing into action, grabbing their bags and packed lunches, and piling into the car, Megan and Juliet getting into Megan’s car to drive to their high school. You dropped Xander to his Montessori first, then Jamie and Poppy to their grade school. 

All was calm in the car as Annaleise babbled to you from the backseat. 

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“I can’t tell you anything,” you answered., “I signed an NDA.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed and he sighed. “This is a murder case Ms.-”

“And I will go to prison if I break my NDA. I'm sorry and I really wish I could help you, but I can’t.”

“Y/n, we can get a warrant,” Jj reminded you.

“Jj, I know that. I’d honestly prefer if you did,” you sighed. “What’s this about anyways?”

“Human trafficking,” David answered and you sighed. “When will Mr and Mrs. O'Connor be back from their trip?”

“3 weeks time,” you answered. 

There was a collective eye roll from the entire group. 

“Alright, Spencer stay here with Y/n while we get a warrant to search the house,” Emily ordered and both your faces fell. 

“Emily-” He tried but she gave him a look. One that made you feel that there was no room for arguing. 

“Right,” you stared at the ground, trying to find your footing in this new dynamic. “Hi Spencer.”

“Hi,” he squeaked out.

You sat in silence in the kitchen as Analeise slept in her bassinet in the next room. “Do you want a drink or anything?” You offered. 

“Just some water, please,” he smiled softly. You grabbed a cup out of the drawer and handed him a full glass of water. For the brief split-second where you two were touching, everything felt… different. “How are you?”

“I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m… I’m alright, yeah,” he clearly lied. 

“How’s your mom?” 

“She’s good,” he chuckled. “She misses you.”

You smiled. “Well, you can always tell her that I miss her too.”

Spencer chuckled sadly at your words and nodded. “I will.”

“I like your hair,” you smiled. “It suits you.” 

Spencer hadn't looked in a mirror in what… three weeks? He usually refused to. “Thank you,” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “Y-you look good too.”

“Thank you,” you nodded. 

“I should’ve never snapped at you like that,” he shook his head, trying to keep the multitude of emotions that were threatening to spill over at bay. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. We’re both happy now,” you shrugged. "It was a long time ago-"

“I’m not,” he admitted. “Everyday, I spend my waking moments just thinking about you. Where you went, what you were doing, everything! Anything. And now you’re here in front of me. And I don't know what to do.”

“What do you mean Spencer?” you asked, suddenly the air was turning sour, just like your opinion of him. “You broke up with me.”

“And I wish I hadn’t-”

“But you did Spencer. You did. And I moved to another state to get away from it. And now you’re here, saying all this shit about ‘us’. As if there is an ‘us’ anymore,” you scoffed. “That’s a joke Spencer.”

He nodded, his eyes falling to stare at his dirty, broken converse. You’d gotten him a pair just like these. A red pair, to match the red scarf you’d made him. For his birthday, back when you were just the cool girl he had a huge crush on. Back before you were his. Back before he ruined it all. 

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“Happy birthday Spencer,” you smiled from your spot on his living room couch. He had been shocked that you’d even shown up, let alone brought him a present for his 25th birthday. “Open it!”

He did. And what he would find inside was a hand-written note (one that he’d treasure forever, with the rest of the notes you’d give him while you were together), a pair of red converse in his size, and a crocheted, chunky scarf that looked warm and comfortable. 

“I know you usually match something in your outfit, so I thought this would be good,” you smiled. “But there’s a gift receipt for the shoes if you don’t like them. The scarf is for keeps though.”

Both of them were for keeps. You were for keeps. 

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

“If you’d just excuse me for a moment-” he started, trying to get up but you just pulled him into a hug.

“But I’d really like to be friends,” you whispered. “I miss all of you. But you most of all.” 

His hands felt into their rightful place, around your waist as you held him close. “I’d like that.”

“Me too.”

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criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, challengers, the bear, the hunger games, obx+)

[umlewis]

Lewis Hamilton: I've Struggled With Depression From A Very Early Age

From Formula One glory to making a film with Brad Pitt, at 39, the sports star is more successful than ever. It's been tough, but he wouldn't have it any other way.

Sir Lewis Hamilton is the most successful Formula 1 driver in history, with 105 (at the time of writing) grand prix victories to his name, as well as seven championships and a knighthood in 2021. What makes this achievement even more extraordinary is Hamilton's background. He is the first and only black man to race in F1, a sport dominated by the gilded progeny of wealthy white families. A child of mixed heritage-his father, Anthony, is of Grenadian descent; his mother, Carmen, is a white woman from Birmingham-Hamilton was partly raised on a council estate in Stevenage, his family sacrificing so much to get him to the track. "I am grateful I had that experience. I remember not having any money. I remember the struggle of my parents. I feel that's an advantage," he says. "Did you fight harder on the track because it was so tough for you to get there," I ask. "One thousand per cent," he replies. We are meeting at the Kensington Roof Gardens (Hamilton has a home in London, as well as Monaco, Geneva, Colorado and New York). He is a vision in expensive beige: Maison Margiela slacks, chunky Bottega Veneta boots, a Dries Van Noten cardigan, Dior bracelets, Cartier rings, a pearl necklace he bought online, twinkly little studs, one for each side of his nose, his hands a collage of geometric tattoos. But his love of fashion goes beyond amassing a "dream" wardrobe. He has collaborated with Tommy Hilfiger on several collections and has just been made guest designer at Dior, for whom he has a debut collection coming this autumn, the palette for which was inspired by his travels in Africa, particularly Nigeria. Hamilton agrees it's a busy time for him. At the end of this season he will be moving to Ferrari, after twelve years with Mercedes. "It's been a rollercoaster of emotions from the moment I signed the contract. Telling my boss, that was terrifying. But it's so exciting because I remember as a kid watching Michael. Every driver watches that car and you're like, 'What would it be like to sit in the red cockpit?'" He is a quiet presence, boyish almost, despite his 39 years. He uses euphemisms for swearwords such as "frick" and "shoot." He doesn't drink, is "plant-based," and loves hanging out with his nieces and nephew, playing Uno and Fortnite, chucking them about in the pool on holiday. "I'm really good with the kids," he says, setting aside his oat latte. "With them I feel like I'm able to be the kid that I am."

Hamilton's own childhood was not so carefree. His parents separated when he was two, his father meeting his new wife, Linda, at British Rail, where they both worked. Sundays with his dad were spent watching Formula 1. This was the era of the talismanic Brazilian driver Ayrton Senna, Hamilton's hero. It was during a holiday in Ibiza that he first got in a go-kart. "I was hooked," he says. "The adrenaline, the chaos, trying to control it. You feel it in your chest, your emotions, through your fingers, everything." Hamilton's dad bought him a kart for Christmas when he was eight. "I think he just wanted something to do with me, this kid that had all this energy, that had no fear." He describes himself, back then, as a "Tasmanian devil," a child who didn't enjoy school, who had undiagnosed dyslexia, who was shy - but behind the wheel "something flowed through me. It was the only thing I was confident in." The family began to orientate their existence around Hamilton's racing, his father taking extra jobs, while his stepmum spent all her savings on his new passion. Hamilton won his first race when he was ten. "That was really empowering for me," he says, 'Because I was competing against a lot of wealthier families."

It was also around this time that Senna died, his car crashing into a concrete barrier during the San Marino Grand Prix. "I was with my dad; we were working on the go-kart. I remember going to the front and crying, bawling my eyes out. I couldn't cry in front of my dad. He was not that kind of guy." Hamilton suppressed his grief, in the same way that he suppressed his emotions about the bullying and racism he endured. "There was no escaping it. You experience it at school, in the parks, walking through town. I didn't understand it and my parents never spoke to me about it. They never explained what was going on. My dad was just, 'Keep your head down, hold it in, don't say anything, just beat them on the track, that's all you can do.'" So that was what he did. When Hamilton was thirteen he was offered a place on the McLaren driver development team. His father became his manager, looking after all elements of his career, including finance. "Even when I got to Formula 1, at 22, I had no comprehension of money," he says. Hamilton's first F1 season was in 2007, his first championship win in 2008. But despite all that it gave him, despite his deep love of the sport, of competing, Hamilton found the world of F1 corporate and stifling. There was a requirement to conform, a residual feeling that just one misstep and the opportunities he had been given would be taken away. "It wasn't until I'd had some wins that I started to put my toe out of the box. Each time it was, like, you make one step and that rock's safe, but that next one was wobbly or would fall away. You'd get criticism about how you were presenting yourself. But I kept punching and kept fighting." Racing, like so much competitive sport, can be a lonely business. "You're nice and friendly outside the car," Hamilton says, "but in the car my dad would say you have to be ruthless, aggressive, sharp. In the car there are no friends." He found greater freedom, a sense of belonging and camaraderie, in the fashion world, attending his first show in 2007. "Everyone was wearing what they wanted. You didn't feel like you were being judged because everyone's on their own vibe. It was the first time I got into an environment where everyone was expressing themselves and I loved it."

Hamilton tried to bring some of that creative freedom to his professional life. In 2010 he sacked his father as manager. "Obviously parents try to protect their kids, forever I guess, and some don't want to let go. My dad struggled with that. There was a point when I was like, 'Look, I've done everything you've asked me to do, now let me live my life. I am going to have to make my own mistakes.' That was a really tough process." At the end of the 2012 season he left McLaren for Mercedes. "They gave me a lot more freedom," he says. He became involved in the look of the team, bringing in Hilfiger to help redesign the clothing. "But still if I felt there were wrongdoings, I didn't feel I could speak out." That all changed in 2020, when Hamilton watched a video of the murder of George Floyd by the policeman Derek Chauvin. "The cork popped. It had me on my knees in tears. All this emotion came out. It was such a strange experience because I don't remember crying since I was really young. I knew that I'd had enough, I really needed to speak out. There are people that are staying silent, people that feel voiceless, and I have this platform. Winning championships is an amazing thing, but what are you doing with it? What are you doing with your time on this planet?" These were the questions that Hamilton began asking himself during that pandemic year, which was also when he started meditating. "I would struggle initially to calm my mind, but it's a really great way of getting in touch with myself, my inner feelings, understanding what I want to do." These days he meditates every morning, waking at five, following this with a ten km run, which he sees as an extension of his meditation, a time to have ideas, to clear his mind.

"When I was in my twenties I had some really difficult phases. I mean, I’ve struggled with mental health through my life." What are we talking, I ask. Anxiety, depression? "Depression. From a very early age, when I was, like, thirteen . I think it was the pressure of the racing and struggling at school, the bullying. I had no one to talk to." I ask if he has ever seen a therapist. "I spoke to one woman, years ago, but that wasn't really helpful. I would like to find someone today." He has gone on silent retreats and reads books about mental health, including The 5 Love Languages by Gary Chapman. "You're learning about things that have been passed down to you from your parents, noticing those patterns, how you react to things, how you can change those. So what might have angered me in the past doesn't anger me today. I am so much more refined." The year 2020 was a time of profound personal change. Hamilton took the knee before every race he entered that year. He advocated for change within his industry, initiating the Hamilton Commission to research the underrepresentation of black people in UK motorsport and the STEM sector. Using this information, he launched Mission 44, a charity to help young people around the world overcome social injustice, investing £20 million (he is worth an estimated £350 million) into the project.

He also started moving into other spheres with greater purpose, including fashion and music. He developed a non-alcoholic drink, Almave, and set up a film production company. "I want to be able to tell diverse stories. Film has changed my life. There is so much inspiration I have received," he says. One of his first co-productions is F1, the upcoming movie with Brad Pitt and a more diverse vision of the circuit, including a female technical director. "That was important to me. I lived with my dad, but I was really raised by my two mums and my two sisters. I grew up around a lot of female energy, powerful women. Most of the people on my team are women. The women hold it down." And, of course, there is Pitt playing a driver in his fifties. "That was a tricky part for me," Hamilton says, "because, shoot, of course we want Brad. But I was like, there is no way a 58 year old can compete with a twenty year old. These guys have got nothing going on but to race. And they're fit. So we had to work around this narrative, telling him how much harder he would have to train to get in shape." Hamilton himself is old for an F1 driver, most of whom retire in their thirties. His replacement at Mercedes, the Italian Kimi Antonelli, has only just turned eighteen. You could be his dad, I say, and Hamilton laughs like this hadn't actually occurred to him. "Honestly, right now I feel I'm healthier than I've ever been," he says. "I'm in such a good place, physically and mentally. My reaction times are still quicker than the young guys. I think I'm a better driver than I was at 22. I was just young, energetic and ruthless, but no finesse, no balance. I didn't know how to be a team player, how to be a leader. Being a good racing driver, it's not just about being fast. It's about being the most rounded. When I study the legends, they're spread between small percentages, so it's the whole package. What do they speak for, stand for? That's what I look at. I look to Ayrton Senna and Nelson Mandela, and those are the two people gelled together that I want to be."

Senna used to cross himself before every race. Like him, Hamilton was raised a Catholic. "I pray every time before I race," he says. "I pray that everyone is safe." Motor racing is far less dangerous than it used to be, but people still die. I ask Hamilton if he fears death when he drives. "I don't, no," he says. "But still, we're traveling at crazy speeds. You have to respect it. So that's why I'm conscious of the time I spend with my family, with my mum. Is this the last time I get to hug her? Because you just don't know. Nothing is guaranteed." Hamilton is single, but he would like to have a family. "One day. I wouldn't be able to do what I do to the level that I do it today with that. One of my best friends has just had a kid and I'm seeing how manic it is. And my nieces and nephew are a handful. There will be a time and a place for it, and I can't wait for that part. But right now I have some work to do."

[e-dubbc11]

you said you could be persuaded to write about dean sooooooooo what about retired dilf dean? 🤔

My dear sweet Selene, it’s very hard for me to say no to you. 🤣 I came up with a little something for DILF Dean Winchester. I hope you like it, thank you for challenging me, my lovely friend ♥️♥️♥️

Carrying On

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Dad Dean Winchester x F! Reader

Warnings: Couple of swear words, fluff, mentions of readers father’s death, smooches, a little hunter violence

Word Count: 1.7K-ish

Summary: You just bought a house in a new state, trying to see if you can move on after your father’s untimely death. Your neighbor introduces himself and already you’re feeling more at home

A/N: So this is my first time writing for Dean, dear god I hope it doesn’t suck. I wanted to write more for this but I still have asks in my inbox for my sleepover I need to get to(I’m trying my hardest to answer them all, I thank you all for your patience.) I’d even be willing to do another part for this because I had fun writing this one! I hope you like it! ♥️

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The house was at the end of a nice quiet street. Your suitcases were piled high in the back seat, almost too high to see out the rear window but it wouldn’t be for much longer. It will be nice to finally stretch your legs after being in the car for such a long drive.

When you pulled into the driveway, you noticed that the “For Sale” sign had been removed from the front lawn. This was your home now and you were determined to live your life as normal as possible from now on.

After your father passed away, you left the flat lands of Oklahoma for the mountains of Colorado. There was just something about that cool mountain air. But you didn’t want to live IN the mountains, you didn’t want to be alone so moving into a neighborhood NEAR the mountains was a good compromise.

A man and, what you assumed to be, his young son were playing catch in the front yard. The boy tossed the baseball to his father but the man wasn’t paying attention. He was too busy looking at your car which happened everywhere you went.

You and your father had rebuilt that car and restored it to its former glory. It was your dream car…a 1967 Pontiac GTO in midnight blue. The way the paint reflected the light, the car almost looked purple. It was a gorgeous car.

The car in your neighbor’s driveway was impressive also. It was a 1967 Chevy Impala, black.

“DAD!! You missed!” The boy shouted.

“Hold on, son. You see that car? She must be our new neighbor. Let’s go say hello.” The man said.

Reaching for the sky, you stretched until some of the tightness in your shoulders went away. You then saw your new neighbor.

“Fuck me.” You whispered under your breath.

He was very handsome with medium brown hair, a well-groomed beard, and green eyes. As he came closer, you saw a splash of freckles across his nose and his young son was a carbon copy of his father.

You smiled warmly as they came closer.

“Hi there! I’m your new neighbor. I’m y/f/n y/l/n.”You extended your hand to shake his.

After you introduced yourself, the man had a slightly confused look on his face that quickly disappeared.

He extended his hand for you to shake. “I’m Dean and this is my son Charlie.”

“It’s really nice to meet you.” You said.

Charlie interjected himself. “Dad missed the ball because he was staring at your car.”

“Charlie…” Said Dean through clenched teeth.

“Ah, well I do get that a lot. You wanna sit in it?” You asked.

Charlie’s eyes went wide. “Sure!”

You opened the car door so Charlie could sit on the driver’s side.

Dean pointed at the car. “That is a nice car. ’69?” He asked.

You bit down on your lower lip to keep from smiling. “It’s a ’67 actually, like your Impala.”

“Impressive…I don’t know a lot of women that would know that to look at it.” He said.

“Well, we do exist.” You said, a little sarcastically.

Dean smiled at you and said softly. “Yes, I guess you do.”

When he realized he was staring, he quickly snapped out of the trance he was in.

“Um, yeah so um, do you have furniture coming or anything? I’m happy to help.” He said.

“Oh the moving truck is coming tomorrow so I just have the bare essentials for tonight. Thank you for the offer, I may take you up on that.” You said.

“Well, we’ll let you get settled. Just knock when the truck comes…Charlie!! Come on, let’s let y/n settle in to her new house.” Said Dean.

As they walked away, you heard Charlie tell his dad, “Dad, you were staring at her.”

Dean narrowed his eyes and furrowed his brow. “No I wasn’t…get the ball.”

“Yes you were, Dad. I saw you.” Said Charlie.

You shook your head back and forth then smiled. They both seemed really sweet.

Three Months Later

You had settled nicely into your new home. The final box had been unpacked and you were adjusting to your new surroundings and your new neighbors. Although there was something that bothered you about Dean’s house.

Every so often, not a lot but every now and again, you noticed that the basement light would flicker. It wasn’t all the time but when it did, it was always at the same time, which you thought was strange.

Everything else seemed to be fine so you didn’t look too closely at it.

You really did like Dean and you adored Charlie. They were your friends, so you contemplated, at least telling Dean about your past, how your father really died, and why you left your home state.

One Saturday morning, all of the windows were open and you could hear music coming from their house. It sounded like…Asia – Heat of the Moment.

You giggled a little bit and thought to yourself, “Really Dean, Asia?”

Dean had a deep booming voice.

“Rise and shine, Charlie!!” He said, loudly but playfully.

After doing some housework, you heard a knock on your door. Walking down the hall from the bedroom into the kitchen, you saw Dean standing at the side door through the screen. He was leaning against the door frame.

“Hey there. What can I do for ya?” You asked, opening the screen door.

“Hey, I was wondering if you’d like to come over for dinner tonight? I thought maybe we could tell Charlie, um…well, about us.” He said, shyly.

Charlie didn’t know that about a month after you moved in, you and Dean started to hang out with each other after he went to sleep.

He’d come over for a drink, sometimes a movie, or a lot of the time, the two of you would just talk, and the relationship just sort of happened.

Charlie’s mom had passed away three years ago and it had just been the two of them since then. Obviously you weren’t trying to get in the way of their relationship and you DEFINITELY weren’t trying to replace his mom but you really did like the both of them and Charlie deserved to know the truth…they both did.

You snaked your arms around Dean’s neck, let your fingers run through his soft brown hair, and leaned in to kiss him. The bristles of his beard tickled your chin and you smiled in between his kisses. You really were smitten with him.

“I’d love to…I’ll bring you guys a special dessert.” You said.

A shy smile extended across Dean’s face. “Awesome…oh and I’m not much of a cook so I hope you’re ok with burgers. Alright? Ok, good talk.” He said, as he smacked you on the ass and turned around to walk back home.

You were going to come clean tonight.

Walking over to Dean’s, you remembered the first time you saw the last name on the mailbox…Winchester. Dean Winchester. All hunters knew that name, that family, his brother Sam, their father John, and their mother Mary.

They were famous in the world of hunting. Your family name stayed under the radar. Sure, you and your dad had some pretty big hunts and cases but nothing compared to the Winchesters.

Charlie answered when you knocked.

“Y/n!!!” He said, excitedly.

“Hey buddy!” You replied.

Charlie saw you holding the pie in your hands.

“Oh you brought Dad’s favorite.” He said.

“I did? Well I hope you guys like it, I made it from scratch.” You said.

“Dad’s always eating pie…he’s out back, come on!” He said, tugging on your t-shirt.

The three of you had a nice dinner together filled with a lot of laughs and you breathed a sigh of relief when Charlie said he was ok that you were his dad’s girlfriend.

The child like smile Dean had on his face as he was about to taste the pie made you smile. Before he could take his first bite, the lights flickered.

He looked up at the kitchen light as it continued to flicker. “Son of a bitch.” He boomed.

“Dad, language!” Shouted Charlie.

“Not now, Charlie.” He growled.

You stood up and backed away from the kitchen table. “Where’s the salt, Dean?” You asked.

“What? How do you--?” He started to say.

“The salt, Dean…NOW!!!” You shouted.

Dean got the bag of salt from underneath the kitchen sink and you had Charlie stand in an open area in the dining room, while his dad drew a salt circle around him. Then he pulled out two shotguns from underneath the couch in the living room filled with rock salt.

“Charlie…buddy, don’t move from this spot, do you understand?” You asked him, looking into his scared eyes.

He nodded.

Standing back to back, holding the shotguns, Dean asked, “Is there something you wanna tell me?”

As fast as you could, you explained yourself. “Ok, so I come from a family of hunters too, nothing like yours of course but I left Oklahoma after my father died saving me from a nest of vampires. It was just me and him, my whole life and when he died, I felt like I couldn’t hunt without him.” You said.

Low moans and hisses were emanating through the walls as the lights continued to turn on and off.

“I can’t believe you’re a hunter. That’s why when you introduced yourself, your name sounded familiar to me!” Shouted Dean.

Charlie stood petrified inside the salt circle. “Dad, what’s going on?”

“It’s alright, buddy. We’re gonna be alright.” Said Dean.

Two apparitions came through the wall and headed straight for you when you blasted them with rock salt.

“Are y-you m-mad?” You asked, while trying to catch your breath.

“Mad? I’m only mad that I didn’t get to eat my pie! As far as you being a hunter, well…I gotta say I’m a little turned on.” He said.

In the middle of a life or death situation, Dean managed to make you blush.

“What does that mean, Dad?” Asked Charlie.

In unison, you and Dean yelled, “Not now, Charlie!”

“When we’re done with this, we’re gonna have a talk.” Dean pointed his finger at you.

“But you’re not mad?” You asked with a slight smile.

Dean smiled at you, his bright green eyes looked like fresh blades of grass as he leaned in to kiss your forehead.

“Nah, I’m not mad sweetheart. Now let’s kill these things so I can eat my pie.”

Tagging: @munsonownsmyass @gijos

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC Prompt: Kindred Spirits

(aka yet another prompt where Ari accidentally writes a oneshot instead of a prompt because they get overly excited about their ideas. Inspired by the Danny Phantom episode Kindred Spirits (hence the name))

President Luthor passed a handful of laws, countless half-assed laws that sent the goverment into chaos and made a mountain of paperwork for the League. That mixed with a handful of attacks in different areas of the world that needed their attention, the fact that one of their most dangerous enemies was in charge of an entire country, and a handful of other variants they were too buried to be aware of the Anti-Ecto Law and the calls that kept getting blocked by the Government to their systems, alerting them that somebody was potentially in some kind of danger.

It wasn't until Clark and Bruce were visiting his parents in Kansas though that they realized just how much they were missing. It was a type of play-date (though they refused to tell Damian that was what this little adventure was called) which was to allow Damian a chance to play with Jon and see the animals the lived on the farm, it also gave Bruce some time away from the city after an injury required him to take two weeks off to allow his shoulder to recover.

Bruce was fine, it was Clark who was worried.

Bruce was watching the two boys play as Jon taught Damian more about milking cows as well as explaining why it was important to do such when both Jon and Clark both stopped suddenly and looked West.

After a moment Jon let out a very worried, "Dad..?"

"I hear it, Jon. You and Damian go inside and get some lunch." Clark said as Jon nodded, then practically dragged Damian away, much to Damian's complaint.

"What's wrong?" Bruce asked as Clark glared west.

"Screaming, specifically a teenager. It's muffled and echoed like he's underground. Whoever is screaming is in trouble."

Bruce frowned, jogging over to his car climbing inside as he quickly began to change into his costume as Clark zipped into the house then zipped back out in costume. "Can you follow the sound?"

"As loud as it is? No problem." Superman said as Bruce pulled on his cowl.

"Good. Take us there."

Superman didn't hesitate to grab Batman's good hand as the two went into the air and flew in the direction of the sound. Batman had no idea what to expect when they arrived as they flew through the Colorado Mountains, but a mansion of a cabin with no cars out front seemingly abandoned was the last thing he expected.

At first there was no sign of anybody or anything in the area. No neighbors, no cars, no sign of a break in, not even any noise that Bruce could hear, only proving to Batman once more that Superman's hearing was nothing to take lightly.

"Where?" Batman asked as they landed.

"Directly under the house. But... it's gone quiet. Too quiet."

Batman frowned, looking at the house and the insignia on the front of it. "Vlad Masters."

"Who?"

"Vlad Masters. He's one of the names on Lex Luthor's paperwork, supplies him with some of his 'space tech' and 'energy'. His business has always been shady but it's always been 'mysterious clean' whenever we look into him." Batman said as he went to the door, using his tech to hack into the security system before they entered the house.

Animal pelts, hunting trophy's, countless other signs that it was some kind of glorious vacation home also suggested that nobody was home. The fire was cold, there was no sign of life, but there was something green on the floor near a wooden vanity that had been broken in half and recently.

Suddenly, Batman heard a low but muffled voice should from near the fireplace.

"YOU EXIST TO SERVE ME! JUST DO IT!"

Batman glared as they both ran towards the fireplace as Batman began to adjust some of the statues when the head of a Vlad bust rolled open at the forehead exposing a red button. Before he could hit the button though there was another voice, this one was clearly a young child.

"YOU ARE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!"

"NO! NO!"

Batman clenched his teeth as he hit the button, the fireplace beginning to open in front of them. Suddenly there were lights on that he could see which lined the staircase. The two began to rush down the stairs, following the sounds of people talking when the young voice spoke again.

"I can do this..." The voice echoed.

"You don't have to. Cover your ears and get behind me."

Batman and Superman made it to the basement just in time to see what happened next. A man with black hair who was dressed as a vampire was approaching two children, a teenage boy and a girl closer to twelve. They both had white hair, green eyes and black and white suits. They looked like siblings, or cousins.

Regardless of their relationship the boy was in front of the girl protectively, sucking in a deep breath before an absolutely horrifying noise ripped it's way out of the boy in a wave of green. Superman immediately smacked his hands over his ears and Batman found himself doing the same thing but he didn't take his eyes off of what was happening in front of him. Machinery and tech was knocked off of the walls, the round cracked, and the vampire was thrown away from him and slammed into the far wall.

The amount of power coming from this one kid was intense and something Batman had never seen before, and judging by the look on the vampire's face it was something he hadn't been expecting from him either. Batman looked back at the boy, who seemed to be getting more pale by the second, his body shaking as tears pricked at the corner of his eyes simply from the amount of energy the ability he was using must have taken.

It wasn't until the vampire seemed to transform from it's vampire appearance to a more familiar appearance of Vlad Masters, a sight that Batman honestly didn't expect to see in such a situation but not one that exactly surprised him either. If Vlad was a meta that made some of the things that didn't make sense before a lot clearer.

Finally, the boy had no energy left as the yell - or rather the wail - cut off, dropping everything that had been thrown against the wall including Vlad. A similar white ring surrounded the teen as he seemed to transform from a white haired green eyed teen to a black haired blue eyed teen that immediately crumbled to his hands and knees. He had bruises from fighting, but the bigger concern were the bruises on his wrists that were clearly from restraints of some kind.

Was the boy the one Superman heard scream?

The young girl checked on the boy, who was shaking and looking like he was seconds away from passing out.

"Out of power... but worth it to take this place down..." He said, seeming to notice Batman and Superman with wide eyes, but the others didn't seem to spot them yet.

Vlad got up and started marching his way towards the kids, transforming back into his vampire appearance as the girl blocked the boy.

"Stay away from him!" She said, her hands glowing green as a puddle of green began to form under her feet.

"Oh, I don't think so girl, you don't dare use your powers again. Danny's beaten, this is over!"

Batman and Superman launched into action as Batman threw one of his batterangs passed Vlad's face, causing him to jump away from the teens. Vlad turned, seeming to expect somebody else but then being absolutely shocked and almost frightened when he saw who was standing in front of him.

"Superman and Batman? Here?" He growled, his hands glowing as he glanced passed them at the kids who seemed almost as frightened as he did. "I can save you both, you know? Take you away from them and keep them safe."

"Think... we're safer away from you, you absolute Fruitloop." The boy said, trying to get up just to stumble and fall again as the girl seemed ready to protect him from Superman.

Vlad laughed, "We'll see about that, Daniel. If you think I'm dangerous... imagine what they'll do with the truth." Vlad suddenly shot up into the air, flying through the ceiling.

"I've got him!" Superman said, flying up the stairs after Vlad while Batman turned to face the two kids.

"Stay back!" The girl warned, her hands glowing again as the puddle started to grow.

Batman held up his hands, taking a step back. "It's alright, nobody's going to hurt you. What's your names?"

The girl looked at the boy who seemed to be fading fast. "If you help him and don't hurt him... I'll tell you everything but if you hurt him... I'll destroy you." She warned.

Batman nodded, "I'll help him, I promise."

She relaxed, finally allowing Batman closer to the teen who looked up at him and tried to move away just to end up falling to the side instead. Batman put his hand out, supporting the teen before helping him sit up more steadily.

He looked at the bruises on the kids wrists then at the container behind him which had shackles in similar shapes and sizes to the bruises on him. Whatever this was, whatever Vlad Masters was doing, clearly surrounded this boy. That meant they had to get him out of there.

Batman carefully picked the teen up, surprised at just how light he was. Did this kid eat? He adjusted his hold on the teen who put his head against Batman's shoulder with a tired sigh as the girl grabbed Batman's cape. He gave her a soft smile before the three of them started marching up the stairs, meeting Superman at the top who sighed.

"He took off towards the North-East." Superman said as Batman nodded with a 'Hm'. "So, what are your names?"

"I'm... I'm Dani and this is Danny." The girl said.

"Two Danny's?" Superman asked, "Doesn't that confuse your parents?"

"Considering my dad is Vlad, I'm guessing not." Dani huffed.

"She's... my clone..." Danny muttered, exhausted as both Superman and Batman blinked in surprise. "But you're not allowed to hurt her. Made by Vlad or not she's my family and I'll protect her..."

"Nobody's going to hurt anybody." Batman promised, "For now we're going to get you somewhere safe and figure things out. Superman, call Flash and tell him where we are, we're going to need a pick up."

Superman nodded, reaching to grab his League Communicator as he walked away while Batman set Danny down on one of the couches.

"Okay, there you go. What did that guy mean when he implied that we were dangerous to you? What do you all think we're going to do to you?"

Dani shrugged as Danny looked at him.

"Anti-Ecto Control Act... what I am, what Plasmius is, what Dani is... we all fall under a law that says we're non-sentient. The law says that anybody with ectoplasm in our blood is to be captured, contained and destroyed. Which means that legally you should be trying to kill us... not help us."

Batman frowned, "I've heard of the law, didn't think it held ground and least of all enough ground to follow." His frown faded as he gave the kids a reassuring smile. "Plus, I'm technically a vigilante, that's hardly legal too. So, what the law doesn't know won't hurt them. Besides, you guys seem plenty sentient to me."

The two Danny's smiled before Dani let out a sniffle as she rubbed her eyes.

"I'm sorry... Danny... I'm sorry." She sobbed, hugging onto the older Danny who hugged her back.

"It's okay, Danielle... it's okay."

It wasn't okay. None of this situation was okay. But, Batman would do everything in his damn power to make sure that it was fixed as soon as possible.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

John Deere's repair fake-out

Last week, a seeming miracle came to pass: John Deere, the Big Ag monopolist that — along with Apple — has led the Axis of Evil that killed, delayed and sabotaged dozens of Right to Repair laws, sued for peace, announcing a Memorandum of Understanding with the American Farm Bureau Federation to make it easier for farmers to fix their own tractors:

https://www.fb.org/files/AFBF_John_Deere_MOU.pdf

This is a move that’s both badly needed and long overdue. Deere abuses copyright law to force farmers to pay for official repairs — even when the farmer does the repair. That’s possible thanks to a practice called VIN locking, in which engine parts come with DRM that prevents the tractor from recognizing them until they pay hundreds of dollars for a John Deere technician to come to their farm and type an unlock code into the tractor’s console:

https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8

Like all DRM, VIN locks are covered by Section 1201 of the Digital Millennium Copyright Act (DMCA), a 1998 law that criminalizes distributing tools to bypass “access controls,” even if you do so for a lawful purpose (say, to fix your own tractor using a part you paid for). Violations of DMCA 1201 carry a penalty of 5 years in prison and a $500k fine — for a first offense.

This means that Deere owners are locked into using Deere for repairs, which also means that if Deere decides something isn’t broken, a farmer can’t get it fixed. This is very bad news indeed, because John Deere tractors are just computers in a fancy, mobile case, and John Deere is incredibly bad at digital security:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

That’s scary stuff, because John Deere is a monopolist, and a successful attack on the always-connected, networked tractors and other equipment it supplies to the world’s farmers could endanger the global food supply.

Deere doesn’t want to make insecure tractors, but it also doesn’t want to be embarrassed by security researchers who point out that its security is defective. Because security researchers have to bypass Deere tractors’ locks to probe their security, Deere can leverage DMCA1201 into a veto over who gets to warn the public about the mistakes it made.

It’s not just security researchers that Deere gets to gag: the company uses its repair monopoly to threaten farmers who complain about its business practices, holding their million-dollar farm equipment hostage to their silence:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

This all adds up to what Jay Freeman calls “felony contempt of business model,” an abuse of copyright law that allows a monopolistic corporation to reach beyond its own walls and impose its will on it customers, critics and competitors:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

If Deere was finally suing for peace in the Repair Wars, well, that was wonderful news indeed — as I said, a seeming miracle.

But — like all miracles — it was too good to be true.

The MOU that Deere and the Farm Bureau signed is full of poison pills, gotchas, fine-print and mendacity, as Lauren Goode documents in her Wired article, “Right-to-Repair Advocates Question John Deere’s New Promises”:

https://www.wired.com/story/right-to-repair-advocates-question-john-deeres-new-promises/

For starters, the MOU makes the Farm Bureau promise to end its advocacy for state Right to Repair bills, which would create a repair system governed by democratically accountable laws, not corporate fiat. Clearly, Deere has seen the writing on the wall, after the passage in 2002 of Right to Repair laws in New York and Colorado:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2022/06/when-drm-comes-your-wheelchair

These two bills broke the corporate anti-repair coalition’s winning streak, which saw dozens of state R2R bills defeated:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/05/26/nixing-the-fix/#r2r

Deere’s deal-with-the-devil is a cynical ploy to brake R2R’s momentum and ensure that any repairs are carried out on Deere’s terms. Now, about those terms…

Deere’s deal offers independent repair shops access to diagnostic tools and parts “on fair and reasonable terms,” a murky phrase that can mean whatever Deere decides it means. Crucially, the deal is silent on whether Deere will supply the tools needed to activate VIN locks, meaning that farmers will still be at Deere’s mercy when they effect their own repairs.

What’s more, the deal itself isn’t legally binding, and Deere can cancel it at any time. Once you dig past the headline, the Deere’s Damascene conversion to repair advocacy starts to look awfully superficial — and deceptive.

One person who wasn’t fooled is sick.codes, the hacker who has done the most important work on reverse-engineering Deere’s computer systems, culminating in last summer’s live, on-stage hack of a John Deere tractor at Defcon:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/15/deere-in-headlights/#doh-a-deere

Shortly after the announcement, Sick.codes tweeted how the fine-print in the MOU would have prevented him from doing the work he’s already done (including “a direct stab at me lol”):

https://twitter.com/sickcodes/status/1612484935495057409

As with other instances of monopolistic, corporate copyfraud — like, say, the deceptive Open Gaming License — the John Deere capitulation is really a bid to take away your rights, dressed up as a gift of more rights:

https://mostlysignssomeportents.tumblr.com/post/706163316598407168/good-riddance-to-the-open-gaming-license

[Image ID: Hieronymus Bosch's painting, 'The Conjurer.' The Conjuror's shell-game table holds a small John Deere tractor that the audience of yokels gawps at. One yokel is wearing a John Deere hat. The conjurer is holding a wrench.]

[nicksalchemy1]

Bleed To Love Her

Paring: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Hunting with Dean after Sam had been thrown in the cage with Lucifer and Micheal was doozy. Coming across a hunt that brings up a hunt that still haunts you; the one that caused your father’s death, you revisit the case with Dean.

You had been hunting with Dean for a few months now, ever since Sam was trapped in the cage with Lucifer and Michael. You were childhood friends, and you had a crush on him for as long as you could remember. But you never acted on it, because you knew was a womanizer. And then there was Lisa, the woman he had tried to settle down with during his year off from hunting. You knew he still loved her, even though he left her for your sake.

You were on a case in Colorado, tracking down a shapeshifter that had been killing people and taking their identities. You had a bad feeling about this one, because it reminded you of something that happened to you when you were a kid. Something you never told Dean, or anyone else.

"So, I found this case." you interject as he drove the Impala along the highway.

"What's the word on the street?" he said, glancing at you.

"Yeah, this, uh, case is different."

He frowned, and waited patiently till you spoke up.

"Okay? C’mon, spit it out."

You took a deep breath, and began to spill.

"When I was ten years old, my dad and I were hunting a shapeshifter. It was our first time dealing with one. We tracked it down to an abandoned warehouse, where it had a bunch of victims locked up in cages. We tried to free them, but the shifter ambushed us. It knocked me out, and dragged me to another room. When I woke up, I saw it standing over me. It had taken my dad's form. It smiled at me, and said 'I'm sorry, sweetheart, but I have to do this.' And then it stabbed him in the chest, right in front of me. I screamed, and it laughed. It said 'Don't worry, I'll make it quick for you too.' It raised the knife again, but I kicked it in the groin, and ran for the door. I managed to escape, but I never saw my dad again. He was dead, and I couldn't save him."

You paused, taking a shaky breath, feeling the old fear mingling with fresh determination.

"I think it's back, Dean. The monster we're hunting now, I see the patterns, the signs. It's him. It's the same one."

For a long moment, Dean didn't speak. Then, with a nod that was all business, he said, "Then this just got personal for both of us."

The plan was simple yet risky: you would act as bait to draw the creature out. Dean hated it, you could tell by the way his brow furrowed and his lips formed a thin line, but he knew as well as you did that it was the best shot you had.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid," Dean said as you wired yourself with hidden blades and a concealed microphone.

"I'm not the one who usually breaks that promise," you quipped, trying to lighten the mood.

He didn't smile.

The night was cold and unforgiving as you took your position in the abandoned warehouse where the creature had last been seen. The wait was excruciating, every shadow a potential threat, every sound a possible approach.

Then, it was there. The monster, a grotesque figure from nightmares past, stepped from the shadows. Your heart hammered in your chest, but you held your ground.

The creature lunged, and you fought with everything you had learned since that fateful night. It was stronger than you remembered, but so were you. Just as it seemed to gain the upper hand, you plunged a blade into its heart, sending it back to the hell it came from.

But victory came at a cost. You were injured, worse than you realized, and as Dean rushed to your side, his face a mask of fury and fear, you knew you were in for it.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean's voice was a low growl as he checked your wounds.

"I had to end it, Dean," you said, wincing in pain.

"That was reckless, and you could've—” He stopped abruptly, his eyes going wide with a realization. "Dammit, Lisa, I—"

The name hung between you, a ghost from his past that had no place in your present.

You injuries suddenly became meaningless. What remained was the pain of knowing that, in some part of his mind, you were replaceable.

All of your fears were confirmed. Were you ever truly seen, or were you just a placeholder, a shape to fill a void that Lisa had left open? Did your name ever rest as comfortably on his tongue as hers evidently still did?

"Dean," you started, a coldness settling in your chest. "My name is not Lisa."

The silence that followed was deafening. His eyes, now filled with regret, said everything his voice couldn’t seem to find the words for.

"I know. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"You think I can't handle myself? That I'm not strong enough?" Your voice rose, a mix of hurt and anger making your words sharp.

"That's not it," Dean said quickly, shaking his head. "It was a slip up, a mistake—“

“Saying her name or the fact that I believed that you liked me?” You accused, a bitter smile on your face.

The tension between you and Dean was palpable as you both returned to the motel room, the weight of his slip of the tongue hanging heavy in the air. You kept your distance, tending to your wounds in silence while Dean hovered awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do.

"You should get some rest," Dean finally said, after a long stretch of quiet that felt like an eternity.

"I'll rest when I'm dead," you replied sharply, avoiding his gaze. You could see out of the corner of your eye that he flinched at your tone, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care.

He sighed, running a hand down his face. "Look, I'm sorry, okay? I messed up. I didn't mean to call you Lisa, it just... came out."

You scoffed, focusing on the sting of antiseptic on your skin rather than the sting of betrayal in your heart. "Sure, Dean. People always say the wrong name by accident when they're with someone else. Especially the name of someone they love."

Dean's face tightened, a mix of anger and hurt flashing in his eyes. "That's not fair," he said, his voice low.

"Fair?" you echoed, finally looking at him, letting him see the hurt in your eyes. "What about this is fair, Dean? I'm out here, risking my neck, hunting things that go bump in the night with you, making an effort for you, and you still see her when you look at me."

Dean took a step forward, as if to reach out to you, but then thought better of it. "I don't—"

"Don't," you interrupted, holding up a hand to stop him. "Just don't. We have work to do, and I can put aside my feelings to get it done. Can you?"

He nodded, though the gesture felt empty. "Fine."

[jungle-angel]

A Bed For My Family: Part 2 (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: You and Rhett have been hiding out up in Montana, but you know his godfather would do anything to make your stay a little better

Warnings: Breastfeeding, mentions of court battles etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse

You and Rhett awoke to the heavy snow falling outside and Diesel pawing at the both of you so that he could be let out to do his business. It felt odd waking up in a bed that wasn't yours, but you and Rhett were grateful that you had a place to stay.

Rhett was further awoken by Amy's sleepy little cooing, a sign that she would be waking up sooner than later. "Alright princess, I'm comin," Rhett yawned.

He lifted her out of her crib at the foot of the bed you had been sharing and brought her to you. "Ya'll want some help?" Rhett asked.

"Nope," you chuckled, helping Amy to latch onto your boob. "Thank you though Rhett."

He leaned in and kissed you, before letting you have your moment of privacy, heading downstairs and following the tantalizing smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen.

"Ya'll are up early," John remarked.

"Dog woke us up and needed to go out," Rhett chuckled.

"I let him back in, just so you know," John answered, handing Rhett the mug full of fresh steaming coffee. "I was afraid he'd start chasing a squirrel."

"Nah, Diesel doesn't chase squirrels," Rhett answered. "But he has been known to go after Mrs. Burch once in a while."

"That old hag still lives near you?" John asked with a laugh.

"Yeah, Dad's waitin on her to kick the bucket already," Rhett laughed.

The two of them greeted you as you came down the stairs with Amy, drawn in by the smell of fresh eggs, bacon, toast and coffee. Ruby had jumped off the couch and trailed her way into the kitchen, eager for her morning scritches, while Diesel sank down on his bed near the huge fireplace in the living room.

"Alright, where's my grandniece?" John chuckled as you carefully handed Amy off to him.

"She's been waiting for you all night John," you answered, pushing the toast in the toaster down.

"Well, she'll have all day long too," John remarked. "S'gonna fuckin snow all day and I don't want anybody, the hands included, out in it."

"Critters are all in for now?" Rhett asked.

"Yep, all got in last night before the blizzard started," John answered.

Rhett heard his phone on the counter vibrating as you and John chattered away. He opened up his lockscreen to find a text from Royal, a little apprehensive to open it, but needing to see what it said.

Dad: Cats and kittens are fine, Perry ran off to Colorado and hasn't been seen since. Lay low at Johns for a few days and your Ma and I will bring the cats and kittens up.

Rhett breathed a huge sigh of relief. Ever since last night, he had worried himself nearly sick wondering if Tiny, Willie and their kittens would be ok. The poor little things were only a few days old, still blind and helpless, unable to be moved from the confines of their little pen in the book barn's cozy corner. Thank God Perry hadn't gone anywhere near the property or near the barn. Rhett would have killed him if something had happened to the little cat family.

It was at least a day and a half before Royal and Cecelia showed up on John's doorstep, each with a cat carrier in hand and each one containing Tiny, Willie and their eight little kittens. John had made a special little pen for them in the basement near the woodstove, setting up a homemade nesting box so that the kittens could sleep on top of each other.

And it was times like that, that you, Rhett and your family felt closer than ever.

[iww-gnv]

New York CNN — Savonnda Blaylock, a pharmacy technician in northern California, has worked for health care giant Kaiser Permanente for 22 years and she’s never been on strike. That could change on Wednesday when she becomes one of 75,000 workers who participate in the nation’s largest health care strike in history. Blaylock said it will be tough to walk off the job and away from her regular patients, even though the strike is set to last only three days. But Blaylock said she feels she has no choice given the staffing problems she now sees at the hospital, both as an employee and as a patient. “When we try to schedule appointments (for my mother), we’re told they don’t have the staff to accommodate her,” said Blaylock. “When I came to Kaiser, this was the best place to work. This was where I wanted to retire from. Now I think about leaving, though I don’t want to. On my shift now, there are probably about 12 of us. Pre-Covid there were 18. We’ve lost so many workers over the past three years.” If the coalition of unions does go on strike it would affect dozens of facilities in California, Oregon, Washington, Colorado, Virginia and Washington, DC. Members of the coalition of unions — including nurses, therapists, technicians, dietary services, maintenance and janitorial staff — are set to walk out for a three-day strike starting on Wednesday. Kaiser said it has contingency plans in place to continue to provide care to patients during a strike.

[sigynpenniman]

AIRPORT TIERLIST OF AIRPORTS I’VE BEEN THROUGH FROM SOMEONE WHO FUCKING LOVES AIRPORTS

S TIER:

- MCO Orlando. My love my queen. Platonic ideal of airports. All the other airports wanna be her.

- MSY New Orleans - I have only seen your beautiful face once but your vibes were just impeccable. I miss you beautiful

A TIER:

- LHR London Heathrow - you’re so chill and sweet to be such a major airport. Weirdly calming somehow. Sterile, but the big boy of London airports. When you’re here you’re in London. Smells like joy.

- CDG Charles DeGaulle Paris. Dripping in stunning retro futurism and has a Concorde on stands by the runway. We love her

- DCA Ronald Reagan Washington DC. So pretty. So clean. So easy to navigate. Prevented from S tier status by being one long skinny thing with no way to get quickly across it.

B TIER:

- DEN Denver Colorado. Architecture for the gods but somehow the vibes are off. I’d fly through you again happily but I don’t feel especially warm when I think of you.

- FLL Fort Lauderdale - Hollywood. You’re permanently attached to very warm memories for me because of the trip I took from you but you’re just kind of there. Vibes are off. Meh.

- ORD Chicago O’hare. Aesthetic perfection but weirdly stressful. While I had a great time on this trip I do not think warmly of the airport other than the rainbow lighting. Jules got yelled at here. -10 points.

- CLE Cleveland Ohio. Another airport that is home of warm memories due to loved ones but just really not the vibe as an airport.

C TIER:

- LGW London Gatwick. I don’t like you for no reason. Like a disappointment, you’re in London but not at Heathrow for some reason.

- PHL Philadelphia. Again, weird aimless dislike. I cannot justify.

- BNA Nashville. Meh. Fine, which may be the worst insult I can lob at an airport.

D TIER:

- LGA New York LaGaurdia. Fuck you and your tiny spirit terminal in the middle of nowhere and your hard to access rental cars and your poor road signage that sent me round and round on the New York interstate in my rented Corolla. The bigger terminals are pretty though, and anyway. New York City!

E TIER:

JAX Jacksonville. Ew.

F TIER:

BOS Boston Logan International Airport. I loathe you. Less busy numerically than ATL and yet somehow even more spread out. Signage is bad. Directions unclear. Nothing makes sense in this alternate reality. Labyrinthine building designed by the god Hades. Never again would be too soon.

UNTIERABLE:

ATL - Hartsfield Jackson Atlanta. The biggest and busiest airport in the world. When you buy a ticket on Delta a box pops up that says “by buying this ticket you agree to see the inside of Hartsfield Jackson Airport.” Not actually a real place, but a floating parallel dimensional space you enter when you walk through the doors. When you get off the Plane Train at terminal D a sign to the left points down a hallway and says “Walk to Terminal E. Time: 45 minutes.” Bigger than many cities and some European principalities. And sometimes you’ll be forced to run clear across it when your gate gets changed. Send every domestic flight that goes near it and many that don’t through it for a completely unnecessary 45 minute layover and sautée until golden brown to birth this unholy god of a space outside all time. They have CPR training machines. They have bathrooms too rarely. They have a whole other airport underneath for international transfers. Don’t die before you see it. Everyone should, at least once. 🎶Welcome Aboard the Plane Train!🎶 next stop: the 4th circle of hell. Walk to purgatory: 45 minutes. Moving sidewalk out of order.

[terrence-silver]

Hey could i make a request please. Terry X fem reader, her former abuser comes back into her life to torment her all over again and Terry buts them in their place and destroys them physically, mentally, financially and when it's all over they'll thank him.

Jerry and Terry.

A story of disproportionate revenge; Terry Silver x Fem!Reader in the background (with an appearance from John Kreese).

---

Jerry is a man with a common office job and the accidental assonance of their names never fails to amuse Terry.

Infuriate him some.

Jerry and Terry.

Well, Jeremy, in actuality, just another information in the long mosaic line up covering everything he discovered about this schmuck, as much personally as through his sources, not that it was tremendously difficult seeing as how none of these common civilians were ever too much of a mystery anyway, granting him immense satisfaction in the hunt nonetheless — but the punk’s name might as well be worm or cockroach, because that’s in effect what he was, leaning over Colorado Street, in Pasadena, a two hour drive from LA, the July summer air after midnight still hot, the asphalt seeming to let off steams of a searing, stifling sensation, the cool breeze blown in from the Arroyo barely reaching the isolated steel ledge secluded from the buzz of the traffic; the city long since planned to put to preventive nets over the bridge — Terry should know because he personally funded the project with a generous donation and it was hilarious how life had a weird way of falling into place and connecting in the most bizarre ways on a bridge of occasional suicides where your ex was standing, hands in pockets, staring down into the dark depths of the river below, no such net in sight just yet except for a couple of signs issuing a warming that it was dangerous to lean over the railings, nothing separating him from the flowing abyss below. Him and the Mayor shook hands on the business venture two years ago. The news even reported on it with all the adulation in the world. Terry’s picture was in the paper. He was all over the news — long enough to distract from all his other ventures. But, it was one of those urban landscaping deals that would dawn on the news and then take years, perhaps decades, to be actually realized. Meant that Jerry could jump — and there would be nothing to save him from doing so. No cameras installed for security measures just yet either. Maintenance. Terry knew, because this was Terry’s city.

Terry’s country and State.

Nobody in sight right at this moment.

Merely a narrow concrete path along the bridge for pedestrians.

Terry, the stranger, snug in his leather jacket, not minding the heat, pretending to be an innocent bypasser.

Truth of the matter was, he ruined this man’s life and he developed the progression of the slow decay all along the way with great interest and like a cat eagerly eying a moving red string, Terry’s effortlessly led him here, deliberately, right to this very place, this very spot, on this very night, on this very bridge and the guy never even realized he had no say in any of it or that none of it was an accident. Jeremy got let off of work. Accused of embezzlement. Embroidered in schemes. In debt. Reputation ruined. Social circle gone. All that jazz. All the classics. And Terry did it all. Weaved it all. And it culminated in this. Do a flip, he thought to himself, approaching the man under the headlights, leisurely, acting like someone who accidentally stumbled upon a scene he wasn’t supposed to stumble upon, en route to somewhere else, haunting the city, stopping in his tracks, behind a steel pillar, watching Jerry climb over the ledge; He could say something now. It would've been expected. A hastily thrown in 'Hey, you there! Stop!' or 'Hey, you! Don't do it! Lets talk, man! Life can be good, actually. It can be good when you're not crossing Terry Silver, that is.' Something faux-poignant. Something mean. Something mocking. Something distracting or even infuriating to bait the man into arguing rather than hurting himself. Anything, so long as it distracts and causes the man to hesitate and think twice, but it’s only once Jerry’s heel is slipping over the edge of the pipe he was perched up on does Terry act, allowing himself to smile from where he's standing, seamlessly, feeling his mouth twitch upward, watching the shadow disappear over the railing into the darkness of the night. The next day, there's a suicide report briefly on the news and you never even catch it in the whirlwind of all the other crime circulating in the media. Your asshole ex, identified by his wallet and the documentation found in his soaked interior pocket, fished out by the loading docks. Just another statistic.

-"So, what he’d do?"-

John asked him on one occasion when Terry told him of his plans.

-"Nothing much."- Terry slings his arm over his driver seat leisurely, chuckling. He didn't treat you as well as you deserved? Tried to occasional get in contact with you again and stay on, quote-unquote 'good terms'. What did that even mean? Good terms? Wasn't that enough to warrant execution? Terry thought it was. It was a crappy, mediocre relationship and nobody had to put their hands on you for Terry to be convinced that deserved payback. Not to mention --- the said entanglement wasted your time. Time that would've been better spent with him if you weren't busy wasting it with some Jerry. Revenge. Reason for revenge, right there. They were parked near Griffith Observatory, in the embrace of a forested path, all zig-zags and steep rocks, the skyline of the city visible from a nearby slope, offering them both a view and sufficient privacy to talk. -"I just want him to die."- Terry confess bluntly, nearly cackling as the words rolled off of his tongue, sensing something exciting coil around in his gut like so many butterflies, seeing no reason to hide these things from his Captain after everything they've been through together and John gives him a lopsided, paternal smile, halfway critical, halfway entertained, like he was about to throw in the talk.

-"Terry…"-

He clicks his tongue, shaking his head and Terry instantly protests.

Show mercy!? Why!? Since when were they the mercy-showing types!?

-"What? What!?"-

He finds himself whining slamming the palm of his hand against the backrest of the leather seats, feeling his own face furrow up. -"C’mon, Johnny!"- He sighs profoundly, rolling his eyes, annoyed and exasperated. This was some prime-time bullshit. -"Don’t you dare tell me that you never wanted anyone someone you loved loved before you to just, you know…"- He starts, trailing off, digging his teeth into his lower lip. Savoring the moment. -"Drop dead?"- He says it then, and it tastes so sweet, like caramel coated candy dipped in white powder. Terry knew all about Johnny nearly beating his beloveds Betsy's then-beau halfway to death on the parking lot of the Deli he worked in before the army. They were exactly the same, him and John Kreese. A Cobra doesn't tolerate competition. It's not in it's nature to. John says nothing. Almost as if contemplating that memory himself, looking off into the distance, pulling up the collar of his brown vest jacket on the passenger seat beside him, his face crinkling into a grim smile, not saying yes but not saying no either. Terry has the odd impulse to kick his feet up in the air in a flash of euphoria. -"We could always rough him up. Scare him. Hurt him, make him piss his pants and call it a day. I'm available for that."- John murmurs, the deep rumbling sound emanating from his throat recognized only as a suppressed chuckle. Terry grabs John by the shoulder and shakes him in excitement, halfway hugging him in joy. While kicking that Creature to a pulp did sound exciting it wasn't part of the plan. -"My man! Now we're talking! But, that would only martyr him!"- Terry lifts up his hands, engrossed in his own imagination. He felt more comfortable and content if this guy was just wiped out of existence altogether. Like, hit by a moving bus, perhaps. A guy that put his dick inside of you before being alive and well out there? Yeah. Unacceptable. -"No."- Terry says with a sense of looming doom. -"This is so final. There’s no coming back from it. And what’s best?"- He pauses slightly for dramatic timing, presenting the whole picture to John the way a storyteller would describe the synopsis of his newest magnum opus.

-"I’ll ensure he’ll do to himself."-

Six months into this special project and Terry never once put his hands on Jeremy. Could've. Itched to. But, he didn't. If Jerry deteriorated, it's because he ruined himself. With every drink, every cigarette and every sleepless, stressful night in tow. All Terry did was set events in motion and brought about the right environments for someone to start feeling profoundly unhappy.

-"I've put him through enough pain and now it's time to go to sleep."-

There can be only one, he almost halfway desires to add but he withholds at the last moment once he spots a shift on John's face --- that he didn't need any more convincing. Maybe it was an old habit --- an army habit --- but whenever Terry seriously wanted to end someone, he always came to Johnny first. To discuss the matter. Strategize. Get his greenlight from his Captain to go out into the field and terminate with extreme prejudice. That's how the hierarchy worked. Terry would do whatever he wanted anyway irregardless of John but he supposed he wanted to let him know. For old times sake. Reason why he invited him to meet here today. That and to gloat. -"Alright, Terry. If you say so."- John smiles that gruff smile of his, finally capitulating and Terry finally allows himself to breathe again after what seemed like an eternity of anticipation, letting himself be as jubilant as he wanted, turning the key in the ignition along with the steering wheel almost immediately, ready to get a move on, wasting not a second longer. There was a five star restaurant just down the road with their name on it. -"Of course I say so, Johnny! What I say is best!"- He exclaims, one hand on the wheel and another on the back of his John's neck, patting him triumphantly. Enough talk. Time to crack open the bottles before the big bang. You knew he was out with his oldest friend. You merely didn't know the context, is all. -"Reservations at five. Lets go grab that chow and celebrate!"- Terry practically shouts in euphoria, throwing a joyous glance at John, making a sharp U-turn. -"Ever ate a turkey stuffed with a chicken that's stuffed with a quail!?"- He snickers, knowing for a fact that Johnny would probably need everything in him not to roll his eyes at the option of orders, but regardless, he lived for treating his Captain to the finer things, just like he lived for removing each and every person from your past until nobody but him remains. Him, representing the future. -"I'd prefer plain good old bacon and some beer."- John mutters with a small, fox-like grin just like Terry knew he would, taking a relish in poking and prodding at him anyway. His Captain's wish is his command. They'd have so much to toast for today.

-"Done, baby!"-

Is all Terry says, laughing as he speeds away, down the woodland highway.

---

When you discover the news because he effectively tells you, deciding to control when and how the information reaches and that it might as well reach you from his own mouth, naturally, as expected, your mood turns gloomy. For days. Weeks. More time wasted and he despised it, deciding to immediately take you on a cruise of the Bahamas to distract you from it, but deciding tactically that you just had to ride it out. And you did. Week two on the deck of his yacht, eventually, slumped, looking out to the ocean, knees against your chest sitting on deck, you decide to speak. -"Terry, this will be such a weird thing to say."- You stutter, unsure of yourself and yet he's there, tracking your every movement and expression like a sonar radar. -"Maybe even meanspirited."- Will it now? Good. You were about to get whatever useless thing was still lodged in your system out of yourself. He's by your side, sitting beside you, looking at you intently, not wanting to miss a thing. -"But, I'm oddly glad I got out on time. That I met you."- You confess, holding back tears. Wasn't easy discovering that your ex was practically six figures in debt and wanted on several charges and that if you stayed with him, it would've reflected on you as well. Dragged you down with him. To the bottom of river Arroyo. That's what your pretty little head thought and Terry coos, massaging the edge of your scalp in gentle motions with his fingers, letting that beautiful brain below think whatever he wanted it to think. Oh, he loved you so. You were made for the greenest of pastures. For him. -"He would've destroyed his life as well as my own and I'm relieved the universe moved me out of the way when it did. That it brought me you. Thank you."- Ah. There it was. There were tears in your eyes flowing freely and you were thanking him, never even realizing you were unknowingly expressing gratitude that he effectively crapped all over your ex's life and led him to suicide. Stood by and watched while he did a triple Salto off of a bridge. The blood and the heat shoots down into his cock. How could it not? In any other situation he would've dragged Jerry's waterlogged swollen carcass fished out of the river at your feet and present it to you like a cat presents its owner a dead mouse. -"He was never bad towards me, exactly. But, he was never fully good either, you know? But, definitely not bad enough to deserve this."- Oh, Terry knew alright. It is just that he considered that your ex not being fully good towards you was a capital offense that found it's equivalent payback only in death. So, yeah. Punk deserved it.

Had it long time coming.

-"Is that fucked up and evil of me? To feel relieved I left on time? I feel so awful it's crazy! A man died!"-

A weak, nuisance man died, Terry wants to correct, but instead he settles into the act of collecting your tears with the tip of his fingers, letting none of them escape, feigning outrage, yet partially feeling said emotion in it's most genuine capacity; Jeremy died! Fuck sake, who cares! This guilt would evaporate and you'd find it fading overtime, because he'd be here to ensure it fades; there was almost nothing meaningfully positive for you to vindicate or romanticize and far too much crappy and mediocre to actually mourn or remember fondly. That was the good thing about measly, middle-of-the-road, middling, lukewarm individuals; too grey to be turned into saints and too grey to be turned into devils. The only thing one could do with them, whether one wanted to or not is to forget them. Where he could easily replace them and everyone else you ever trifled with, usurping their very vacancy and every emotion sent their way, be it good or bad. All of it. Only his. -"Fucked up!? Huh!? No way! It's not! Are you even listening to yourself!?"- He shakes his head vigorously, letting his disapproval grow visible, pulling you close, until the side of your body melts with his and you're effectively there, drying up your tears in his embrace, the open sea breeze against you. Terry grabs your face with both hands, making you look at him. -"You wanted a normal, stable life! Of course you did! Who wouldn't!?"- Terry explains, separating his gaze from you for but a second to point the tip of his nose out towards the blue expanse of the sunlit Atlantic.

[cellythefloshie]

;; Tainted Love 500 Follower Celebration

Summary: The stars seem to align for the first time when you and Ross Colton meet up for drinks while the Colorado Avalanche are in town. But it's a dangerous game you're playing because the spark is still there and is hard to ignore even with the both of you being spoken for. Kinks & Tropes: CHEATING (putting this in all caps because I want to make sure it's clear. It is a very prominent theme in this fic), alcohol consumption, car sex, unprotected sex, no forms of contraception used, pull-out method, dirty talk Word Count: 4.5k+

I've got to get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me.

The cold, caught somewhere between a fall and winter wind, reddened your cheeks more than blush ever could. It stung as you walked through the quiet streets; you head down and the collar of your jacket popped in a desperate attempt to stay home. It was late, the only life seen in the bars and restaurants on either side of you as you passed. The streets were empty, the bustle of traffic long forgotten. The only vehicle was a single cab picking up patrons or dropping them off. There were still four hours until closing time. 

This, usually, was late enough for you to crawl into bed. You'd throw on a Netflix show, or listen to an audio book until you fell asleep. But you made plans. With your boyfriend out of town, you shouldn't have, but you did. 

You felt like you had to, because this might have been the only opportunity you had to see Ross. 

In town for one night only, and with his curfew broadened just because they had granted him more time to spend with his family, you couldn't say no. You never had said no to him either. The two of you shared a connection like you couldn't describe. Ever since you had first met on a dating app after one casual swipe in the right direction, you had clicked.

And even after the first date didn't work out, the encounter lasted no more than 5 minutes. You still kept in touch. You would get the occasional check in text. But beyond that, the two of you had gone your separate ways. 

You had your boyfriend, and months later he had his girl. And your respective relationships remained unbroken, fully committed. But in time, even after months of not speaking to one another, you always ended up in each other's messages. Just to catch up, nothing more, always innocent - or at least, that was what you told yourselves. 

And that's what meeting up in a bar you'd never been to would be. Just catching up over a drink. Nothing more. 

That was what you told yourself when you stopped at the front door, her head tipping back to look up at the dimly lit sign. Your body quivered with a shaky breath. 

Nerves? No. Ross never made you nervous. 

You knew what you were feeling, but you couldn't admit it to yourself. It was wrong. Yet, you did it anyway. 

You were greeted with a gust of warmth, a smile spreading over your face as you entered the busy bar. Bodies crowded around the bar top, music blared, and each television was broadcasting one sports event or another. 

Finding a table near the back, the broadcast talking about tomorrow's Devil's game was a welcome distraction. You watched it as you draped your jacket over the back of your chair, and as you glanced over the menu, you had pulled up on your phone with the help of the QR code stuck on the tabletop. It was a distraction more than anything. You almost always ordered the same drink, no matter where you went. You just wanted to look busy until Ross arrived. 

He announced his arrival discretely to not draw the attention of the surrounding people. He did it simply by speaking your name as his hand caressed over the small of your back in a featherlight touch. 

Your smile was too wide as you answered him, “Ross.”

Without thought, you stood up from your seat and threw your arms around him in a brief embrace. And he returned it, the strength of his arms wrapping around you and pulling you close. And for a moment, the two of you just stood there - just long enough to enjoy his embrace, but not long enough for it to be awkward. Then, your limbs fell away from him so naturally as you perched yourself back up on your chair. 

From there, you admired him as he rounded the table to sit across from you. Ross was over dressed in every sense of the word. He wore a white button down, your eyes drawn to the black buttons that trailed down his chest, and he shrugged off his sports coat, the color one you couldn't quite make out under the dim multi-color lights of what you deemed a dive bar. 

He draped the coat over the back of his chair, and his eyes that were bright with his smile found you. 

“I'm a bit over dressed, huh?” His question laced with a chuckle as he sat. 

You nodded. “Just a bit.” 

“Just came from dinner with the family,” he explained, as if you needed one. You weren't going to complain. He looked good in a suit. There were worse things you could get stuck looking at. 

“How was it? They must have been excited to see you.” 

And that was how the conversation began. So effortlessly, so naturally, as you moved from one topic to the next. His family, yours, how he had settled into Colorado, his girlfriend, your boyfriend. You talked about it all over a drink that quickly led to two. 

Once you finished sucking back nothing more than melted ice cubes from the bottom of your glass, you were cursing yourself for being such a lightweight. You could feel the buzz of alcohol coursing through you. The jitters in your hands, and the racing of your heart in your chest. One drink more and your brain would have fogged, but there wouldn't be another. 

It was late, and Ross was already asking for the bill. 

He paid it in full. 

“Thank you, you didn't have to do that,” you said as you stood up from your seat. Thankfully, you didn't waver on your feet. 

“You can cover it next time,” he said in such a way you believed him. 

But you knew there wouldn't be a next time. He would be flying back to Colorado after the game, and he had a girlfriend. You had a boyfriend. It couldn't happen again. It shouldn't. 

Together, you shrugged on your coats in the first awkward silence of the evening. Was this where you should say goodbye? Should you let him go on ahead and order yourself some water?

“Let me walk you to your car?” Ross’ voice cut through the silence. He had made up your mind for you. 

You nodded. “Yeah, sure. That'd be great.”

Keeping your head down, you left the bar together. Ross’ frame leading the way through the crowd that was now dwindling. It would be closing time soon. 

Stepping out into the cold air, you took in a sharp exhale. Its harshness almost left you light headed - or maybe that was the alcohol. 

You should have drunk some water. 

“I'm parked just up this way,” you told him and began the walk along the sidewalk with a casual stride. 

You walked together, your arms bumping up against one another with each casual stride. The contact left a soft smile on your lips, your gaze rising to look at him out of the corner of your eye. His hands had dipped into his pockets, and his collar popped to keep himself from the cold. And you stared for a moment, admiring how the city light reflected off his features. And how it ignited his too-perfect smile when he caught you staring. 

“You look amazing tonight,” his voice cut through the silent street, sending goosebumps to rise on your skin. 

Your smile tugged a little tighter at your cheeks. 

He shouldn't be giving you a compliment like that. You shouldn't have liked hearing them. But you didn't stop them. 

“Thanks, but I feel a little underdressed.”

Ross’ smile split wider, and a laugh erupted from his lips as he threw his head back. It was a laugh so comforting, so familiar, that it warmed your entire body as you came to stand in the empty parking lot where your vehicle sat alone. 

“This is me,” you gestured to the mid size SUV with the lazy sway of your arm. 

“Well,” he sighed out almost hesitantly, “it was really nice seeing you-”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah it was.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, smiles on your faces and your eyes fixated on one another. Unmoving. Not quite wanting to leave. 

Then, he was stepping forward, his arms encasing you in his embraces, and your arms winding around him in return. Your cheek rested against his chest, his warmth radiating to you as he held you. You stood there, your eyes shutting for a moment as you relished in the feeling of him. The feeling of his arms wrapped around your body. The feeling of his hands on your back, and one dipping down. Down to where your ass peeked out from the edge of your jacket. There he gave it a gentle squeeze, and you could feel his gentle exhale as your own was trapped in your own chest. 

He shouldn't have touched you like that. 

You shouldn't have let him. 

And you shouldn't have liked it. 

Drawing back slowly, you tilted your head back to look up at him. And Ross was looking back down at you. His bright eyes were half closed in a dreamy gaze and the corners of his smile had gone soft, leaving his lips slightly parted as he let out each exhale. 

It washed over your face in a blossom of heat, and smelt of the sweet alcohol on his tongue. Ross’ face was so close to yours you could practically taste it–no, you just wanted to. 

“Good luck tomorrow,” you muttered out a quiet goodbye, your limbs not ready to recoil away from his body yet. 

“You should come, I can get you a ticket,” he offered, his words a breath into your hair that ignited your skin as he spoke. 

“I might take you up on it,” you told him, but you wouldn't. 

“I'll see you soon,” Ross sighed, his words igniting your skin as he spoke. 

Yeah, sure you will. Was what you wanted to say. To mock him with those words and a hint of a laugh. Because you knew how this would go. You would go home tonight, and Ross would go back to the hotel room. He would ask if you made it home safe, and you would answer. But then you wouldn't hear from him for days, weeks, maybe months until you crossed his mind again, or he was left with the lonely opportunity to message you. 

Instead, you said nothing, and you smiled a soft, tired smile. 

It was then his hands fell away from you, his touch trailed down your curves, ghosting over the peaks of your hips before you were void of his touch, his warmth, and left numb by his absence. 

So suddenly you felt cold, empty as you stood there in the parking lot. Your head spun, your eyes shutting tight as you tried to process a single thought. But there, as you sought for reason, for logic, there was only action. 

Your arm lurched out before you could stop it, and your hand found what it was looking for as fingers wrapped around Ross’ wrist and dragged down to coast over his palm. Your fingers traced over each crease slowly until you could feel his fingers so close to slipping away, but then his hand captured your hand in return. 

The sudden grasp of your hands together had his body recoiling into your own. There was a moment of tension in your arms before Ross stepped back into his place in front of you. Then, he took another step, forcing you to step back again and again until you were trapped between his body and your car door. He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. You didn’t have to. You could see all of what he wanted to say in the look of his eyes and how they searched yours so desperately for what you wanted from him. 

But what was it that you wanted? 

You said your goodbyes, yet it didn’t feel like enough. It never did, and that was probably why you so desperately clung to any kind of relationship with him. To fill and satisfy a void your boyfriend left in you, but also in hope that one day have the satisfaction of being with him the way you always thought you might but never could be. 

You had always run to Ross in a sense, especially during hardships. He knew you better than most, and he knew more of your secrets than anyone - and you were the same for him. Through tears and through laughter, the love you shared was unique. Unlike any other. Tainted. So close to friendship, but there would always be more. 

And for the first time, it truly felt like you could finally cross those lines together. With his girlfriend back in Colorado, and your boyfriend away on business, it almost felt like fate that the two of you were left alone in New Jersey together. 

His girlfriend didn’t know you existed, but you knew about her. 

Your boyfriend didn’t know he existed, but Ross knew about him. 

The two of you knew every little detail of each other's lives with your partners and helped each other through problems in your relationships that no one else seemed to understand. And it all seemed to be for nothing as you stood there in the night just waiting, hoping that he would kiss you. 

You held your breath as Ross’ hand came up to stroke over your cheek. His touch was so warm, so gentle, that it left your every thought melting from your brain. You held no worry, only anticipation that coiled in the depths of your stomach and left your limbs to tremble. All you could focus on was his fingertips and how they traced every angle of your cheek, down over your jaw, and finally to your lips that quivered with an uneven breath. 

It left your chest aching as you held the softened gaze of his eyes as they moved in as he closed the distance between you. You managed a single jagged breath before it was stolen from you, the warmth of his mouth all consuming as the kiss started in what was the careful brush of his lips against your own. 

Then, it was like a dam broke. 

There was no innocence in how Ross kissed you. His teeth moved hungrily against you, mouth open, and tongues gliding along one another before teeth clashed and desperate inhales were taken before you both dove further into self indulgence. It left you dizzy, your body pressed firmly back into the dirty door of your car. There, Ross knocked your legs just a single step apart and wedged a single leg between yours. You could feel him against the inside of each of your thighs, and so close to their apex. With just the single tilt of your hips, you could have ground yourself against him. Instead, you fumbled in your coat pockets for your keys. 

Your fingers moved over the buttons blindly in your pocket, moving over one button and then the other until the lights flickered and you heard the locks disengage. The loud thud was like the gunshot at the beginning of a race. You couldn’t move your hands fast enough, and neither could he as you both reached for the same door handle, his hand gripped your, gripping it and pulling open. It sent you stumbling away from the door and into his body that helped you into the backseat of your car. 

It was a spacious SUV. One you had slept in the back seat of on a road trip years ago. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was what you had, so it would do. You crawled up the length of the bench seats, giving Ross room to climb in behind you - but there was no space left between you when you heard the door shut firmly behind him. 

His hands were quick to find your body, his grasp so firm on your hips to draw you back into him. Your bodies were a knotted mess as you tried to get situated in the back, the driver’s side seat digging into your front, then your side, and finally your back as you threw your leg over his to straddle him. With his warmth back between your thighs, you stripped off your coat to try to ignore just how hot he made you. Tossing it aside, your hands were freed to explore. Your hands found his body, your touch stroking over the angles of his own face as you kissed him, tasted him. 

You were sure you had kissed him once before, but it had been so long you had forgotten the taste he left on your tongue. It was intoxicating, coaxing a moan up your lips as your hands found their place to rest knotted in the dark wisps of his hair. You toyed with the locks that would threaten to curl if they were only a little longer, as his hands trailed down the curves of your body. Ross caressed just under your breast, his thumb curiously reaching up and grazed just shy of your pert nipple that was pressing into the inside of your bra with the desperation of wanting to be touched. Then, his hands dipped lower over the circle of your waist, the rushed movement wrinkling the fabric, leaving the small of your back exposed. 

Touching your skin was like adding gasoline to an already raging fire. It sent Ross’ lips wandering from yours as his fingers stroked your soft, exposed flesh. His kiss traveled down over your chin, tickled your neck, and found your collarbone with a playful nip. It sent your heart racing. 

He knew you would like that. 

But you had to be careful. 

“No marks,” you breathed out, your eyes shutting as you tried to ignore why that had to be. 

“Yeah,” he breathed out quickly, “yeah, got it.”

With your exchange, it brought you both to a pause. Your chests heaved for breath, and your eyes seemed to look at everything except at each other. A decision needed to be made. You could stop before things could get any more complicated, or Ross could take off your shirt as he so desperately seemed to want to as his hand dragged along its delicate hem. 

You bit your lower lip firmly as you tried to look out the already fogged window. You could see the rainbow of colors that were the city lights shining through each drip of condensation. Focusing on a single droplet, you followed it down to the edge of the window and took a breath that escaped you with a sigh.

You knew what you wanted to do, but before you could say anything, Ross’ voice filled the air, “We don’t have to-”

Your head snapped to look in his direction. “You don’t want to?”

“That’s not what I'm saying,” he answered slowly, his teeth biting his own lip as his eyes fixated on yours. 

You knew what he was getting at. You were nervous, hesitant, but you knew you wanted this. You just needed the assurance that he wanted you as badly as you wanted him. 

“Ross…” you breathed out his name. It was the very beginning of the thought that threatened the very tip of your tongue, and that was left strangled in your throat as you felt Ross grip the swells of your hips. 

He held you firm in each hand, and with that hold, he guided you back and forth over his lap. Your hips angled instantly, grinding your needy core over the expense of his lap. You moved to and fro with his moments, and quivered at the feeling of his stiff cock beneath the thick seam of your jeans. 

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked you, his words slow and clear. He knew what he wanted, but he needed to hear it from you, too. Ross needed you to make the decision on your own, and to hear it from your own lips, even if he had already made up his mind for himself. 

“I-” you gasped out, your heart beating up into your ears like drums. It pulsed through your body, right through to your core that throbbed against the stiff outline of his cock. 

You should have told him to stop. 

You should have pulled your coat back on and sent him on his way. 

But you didn’t. 

“Don’t you dare,” you answered him after a moment, your voice stern, “just,” you took in a long inhale, “let’s be quick - unbutton your pants.”

Your bodies strained in the tight place as you both fought close quarters to undo your pants. You leaned back against the driver's seat to try to get the angle just right to work your jeans down, while Ross pressed down onto his heels and lifted his hips up high to work his hands just low enough for his cock to spring free. 

And while his pants rested around his knees, and that’s all he needed to do to be ready for you, you struggled. You let out a frustrated huff as the head of the driver’s seat dug into your back, and your arms fought the tight denim down your hips. The awkwardness left you slipping. Ross’ hand was quick to catch you before you could fall awkwardly onto him and his stiff cock that was so exposed, hard and ready for you to take him. 

“I got it,” Ross’ words were a rushed promise, his hands gripping the fabric and pulling them down your legs until they rested on the floor of the car with your shoes - but your panties they remained. You watched as Ross admired them for a moment. The simple pale colored lace that looked gray in the darkness. 

Your core clenched as his finger toyed with them, pushing and tugging at the fabric as he lured you back in close to him. And when you were a mere breath away, his finger dipped beneath the fabric and dragged along your slick core, if only just to tease you as he pulled the damned fabric to the side. 

“I wish I could enjoy you, the way you deserve to be enjoyed,” Ross hummed out, his hand guiding you forward to hover above the very tip of his cock. 

You nearly quivered at his words. Many times, he had told you how he would fuck you. How he would enjoy tasting your sweet cunt on his tongue before leaving you moaning as you took his cock like the slut girl you were. But there was no time for those luxuries. 

Angling yourself over his cock, you took hold of it in your cold hand carefully. The hiss that left his lips left your grinning, but it was him that was left with the last laugh as he thrust up into your wet cunt, leaving you overtaken by a pathetic whimper that came with the feeling of taking his cock inside you for the very first time. 

“You like that?” Ross asked you in a whisper, his hands remaining firm on your hips to guide him along his cock with the slow roll of your hips. 

You nodded feebly, your mouth opening to tell him just how good his cock felt, only to unleash a moan instead. 

“Look at you,” his grin grew, “so pretty as you take my cock, and taking it so well you don’t even have the words to tell me - and you’ve always been so good with your words,” he purred, “such a shame really.” 

Ross reached up with his hand, his fingers stroking over your lips as you were left on the verge of another moan. One you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having just yet. 

“I like when you tell me what a dirty slut you are,” his thumb tugged at your lower lip playfully as he thrust up hard into your cunt, coaxing that moan you had choked back into the depth of your throat, “but you sure do have a pretty moan.”

Your core clenched around his cock at the compliment, your hands lurching forward to grip at the leather head rest behind him. 

“Shut up,” you spoke through grit teeth. 

“Oh?” he raised a brow up, his heels digging into the floor again and thrusting so deep your body couldn’t physically take him any further. “You don’t like when I talk dirty to you?”

Your core clenched again, then you gasped, “no, I-”

You moaned again, your entire body reverberating with the sound. 

“You’re so close, I can fucking feel how desperate you are on my cock.” Ross didn’t bite his tongue. He liked to see you so close to the verge of pleasure, practically melting in front of him, and your cunt flexing around him. 

With weak legs, you met every single thrust, but it wasn’t enough. Not for him and not for you, either. 

Ross gripped the fleas of your ass firm in both hands and used it as leverage as he lifted you up and guided you to lay out on the leather seats all without leaving the warm wet embrace of your cunt. With you sprawled out, Ross gripped your hips and guided your legs to wrap around his hips just right. Every thrust made you tingle, made you moan, and soon your toes were curling, your body near recoiling with pleasure. Yet, he thrust through each wave, through every flex of your core, sending his eyes rolling back in his own pleasure. 

“I’m close,” he choked out, your heart suddenly racing with panic. 

“Pull out,” you told him, voice stern, “I’m not, fuck I’m not on the pill. Pull out.”

“What?” he seemed shocked, his cock still buried deep inside you for a thrust, then another before he pulled out and found the warm embrace of his own hand. 

You lay there, panting, legs still quivering, as he worked himself through his climax. His face softened, his body arching over you as he painted the inside of your thighs and the leather seats with his cum. 

“Should have given me a heads up,” he panted out after a moment. 

“Would it have changed anything?” You countered. 

His head shook, “no, but I would have gotten you to suck me off or something-”

“You wish,” you shoved him playfully, “now, get your pants back on.”

Ross settled back into the seat the two of you had started in, but you remained laying there for a moment. You were seeing stars as you stared up at the ceiling, your one hand dipping between your legs and swiping over your cunt to make sure there had been no accidents before you put your panties back into place. Then, each of your moments had to be deliberate. The cum on the inside of your thighs had already begun to dry, but the cum on the seats was still hot and sticky. You couldn’t risk getting it on any of your clothes. It would have to be something you had to clean up before you got home, but first, you had to say your goodbyes. 

You pulled your pants up slowly in silence, then your shoes before you heard the door open and the cold night air infiltrated the car. It sent a shiver coursing through you, your hands desperately reaching for your coat as you slipped out of the car behind him. 

“Are you good to drive home?” Ross asked slowly, his hands in his pocket. 

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Message me when you get in?”

You looked to your empty driver seat, “yeah, just-” you sighed gently knowing you would be going back to the apartment you shared with your boyfriend even if it was empty for the next week, “don’t be surprised if you’re blocked in the morning when you try to message me.”

Ross’ feature faltered into a frown. “Regretting me already?”

Your heart sank. You didn’t know how to feel, or how you would feel in the morning when you had the night to fully comprehend the choices you had made. 

“Regret you? Nah, never.” You gave him a reassuring smile as you stepped in, your hands on his chest as you pressed up to give him a goodnight kiss. It was a soft, gentle kiss, one that had you pulling back like the gentle rise and fall of waves until he pulled you back in with both hands and kissed you deeply, making sure that you left with the taste of him on your lips. 

Then, you got into the driver's seat of your car, and brought the engine to life with the turn of your key. It reeked of sex, of cum, but it was nothing a good wash and a new air freshener couldn’t mask - but even then as you sat there, your eyes fixed on Ross as he stood there in the parking lot, watching you leave, you barely noticed the smell. No, the heavy feeling in your chest was too distracting. This time really felt like a goodbye. And not just a goodbye for now, but a goodbye forever. 

[warnersister]

Chapter 1 - The Return to Miramar

The Highwayman Series | Prologue | Chapter 2

‘No Entry – Construction (TRANSATLANTIC RAILWAY DUE TO FINISH 1869)’ the sign read and the frontman on his horse creased his brows into a tight and questioning line. “1869? But its 1863.” He said, voice in a questioning tone. “haven’t you heard?” his companion asked “east and west are racing to see who can build the most. Gonna be shut a while” he said matter of factly, while straightening out his mustache from where the Tennessee heat had frazzled it. The former grunted in response “this is our way though” “well were gonna have to go a different way hangman, don’t fancy getting Spitfire killed by a train” the other told him, motioning to the fine mare he was riding on. He nodded “yeah hornets too young for that, rooster you’re right. You know a different way?” hangman asked. Rooster thought for a minute, straightening out his mustache again, already bunching up under the springtime humidity – but this time, more in thought than in maintenance as he turned to look at his surroundings “already crossed Mississippi” he said, remembering when they’d crossed the mighty river – not wishing to back track on that path. “were gonna have to go the whole way round, through missouri – Kansas, take a left at colorado” “could we not go trough Texas?” Hangman asked, thinking of a shorter route they used to traverse a decade prior. Rooster raised his brows “aint Sherrif Simpson still after us?” he asked and his friend shrugged. “Already told the rest of ‘em to meet us in Louisiana and it’ll take weeks, months to get there if not, were good as dead if the Indians aint as hospitable again” there was silence for a minute “plus you’ve got a stache now and I’ve got this sweet bod, he wont recognise us” Hangman said, flexing while Rooster threw his head back and laughed loudly “bod ain’t as good as mine, bagman” Rooster said and the other shook his head “c’mon. Texas it is."

This route was fresh, recognisable but still; new-(ish). There were plenty of structures that were erected since they’d last abided there, especially in the Plains – a substantially belittled number of natives and much more Easterns who you could tell had no business being in Western heat – searching for green grass but getting tumble weeds in lieu. They’d reached their meeting point but a week later, reconsiliating with Coyote and Bob who’d been engaging in business up in the rockies, taking the strongest horses but only returning with one. “Hercules?” Hangman asked and bob shook his head “struggled all the way up, slipped, poor boy couldn’t handle it. Was cryin’ in the night he was. Had’a put him out o’ his misery” the four all bowed their heads and shook them in remembrance for their fallen companion. “damn” rooster said. “Well there's no way the two of ya can manage all the way to New Mexico on Chinook, let alone California” Hangman said. “we passed a ranch on the way down here in northern Texas, town called Miramar” Bob told him as Rooster and Hangman shared a look. “Ain’t that where we nearly got hung?” Rooster asked “sure is Brad.” Hangman thought for a moment “Good mares?” Hangman asked “the best” coyote said “young lady an’all. Mighty fine on the eyes” “guess we’re heading up North.”

The ride was slightly awkward with Coyote and Bob both on one horse, they changed primary rider every hundred or so miles – and it made it easier to travel at night, but still; a man wanted his own horse and Coyote was proud of Chinook, but the horse was starting to weary with some three hundred pounds on his back. But eventually they saw the sign. White lettering and red background, carved so deeply into old mahogany and almost illegible, but it was undeniably so: Miramar. So close you could almost make out Oklahoma, but far enough away and enough Stetsons present to recognise the contrast between what was and what wasn’t Texan territory. “where’s this ranch of yours, Bob?” Jake asked, swallowing harshly as he eyed the infamous town over his sunglasses; Bob pointed straight ahead, and adjacent to the Sheriff’s office, was an unassuming parlour attacked to a decently sized acreage of farm, a good seven or eight horses feeding off their dinner. “alright. Let’s get in and get out.” Jake said, instructing his horse to move forward as he did so. “you guys got history here or something?” Javy asked and rooster snorted “yeah something like that” “what happened?” Bob asked “lets just say he had a thing for the Sherrif’s daughter and he organised to hang him if he didn’t get out of town.” Rooster explained, recalling the events from what seemed like yesterday. Jake cleared his way as a way to get the lot of them to shut up. He still had the ring he was going to give her in his breast pocket.

They drew a lot of attention as they rode through town – strangers clearly dressed in travelling attire. But they were the Highwaymen, not pilgrims. Coyote hopped off the back of Chinook and Bob followed suit, heading to the girl who had their back turned to them, currently attending to a young pony who seemed to refuse to leave the refuge of her stables. “Excuse me, ma’am – any of these horses for sale?” “Uh huh the lot of ‘em” she’d replied, turning to the strangers to greet them as customers. Jake felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs. “jake?” “hey, petal” he replied, unable to muster anything else as he looked at you, still as mighty fine if not more gorgeous than he day he’d hit the road with rooster. You looked to his left and nodded “Brad” “hey pretty” after the short and unsweetened reunion. “Y’all should get off my ranch. My daddy still has a right mind lynchin’ the two of ya” you say smally, turning to reattend to the horse. “Still?” Rooster asked with a smirk but Jake was taking it more seriously as you nodded your head to the stocks “meaner than the day you left” “sweetheart-“ “I aint talkin to you, Jake” you say and look at your feet “look, my horse passed in the rockies; was hopin’ I could but a new ‘un to get us to California. Got any up for the job?” Bob asked and you looked at him. “Uh, we got a few. Albatros is gorgeous and strong, but I don’t think she’ll last ‘till Cali.” You place your hands on your hips, surverying the pack “Falcon, he’ll get you there but no further.” You say “that there” you point at the strong, pale coloured horse in the back of the field “Lightning. God he can ride, got the strength of Zeus. He’ll get you there, hell he’ll get you through Mexico and back. But he’s my favourite, he’s gonna cost ya” Jake smiled “God he was just a young’un a few years back. My, he's grown” he says, recalling the day he’d gifted you the horse. He’d saved up all his money, didn’t even steal him, brought him all the way from New Mexico. Didn’t even ride him, he walked on foot – made sure the mare had his breaks and god your smile when you accepted him. His hair matched Jakes, so he’d always be there when he wasn’t. “You’re willing to sell him? After all this time?” you finally look at him, pain apparent in your eyes “you left, Seresin” that hurt “you bought him as a reminder. Don’t need no reminder of you, boy” you say “well ‘m here now-“ “exactly.” You cut him off and there is a silence.

“How much for Lightning?” Bob asked after a while. “Make me an offer.”

Prologue | Chapter 2

[sergeifyodorov]

Any interest in grading everyone’s first day of free agency? Would love to hear your thoughts!!

ooh okay ! well as tuned in as i am i didn't catch everything so this is going to be pretty incomplete/fairly uninformed but here's my attempt:

boston bruins: that zadorov contract LOL AND LMAO (i say as if hes not going to immediately skyrocket to excellence.) that lindholm contract might be even worse with the same caveat. A+ for me, a hater

buffalo sabres: what did they even do? C.

detroit red wings: kane is a bad move + jack campbell is fine at that contract + cam talbot is the epitome of "goalies? what's up with goalies?" + why do they have 4 goalies now. C-

florida panthers: lost montour, lost oel, lost lomberg. that reinhart contract is really good though. C+

montreal canadiens: if slaf continues on his upward trajectory that contract looks great; if he doesn't, they're already bad so it doesn't matter all that much. B

ottawa senators: what did they even do? get noah gregor? i hear he's very fast. C.

tampa bay lightning: where do i even start with this one

toronto maple leafs: the problem w/ all of the leafs' acquisitions is that they are Fine, some of them even Good, but they're just overpaid enough for me to not only get annoyed about it but also see 30 ft of insufferably rancid discourse every time i open twitter. B+

carolina hurricanes: appear to have lost half the guys i remember being on their roster, but the one dude they did end up signing was one of the small handful of good deals i saw handed out today. C

columbus blue jackets: this team's quality does not matter. you know what does matter? gaudreau/monahan reunion. A

new jersey devils: brett pesce's good. B+

new york islanders: anthony duclair's good but i mourn what lou lamoriello will make him do with his hair. C+

new york rangers: what did they even do. C.

philadelphia flyers: MATVEI MICHKOV IS COMING. TELL YOUR FRIENDS, TELL YOUR ENEMIES, TELL TRAVIS KONECNY, TELL EVERYONE!!! A

pittsburgh penguins: incredibly committed to the bit of only signing players over 30 and they don't have poj back yet. C

washington capitals: genuine home runs in here. chychrun... pld... matt roy... didn't even give out valuable picks to acquire these assets! A

chicago blackhawks: i think they're trying to crawl out of this rebuild with no other serious potential core members other than bedard, which don't get me wrong is a bad move, but i also think they're not doing a terrible job of crawling out of the rebuild. B

colorado avalanche: kept jo drouin. C+

dallas stars: lyubushkin is incredibly bad and they gave him 3.25 aav. and casey desmith is there. F

minnesota wild: extended one of the sexiest toothless men on earth jake middleton. A

nashville predators: A+

st louis blues: what did they even do. C

utah hockey club: that durzi price is a bit steep but hey, if you've never had the money before i guess you might as well spend it. also sergachev was a BALLSY move i will miss you my cunty mistress. also we (the nhl) have a fucking iginla again... for our health. we need an iginla. B-

winnipeg jets: what did they even do. C

anaheim ducks: what did they even do. C

calgary flames: sharangovich extension + anthony mantha. tidy bit of business. zayne parekh YOU are the 2025 calder trophy winner. C+

edmonton oilers: managed to get a couple good players on nice cheap contracts, improved their rush game even more somehow, and will have to re-print their goalie's jerseys because they now have two different guys named skinner. A

la kings: gave joel edmundson nearly 4 million dollars a year. D

seattle kraken: stole brandon montour from florida. B+

san jose sharks: unlike the hawks, seem to be actively prepared to break out of the rebuild and trying to do it. toffoli? great! wennberg? a little overpaid but they're trying to hit the cap floor at this point so it's quite good! rumours of pavs return to san jose but you didn't hear it from me. B+

vancouver canucks: jake debrusk is gonna be a good linemate for petey imho. the hronek and myers contracts were a little rich but honestly they seem to be a lot more coherent ideologically than they were just a couple years ago. B

vegas golden knights: basically lost every remaining original misfit/otherwise quality forward in an effort to keep marchessault, and then lost marchessault anyway to the Power Of Divorce. and now they have ilya samsonov as their starting goaltender. F