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absurdthirst · 8 months ago

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Greased Lightning {Frankie Morales x F!Reader x Santiago Garcia}

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 13.1k

Warnings: Financial difficulties, technical prostitution, sex for services, propositioning, threesomes, fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), dirty talk, degradation, anal fingering, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, double penetration, cum play, explicit photos

Comments: Broken down and in need of a mechanic, you call Triple Frontier Repair. Finding out that the repairs are more expensive than you can afford, the men have an idea on how you can compensate them.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Frankie Morales MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Shit.” You hiss when you hear the engine of your piece of shit car start knocking and the dashboard lights up like a Christmas tree. “No, no, don’t do this, please don’t do this.” You whine when the acceleration of the car suddenly depletes and you are obviously going to be moving off the road to the shoulder. Bucking slightly as you try to coax it a little farther so you can safely get off and you feel like crying. You’re in a bind financially and you can’t afford pricey car repairs. If you don’t have a car, you can’t go to work and if you can’t go to work, you won’t have a job. You slap the steering wheel and sigh, knowing that you will need to get the car towed. After cursing your bad luck, you open your phone and google the closest mechanics shop that has a towing service. Hopefully they will be able to fix it for cheap.

“Frontier Repair Shop.” Santi answers the phone, about to leave early but your voice sounds distressed.

“I need a tow and my car - it just stopped and I don’t know what happened.” You try not to cry down the phone and Santi sighs, knowing his mama would kick his ass if she knew he’d left a woman on the side of the road. He asks you for the mile marker you’re near and knows where you are.

“Fish, I’ll be back in a bit.” He promises to his partner, heading out to the tow truck to go and get your vehicle.

When the truck arrives, you almost cry with relief but compose yourself, knowing that this won’t be an easy or cheap fix. When the mechanic gets out of the truck, your mouth falls slightly. “You need a tow?” He asks and you nod, dumbstruck by the handsome man and you almost forget about the issue at hand.

His brows furrow when he slips behind the wheel and sees the array of lights when he turns the key. “It’s good that you turned it off.” He compliments and jams the brake to shift the car into neutral. He’s already put the chains on the frame and just needs to hoist it up onto the flatbed.

“I just….was driving along and it went haywire.” You worry, biting your lip. “It’s gonna be expensive, isn’t it?” You can’t afford this, you are already destined to spend the rest of your rare day off in a mechanic’s shop.

“Won’t know until we get it back to the shop.” Santi tells you, noting how pretty you are, even though you’re obviously distressed. “Don’t worry though, me and Fish are the best mechanics around. We’ll get you back on the road.” He promises before shutting the door. “You need a ride to the shop with me, or do you have someone coming?’

“I need a ride. I don’t have anyone coming to pick me up and I need to get this fixed today. I have to work tomorrow and I don’t have any other way to get there.” You tell him and he nods, opening the passenger door for you to get in. It’s a little messy, coffee cups and wrappers litter the floor but you don’t care, too distracted by your bad luck.

“You from around here?” Santi asks as he starts the truck and makes his way back to the shop.

“No. Moved here years ago for college and didn’t go home.” You sigh.

Santi nods and concentrates on the road. “I get that.” He tells you. “Fish and I opened this shop when we got out of the Army. Just far enough away from the base we didn’t have to deal with that bullshit, but close enough we could go raise hell if we wanted.” He throws you a grin, thinking about the nights they would go bar hopping and get into some good, old fashioned trouble. Plus it was always fun to pick up the women there. “College, huh? What did you major in? I’ve been thinking about taking a few classes, using my G.I. bill.”

“It’s nothing exciting. I work in HR. Majored in Psych but didn’t get to put that degree to the test. But my student loans have been killing me since my rent was increased and I- sorry, you don’t wanna hear about my drama. How long were you in the army?” You ask, curious and trying to not notice the way his forearm muscles clench as he drives the truck.

Santiago snorts, glancing over at you and then back at the road. “Twenty years.” He admits, grinning ruefully. “Joined up when I was eighteen. Got out last year.” He shrugs. “Not too bad, but the retirement pay doesn’t go as far as it used to. And Fish and I were going stir crazy. Running ops wasn’t feasible, so we decided to start turning wrenches.”

“Fish?” You ask and he nods, “my partner. His name is Frankie but we had nicknames in our team in the army. His was Catfish and mine was Pope- is Pope.” He says and you frown, “where did Pope come from?” You ask and Santi smirks a little as he adjusts his grip on the steering wheel. “Back in the day, the fellas would say that women knelt before me like Catholics kneel before the Pope.”

You fluster at the thought, unable to deny his claim. Women would still kneel before him now. “I appreciate you coming out to help me so fast.” You say as he turns into the lot for the shop.

“Never leave a pretty lady on the side of the road.” Pope hums, watching as he turns the big wrecker around and he throws it park before looking over at you. “If you go into the waiting area, we have mediocre coffee and bottled water.” He shrugs and winks. “Down the hall to the right is a little break room. Fish has some Cokes stashed in the fridge for people we like.” He winks at you and juts his chin towards the building. “Go relax, we’ll take care of you.”

You nod, grateful to him for being so kind, and you get out of the truck, adjusting your skirt as you make your way into the shop, walking past the open garage doors. Frankie is just wheeling out from under a Kia Soul when his eyes find your legs and trail up your form as you walk past. The bell rings as you open the door to the waiting area and Frankie whistles as Santi strides over. “Jesus, Pope. Where’d you find her?” He asks, smirking at his friend.

Pope grins and shrugs. “What can I say, women just flock to me.” He jokes, before pointing to the car that James is rolling off the flatbed. “She broke down on the side of the road. Needs it ASAP, but I can already tell it’s gonna be expensive.” He snorts. “I might have promised her that she would be driving home tonight.”

Frankie rolls his eyes and sighs, aware that his friend often makes outrageous promises to pretty women, mostly at the expense of Frankie’s time. “Fuck, Pope.” He grumbles. “Kia’s done, go write it up and I’ll get started on the car.”

Pope grins victoriously at his friend giving in to his whims when it comes to gorgeous women and he makes his way inside, calling out the owner of the Kia to give him the invoice and take his payment while Frankie backs the car out of the bay. “Thanks man. Always appreciate you guys fixing her up.” The guy says to Pope and shakes his hand. You watch as he exits the waiting room and figure he must be an army friend. You are anxious to find out how much this is gonna cost. You might have to ask him to fix it up enough to drive around without clunking out but you know you’d be back in the shop at a moment in the near future.

Under the hood of the car, Frankie is hissing a curse as he shoves his busted knuckle into his mouth. Not really minding the grease as he sucks at the broken skin. He was used to having greasy hands from the work he did, but he fucking hated whoever designed the engine compartment on this car. “Goddamn piece of shit.” He scowls when he pulls his hand away from his mouth and looks back down at the fuel injector. It’s shot to shit and he’s pretty sure that your head gasket is leaking. It won't be cheap, just like Pope predicted, but it can be fixed today. He sighs, wondering how you are going to react to the price tag that’s gonna be slapped on this repair.

You sip the mediocre coffee, staring at the tv that has Judge Judy reruns on and you fidget, wondering what the cost of your car repair is going to run you. You’re there a while, other customers leaving. The young college kid who is helping out has gone home and you sigh, looking down at your now cold coffee.

Coming into the office, Frankie wipes his hands on a rag and looks over at you before shuffling towards the break room. “Car’s fixed.” He tells you. “Let me wash the grease off my hands and I’ll get you ready to go. Pope’s just closing her up now.”

You look up and nod, standing up from the plastic chair that’s stuck to the back of your thighs and you toss the coffee cup, wondering if the criteria to work here is to be a ridiculously hot guy. You bite your lip and lean against the counter when he comes back with clean hands. “You, uh, you didn’t even give me a quote.” You frown and Frankie sighs, “honestly, the car is on its last legs. I’m stretching its life as much as possible but you gotta look at getting a new car, sweetheart.” He explains, “I did what I could.”

You sigh, nodding and knowing he’s right. “What’s the damage?” You ask, bracing yourself.

Frankie winces apologetically. “I’m only charging you for parts.” He promises. There had been more wrong with it than he had first realized and Pope had told him to fix it enough to make it safe. “$1600” he tells you, hating the way your eyes seem to bug out of your head. “I can show you the printout. I didn’t charge you for labor. Pope told me about your situation.”

“I- shit. I- I can’t - I don’t have that.” Your eyes start to water, “I didn’t know and you didn’t tell me so I - shit. I don’t have that kind of money.” You choke, unsure of what the hell you’re going to do.

The bell rings above the door and Pope walks in, “we got her fixed up for you.”

You shake your head, “yeah and I can’t afford to pay you because you guys didn’t consult me so it’s - I don’t know what to do.” You choke again.

Pope frowns and Frankie hisses. He had thought he had talked to you. “Pendejo.” He groans, throwing the towel in his hand at Pope.

“Sweetheart, that’s what we had to do to get her running.” He tells you. “You could easily sink another two or three grand in that car. She’s honestly barely road worthy.” Pope explains and Frankie shakes his head.

“Cabrón.” He huffs. “You should have talked to her.”

You shake your head, “I don’t - I’m barely making my rent. I don’t have $1600 to pay you. Shit. I- I’m so sorry. I don't know what to do or say. Oh God, this is - this is a nightmare.” You close your eyes, almost willing yourself to wake up.

“Don’t cry.” Frankie hates when a woman cries and you are too pretty to cry over something like this. You shouldn’t have to worry about things like this at all. “We can work something out.” He promises. “A payment plan. I’m not going to unfix your car. It’ll be alright.”

Your eyes open, “really? You’d do that- I - thank you.” You offer him a grateful look and Pope clicks his tongue.

“There’s another option too.” He says, his voice lowering as his eyes trail along your form. “I can give you a discount if you…if you let me fuck you.” He says, dragging his thumb along his lower lip as his eyes return to yours. You inhale sharply, knowing you should be slapping him for that but shit, you were attracted to him from the get go.

“Santiago.” Frankie warns him and Santi shakes his head, “or for free…if you let both of us fuck you.” He says and your eyes widen, flicking to Frankie whose eyes are wide but not shocked. It’s not a secret that both men are handsome, something from a woman produced porno and you should say no, arrange a payment plan, and leave, but getting your car fixed for free is tempting.

“Both of you? And the car is free?” You ask and Pope nods. You inhale deeply, taking another second before you nod, “where do you wanna do this?”

“Holy shit.” Frankie whispers, surprised that you are actually considering this. He won’t even deny that he’s hopeful that you will decide to fuck them both. He can write off the car parts and it’s been a long time since he’s fucked anyone, let alone someone as gorgeous as you.

“Right here, in the break room.” Santiago tells you. “We lock the doors, everyone’s gone home and Frankie and I both fuck you silly.” He chuckles. “We’ll even go wash up before you suck our cocks.” Frankie nods, not wanting you to think you’re gonna be subjected to unwashed dick.

You should leave. Say no and tell them to fuck off but it’s been a while since you had sex. You’ve never had a threesome. You wonder if they have done this before. They seem to be comfortable with each other. “Uh, sure. I wouldn’t mind cleaning up myself.” You say, “do you have protection?” You don’t know them and you want to be safe, even if this is the least safe thing you’ve ever done.

“Condoms.” Frankie nods, knowing that Pope keeps a stash of them in the desk drawer for dates after work. “We’re both clean too.” He promises. “VA tests us and Pope’s had sex since but I haven’t.” He admits, feeling a little embarrassed about that.

You exhale shakily, “I’m clean too. Tested at my last gyno appointment. Uh, can I use the bathroom?” You ask and the boys nod, gesturing to the bathroom down the hall. You walk down to it, feeling their eyes on you and you shut the door behind you. Leaning over the sink, you inhale deeply and hate that you feel the churn of arousal in your stomach. It’s hard to deny that the idea of sex with two sexy men doesn’t have you wet already and you know you should be ashamed, you should say no but you can’t.

When you disappear into the bathroom, Frankie whirls on Pope. “Did you fucking set this up?” He hisses, impressed and slightly disgusted by what they are about to do. It’s almost taking advantage of you, even though you’re agreeing. Pope smirks and winks at his friend. “You won’t be upset when her pretty little mouth is sucking your soul out through your cock.” He predicts, arching a brow as if to challenge him. “Not like we haven’t double teamed a girl before. Although now I know she’s clean, I wish you hadn’t told her about the condoms. We could have filled her tank too.” Frankie rolls his eyes at the bad joke but his cock twitches under the mechanics suit at the thought of to high you. His friend has known him for far too long because he grins and slaps his back. “There’s the Fish I know. Go wash your cock and balls.” He orders and Frankie shuffles off to the employee shower room.

You wash your face and freshen up elsewhere before heading back into the hall and your name is called from the break room that Pope told you about earlier. You follow his voice and enter the room, taking note of the ratty sofa and chair in the space, the fridge in the corner and the ancient tv in the corner to match the one in the waiting room. Frankie isn’t back yet so you set your purse down and Santi sits on the sofa. “Come take a seat, relax.” He says, “you can say no at any point. Say the word and we stop.” He promises and you believe him. You sit down next to him, knee bouncing and his large hand stops it with a slight chuckle. “Nervous?” He asks and you nod, eying the condoms on the small coffee table.

“Yeah. I haven’t done this before.” You confess, “threesome. Or sex in exchange for car parts.” You joke breathily and Santi chuckles. It dies down after a moment and he clears his throat, reaching up to cup your cheek. Your eyes burn into his and he leans closer, slowly pressing his lips against yours. The contact is soft and you don’t pull back, shyly kissing him back until the fire in your belly ignites and you grip his overalls, deepening the kiss until his tongue is sliding against yours.

Frankie comes back with just a towel wrapped around his waist. Deciding a full shower would be appropriate. It was a good thing to have in the shop and made it easy to get ready for a date after work. Or fucking a girl in exchange for getting her car fixed, like now. “Go bathe your ass, pendejo.” He huffs, watching as you pull away from Pope and fluster. “I’ll keep our girl entertained.” You’ve agreed to this, so he’s interested, imagining you while he was washing. His cock is already half hard under the towel and he smirks.

Your eyes take in the sight of the mechanic. It’s clear he’s middle aged, a slight stomach, but fuck if you don’t find that sexier than a six pack. The water droplets down his chest have you itching to lick his skin. Deciding to do just that, you stand up and walk over to him, leaning forward to run your tongue along his collarbone to gather the lingering droplets of water from his skin.

“Fuck.” Frankie groans, grabbing your waist and hissing at how good the first touch of you feels. He can hear Pope laugh as he walks out of the room but he’s too busy ducking his head down to press his lips to yours in a kiss that is more impatient and slightly rougher than his brother in arms.

His fingers dig into your waist and his lips press harshly against yours. You moan into his mouth, taken off guard by the fact that you’re enjoying this so far, and his tongue slides against yours. His hands slide down to your ass and he pulls you up against him, his hard cock pressing against your hip. You let him kiss you for another moment until you push him back and he frowns, worried that you’re upset and wanting to leave. He’d let you go but he’d be disappointed. You bite your lip and reach for the tuck of his towel, pulling on it until it falls and reveals his cock. “Shit.” You murmur and admire his thick length, twitching under your gaze and you seem to fall under a spell when you kneel down and wrap your fingers around him. Your tongue is peaking out to press against the leaking slit while your eyes focus on his.

“Shit.” Frankie hisses, taking off guard by the fact that you are almost eagerly getting on your knees for him. “Fuck- strip down.” He growls out. “I want to see your tits and I want your pussy to leak all over my floor.” His cock twitches in your hand, but he pulls his hips back and offers you a hand.

His words make you clench around nothing and you reach for the hem of your shirt, pulling it over your head to expose your bra. You push your shirt down and leave you in your underwear. “All of it, baby.” Frankie orders and you nod, undoing the clasp of your bra and you let the straps fall down your arms and expose your tits to the mechanic you barely know.

“Fuck, those are nice.” He groans, reaching out and cupping your tits while you hook your fingers into your panties. He squeezes them and then pinches your nipples and tugs on them. “You’re gonna suck my cock, right pretty girl?” He groans. “Get it all nice and wet to fuck you?”

Usually, dirty talk like that would make you cringe but coming from his mouth? Shit, it has you dripping. “Ye-yes. Gonna make sure you’re gonna be just right to fuck my little pussy.” You talk back just as dirty, thrilled by it when his cock jumps. You step out of your panties and Frankie groans, admiring you until you kneel down on the linoleum floor to wrap your fingers around his cock again.

“Fuck.” Frankie hisses, biting his lip as he looks down at you. “Do a good job and I’ll eat your pussy too.” Despite this being an arrangement so you don’t have to pay for your car being fixed, Frankie likes eating pussy and it’s been awhile since he’s had his head framed by a woman’s thighs. You moan quietly and nod before you lean forward and take the head of his cock into your mouth. “Fuuuck.” He hisses, chin dropping down to his chest as he watches you engulf his cock.

You close your eyes for a moment, wanting to compose yourself as the head of his cock presses against your throat and you inhale deeply through your nose just as Frankie says “eyes on me.” You open your eyes and look at him as you take him deeper, unaware that Pope is back and watching you and Frankie.

He sees Pope, but he doesn’t take his eyes off you. He knows the other man locked the building down and they were the only ones with the keys. Groaning when you swallow around him, his calloused and work rough hand caresses your cheek. “You look so pretty with my cock in your mouth,” he coos. “Spread your thighs, sweetheart. Is your little clit throbbing?” Pope smirks, aware that Frankie’s raspy voice manages to make women dripping wet when he talks dirty. Dropping his own towel and wrapping his hand around his hard cock to squeeze it as he walks closer. Keeping quiet until he is kneeling behind you and sliding his other hand between your thighs to touch your cunt while his cock presses against your ass. “Already soaked, Fish.” He moans in your year, kissing just below it. “I think she likes sucking your cock.”

You moan around Frankie’s cock, knowing you shouldn’t feel like this. You shouldn’t like it this much, but you do. You work his cock deeper until you choke and saliva drips down your chin. You whimper when Pope rubs your clit and it’s been so long since someone else touched you, you grind down onto his hand while your fingers dig into Frankie’s ass to encourage him to rock his hips.

“Yeah she does.” Frankie grunts, moving his hand down so he can feel your throat work around him. It’s so sexy to see you on your knees, Pope behind you as he makes sure you’re ready to take both of them. “I say she swallows my load and I’ll eat her cunt like a good little girl while she sucks you off.”

Pope hums in agreement, kissing along your neck while his fingers work your clit. You whimper around Frankie's cock, nodding in pleasure and agreement. You can't believe how these two men have turned you into a wanton whore within moments but you desperately want to make them cum, to feel and see it.

Pope’s lips travel over your shoulders, up your neck. Kissing and licking, occasionally biting your skin as his fingers rub your clit. Eventually moving down and pressing two of his thick digits inside while twisting his wrist around to press his thumb back to your sensitive bundle of nerves. “She’s so tight, Fish.” He groans, loving how you clench around his fingers. “She’s gonna feel so good.”

You clench around his fingers, lost in the sensations of his mouth and his hand caressing you. You choke on Frankie's cock as he pushes deep again and your jaw is starting to ache a little but you push through, wanting him to cum down your throat.

Frankie hisses, and rocks his hips forward again. Spit and pre-cum slide down your jaw and he loves how your eyes fill with tears and yet you don’t try to wipe them away. “So fuckin’ pretty.” He groans, “mouth like a fucking Hoover.” He can hear Pope’s fingers working in and out of your cunt over his grunts and the thick swallowing sounds and moaning around his cock. “Keep going, baby, want you to swallow my cum.”

You want it too. Your throat swallows around him and your teary eyes flick up to meet his as he pushes deep enough to slide down your throat, the hairs at the base of his cock tickling your nose and that's when he falls apart. You close your eyes when he starts to cum, walls fluttering around Pope's fingers as you struggle to swallow the spurts of cum from Fish and his groan echoes in the break room.

“Shit….shiiiiiiiit.” He hisses, eyes nearly crossing in pleasure, handing tightening around your jaw as you swallow him down. Spurts of his cum push out of the corners of your mouth and he rubs his thumb in it to massage it into your skin. “That’s it, good girl.”

You let him work himself dry and you swear you're dripping down Pope's wrist as you let Frankie use you until he is pulling his cock free of your mouth. He surges to lean down, pressing his lips against yours. Tongue pushing deep to taste himself on your tongue without care, and you whimper into his mouth.

Pope chuckles, biting down on your shoulder. “Frankie tastes good, sweetheart?” He asks as he curls his fingers deep inside you. “Let me have a taste.” He hums, not caring about tasting the other man’s spend. He’s done this before with him. Turning your head, he breaks the kiss with Frankie and captures your lips with his own as he pumps his finger inside you.

You clench around Pope’s fingers as kisses you without care about the taste in your mouth. That makes you realize they’ve done this before and it makes you moan into his mouth as his fingers curl inside of you. You need more. You break the kiss and murmur against his chin, “wanna taste you next.”

Frankie chuckles, his cock shrinking back down and hanging flaccidly, but Pope is rock hard against your ass. “We should move this to the sofa.” He suggests, reaching for your arm. “Santi can lean back and I’ll bury my face in your cunt.” He’s eager to taste you, to see how you respond to his tongue.

You nod and whine slightly as Santi removes his fingers from inside of you, and you let Frankie guide you to the sofa. “Kneel down, baby.” He demands and Santi sits on the end of the sofa, his cock hard and aching. You kiss his stomach that clenches before taking his cock in your hand and wrapping your fingers around him to guide him to your mouth.

Frankie groans, watching you take his friend’s cock into your mouth and he smirks. “She’s so fucking good, isn’t she?” He comments and Pope’s head bobbles in agreement. His own hands start to roam over your body, squeezing your ass and hips as he settles behind you and pulls your cheeks apart to get an up close look at your pulsing cunt. “Fuck, baby, you’re so pretty.” He coos before leans in and buries his tongue inside your wet heat.

You gasp around Santi’s cock. You didn’t expect them to go down on you, thought it was all just dirty talk. You expected a couple of blowjobs, both of them fucking you until they came but you never anticipated them making you cum once. You moan around Pope’s cock as Frankie ducks down so he can lick at your clit.

Frankie groans into your flesh, huffing when he can’t reach you like he wants to and he pulls away to flip onto his back. Sliding his head between your thighs and attacking your cunt from before, he lunges up latches onto your clit, wanting to hear you squeal. You’re sexy and you’re letting them fuck you so you should have just as much fun and pleasure as they do.

You cry out, letting Pope’s cock drop from your mouth as you feel the pleasure tingle up your spine and you moan Frankie’s name. “That’s it baby. Let Frankie eat that tight pussy.” Santi coos, caressing your cheek and you shift to take him back into your mouth.

He squeezes your ass and encourages you to drop your hips, wanting your weight on his face. Pope chuckles and caresses your spine. “You’re so fucking pretty, can’t wait to see what you look like riding his cock, my cock. Maybe we’ll stuff you full at the same time.” He doubts that, considering he would have just cum, but it’s a nice thought. “Didn’t we tell you that we would take care of you?”

You lower your hips, a little self conscious but he makes you grind down onto him and you whine around Pope’s cock, eager to please him now that you realize they are going to look after you. You moan when Frankie’s tongue slides through your folds and you sloppily suck on Pope’s cock.

The breakroom sounds obscene. The sounds of sucking and swallowing, moans and grunts filthily filling the air. Frankie moans as your cunt gushes, coating his tongue in a fresh wave arousal and he slurps it down greedily. Rocking your hips to make you ride his face as he licks up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart, Fish is in heaven. His tongue buried in your sweet pussy. I bet he’s already getting hard thinking about fucking you.” Pope coos. “And after he gets done making you scream, I’ll fuck you so good you’ll see stars.”

You swear you can hardly breathe as his filthy words make your pussy clench and you can’t handle it. You want these men. That’s become clear. You rock back onto Fish’s face, back arching as you try to take Pope’s cock deeper but he’s longer than Frankie, not as thick. You choke and saliva drips from your mouth as you try your best to make this blowjob one of the best he’s gotten.

“That’s it sweetheart.” Pope groans, “take it all. Fish, I swear I’m in fuckin’ love with her mouth.” He hisses, talking to Frankie underneath you. Fish grunts his agreement into your folds and is thankful that he had washed his hands, scrubbing them in the shower as he pushes two fingers inside you for you to clench around when you cum. “Cum for Frankie, sweetheart, soak his face.”

You groan, rocking back onto Frankie’s face and you’re so close. So fucking close. His lips suck on your clit as his fingers curl inside of you. You moan around his cock as you cum, clamping down on Frankie’s fingers as he makes you orgasm.

Frankie’s spent cock twitches and he starts to harden again. Loving how you are soaking his face as he sucks on your clit. Your hips grinding down on his face and he moans happily. Working you through the orgasm with singular determination.

You moan around Pope’s cock as Frankie works you through it and you want Pope to cum too. You wrap your fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing him, and you hollow your cheeks, wanting him to spill down your throat.

It takes a long moment before Frankie is willing to pull away. Listening to Pope’s groans getting breathier and lighter as he gets closer to coming. Finally pulling his head away and twisting his body so he can watch you swallow his friend down. “That’s it baby,” He grunts. “Make Santi cum. Swallow him down too so I can fuck you.”

It takes a couple more bobs of your head for Santi to cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing as Frankie withdraws his fingers and Pope starts to spill down your throat. His groan is low and loud, echoing in the room as he twitches while he spills down your throat, making you moan around him.

“Fuck….” Santi hisses, head dropping back against the sofa and moaning out as he throbs in your mouth.

“Fuck, girl, you are so gorgeous like this.” Frankie groans, chuckling as he wraps his wet hand around his cock and starts to slowly pump himself completely hard. “Swallow him down like a good girl.” He orders.

You obey, eagerly swallowing every drop of cum. Santi cums less than Frankie, none of it dripping down your chin as you let the salty seed spurt down your throat until he’s softening in your mouth. You pull off of him and open your mouth, displaying your tongue to him to show you’ve swallowed every drop.

“Good girl.” Pope pants, grinning as he leans in to press his lips to yours.

“Don’t be greedy, cabrón.” Frankie huffs, pulling you back and scowling at his grinning friend. Taking over kissing you greedily and tasting him out of your mouth with no issue.

You’ve never known two men so comfortable with each other and it’s intoxicating. You cup his cheek as his tongue slides against yours. “Baby, I need - I need you to fuck me.” You whine into Frankie’s mouth.

He hums happily, pleased that you are begging him although he knows if he had just cum, you would be begging Pope. “I’m going to fuck you.” He promises. Leaning over and grabbing a condom off the table. “How do you want to be fucked, pretty girl?” He demands. “Back, hands and knees?” He rips the packet open and starts to roll it down his length. Wanting you to decide how he fills you.

“On my back.” You answer breathlessly and Frankie nods, shifting back so you can lay down on the sofa. Pope frames your shoulders, looking down at you, and his hands instantly grab your tits. You moan and Frankie kneels on the sofa, pushing your legs apart so he can settle between them.

Shuffling closer and pumping his cock, Frankie looks down at you. Watching you squirm and moan under Pope’s touch. “Gonna fuck you, baby.” He promises, notching himself at your entrance and pulling one leg up to drag across the back of the sofa for more access. “Right now.” He grunts as he starts pushing in.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as he stretches you out. He’s thick and you haven’t had sex in a while. Not since your ex. You reach up to grip Pope’s forearms as he squeezes your tits and you close your eyes. “Oh I think she likes that already, Cat.” Santi chuckles and you nod, mouth falling open as he pushes deeper until he’s fully inside of you.

“She’s fucking tight.” Frankie growls, gritting his teeth together and trying to control himself. Your hot walls around him make him just want to destroy you, but he needs to let you adjust. “Tightest little cunt I’ve ever fucked.” He hisses when you squeeze him in response to his twitching deep inside you.

You know he’s just lost in the moment but his words make you whine with need and Pope chuckles as he pinches your nipples. “God, she’s a cock hungry little whore, ain’t she?” He asks his best friend who nods and gives you another moment before he starts to move, pulling out of you almost all the way until he decides to push back in in a thrust that takes your breath away.

Frankie chuckles, loving the little squeak that gets cut off. “Let me hear you, baby.” He grunts, pulling back for another thrust. “No one here, you can scream my name as loud as you need to.” Snapping his hips forward, he drills into you again to start a harsh pace.

You can’t deny him. You cry out as he punches deep, feeling like he’s splitting you in two but you fucking love it. Your nails dig into Santi’s forearms as you take what Frankie gives you, moaning his name and you’re soaking him with wave after wave of arousal until your pussy starts to squelch with each thrust.

Luckily the sofa is leather and can be wiped off, otherwise you would be soaking it. Every time you gush around him. Making him groan as he rocks into you. “Is it worth it?” He grunts. “Letting us fuck you? Being our little slut for the night?”

You nod, “so- so worth it. Oh God. I- keep talking.” You beg, loving to hear his deep voice saying such filthy things. Pope chuckles, “keep going, Fish. She loves hearing you talk dirty. Had her soaking my fingers earlier.”

He chuckles and twitches inside you again. “She’s such a dirty slut.” He tells Pope. “I should just take off the condom and fill her cunt up with my cum, make a mess of her.” He hums. “Or I’ll pull out and cum all over her. Covering her like the little cum whore she is.”

“Oh fuck yessss.” You moan out, lost in the haze of lust, “want you to fill me up. Please, baby. Please. I need - I want - oh God.” You pant as he rocks into you, his jaw clenched and you whine out as he pushes you up the sofa and into Pope’s lap.

He smirks, enjoying how much you are begging for it but he would never make that change while everyone is caught up in the moment. “Good girl.” He groans, “Maybe I’ll wait until Pope is hard again and we’ll both take a hole. Really fill you up. Would you like that, baby?”

Your responding nod nearly makes your neck cramp. “Yes. Fuck. I- I want both of you. Want to feel both of you. I want - oh God. It’s so good, baby.” You pant, reaching up when you see Santi’s cock starting to get hard and you wrap your fingers around him while Frankie fucks you even harder. “Frank- I - oh shit.” You pant, getting closer and closer.

“That’s it, that’s it, pretty girl.” He pants out, his hips slapping against the back of your thighs as he fills you again and again. “Want you to cum for me. Want you to soak my cock. Scream my name.” He is practically begging but his hand snakes down between your bodies so he can rub your clit. “Cum for me.”

His thumb on your clit is exactly what you need. You practically squeal as you break, clamping down on his cock and soaking him as you cry out his name. Your eyes are squeezed shut and your grip on Santi’s cock tightens as you experience your second orgasm.

Pope hisses, and his cock throbs in your hand. “Beautiful.” He groans, watching you with heavy lidded eyes as Frankie works you through your orgasm and pushes for his own. “Cum, hermano.” He urges. “I want to be inside her the next time she squeals.

Frankie grunts, grabbing your leg to push it back further and you moan, opening your eyes to watch him. “That’s it baby. Cum for me.” You demand, “wanna see you cum again.” You let go of Santi’s cock to grab the back of Frankie’s neck, dragging him down to press your lips to his.

Moaning in surprise at your ferocity, Frankie feels the tingling in the base of his spine. The rush of pleasure that happens right before his body starts to tighten. Thrusting haphazardly, he growls out your name, “gonna- fuck- gonna cum.” He warns you against your lips as he gives a short, half thrust before he is pushing deep and grinding his hips, cock pulsing deep inside your cunt as he feels the condom up with his release. Sliding his tongue into your mouth as he rides out the waves of bliss.

You tangle your fingers in his hair and you kiss him back as he fills the condom up and slowly rocks into you, riding his orgasm. “Well goddamn.” Pope coos, enjoying the show and his cock throbs.

Frankie kisses you slowly until he is good and damn ready to pull out of you. Holding the base of the condom and rocking back to pull out gently. Caressing your thigh as he looks down at you. “Thank you, sweetheart.” He murmurs, smirking at your exhausted expression. “You got one more in you for us, don’t you?”

You nod, feeling boneless but you want Santi to cum too. Not because he’s footing the bill for your car but because you want him to fuck you.

You look up at Frankie and you offer him a lazy smile, “I do. Want Santi to fuck me.” You say and look up at Santi.

Frankie smirks proudly. “Good girl.” He shuffles back and lets Santiago take his place between your thighs. Standing up with a groan and walking over to the trash can to throw away the condom. “How do you want to be fucked this time?” The other man hums as he strokes a finger through your sensitive folds.

You whimper at the sensation and shift to kneel. “I want to ride you.” You tell Pope and he chuckles, reaching to smack your ass before he grabs the condom. “Let me -” He works fast to follow the rubber onto his cock and he hisses when you move fast to straddle his thighs. “Wanna feel you in my stomach.” You coo at him as you grip his cock and shuffle forward until you are sinking down onto him.

Even though he’s already cum, Frankie watches as you take Santi’s cock with eagerness. Knowing the man is enjoying himself from the way his thighs clench and he moans, hands gripping your ass and squeezing it. Unable to stop himself, Frankie cups your tits and pinches your nipples, biting down on your shoulder sharply before soothing it with his tongue. “So, ride him, sweetheart.” He orders. “Bounce on his cock like a little slut and show us what you've got.”

You clench around Santi’s cock at the filthy words and decide to follow orders. You grip Santi’s shoulders and start to move, lifting up until his cock nearly falls out of you before you sink back down. A moan escapes your lips and you squeeze his shoulders. “Fuck. You - it’s like you’re in my guts.” You confess, unable to to believe how long he is.

Pope chuckles and Frankie continues to tease and torment your nipples. “Want to be deep. So fucking deep you feel me for days.” He tells you, snapping his hips up.

You let out a noise that's half gasp, half moan, and your nails dig into his shoulders as Frankie kisses along your neck. It's overwhelming and incredible. "Shit. I will. I won't be able to - to walk tomorrow." You declare, loving the thought even if you need to work. "Fuck. I - oh God." You tilt your hips as you rock down and the change in angle has your head tilting back and a moan of Santi's name escaping your lips.

“Good.” Frankie growls, kissing along your neck. “Don’t walk. Or if you do, feel us every time you move.” He slaps your ass while still fondling your tits with his other hand. Sliding it lower to rub the puckered hole that is so close to where you are taking Pope.

You gasp at the slight invasion until you moan, "God. Want you - want you both inside of me. Wanna feel you both cum inside of me at the same time." Your inhibitions are gone as they tear you apart with their words and their actions, making you desperate to please and desperate to feel more.

Frankie smirks and pulls his fingers away to spit on them. “My fingers are going to have to do, Princess.” He teases. “You’ve drained me dry. Milked me for every drop of cum with that perfect mouth and cunt.” He rubs your hole again and starts to slowly press his fingers into you.

The added pressure has you shaking above Pope who has to thrust up into you, his hands grabbing your ass to spread your cheeks for Frankie to push his fingers deeper. The stretch has you closing your eyes, feeling fuller than ever before with Santi's cock still inside of you. "Oh fuck. That's - you're gonna make me cum." You rush out, body shaking even harder as Frankie pushes his fingers deeper and starts to move them inside of you.

“That’s it, baby, cum for us.” Pope coos. “Come apart, want to see you, hear you scream.” He chuckles and leans in to bite at your bottom lip. “Cum.”

You practically scream into his chin as the two men work your body until you’re clamping down on Pope’s cock, soaking him and clenching around Frankie’s fingers as your orgasm hits you like a steam train.

You’re a stranger to them, they don’t know you, they don’t know your life - but they know what you look like when you cum. Watching you while they are holding their breaths, thinking that you are gorgeous as you shake and gasp for them.

You collapse forward onto Santi’s chest as he rocks up into your pussy, getting closer and closer until he freezes beneath you and lets out a groan as he spills into the condom. “Shit.” You pant into his skin while Frankie kisses along your spine.

Panting, Santiago grins as he tries to catch his breath. Squeezing your ass and rocking you languidly on his still stiff cock. “You’ve blown my mind, baby.” He hums, very pleased with the way this situation has turned out. “Definitely.”

You smile, “glad we could help each other out.” You thought you were fucked when you were told the cost of the repair or your car but you now acknowledge that it’s one of the best things to happen to you. “Might have to come back when she dies on me again.” You murmur as Frankie removes his fingers from inside of you and you shift off of Pope’s cock after he holds the condom.

Frankie smirks as he helps you off the sofa. “You can come back anytime, baby.” He promises with a wink. “You can use the bathroom in the breakroom, or go two doors down and use the shower.” He likes you, but you had done this so you could have your car, not for any other reason. He looks over at Pope and chuckles at the very satisfied look on his friend’s face.

You decide to use the shower, knowing that even if they hadn’t cum inside of you, you are sweaty and you want to wash off. “I’ll go shower.” You shift off of the sofa and stumble as you try to get your balance and the boys chuckle at their handiwork.

Completely at easy with his own nudity, Frankie walks over to the sink to wash his hands. Then going over to the fridge to pull out two beers, striding back over to the sofa to hand Pope one and then opening it as he flops down onto the couch beside him. “You actually had a good idea, asshole.” He huffs, smirking as he takes a sip of the beer.

Santiago smirks, “reckon she’ll be back?” He asks, “I hope she is. Does that sound bad? I don’t want her to get into an accident but Jesus, that pussy? Worth doing some free work and writing off parts for, huh?”

Frankie snorts and shrugs. “Not too bad. Not like you fucked with the timing belt so she has to come back.” He smirks to himself, thinking that it wasn’t too bad of an idea, but he hadn’t done that. He had fixed it the best he was able. “But that car’s a piece of shit, so who knows? She might become a regular.”

You wash off with their cheap 3-in-1 men’s body wash and kinda like how you smell like them after all the sex is washed from your body. You realized you need to get your clothes from the break room and walk in with the towel wrapped around you. “Decent water pressure you have in here.” You say as you reach for your panties and drop the towel, uncaring now they have seen every part of your body.

Pope chuckles and nods. “After showering in the shittiest places all over the world and having no water pressure, Fish demanded that we have a good shower.” His answer makes you tilt your head curiously and he shrugs. “Army, special forces.” He reminds you, “plenty of times we get ready to go out here, saves us a trip home.”

You nod, understanding and hating that you feel a little jealous about them going on dates. You have zero reason to feel possessive. You don’t know them, yet you want them to yourself. You fasten your bra and redress fast, sliding your feet into your shoes. “So, uh, I guess if I have any issues I’ll come see you again?” You ask, biting your lip as you stand while they sit on the sofa.

Frankie smirks and nods. “Anytime, baby, but I guarantee you won’t have problems on the shit I worked on.” He promises. “I don’t do sloppy work.” He’s not boasting, even though it might sound that way. He’s reassuring you that your car is as fixed as he could get it with what he worked on. “We were serious though, you need to start looking for another car.”

You nod, “I know. I, uh, I gotta save up some cash. I’ll see what I can do.” You sigh and Frankie stands up, still naked. “Thank you. For everything.” You say and hug him, breathing him in before you kiss him. Santi stands up a moment later, his hand on your waist and you switch to hug him, his lips eagerly finding yours.

While you kiss Pope, Frankie finds a pair of shorts to throw on so he can escort you to the door. He palms the keys to your car and when you pull away from Santi, he holds them up. “Let’s go get you back on the road so you can go to work tomorrow.” He hums.

You step back from Santi and take your keys. "Thank you so much guys." You thank them, "seriously, thank you. You saved me." You look them both in the eyes, and Santi winks at you, "our pleasure...literally."

Frankie walks you to your car, waiting for you to slide into the driver’s seat before handing you the keys and closing the door to lean in the window. “Thank you for tonight.” He murmurs quietly and leans in to kiss your cheek. “Best pussy I’ve had.” He winks at you when he pulls back and taps the door.

You fluster, fumbling with your keys to turn the ignition, and Frankie stands there until you put the car in drive and make your way down the gravel driveway to the road. When you are driving home, you process what just happened and you think you should be disgusted with yourself for essentially whoring your body out to get your car fixed for free but you loved every second of it. Your car cruises along and you smirk as you stop at a light. It would be a shame if something else happened to you and you had to go back to the shop.

****

A week has passed and even though Frankie has thought about that night, especially when he’s in the break room, neither man has heard from you. It’s a good thing, really. It means that your car is working properly and you’ve been living your life. Leaning on the engine of a Ford Taurus that needs new spark plugs, Frankie’s back is to the lot when he hears the crunch of tires on the gravel. Another customer. He hears them pull the car to a stop and the door opens. “Go inside.” he calls out over his shoulder as he carefully replaces the first plug. “Santiago can help you.”

“I was kinda hoping you’d get your hands on my engine and make her purr.” You declare and Frankie hisses as he hits his head on the hood. “You’re back.” He says, rubbing his head and you nod, “she’s having issues again.” You bite your lip, “was wondering if you and Santi could help me out.” You’ve spent all week thinking about the two men, almost wishing your car would crap out so you could call Santi again to pick you up and help you out.

“Yeah?” The engine sounded fine to him when you had pulled up but he smirks slightly as he holds out a hand for the keys. “Leave her with me.” He promises. “I’ll find out what's wrong just as soon as I’m done with this one.” He cocks his head. “Might take awhile though. ‘Til closing.” He teases, cock twitching and he wonders if there is something actually wrong or if his instinct is right and your back to get get fucked again.

You hand him the keys and offer him a small smile, not wanting to give away what your intentions are. You bite your lip and walk into the waiting room to find Santi sitting behind the desk. “You’re back?” His eyes widen and you nod, feigning a sigh, “she’s making strange noises again.” You tell him and shift from one foot to the other, “Frankie said he’d be checking it out after the one he’s working on now.”

Santiago nods and motions towards the waiting area. “You can wait out here or you know where the break room is.” He smirks slightly and licks his lips as he remembers the last time you were in that room. “You know that we will take care of it, of you.” He drops his voice down and watches as your eyes swim with lust.

You decide to make your intentions known and walk down to the break room. Exhaling shakily, you wait for someone to follow you and it doesn’t take long for Santi’s hands to find your waist as you look up at the tv in the corner. “You come in for another issue?” He asks, voice low in your ear. “She’s not purring like she should be. Figured I should get it checked out.”

“Hmmmm.” Santiago smirks, seeing through your weak story and he presses close, flattening his front against your back. “Frankie will fix her.” He promises, whispering the words into your ear and grinning when you shudder. “Question is, how expensive will it be? And how will you pay for it?”

“I - I was thinking…maybe you could honor the last deal we had? Since it’s only been a week and it’s gone wrong already.” You say softly, feeling a little ashamed until his nose nudges your neck and his warm breath washes over your skin, making you shiver.

Since the customer wasn’t waiting for the car he had been working on, Frankie abandoned it as soon as you walked inside and started looking at yours. Quickly finding out that nothing is wrong with the car beyond what he knew about a week ago. He chuckles to himself as he wipes his hands as he walks over to the door. No one else is at the shop and once again, you are alone with the two men. He walks in to find you and Santiago looking very intimate and he hums. “Well, sweetheart, looks like you’re in another bind.” He lies, feigning concern. “Transmissions gone and it’s gonna be at least a thousand bucks.”

You make sure you look a little distraught as you turn to face the other man. “I- you know I don’t have the money. Can we - can we honor the last deal we had?” You ask, sticking your lower lip out.

His eyes slide behind you to Pope and it’s obvious that he’s seen through your charade. Pretending to consider it, he bites his lip. “Depends on what you’ll let us do, baby.” he finally decides. “We’ve both fucked you, gotten our dicks sucked. What can you give us this time?” Your eyes widen and he smirks. “I’m thinking that you let us fuck you bare this time.” He growls. “No condom. Both holes.”

You close your eyes, trying to refrain from your shiver of anticipation, and you pretend to consider it. “And you’ll do what it takes to fix my car?” You ask, “for free?” Frankie nods and you bite your lip, “deal.” You hold your hand out and he takes it, dragging you to him so he can press his lips to yours. You moan into the kiss, reaching up to tangle your fingers in his hair as Santi comes up behind you to kiss your neck and work on the button of your jeans. It’s as overwhelming as it was before but you’re already drunk on them both.

They should stop and clean up. Shower, but somehow Frankie doesn’t think that you care how clean they are. Maybe you even prefer the idea of sweaty, hardworking men using you. His tongue slides into your mouth as he snakes a hand up your shirt to squeeze your tit over the lacy bra you are wearing. Something you obviously put on in anticipation of getting fucked. Frankie drags his lips away from yours to groan. “Do you want her ass?” He asks Pope, knowing the man loves anal.

The way he discusses you like you’re an object shouldn’t make you clench around nothing but it does and Santi’s fingers slide into your lace panties to find your clit and you moan, arching your chest into Frankie’s hand. “Of course, hermano. Her ass is mine. You take her pussy. She’s already wet for us.” He chuckles darkly as he twists his hand to slide his finger through your folds as Frankie pulls your shirt over your head.

“Of course she is.” Frankie scoffs. “We’re going to make her cum. Multiple times. How often does that happen?” He quickly unhooks your bra and ducks his head down to wrap his lips around your nipple and bites down on it.

You pant, “not too often until - until I came here.” You confess, “ex didn’t make me - not like you do.” You admit breathlessly as Santi works on pulling down your jeans, helping you kick off your sneakers and he groans at the sight of the lacy thong. “Someone had high hopes.” He teases and you chuckle breathlessly, “don’t hear you complaining.”

Frankie pulls off your tit with a pop and chuckles. “Oh we aren’t complaining, baby” he promises. “I’m just trying to decide if Pope’s gonna lick your pussy while I’m balls deep or we’re gonna double team making you cum on our tongues before you get our cocks.”

“Shit.” You hiss, your body almost vibrating with need for them. You’ve spent every night since you came here to get your car fixed thinking about them with your hand between your thighs. “What - whatever you want. I’m yours. You can do whatever you want to me.”

“Oh we’re going to.” His chuckle is bordering on mean and Pope smacks your ass. “Gotta get a thousand dollars worth of pussy.” Pope teases, sliding his hand back between your thighs and pushing two fingers inside you. Frankie hums and decides he can’t wait. “You’re going to sit on my cock while Pope eats you out.”

You nod, unable to deny the man a thing. He quickly strips out of his overalls and there’s something so sexy and raw about him as he strips down and Santi notices, chuckling as you clench around his fingers. When Fish sits down naked on the sofa, Pope withdraws his fingers and you shift to straddle Frankie but he shakes his head and turns you around. You nod and shuffle back, gripping his cock so you can sink down onto him, bare and thick. “Holy shit.” You moan, leaning back into his chest and Frankie spreads your legs a little wider.

Frankie groans and slides his hands up your thighs to cup both of your breasts. Pope is staring at your cunt, his cock pushing deep as he strips out of his own clothes. “Fuck, she’s even better without the condom.” Frankie pants as he rolls your nipples with his fingers and twists them slightly to hear you gasp.

You moan in agreement, “can feel all of you.” You reach back to run your fingers through his hair as Pope strips down. His cock bounces as he comes over to the sofa, kneeling down in front of you and you watch him as you start to work yourself on Frankie’s cock. On your tiptoes as you try to lift yourself enough to ride him.

Grunting, Frankie rocks his hips up to fill you again. Enjoying the squeal and he squeezes your breasts roughly again. “Couldn’t get enough of us, could you?” He grunts. “Too bad we aren’t your landlords. You could just pay rent in pussy.” He teases. “Be our personal cocksleeve.”

“Fuck.” You pant, tilting your head back against his shoulder. “I fucking wish.” You declare and Santi runs his hands along your thighs, bringing your attention to him. You look down and his dark eyes meet yours as he leans forward to slide his tongue against your clit, just above where Frankie’s cock is disappearing inside of you. “Oh my God.” You whine at the added sensation.

“Eat her pussy good, Pope.” Frankie orders as he starts to nibble and lick on your neck. “She deserves to cum before we’re filling these little holes with our loads.” He groans when you clench down on him. “You like that, baby? You want to drip our cum? We can jerk off on you too.”

“Yes. Shit. I want - I want you to ruin me. Use me. Cum on me. In me. Do- do whatever you want.” You ramble, knowing that you’re completely drunk on them. You’ve never been treated like this and it has you begging for more. Pope’s tongue slides along your folds and you moan when he sucks your clit into his mouth.

Slapping your breast, Frankie bites down on your shoulder, hoping to leave teeth impressions. Leaving a mark on your skin. He rocks his hips up and hums. “We will. You’re such a willing little slut for us.” He hisses, loving how much you enjoy the dirty talk.

“I am. Only for you. Only ever like this for you two. Fuck, Frankie. I- shit.” You reach down to tangle your fingers in Santi’s hair, rocking your hips again to try and find the spot to make you cream. “Oh God.” You gasp when you find it, rocking frantically as you work yourself up to your orgasm.

“That’s it. Fuck you get so tight.” Frankie coos as you bounce on his dick. “Cum for us. Cum and Pope will slide into your ass and you can cum again. And again until we finally fill up your little holes and let you feel us for another week.”

His words combined with his cock and Pope’s mouth around your clit has you falling apart. You squeal, closing your legs around Pope’s head as you collapse back against Frankie while you convulse with your climax. “Oh oh ohhh.” You cry out, eyes clenched shut.

Frankie groans, twitching inside you and trying to bite his lip to control himself. Wanting to make sure that he doesn’t cum too early. He wants to fill you up when Pope is also inside you.

You relax, panting as you work through your orgasm, and Pope caresses your thighs while you recover. "Frank, lay down and let her sit on your cock while I get her ready." Pope says, slapping your thigh. The other man nods and you shift off of him so he can lay down on the sofa.

Frankie watches as you straddle him, smirking as he leans up and bites the top of your tit and smacks your thigh. “You ready to take both of us, baby?” He asks roughly, eager to stretch you out and hear you scream again. You’re addicting and so fucking eager for their touch.

You nod, a little apprehensive but eager. You have done anal before with your ex so you know what to expect but you've never had two men at the same time. You shiver as Pope straddles the sofa behind you, a bottle of lube in his hand. "You had that hanging around?" You tease breathlessly.

Pope chuckles and he shrugs. “Spit sucks when you’re jerking off.” He tells you easily, before he opens the bottle to squirt it onto his fingers. “Gonna work you open for a few minutes, baby. Want you to enjoy it.”

You gasp softly when his fingers prod at your puckered hole and you whimper when he pushes a finger into you. "Fuck baby." You murmur, clenching around Frankie's cock while his hands caress your waist and up to your tits.

“It’s okay, baby.” Frankie coos softly. “We aren’t going to wreck you until you’re ready.” He promises. He knows that Pope is eager to slide inside you, but the man is a trained operator, he has the patience to wait until it will be nothing but the sweetest pinch of pain for you. “Open up for him. Let us make you fly.”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed when Pope adds another finger, scissoring to try and open you up a little more. You gasp again, "God, it feels good." You confess, rocking slightly on Frankie's cock as Santi opens you up for him.

“Kiss me, pretty girl.” Frankie orders, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and dragging you down to his lips. You’re intoxicating and he wants to gorge himself on you while Pope works you open and slides inside your tight little hole.

You slide your tongue against his and you moan into his mouth as Pope adds a third finger, pumping them deep and you pant into Frankie’s mouth. “Oh God. I need - please. Need you both inside of me now.” You beg, needing to feel fuller than ever before.

Frankie and Pope both chuckle because of how desperate that you sound. Frankie kisses you again as Pope slowly withdraws his fingers and reaches for the luge again to generously coat his cock in the clear jelly. “Relax for me, sweetheart.” His hand caresses your spine as he shuffles closer and presses the head of his cock to your puckered hole as Frankie holds your hips steady.

You inhale deeply, preparing yourself to take his cock. You bite your lip as he pushes into you and you wince at the slight pinch but it disappears as soon as it comes, and you are moaning when Pope pushes into you and you feel fuller than you've ever felt in your life. "Holy shit." You hiss, body almost shaking from the sensation.

“That’s it, baby.” Frankie caresses your sides. “You’re doing so good. You look so fucking pretty split open by our cocks. Doesn’t she, Pope?”

"Fucking incredible, hermano." Pope says as he watches his cock disappear into your ass and you're so fucking tight. He thought your pussy was tight but this is - it's mind numbing. "I need you to move." You tell them, thighs shaking slightly.

“We’re gonna move.” Frankie promises, lifting his hips and slowly starting to scrub his cock along your walls. “You just hold still and let us do all the work, baby.”

You can’t move, sandwiched between the two men as their cocks push deep until they start to move. Frankie moves first then Pope, alternating so you’re always full of one cock and it’s overwhelming, more than you’ve ever felt before. Inhumane whines and cries escape your lips as you let them use your body.

Frankie can tell you love it, even if you can’t speak right now. Your tight little cunt is made even tighter by Pope and he can feel the other man through the thin wall. Sliding his hand around your hip as he rocks his own up, his thumb finds your clit and he presses against it to start rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves.

You squeal at the added stimulation. It’s too much and yet not enough at the same time. You shake as you let them use your body for their pleasure and the pleasure you receive back is making your eyes water. It’s so good. “Oh fuck.” You finally gasp out and Santi kisses along your neck, biting down your shoulder the opposite side of Frankie’s bite.

Frankie groans and slaps your thigh. “Fuck you’re so pretty like this.” He hisses. “Gonna be even prettier filled with our cum. Wanna take a picture of those cum filled holes.”

"Yesss. Do it. I wanna - I wanna see." You confess and try to rock your hips but they have you trapped between them as they rock into you.

Pope groans when you grip his cock unconsciously, "so fucking tight. Thought your pussy was tight but mierda, this is- shit." He hisses and rocks into you, over and over while Frankie rubs your clit, his thick cock pushing deep until you burst. "Oh I'm gonna - I'm gonna - oh fu-!" Your cry becomes a choke as you clamp down on Frankie's cock.

Both men have to stop moving because you are shaking so hard, your walls gripping them like a vice and they each moan. Frankie groans your name when you collapse forward and Pope grips your hips and immediately starts rocking into you frantically.

You are sweaty and overstimulated but you want them to fill you up. “Come on baby. Fill me up. Want to be dripping both of you. Want you to take - take a photo to keep. Want - shit - I need your cum.” You pant out, turning your head to press your lips to Santi’s jaw.

Pope chuckles and nods. “We will.” He promises before he kisses your mouth. Frankie grunts, watching the kiss as he starts to move again, falling into that alternating rhythm with Pope. “Fuck, you’re such a little slut. I fuckin’ love it.”

You pant, “yesss. For you. Only for you. Yours. This body belongs to you both.” You promise as Pope kisses your chin, his grunts get louder and more ragged. “Cum for me, fill me up.”

Santiago is the first one to tip over the edge. Gritting his teeth and hissing out your name as his hips slap against your ass once, twice more before he is letting out a strangle grown and grinding deep, cock pulsing as he fills your ass.

You love the way his fingers dig into your hips as he holds you close while he cums. "Cum for me, Frankie." You demand, wanting to feel the other man spill inside of you too.

Frankie pants out an acknowledgment of what you had moaned and rockets up the pace of his thrusts. Bracing his feet on the sofa and fucking up into you as hard as he can.

All you can do is hang on as Frankie fucks up into you a half dozen more times before he’s cumming, filling you up and making you shudder as the sensation of both men cumming inside of you gives you a small aftermath orgasm that makes your pussy milk Frankie for every drop.

“Fuuuuuuuuck.” Frankie groans, pulling you close to kiss you again. His tongue is surprisingly gentle, intimate instead of demanding while he rides out his orgasm inside your perfect cunt.

You kiss him back just as eagerly, moaning into his mouth and Pope kisses along your shoulder, “so good.” He murmurs into your skin and you hum your agreement.

“God, I definitely don’t think I can walk for a while.” You giggle and rest your weight on Frankie as he twitches inside of you.

Frankie chuckles. “It’s a good thing you don’t have to.” He tells you and smirks at Santiago. “Go get your phone.” He orders. “So we can take a picture of those cum filled holes.” He had meant it when he said he wanted a photo. His eyes slide over to you. “If you will let us take one.” He adds. “Not your face though. And it’s only for us.”

You nod, “no face. Only for you.” You tell them and Pope nods, slowly pulls out of you. “Clench baby. Keep it in.” He orders and you giggle, trying to stop his cum from pushing out of you. You frown slightly at knowing it’s gonna be a bitch to clean up but it was worth it.

Frankie smirks at the face you make as you clench down, twitching inside you even as he softens. Santiago goes to grab his phone out of his pocket and comes back over. “Pull off Fish’s cock, baby, and stick your ass out.” He orders as he opens the camera app and zooms in.

You follow his orders, lifting off of Frankie and you lean forward to display your ass and pussy to the camera. You reach behind you to spread your cheeks, giving him more of an eyeful as their cum starts to drip from inside of you.

"Fuck, you are so perfect." Pope groans, snapping several photos of the creamy mess they have made of you. "So fucking perfect." He repeats, smirking down at the screen when he gets done. Frankie hums his agreement as he watches you.

“I need to shower but I don’t think I can stand up.” You declare as you let go of your ass and shift to sit on the leather sofa, wincing at the aches already happening to your body.

Frowning slightly at your discomfort, Frankie swings his feet off the sofa and stands up, before he leans down and pulls you up into his arms with a soft grunt. He's carried grown men when he was in the Army, 300 pound packs of gear; and since getting out - hauled around heavy engine parts. Carrying you to the shower is not a big deal. "Then I'll just carry you." He tells you with a smirk.

Your eyes widen and you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you to the shower. It’s incredibly sexy and you almost want him to fuck you again but you can’t take anymore sex right now. He sets you against the wall as he turns on the water and you bite your lip, watching him and Santi enters the shower a few seconds later. “How the hell are you two single? Holy shit. You are single?” Your eyes widen as you realize you never had that conversation with them.

Frankie snorts and Santi chuckles. "Baby, if we weren't single, we wouldn't be fucking you." He assures you quietly as Frankie reaches for the 3-in-1 body wash and the loofa that is hanging from the shower knob.

"We aren't that sleazy." Frankie adds, lathering up the loofa and kneeling down to start washing you. "Although I'm wondering when you're going to admit there was nothing wrong with your car."

You fluster, watching Frankie as he washes you, his hand tenderly sliding through your folds to wash you. “I, uh, I was going to…eventually.” You confess bashfully. “I thought - well, I didn’t want you to think I was easy or- or desperate by coming back to say I needed you to fuck me.” You admit, biting your lip.

"Don't think either one." He makes sure he cleans you gently, knowing you have to be sore and he doesn't miss the way that your hands are holding onto Pope as he leans you against him. "The sex is amazing and I'd be lying if I wasn't thrilled when you came back."

You smile, “I’m glad you think so. I- fuck. Do you think I could get regular tune ups at home? Would be nice to get a service in a bed.” You smirk, “saves me having to drive to the shop.”

Pope looks over your shoulder and down at Frankie. The other man smirks as he pushes to his feet, the loofa abandoned and his soapy hands cup your tits. "We are mechanics." Frankie teases, "we can make anything purr." He loves the way you gasp when he pinches your nipples. "Especially you."

You moan and Pope kisses your cheek, “we can make house calls.” You kiss his lips and grin, “perfect. I can’t wait to see what else you can do.” You giggle and Santi caresses your sides, “oh baby, we are just getting started.” You smirk and enjoy the way the men sandwich you between them.

“We can set you up for regular maintenance.” Frankie promises and kisses you softly. You all wash up and dry off, redressing and soon the boys are walking you to your car. “She’s good to go but we will need to check on her this weekend. Saturday?” They ask and you nod, “you have my number and address from my file. I’ll see you then boys.” You wink and gingerly get into your car. You pull out of the garage parking lot and the men watch you go.

“Best fucking tow pick up ever.” Santi slaps Frankie on the back and Catfish nods, “and we are only getting started.” The men smirk as your car makes its way down the road, several problems that need fixing soon orchestrated by the mechanics to guarantee they see you again. Even if it wasn’t necessary after all.

#pedro pascal #frankie morales x reader x santiago garcia #frankie morales x you x santiago garcia #frankie morales x f!reader x santiago garcia #catfish x you x pope #catfish x reader x pope #catfish x f!reader x pope #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales imagine #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales smut #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier smut

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see-arcane · 5 months ago

Note

Be for real, Jonathan/Mina are not 5% as fucked up as Mina with any other characters they put her up with like Dracula, Quatermain, Hyde, etc. Jonathan is human and perfectly good and nice guy, it pretty much ends all possibilities for twisted gothic relationships exploration. Cause people who pair Mina up with all those different male characters do it to explore forbidden or dark or twisted relationships. You can’t do it with Jonathan-there’s nothing twisted or forbidden there.

Hey friend, not sure if this is in earnest or diet trolling, but I'm going to try and lean towards assuming the former.

The three guys you mentioned are just Alan Moore in very thin masks.

Dracula is basically every director and writer's body pillow who they think should Get All the Ladies~ for voluptuous empowerment reasons (ignore the castle harem), but with Quatermain and Hyde specifically in your roster, I've got to assume you're referring to TLoEG Moore-Dracula and company. I won't waste our time going into all the reasons I hate this comic series for what it did to every single classic lit character unlucky enough to show up in it, let alone the especially disgusting treatment Mina gets. There is no version of this where I give that thing a fair chance.

So let's get straight to your point:

Jonathan is human and perfectly good and nice guy, it pretty much ends all possibilities for twisted gothic relationships exploration.

people who pair Mina up with all those different male characters do it to explore forbidden or dark or twisted relationships. You can’t do it with Jonathan-there’s nothing twisted or forbidden there.

I don't know if you've read the book or not. Maybe this is your first year Dracula Dailying, maybe you've already gone through the novel and just didn't hit the brakes like most of us did over certain ominous tell-tale points to examine the implications under some very concerning text. Either way, the novel is objective proof that you're wrong.

As is every adaptation and spinoff to ever come after its publication that 1) Turns Dracula or whoever else into Mina's only possible gothic romantic option and inevitably includes 2) Somehow removing Jonathan Harker from the board due to being played with all the feeling of a broom, getting killed, divorced, or afflicted with sudden-onset-shitty-bastard syndrome.

The thing is, your take on Jonathan--the very human heartwarming do-no-wrong sweetheart--is absolutely right...up until October 3rd. And then allll the way up to the climax in November. Because within that span of time, Jonathan Harker:

(DRACULA SPOILERS EN ROUTE)

Has a literal physical transformation in front of the entire group as Mina describes Dracula's assault. No metaphors here. His hair goes white. His eyes burn. He looks like a corpse. His hands turn cold. By the time of the climax, we find out that he now has a Glare on par with Dracula's basilisk gaze which sends enemies running upon eye contact. This is followed by a surprise dose of super strength ala his hoisting a box that took multiple men to carry even while empty, but now is full of soil and Dracula himself. He hefts it over his head and chucks it. Like nothing. Stoker never says exactly what Jonathan's deal is, but whatever it is by the book's end, It Is Not All Human.

2. Almost guts Dracula in his own house. He lizard fashioned himself out a window specifically to chase after Dracula in order to slaughter him in the middle of a crowded street and was only stopped from doing so because the Count escaped out of range.

3. Has the same determination at the prospect of needing to attack ordinary strangers if they obstruct their pursuit of Dracula. He says he's prepared to hang if need be. Meaning he's prepared to be caught and convicted of murder if it comes down to it.

4. Makes a secret oath. One that neither Mina or the heroes get to know. Namely, that if Mina winds up a vampire, he will not destroy or abandon her, but join her in her new state rather than forsake her. Mina as a human? Mina as a vampire? Mina in any form however saintly or monstrous? Still Mina to him. All other considerations are secondary to keeping with Mina and keeping Mina safe. He is prepared to prey on humanity for and with her if that's what it takes.

5. Keeps that oath secret and refuses to join the others in swearing to slay Mina if she rises as a vampire. Full stop. "It's the right thing to do! They did it for Lucy!" Jonathan Harker could not give less of a fuck. He's sitting there sharpening his kukri, now quietly reconciling with the notion that if Dracula is not put down, he may wind up turning the knife on his allies. Something we don't see in text, but the reader gets to connect the dots on. His silence itself is dangerous.

6. When he is finally forced to part ways with Mina for the sake of the hunt, he leaves her with her own gun. To use as she needs. Keeping in mind that, even if it were loaded with blessed bullets, we never once see a gun be successful in putting down a vampire. Throughout the book, the undead are only ended by beheading and staking. The gun is therefore not meant to save her from a vampire. She is heading off with Van Helsing for company, the guy who led the 'Behead and Impale the Bloofer Lady' party. As an ally, of course. Just as he was Lucy's ally. Once. (This weapon is yours, my love. Use it when you need it. On whoever it must be used on.)

But the most telling thing comes well before all of this. Even before he first swings his kukri at Dracula. One single line:

“I care for nothing now,” he answered hotly, “except to wipe out this brute from the face of creation. I would sell my soul to do it!”

This? This shit that Francis Ford Coppola flat-out stole from Mr. Harker and duct-taped to Oldman Sexyman Dracula for his erotic fanfiction? This is important. Because out of all the characters in the cast, Jonathan Harker knows the danger of the vampires very, very, very up close and personally after two months of psychological torture and exposure to unavoidable proof that demons are real, that they walk the Earth, and that the Powers that make them possible must also be real and gloating in actual factual Hell.

Meaning that Jonathan knew exactly how potent such a promise was. He was not joking. He was not making a hyperbolic gesture. He fucking meant it. Van Helsing, fresh from his library book binge on the subject and therefore rightly panicked, lays out the danger himself:

“Oh, hush, hush, my child!” said Van Helsing. “God does not purchase souls in this wise; and the Devil, though he may purchase, does not keep faith. But God is merciful and just, and knows your pain and your devotion to that dear Madam Mina. Think you, how her pain would be doubled, did she but hear your wild words..."

Jonathan spent his summer in a territory covered in crosses and vampire wards and dutiful prayer, buddy. He knows God is good enough to sting, but not enough to stop the undead fucker from preying on a full pious mountain range's worth of people like his personal feeding trough for 400+ years unhindered. If Jonathan needs the Devil on his side to end him, so be it. If he has to sign on with the undead fucker because Mina went full vampire and the only alternative is letting her be slain, so be that too.

Van Helsing, the suitors, the whole of the human population, his own humanity, even Mina's own martyr-plea for destruction rather than inflicting herself on the world, being kept under Dracula's thrall and luring Jonathan back into the same torment--None of That Matters to Him.

Jonathan Harker's only priority is Mina. Period. Over God, over humankind, over friends and foes and sanity. Mina's existence trumps them all in his mind. And if she were to stop existing, he would fall on his kukri as readily as he once risked death on the cliff or to the waiting wolves.

The end of Dracula allows him and Mina a happy ending. Stoker is a softie in the end and these characters who represent so much of a queer author's hopes--(My partner loves me unto blasphemy. Even if I am wrong, unclean, unfit in the world's eyes, this person loves me so dearly and madly that they will go to unthinkable extremes to protect me, no matter what.)--were due for a well-earned bliss. But he also makes it very clear all the way up to that point that the story could have gone wrong. Horrendously.

And in the hundred unwritten versions of the tale where Dracula got away, where Mina turned, where the good guys were too late? Jonathan Harker would be the sudden shadow at their backs, raising the kukri to strike.

Jonathan Harker cannot be allowed to exist as himself in any of the ~twisted gothic horror romances~ where authors and directors graft Mina into relationships with [INSERT BASTARD], because whether those creators know it or not, they have already fallen short of everything Jonathan Harker is and what he was prepared to do on Mina's behalf in the canon. The young man's immensely Unwell about his wife if you scratch even the thinnest layer of paint off him.

And if Stoker had given him half a reason to prove it, he'd have left a pile of valorous corpses behind in the Transylvanian snow.

tl; dr: Jonathan Harker is both a sweet little guy and a bit fucked up actually. He is not just allowed in the twisted gothic romance potential club, he is the club president. And he's married to the founder.

#hope you like text bricks #jonathan harker #mina harker #dracula #dracula spoilers

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landofadonises · 6 months ago

Text

It's a killer day out today, the desk fan at your stall barely keeping you from melting, but luckily, the mail truck pulls up, hopefully with the package your boss told you to wait on. With a click of the emergency brake and the silencing of that clanker's beat-up engine, you find the silence was quickly replaced with some pretty hefty panting, a bit of grunting, and a pretty sturdy weight moving around in that truck, before the suspension VISIBLY relieves as large feet land on the pavement. You barely have time to process before this absolute stud comes from around behind the truck, holding a package of expected dimensions, the rivulets of sweat catching the sun as they travel along the mounds of sculpted beef.

"Hey, bud! Got a package for ya, I think." Your lips are parted, vocal cords totally failing, and he tilts his head at you with a questioning gaze. "You good, man? Heat gettin' to ya?

"I... uh... s-sorry, sir, yeah, the heat's kinda kickin' my ass..." "No kidding, man, same here!" He places the parcel on the stall counter and your mind fills with static as he uses a newly-freed huge hand to swipe sweat off his chest, droplets splattering onto the wood.

"Fuck," he says, laughing, getting a rag out of his back pocket to dab his forehead, "damn heat's makin' me look like a pig, and here I am tryna make a good impression since we'll probably be seein' more of each other--just picked up this circuit for what looks to be a good while!" He then dangles the absolutely soaked rag beside his head. "Got another towel or two spare, if y'don't mind me askin'? This one's totally shot, and the post office is startin' to crack down on how many I take."

"U-uh... yeah!" Blindly fishing underneath the counter, you manage to find the stash without losing vision of his incredible body, not wanting to miss a millisecond, even though more opportunities seemed to be in the future, and hand them off to him, to which he takes while lingering on your hand a bit too long.

He flashes you a pearly grin and holds the rags up in a grateful manner. "Cheers, man. See you around!"

You can't help but watch him lumber back to the mail truck, hoisting himself in and getting situated, driving off to his next stop. It's not until a few moments later that you realise he left his previous rag on the countertop. You can't help but grin fiendishly.

Asshole.

#hugemuscle #plausiblesizedifference #ai gay #gay #rennystory

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iluvnewports · 1 year ago

Text

Canary

An AU one-shot of Butcher from The Boys where years after Becca dies, he finds himself fighting his feelings for you and finally gives in. + fluff & angst

minors dni

—

“You were always like my canary, I suppose.” Butcher breathes out painfully as he looks over to you across the console. “I knew when I couldn’t hear you anymore I had gone too deep.”

You have half a mind to slap him upside his head, gripping his stupid beach shirt by its collar to hoist him up from leaning against the door. “Stop talking like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re fucking dying.” You place both your hands back on the wheel, making a sharp turn that makes Butcher groan. “You’re going to be fine.” You look over to his blood-soaked pants and his bloodied hands atop it.

“Keep your fucking hands on it, Butcher, Christ.” You look between his hands and the road. You knew it was only a matter of time until his luck ran out and something didn’t go his way. You’re the most wanted criminals in the country for fucks sake, it was only a matter of time. Everyone wants your head.

“Oi, stop fucking shouting, they didn’t shoot my ears out.” Butcher barks at you as you make another hasty turn which causes yet another groan. Serves him right, snapping at you like that, all when you only care about his well-being.

“Just shut up.” You slam on the brakes a little harsher than you should’ve so he lunges forward a little with a pained groan. Pulled up next to the curb, you hastily unbuckle your seatbelt, turning to look at Butcher who’s already staring daggers at you.

“Can’t even let a tender moment stop you from being a cunt, can ya?”

You smile, one corner tugging up further than the other. “There he is.”

You move around to the other side of the car and help the injured man out, escorting him down the steps as he wobbles on his hurt leg. You kick open the door swiftly, though it’s not anything impressive as it is more of a small nudge, heads turning as you two sleuth into the dingy basement.

“Jesus Christ, Butcher!” M.M jumps up from his seat as Hughie looks around panicked, unsure what to do he stands up and grabs the back of his head, mouth hanging open as he stutters.

Kimiko’s brows raise as Frenchie mutters a curse, everyone rushing to their feet to help guide Butcher to the table. He’s practically pulled from your arms and you feel a bit defensive at this, furrowing your brows as you almost pull him straight back into your grip. It’s as if he isn’t as safe unless he’s in your hands.

“What happened?”

“Vought happened.” You murmur, helping Butcher sit down in the chair, his pained groans not particularly worrisome to you until now. You grab his shoulder in comfort, watching as M.M assesses his leg.

“Butcher the bullet is still in there, there’s no exit wound.” He props his leg on another chair, cutting the fabric of his pants around the wound. Blood pools around the wound, his leg hair around it turning slick and red as flesh pokes out around the bullet wound, crimson red flesh peeling like a lotus flower around the gaping hole.

“So, what, you’re going to dig into his leg?” Hughie looks as if he’s breaking out in a cold sweat as he swallows dryly, his voice becoming high-pitched with worry.

“What the hell you want me to do, huh?” M.M raises his arms in question before pointing back to Butcher’s leg. “Just leave it in there?”

“I don’t know—! Shouldn’t we get him to a hospital?”

“No!” You, M.M, Frenchie, and Butcher all say in unison.

“Hughie, go find your nuts, they’re probably hidden beneath your twat, and fuck off,” Butcher says roughly, head thrown back as he winces. M.M is quick to sterilize a pair of forceps, pulling around his spinning chair. He pours alcohol on his leg without warning, causing Butcher to grit his teeth and wail out a “Fuck!”

You grab his hand, your palms clasping together with a squeeze as you cling to his arm as if you’re the one getting a bullet dug out of you. You rub his shoulder gently as your other hand clasps his, watching as M.M digs the forceps into his leg, causing Butcher to jerk and startle. Frenchie grabs his other side, trying to keep him still.

“Be still, Mon Ami.” Frenchie says as delicately as always.

“You wanna swap fucking seats then?” Butcher snaps. He’s always so curt, so rude, and you all just withstand it. Because, hey: that’s just Butcher.

You give his hand a squeeze, signaling him to ease up a little. He only grunts, shooting you a look. He doesn’t say anything, though. M.M continues digging around, tongs deep in his leg as the handle sits at an awkward angle.

“I found it.” He murmurs, squinting his eyes as he pushes the two handles together with a tugging motion.

“Fucking hell!” Butcher curses as his head falls backward, hair falling into his face as sweat beads his chest, which you can see since his top two buttons were popped off. Eyebrows pulled together and eyelids crinkled close, you allow your eyes to wander down his glimmering chest. His pecs are large, which you’ve always loved in a man, even the harsh lamp light making his skin look appealing. He’s just so… rough. In a good way. His body carries stories, tales of the past, tales of how hard his life has been and what he’s carried, what he’s endured.

M.M gives another harsh tug to no avail, causing Butcher to curse again. “Just fucking pull it out!” You yell, feeling nauseated. Not because of the scene, but because it’s him.

“I’m fucking trying, Jesus!” M.M snaps at you, whipping his head up to meet your eyes. “Do you want to try? Since you’re such an expert all of a sudden.”

“I’m just saying—!”

“For fucks sake don’t yell at her.” Butcher defends, which causes M.M to quiet down. Your eyes snap to him, unsure how you feel about it all. He’s always been a bit… defensive over you? It makes you feel almost embarrassed like you can’t handle yourself.

M.M is quiet for a moment as Butcher groans more, shrugging Frenchie off of him with a small “fuck off,” as he stares down the barrel of his leg as M.M grips the handles and slowly pulls out of the wound, presenting a bullet dripping in gore, clanging against the metallic dish he throws it into. The blood flows off the bullet, saline becoming pink as crimson floats upwards in a somewhat beautiful pattern.

M.M is quick to grab his needle and suture as he begins stitching the wound up, murmuring something under his breath as Butcher tilts his head back to look up into your eyes, hazel as beautiful as any moss-covered tree. You feel a chill at your side as your heart warms under his gaze. It’s not completely foreign to you but this time, it’s more intense.

You both pull your hands apart slowly, your touch lingering longer than necessary. You lift your head, noticing M.M looks at your hands and back up to you. He says nothing, shooting a look you can’t exactly decipher, shooting Butcher a look.

Butcher, never one to be the silent type, also says nothing.

“You’re gonna be sore, but you’ll live.” M.M breathes out a murmur, wrapping up his tools into a cloth before discarding the bloodied gauze.

“Fan-fucking-tastic.”

—

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter.” Butcher slices his hand through the air firmly, tilting his head and raising his brows as he nods in confirmation. “Right.”

“Butcher, Jesus, it’s just a few days, stop being such a baby.” You collapse onto the dirty couch and tuck your legs beneath you as you curl into the corner. You pat the cushion next to you. “C’mon. That old Translucent movie is up next…” You trail off with a smile. Butcher wobbles closer, groaning as he rolls his eyes.

“I’m glad the old cunt died before he could make a sequel.” Butcher stands nearby, watching the TV. “I feel fine, it don’t even hurt.”

“You’re wobbling, you can hardly walk.” You pat the cushion again, though harsher this time. “C’mon, sit. Even super badass wanted criminals need a day off.”

Butcher groans but eventually walks over and sits beside you, maybe just a few inches away, your legs almost touching. He puts his arm up to rest on the back of the couch almost wrapping around you. The silence is comfortable, endearing.

You turn your head to look at Butcher some minutes into the movie and you can tell he’s deep within his thoughts. A dark place, one you know too well. So you shift your whole body, turning to him as you rest your chin on your arms which rest on the tops of your legs. “Do you remember when we first met?” You ask with a smile.

Butcher leans his head back onto the couch, turning to you with a half-tilted grin. “Like it was yesterday, sweetheart.”

“I really didn’t like you, you know.” You smile softly, looking behind him as you think. “Which is so weird because you’re just so likable.”

Butcher chuckles. “Like you’re some dainty flower yourself?” He scoffs in humor. “Right bloody nerve you must’ve had, throwing a drink in my face. That’s how I knew you had balls.”

“A compliment? Are you sure you’re feeling alright?” You bring the back of your hand to his forehead as if feeling for a fever.

“Oh piss off.” He waves you away, humor laced in his tone even if he doesn’t smile. You laugh and your hand falls to his shoulder, remaining there as you look at one another.

In an instant, all in one fluid motion, grabs you by the back of your head, pulling you into him as he angrily devours you, kissing you harshly as he grips your hair, fingers tangling into your hair as he pushes them along your scalp. His other hand moves to the small of your back as he pulls you into him, still sitting side by side as you kiss.

He bites your lower lip harshly, almost harsh enough to make you bleed, soothing it with the lapping of his tongue before moving to your top lip, moving between the two repeatedly. He’s dominating you already, pulling at you as if he needs you. You couldn’t pull away even if you wanted to. You can feel your lower stomach aching, pulsating for more as warmth bubbles in your abdomen.

He pulls away, breathing heavily as his focus moves across your face. You are beautiful, beyond beautiful, in every state he’s ever seen you. Dirty and tired, bright and happy, pissed off. “I ever tell you how knock-dead you are?”

You get what he’s saying, blushing, but you shrug it off. “You know nobody ever understands what you’re saying.”

He pulls you in closer so you’re flush against his side, holding the back of your neck as he buries his face into the side of it, kissing and nipping at you until he licks up to your ear. “You’re fucking gorgeous.”

Your face burns as you chew on your inner cheek. You don’t know what to do with yourself, especially when someone compliments you. And Butcher of all people feels so unfamiliar. You let your head fall to the other side, eyes fluttering close as he licks up your neck and nibbles your ear.

Butcher pulls back and shifts himself so he’s between your legs though not putting his weight on you as he drags his hands from your neck all the way down to the waist of your pants, pausing as he looks up to you. “May I?”

You nod, though a bit hesitant. He immediately removes his hands, backing up a bit. “Are you uncomfortable?” His tone is gentle, something you don’t see often.

“No!” You’re quick to exclaim, shaking your head. “No, no. I want to.”

Butcher smiles cockily, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your jeans. “Say it.”

You look at him with furrowed brows in confusion, which he immediately picks up on as he pushes himself back between your legs and leans forward into your lips. “I want you to tell me what you want.” He whispers.

You hesitate, breathing out slowly in embarrassment. “I want you to fuck me.”

“Of course, I will, sweetheart.” He breathes against you as he’s quick to pop the button of your jeans and strip them down your legs so you’re left in your thin cotton underwear. He backs away, looking down at your slightly parted legs, and dives his large, warm hands down between your thighs to spread them wider, craning his neck to the side as he examines you. You sink in on yourself, blushing, the cushion beneath your bare ass is scratchy and you sort of feel bad knowing this is where your friends sit.

You’re wet, leaving a damp spot right center of your underwear. He runs a thumb down over it, making you jerk slightly as he chuckles to himself. “Don’t be shy.” He looks to you as he hooks a finger into your underwear from the side, pulling it away to reveal your glistening slit.

He looks in awe as he stares at you, his lips parting slightly as he absorbs such beauty. He feels hypnotized, wanting nothing more than to fall to his knees and please you for hours until you’re screaming and raw just so he can worship you and his tongue can memorize you, every crevice and curve.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip as he dips his head down and you can’t help it, “What’re you doing?”

“How do you mean?” He looks up at you confused.

“I thought we were just gonna…” You trail off.

Butcher shakes his head slowly, looking at you as if you were crazy. “I’ve been fantasizing this a long time, love.” Truth be told, it gets him off just thinking about making you cum with nothing in return. “And all I really want is your thighs wrapped around my head until you’re hoarse.”

You almost gasp at his forwardness, though you’re not sure what you expected; it’s Butcher, after all. Even his soft side isn’t very soft. You feel a pit in your stomach, you’re sort of scared. What if it’s bad? And then you’ll have to face him, forced to live with him in this shitty basement, knowing that he doesn't particularly know his way around a pussy, despite most of his vocabulary consisting of ‘cunt’ and ‘twat’.

His finger curiously runs up your slit and you shudder, tucking your lips together as you try and quiet yourself. Butcher yanks at your legs so you’re now flat on your back, head resting on the couch as he displays his wet finger with some sort of pride, glistening in the light before pushing them past your lips and pressing down on your tongue. You suck on his finger slowly, a groan falling from his parted lips as he watches you intently.

“Fucking hell,” he murmurs, pulling the finger from your mouth and grabbing your chin so you’re forced to look up at him. He leans down to kiss you, grinding against you and you can feel the hardness of his bulge against your cotton underwear.

His finger slips down and rubs circles around your clit as he kisses your open, moaning mouth. Your eyes pinch close in agony at the slowness of it all, feeling the way he wants to draw out each and every second of pleasing you. “Look at me darling, come on.” You open your eyes to see him watching you intently. “That’s it, good girl.”

Butcher slips his fingers down your slit and teases your entrance, causing you to gasp slightly, which he reacts to by letting out a deep breath before kissing you deeply again. His touch leaves you needing more and every sense hones in on it as your back arches off of the couch as he slowly draws moans out of you.

As he pushes in and out slowly, he pushes down on your hips with his other hand, ensuring your stillness for him as he works you over and over. Your underwear begins to chafe slightly as you let out a light moan, looking down between the two of you. Lowering his head down between your propped legs, he kisses between your thighs, and his beard scratches against your skin lightly, almost drawing a small smile from you.

He hums into your thigh before dragging his other hand to scoop beneath your thigh, giving you a warm squeeze, fingers spread across your skin. As he kisses down, he begins leaving sloppy kisses that leave your skin wet, nipping you on the way, breathing heavily against you, ready to burst. His head dips down further, though slowly, teasing you as you buck your hips further.

Eventually making contact, his fingers stall as his tongue swipes up your cunt in a long stride before pulling away and savoring the way you taste on his tongue. He chuckles to himself as your hips jolt, going back down to lick up you again, his large, flat tongue trailing slowly as he runs circles on your clit. You gasp out, sitting up halfway and leaning back on your elbows as you look down at him working wonders on your pussy. His hand shoots up to rest on your stomach, pushing you back down onto your back.

His fingers pick back up again, curling up into you as he sucks on your clit, lapping circles against you as you breathe out a string of moans. Butcher grabs the bottoms of your thighs as he pushes your knee back into your face, exposing you further to him, digging nails into your flesh. As you moan again, he moans against you, causing your sensitive skin to vibrate as you dampen his beard. He devours you as you secrete onto his tongue and he finds you oh so sweet.

Your fingers push into his thick dark hair as you pull at him, wanting him closer and closer to you as he curls into your g-spot. Your back arches, one hand moving down to feel his jaw and the way it stretches to mold around you perfectly, moving up and down to lick you raw. Your moans turn into pants as your chest heaves up and down, every movement of his fingers and tongue pushing you closer and closer to the brink.

He notices this, keeping his fingerwork consistent as he pulls his mouth away, wanting nothing more than to watch you fall apart in front of him as he watches.

“That’s it,” he praises, leaning above you as your face contorts in delight, eyelids falling gently as you breathe deeply. “Just like that, gorgeous.”

His praise pushes you over the edge as the bubble in your lower stomach bursts and you’re riding the high of your orgasm, jerking your hips so you’re essentially riding out the high atop his fingers. It’s a good thing he’s as strong as he is, otherwise, you might feel self-conscious.

Butcher plants soft kisses along your collarbone as you heave out another string of moans, coming to the conclusion of your climax as your head spins in a blur. This doesn’t stop the pumping of his fingers, though, the overstimulation of it all causing you to jerk, your eyes flying open as you smack at his shoulder with a cry. “Billy!”

His fingers stall, not yet pulling out, and you almost gasp thinking you went too far, wanting to kick yourself for ruining the moment. You can’t read his face and you’re half-expecting him to curse you as he pulls out of you, leaving you alone and half-naked on the couch.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he pushes forward as he kisses you deeply, passionately, hand cradling your face as he breathes against you, noses touching as he looks down into your eyes. He pulls his fingers between you too, your sweet slick coating his fingers thickly as he inserts them into his mouth to lick them clean.

You can smell yourself on his breath and you push him back, two hands on his chest as you sit up, pushing him down into the couch. You claw at his shirt, ripping it open with such ferocity and desperation that it rips completely, buttons flying off and clanging to the ground. His chest, god how you could stare at it all day, your hands coming up to scoop and grab at his pecs as you dive down to kiss his neck. You can’t get enough of him, quickly diving your head down to kiss his chest as you lick down his torso, leaving wet kisses behind, biting at him. You bring your head back up and kiss along his pecs, close to his nipple, before you’re stopped by a hand laced in your hair, pulling you backward.

Face to face with Butcher, his hand wraps around your cheeks as he squishes your face slightly, chuckling lowly with a head shake. “That’s not how things are gonna play out sweetheart.”

In one fluid movement, he throws you onto your back, towering over you menacingly as he grabs at your throat. “I ain’t half the bitch you must be used to.”

Your pussy clenches at his alpha-male-esque as he shrugs off his ripped button-down, diving down to kiss you as you hungrily kiss back. Attempting to pull your own shirt off your head, he settles to rip your shirt as well, ripping the collar apart as you gasp a startled laugh into his mouth. “This is my favorite shirt, you know.”

“Oh I know love, and you look lovely in it.” Rip. “But you look a lot better out of it.” Riiiiiip. He pulls the loose, torn fabric from beneath you, discarding it on the floor. You sigh slightly, though humorously.

“You rip mine I rip yours.” He shrugs, dipping back and kissing you as he claws at your back with dull nails, unhooking your bra and pulling it off your arms as he goes down to kiss your chest, all the while he unbuckles his belt to give himself a bit of relief from the hardness within his jeans.

Licking down between the valley of your breasts, Butcher pinches your nipple and rolls it between his rough fingers as he nips at you. You arch your back in delight, gasping at the sensation as he takes your other breast in his warm mouth, flicking his tongue over your nipple before sucking on your breast, now rubbing his hand up and down your bare torso.

Your fingers knit in his hair as you throw your head back in a moan. “Fuck, Butcher.” You’re sure not to push your luck by calling him Billy again, which he’s always hated from us for some reason.

Your body breaks out in chills as his fingers lightly graze your skin, clearly more focused on pleasing you than himself. After giving your nipple a nip, which causes you to jump, you push at him and he hovers over you, lips parted as he adjusts himself in his pants. “Tell me you want it.” He groans.

“I want it. You.” His head tilts to the side. Not good enough.

“I want you to fuck me.” You groan in need to which he nods, unbuttoning his pants as he dives his hand down into the front of his jeans.

Pulling himself out, fuck he’s huge, you feel intimidated as he aligns himself with your entrance, running his large tip along your slit which causes you to shiver. Fuck. Your legs are already shaking.

Butcher places a hand on your lower stomach, rubbing slowly. “Relax.” He purrs, tugging at his cock so precut beads over the top. “You’re okay.”

You nod as you take a deep breath, exhaling slowly as he pushes his tip within your entrance, the sudden fullness causing you to gasp as he stretches you out to fit himself snuggly within you. You whine aloud at the sting, shaking your head. “I don’t think it’s gonna—“

“We’ll make it fit.” He whispers a coo, pushing himself in slowly with a slow sway of the hips, moving back and forth in rhythm with what length he’s already accomplished.

You nod, eyes crinkling shut as you push past the burning sensation. It’s odd—it hurts, yet feels so good. Your pussy throbs, a deep ache you never knew had become prevalent, a hunger deep within you igniting as you wish you could swallow him whole. He continues to thrust deeper, laying forward as his chest meets yours, kissing you passionately as he rocks into you, inch by inch stretching your cunt so you’re personally molded for him. He groans into your ear which breaks your skin out into chills, cursing under his breath as he buries his face into your neck, two hands gripping your ass to spread you apart for him and his liking.

His cock hits the sweet spot as he rocks fully into you in a primal need, picking up his pace as he pushes himself above and hikes up your leg against his side, arm scooping beneath to hold it there as he slows himself to a painful pace, cocking his head to look down at your glistening face, sweat beading down between the valley of your breasts as you moan out into the air.

“You were made for me.” He huffs out, throwing his head back with a groan as you tighten around him from his praise. You can feel yourself climbing that same high from earlier, chasing it more ferociously now, his cock ramming into you until the walls of your pussy are raw from the friction. Your other leg shoots up so they’re not hooked around his waist, pulling him into you so you can kiss him because god is he sweet.

You kiss into his open, moaning mouth as you slink your fingers up his rough backside and rip your nails into the flesh, ripping down his back as he slams into you harshly, cursing under his breath. You can feel yourself tightening around his cock, building more and more pressure for the two of you as his hand wands to press down on your lower stomach and the other grips beneath your head, fingers pushing through your hair before bunching it in his fist to tug at as some sort of anchor for himself.

“You’re a fucking succubus, you know that?” He whispers harshly, trying to contain himself as he presses down into your lower stomach, causing your pleasure to tenfold as you moan out, trying to ground yourself as you stab your nails into his back to try and not lose yourself completely.

“Cum for me sweetheart.” He urges, wanting nothing more than to serve you before himself. “I know you’re close.”

You nod, mouth falling slack as you moan out his name, tightening your grip within your legs around his side, feeling his motion and rhythm as if it was your own. You suck in a sharp breath, finally pushed over the edge as he fucks you through your high, filling you with a sort of comfort, playing a game of ping pong with your orgasm; you push onto him, and he only pushes you back. It’s wild and wide, your legs shaking around him as he holds you and fucks you into ecstasy. All you can do is gasp, unable to even speak, feeling as if you are within the heavens themselves. Who knew you could feel so good, especially at the hands of someone so bad?

You feel Butcher’s cock twitching within you as he breeds you, groaning loudly, louder than before, though you can hardly hear him over the ringing in your own ears. He curses a “fuck” and “shit” as he spills himself into you, heaving like a wild animal as he pushes into your with broken thrusts, his cum serving as some sort of slick cushioning from the burn of friction. You can feel his cum spill out of you slightly as he pulls all the way out and pushes back in, both of you breathing heavily as you orgasm together. An unstopping force meets an unmoving object as you two mold into one beautifully, always meant to pass but never meant to stick.

Butcher pulls completely out of you, collapsing onto you as you both breathe as if you had just run a marathon.

You might’ve well have.

“Fucking hell,” Butcher says between breaths to which you nod, heart pounding within your chest as you stare up towards the ceiling, sweat clinging to your naked body feeling tacky and cool as you two gather yourself. Once ready, Butcher lifts himself off of you and pulls his pants up, laying back onto his back as he pulls you into him, resting your cheek on his chest as he rubs your shoulder, body resting between his spread ones.

He kisses your temple, nuzzling his cheek into the top of your head as he runs his hand up and down your arm gently, comforting silence overtaking you two for a moment as you two reflect on what just happened. You crane your neck up so you can look at him.

“You really remember the first time you met me, all those years ago?”

Butcher nods, looking at you and then off into the distance. “Of course I do.”

You adjust your head back so your cheek is to his chest, nodding. “You’re not as heartless as I thought.”

Butcher is silent for a moment, reflecting on your statement. His instinct is to run away from the statement, to retreat and prove you wrong. But this one time, he allows himself to be vulnerable. And while he doesn’t know what to exactly say (he’s never been the best with words), the action of holding you tighter and leaving a long kiss on your temple tells you enough.

“Me neither.”

part two here

#the boys #billy butcher #hughie campbell #butcher x reader #some fluff #oneshot #mothers milk #hurt/comfort #minors dni #Spotify

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hotpink8ball · 2 months ago

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❝ Nobody. ❞

A sort-of FiddleStan minific in which mullet Stan hits Fidds with his car (How romantic). Oneshot. Angst, angst, angst.

🌸: Author here! Wow, I haven't really written anything fandom-related in years, and I don't think I've ever written anything for GF despite being in the fandom for a decade now. Guess a mini oneshot is a good place to start. Enjoy the angst, my dudes!

A harsh THUD followed by the screeching of brakes echoes in Stan’s ears as time seems to slow and stop entirely. He’s panting, wide-eyed and sweating out whatever cheap vodka he swiped behind the local bodega. His hands shake as he fumbles for his keys. “Shit, shit, shit,” he mumbles frantically; rhythmically. Boots hit gravel and suddenly he’s picking up dead weight from the hood of his car. “Oh, God.” He swallows hard. “Fuck. No. No. No." Fingers press flesh and,"Oh, holy shit," a gravely sigh of 'well, at least he isn't dead.'

Stan's impromptu speed bump opens his eyes, blue-grey as the clouds lining his peripheral. He notices the man above him and for a second he swears he knows him from somewhere, doesn't he? Blue-grey traces square jaw and sunken eyes, messy tufts of dark brown hair and chapped lips pursed with worry.

With a jolt, it clicks.

The blue-eyed man wails, trying desperately to flee but faltering quickly as he catches sight of sharp ivory poking through his blood-soaked blue jeans. He lets out a guttural shriek as Stan tries to grab him, "Stanford, please don't kill me. Please. I'll leave, I'll leave," he shakes so hard his teeth chatter, sympathetic nervous system firing red-alert as he relieves himself through his jeans and onto the pavement. Stan recoils, eyes wide with bewilderment. Safe to say his drunken stupor was ripped right out of him.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry–" Stan's voice falters and cracks as he attempts to hoist Mr. Blue Eyes, being swiftly met with hard knuckles to the face as retaliation. He shouts and stumbles back, hand shooting towards his nose to stop the rush of warm red. The horrified man catches glimpse of Stan's fingers mid-struggle.

He counts.

One, two, three, four...

...Five.

Five fingers. That's it? He could've sword Stanford had six. Or was it seven? Four? He doesn't quite recall.

He lowers his eyes, speaking in a drawl Stan can't quite place. "Who... Who are you."

Stan goes rigid. He lets out a shaky breath and speaks truth.

"Nobody."

#🌸 my fics!#gravity falls #gravity falls fanfic #gravity falls fanfiction #gravity falls oneshot #fiddlestan #stanley pines #mullet stan #fiddleford mcgucket

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minniebbang · 4 months ago

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anywhere but home | H.Jisung

pairing: bestfriend!Jisung x fem!reader summary: you never find a real home until Jisung comes. warning: mentioned of parents fighting, I think that's all. word counts: 2.1k words (I swear this is supposed to be short) lil note: Previously, this story was for Jisung's birthday but his birthday was on my exam day, so I couldn't post it :((. Part of the story was inspired by this post!

A long sigh, a tossed bag and messy hair, it was a terrible day for you, and the screams that echoed from the hallway as you untied her shoes were another reason to leave home. Your gaze lingered on the ceiling, exhaustion overtaking you as you stretched out on the bed. Would it be nice to sleep without their screams for once? Was it as safe as they described? Why do you feel more threatened than the first time you lived alone in high school?

The atmosphere here was anything but safe and peaceful — it did nothing to calm your already disturbed mind. It was wrong to assume that you would have an undisturbed night tonight. The bed felt uncomfortable beneath you as you lay on the scattered books and the abandoned laptop beside you. Its bright white light stared back at you, reminding you of the heavy burden of your unfinished task.

You closed your eyes and prayed that the bed would suffocate you until it robbed you of consciousness so that you would wake up in another place and another city, far away from the constant bickering of your parents, the end of which you knew all too well. Just as the sounds of their arguments faded into incoherent whispers and the bed began to suck you in, a repeated knock on your window brought you back to reality.

You limp to the window and crouch down, a thin smile creeping in as you realise the sound came from the pebbles he’s throwing at the first-floor bedroom window. The lamp street made his grin obvious to you. He waved at you while holding the bike in one hand and looking around your house. His grin slowly faded as he saw the shadow of your parents still throwing harsh words at each other through the closed curtain – burst veins and clenched fists, it was the scene he hated watching dramas the most. He couldn’t believe you had to watch this almost every day. His heart heaved with pity for you, and he turned his eyes away, gesturing for you to come to him.

You quickly packed a few books and your laptop into a shoulder bag and went to him.

“Hey, do you want to go somewhere?”

“Somewhere far from here..."

“Come on, I know a place” He patted the back seat, a soft smile playing on his lips. Gripping gently on his shoulder, you hoisted yourself into the back seat and your hands securely encircled his waist before he took off, leaving the hell you called home.

The cool night air brushed your face as you turned round and saw your house slowly appear small and pixelated in your field of vision. He tapped the back of your hand, causing you to look at his back.

"Just let them be, one day they'll be fine again" He whispered, answering your inner thoughts that had been buzzing around in your head for a while. Leaning against his shoulder, you closed your eyes for a while, the rustling of the chains and his soft breathing replacing the scream of your parents in the back of your head. Soon after, he pulled the brakes and peered behind him.

“Hey, we’re here”

Your eyes fluttered open, but you quickly closed them as a strong light blinded you. Jisung chuckled

“Too bright, huh? I'll take them off tomorrow”

“That's not necessary, Hannie. It would be haunted without them." You jumped off the bike. An exclamation escaped you as you looked at the tree house you and Jisung had built together. The branches were decorated with fairy lights and the roof of the tree house was also illuminated so it was visible to passing cars (as it looked like a ball of light from a distance). Two round windows peeked out behind the leaves, giving a glimpse of the interior. You were amazed that the wooden houses remained intact despite yesterday's storm among the branches. You involuntarily remember the evening on which the tree house was built.

The treehouse was in Jisung’s backyard since he had dreamed of having a tree house as a little boy. Jisung parked his bicycle on the grass, swiftly grabbed your wrist and pulled you to the hanging stair connected to the door. The stairs swung and cracked under your feet as you climbed up to reach the place. He followed suit after, accepting your hanging hand on the door.

He immediately switched on the big lamp beside the entrance, and the small, square room was bathed in its golden, warm colour. The furnishings were not extravagant – they were simple, just to your and Jisung’s taste. A bundle of blankets and soft toys, which he had thrown almost resembling a man-made bed, was next to the entrance. A plastic table took up the centre of the space and a swing was strung from the roof above. You noticed that the two baskets under the swing formed a puddle of water from the melted ice.

You wondered how long it had been here.

As you set your bag on the table, your head immediately made itself comfortable in your arm after removing all the books. A contented sigh escaped your lips. Finally, your shoulder felt lighter and your mind could breathe a sigh of relief. The soft footsteps that belonged to him approached you and a sweet smell dominated your senses.

His delighted chuckle echoed when he saw the previously dimmed star in your eyes lit up in surprise – one that reminded him of kids. Oh, how he loved it when your eyes looked at him like that, it made his heart squeak in adoration.

“You always tell me about them, so I want to surprise you with my homemade tanghulu” He said, his tone filled with pride, but his gesture said otherwise. His right hand scratched his neck as a loop-sided grin spread across his features.

“Did Lix help you with it?” You picked up a skewer of sugared purple grape – its sugar shining in the light. It was pretty to look at; hopefully, the taste won’t disappoint you. Jisung had a long history with cooking, and usually, you were the judge of his food. Some days he could execute the recipe perfectly, but other days… you preferred to keep the memories to yourself.

“Umm...Chan watched me make it,” he whispered, His grin widening even more as he averted his eyes to your side. You had been with Jisung for a decade to recognise the expression.

“You know your eyes aren’t quite a liar”

His eyes snapped back toward you “Okay, fine! I did burn the sugar and the bottom of the pan on my first try but at least I did it! Anyway, can’t you just eat plain fruits?! Why do people bother coating them with sugar?!” His voice boomed, and his features spoke a high volume of disapproval of the existence of the innocent food. His lips pursued as he pointed at the tray of tanghulu – as if it just committed a hideous crime.

“Don’t be sulky about it, hannie. It’s just food, and you always have the option to avoid it.” You replied nonchalantly and bit into one of the grapes. The sugar popped inside your mouth and melted to your tongue. Seconds later, you spit them out as saltiness takes over the taste of sugar. Your tongue perked out — it was too much for you to handle. Too salty.

His eyes widened and panic surged when he realised that he might have messed up big time with the recipe. He abruptly stood up, causing his knee to collide with the table momentarily and a second later, the sound of him wincing in pain accompanied his walk to grab a bottle of water and a box of tissues by the bed.

“Oh god, are you okay?! Did I burn the sugar again? I think it was perfect..?” He murmured while handing a piece of tissue to you. You hastily accepted it, shaking your head in disapproval and chucked down the water.

“Ji, this is salt and sugar! Not sugar! Did you get them mixed up while making them?”

“Ohh–” A dark shade of red slowly coloured his cheeks as a low exclamation bubbled out from him. His mind went blank, unsure of a reply.

“I’m sorry! Why didn’t Chan tell me?! I’m so sorry Y/N!” He stammered, taking the plate away and throwing the food into the black plastic bag before rushing back to you to clean your hands with wet tissues. He felt his cheeks burning even more while wiping your hands, this was too close to you. Usually, he wouldn’t be flustered when your hands brushed slightly with him but tonight he was holding your hand…something that he had wondered how it would be.

He quickly retreated his hand – too fast that it took you by surprise but you brushed it off. The state of his cheeks elicited a giggle out of you, it was so red that you might have mistaken it as tomato.

“I’m expecting this” You walked to his side. You took a container filled with homemade chocolate from the ice basket, showed it to him with a thin smile and ushered him back to the table. You cracked one of the chocolate bars and gave it to him for a taste. He gasped – yeah, this was much better than his salty tanghulu.

“I will redeem myself next time.”

“Please read the label before you do anything, hannie. I don’t want another victim of your salty tanghulu.”

“I know! Give me some mercy, it’s my first attempt” He flipped open a book you brought along, his brown twitching in confusion as he continued going through the book. On the other hand, you turned on your laptop to resume your assignment that you left an hour prior with Jisung occasionally helping you with some questions – although most of the session was him complaining about the scientific terms you had to memorise.

Wrapped in the warmth of his presence, you felt at home, a haven where you could rest – as long as you were with Jisung, anywhere would feel like home.

As the clock passed midnight, you were defeated by your sleepiness as soon as your head was buried in your arms. He propped his cheeks on his palm, tender gaze resting on you. A soft smile etched on his face as he slowly and cautiously reached for your hair, brushing it with care. The moonlight seeped through the unshielded window as he halted his action.

Since when was it hard to keep the border between friends at bay? Since when did his heart play an unfamiliar rhythm whenever you were with him? He was sure he would stay as your best friend until you found the one or until you were older.

“I love you, Y/N. So much that it’s hurt me that I am only capable of comforting you with words instead of action. Every time I’m on your sidewalk, I want to welcome you with the biggest hug but I know you will be weirded out by it.”

“I’m still searching for the courage to tell you this in person. Guess what? I never found it until now” He chuckled dryly.

“Besides, you deserve someone better than me. Someone that wouldn’t give you salty tanghulu to cheer you up”

“Sleep well, Y/N. I hope you’re not listening to this”

The sunlight hit his face, making him stir in his sleep. The harmonious chirping of the birds entered his ear, lulling him into sleep – if only his phone didn’t let out its signature annoying trumpet sounds to wake him up. He groaned as he lazily dragged the phone near him.

“Jisung, where are you?” Felix sounded concerned on the other end.

“Just wake up, thank you for waking me up, lix”

“You’re still at home?”

“Mhmm. Bye, see you in class” He ended the call before Felix could reply. He stretched his body. His shoulder slumped, realising the empty space in front of him, the space you occupied last night. He rubbed his eyes and something caught his attention in his blurry vision.

He unfolded his palm and time stopped around him. He instantly ran out of the treehouse to get ready for his class.

He couldn’t believe it, did you hear his confession last night?

He took off his clothes and entered the bathroom. He read the message in his palm again, a wide smile visible on his face. His chest bloomed with excitement for today as he turned on the shower. The little note repeated in his head like a broken record – the note which said ‘Can you make it happen? I really want to know what it feels like to be in your arms. I love you too, hannie”

#stray kids #skz imagines #skz #han imagines #han jisung #han x reader #felix #comfort #skz x reader #skz x you

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say-hwaet · 3 months ago

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That's The Way it Is

Chapter Two: In Retrospect Author's note: Here is the second chapter to my biggest fanfic! If you're keen on reading ahead, the entire story is posted on AO3! I am merely sharing it on here for funsies, as this blog is all about writing and Red Dead in general. :D

After resting overnight just outside of Valentine, you are back on the road again. Jeremy has been giving you enough courtesy to remain silent the first few miles towards Strawberry. While you are eager to get back, there is one more quick stop to pick up some lumber from the Appleseed Timber Company. Not a large order, Jeremy reassured you, but Mr. Lewis offered to pick it up since it is only but a small detour back to Blackwater.

You don’t care. The farther you are from Valentine. From him, the less pain you are in.

You can tell by the tall trees, that you are nearing the timber company. You can also see the trees thinning out, and you cannot help but feel sad about it. Something about loss, the lack of something missing as more stumps come into view.

The scent of fresh pine fills the air, a sharp contrast to the dusty, dry landscape you've become accustomed to in and around Blackwater. The timber yard is bustling with activity, men shouting over the whir of saw blades and the thud of falling trees. Despite the chaos, there's a rhythmic allure to it, a working machine of flesh and bone, not shy of risk and danger.

Jeremy pulls off the road and sets the wagon brake. Several men taking a break nearby turn and see you, their attention taken as you stare back at them. You begin to feel uneasy and you adjust yourself in your seat.

“Wait here,” Jeremy tells you, and he gets off the wagon and heads for the main building that looks a little more than a shack.

You try to avert the men’s gaze, who knows how long they’ve been working out here without seeing much of civilization.

The scent of pine grows stronger, and you distract yourself by focusing on the trees that remain standing, strong and defiant against the human intrusion. You wonder about their stories, their silent witness to the changing world around them—something you feel a kinship with in your fragmented state.

As you sit there, lost in thought, a sudden flash of memory appears in your mind. A bunch of trees. Several small, box-like wagons are arranged in a circle. A large fire. Music. Music you haven’t heard being played in the hotel or saloon. It’s sharp, foreign, bordering exotic.

You feel a set of hands taking yours, as you begin to be pulled in a circle around the fire, women in embroidered scarves tied around their heads. Their skirts with red flowers and leaves at the hems.

“Držte krok, Kitka!” The woman beside you encourages. “Tančit znamená být lehký na nohy!”

You seem to know what she is saying to you, but you can’t fashion a reply. You only keep up with your feet as you dance to the rhythm of the music.

And as quickly as the memory floods you, it begins to disappear like an underdeveloped photograph, the developer reversing the forming image that had already begun to appear. You try to reach for it, but at the thrumming threat of a headache, you let it go.

You hear footfalls on wood and opening your eyes, you turn to see Jeremy walking with a thick-bearded man, chatting idly.

You feel the wagon shake and quickly turning around, you see an assembly of men loading up the wagon with short-cut timber.

As you sit there, they continue to load the wagon and it isn’t long before their work is done. Jeremy finishes chatting with the man, shakes his hand, and returns to the wagon. He glances up at you, smiling. “You ready to head back to Blackwater?”

You nod. “Please.”

He hoists himself up, and you are soon on your way again.

The way back to Blackwater via Strawberry is a pleasant drive. However, with the winding road and the sharper turns, he has to drive slower. You are eager to get back home. You’ve had enough for one day.

“Still got your headache?” Jeremy asks.

You shake your head tenderly, as there is still a soreness. “It’s nearly gone.” You reach for your temple again. “They seem to get worse and worse.”

Jeremy's expression softens, a hint of concern flickering in his eyes as he maneuvers the wagon carefully down the path. "You ought to see Doc when we get back. He might have something for that."

You nod, considering the option. You aren’t about to argue your way out of it this time, it isn’t worth the energy. “As long as he doesn’t ask me more questions.”

Jeremy gently nudges you. “If you let me go with you, I’ll make sure he doesn’t.”

You smile at that, feeling a little heat in your cheek. “Why have you been so nice to me?” you dare ask. “It isn’t because I might be wealthy, is it?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

You look at your hand, the ring still on your finger. You haven’t brought yourself to remove it, regardless of what it might mean. “What if I am married? Or engaged?”

Surprisingly, he offers a quick answer. “If you are, I don’t understand why they haven’t looked for you, yet.” And he pauses. “You could also be a widow.”

You blink. “A widow at 29?” you chortle, unable to fathom such a tragic fate at such a young age. “I hardly think so.”

Jeremy’s eyes widen. “You just said how old you are.”

He’s right. You didn’t know that before. You blink, still shocked at the revelation. How did you come to do that? “How…?” Your mind reels, trying to process how this information slipped from your lips without your conscious knowledge. A surge of panic courses through you as you grasp at the small shred of individuality this revelation has given you.

Jeremy's words only fuel your unease as he stammers in an attempt to rationalize the unimaginable. “Maybe those headaches are a good thing…”

You shake your head vehemently, denying the possibility that such agony could hold any positive outcome. "I refuse to believe that!" you declare, but a seed of doubt has been planted, casting a dark shadow over everything you thought you knew about yourself.

His expression softens, quickly looking ahead to redirect the horse. “Look, Jane. I know this sounds bad. I mean, nobody wants to go through pain…” Putting both reins in one hand, he takes your hand in his other. “But you don’t have to go through it alone.”

You look up at him, and as you see the softness in his eyes, for a split second, you don’t see Jeremy’s face.

You see his. You see Arthur’s.

You know it is him, but he’s not the same. Younger, not sun-beaten and mud-covered, but his eyes. His eyes are the same.

“You’re not alone, Kit,” he says. “We got’chu.”

You lean away from Jeremy, nearly losing your balance and tumbling off the wagon seat. “Jane!” His strong arms reach out and pull you back, steadying you with care. Once you are sitting back up again, he pulls on the reins and the wagon comes to a stop. Your heart races as you try to steady your breathing and take in your surroundings. “You alright?”

It's happening again, those sudden flashes of memories and thoughts that seem familiar, yet foreign at the same time. You grip onto Jeremy tightly, seeking comfort and grounding in his presence. As your eyes take in the towering walls of rock ahead, a sense of unease settles over you. The rough texture and imposing faces of the stones seem to be reaching out towards you, almost menacingly. A shiver runs down your spine.

“We gotta get you back,” Jeremy says quietly. “Hang on.” He flicks the reins again, and the wagon lurches forward, the horse taking a steady pace as they enter the road between the rocks. “The river isn’t too far from here. Once we reach it, we will be on our way to Blackwater.”

That settles you for a moment, and you continue to clutch onto Jeremy’s arm as the wagon jostles a little.

You begin to pass by what looks like an old settlement on your left, a fence made with large planks stuck into the ground in jagged patterns, its ruins leaving an ominous mark. You think to ask Jeremy what the place is called, but you find no interest in speaking. There have been enough words.

But you haven’t noticed how ominously quiet it has become.

“Woo,” Jeremy says softly, pulling the reins back. The horse comes to a stop and Jeremy sits upright, listening quietly.

“What is it?” you ask.

“Something just doesn’t feel right.”

That’s when you hear a pik pik . Looking on the sloping rock face, you see small pebbles falling. You follow where they had fallen from, only to have a split second to see a man standing on the ledge, guns pointed at you, before a shot is fired.

BANG!!

You hear a sound, one that sounds striking and heart-stopping. You soon realize that it is the ripping of flesh, as the bullet goes right through Jeremy’s shoulder.

“Jeremy…!!” you scream and his body instantly topples over the wagon seat and falls to the ground.

“Aye, we got ‘em, boys…!” The man shouts. “Let’s get the girl and then take what’s ours…!”

There are other shouts and whoops as there is no more need to hide themselves. You find several men up top and you hear footfalls behind you as men come down the slope with guns raised.

You need to act quickly, lest you find a similar fate to your companion.

Oh, Jeremy…!

You reach into the back, picking up the rifle and with great finesse, you roll out of your seat, flipping backward and supporting your weight upside down as you reach the ground. Shots start firing, and you hear the bullets make contact with the wood of the wagon, bits and slivers flying.

You return right side up and sequester yourself against the wagon, between its wheels. If you had strength, you could flip it over, and use it as a shield, but you don’t have such creativity.

Creativity…create…

Why does this excite you?

You instantly remember that Jeremy has always carried with him a tiny flask of moonshine. Not to drink on the job but at the end of each day. He would always make a trip to the saloon to see his cousin, who owned the bar and they’d share a swig or two.

Did he have it with him now?

You look under the wagon and see Jeremy on the ground, still and unmoving. “Jeremy…!” you cry. Getting down on your stomach, you crawl underneath the wagon as fast as you can. Once you reach him, you try to search for signs of life.

Oh, he’s breathing. “Jeremy…!”

You grab him by the ankles and with all the strength you can muster, you drag him back to the safest side of the wagon. He moans, tossing his head from side to side.

“Jeremy,” you speak. “I need your moonshine.”

He tries to open his eyes and he grimaces. “Jane…?”

You see the blood oozing out of his shoulder, bleeding into his jacket. Not getting a response from him, you search his pockets until you feel the metal container. You clutch it tightly and remain where you are, setting down your ingredients before you. You go to the rifle, unloading it of all the bullets it has. Then, you reach down to your skirt. Taking hold of it, you rip it, trying to allot as many pieces as you can.

You hear Jeremy groan. “Am I dead?”

“Not yet.” And you look up at him. “Can you shoot any?”

His eyes open more, but he’s visibly weak, he draws his revolver. “I’ll do my best.”

You then hear more calls from the bandits. “They’re hidin’ under there!”

“We can’t just keep shootin’!”

“Let’s just scorch ‘em out!”

That isn’t good. You need to work faster!

You have seven good pieces of fabric. Taking the bottle of moonshine, you twist the cap open and begin to douse the pieces of cloth.

“What…?” Jeremy pants. “…are you doing?”

With trembling fingers, you work to disassemble the bullets, emptying a good amount of powder into the center of each of the torn skirt pieces. “I don’t know…”

When there is a pile, you begin to bring the corners of the fabric together, tying them in a knot or using a thinner piece of fabric. Jeremy, weakly, shoots a couple of shots with his revolver. If he can’t hit anything, it might serve as a distraction of some kind.

That is the best way to find your escape, Kitka. Turn their attention away from your hands…

You shake the voice out of your head and keep working. Finally, you have what you need.

You don’t know what they are, but you made them, like breathing it came easy.

You also remember Jeremy smokes a pipe. Turning back to him, you search his pockets again, finding a small box of matches. His eyes weakly follow you as he pulls the hammer back on his revolver to shoot again.

You waste no time in striking a match, lighting the first bundle, and exposing yourself for a brief moment, throwing it to the group of men on the ledge.

You must have a good arm, for just as it reaches them, it explodes.

The chaos that ensues is immediate. Shouts of alarm and confusion blend with the sharp crack of gunfire. You don't wait to see the results; grabbing another bundle and lighting it up. You throw it up there again, moving on instinct now, your body somehow remembering its given swiftness and agility.

The flames engulf them in an instant, their screams echoing off the rock walls as they try to escape the inferno, their curses slicing through the smoke and tumult that you have created. They didn't expect this—no one expects a store clerk from Blackwater to wield makeshift bombs with the expertise of a seasoned demolitionist. The edge of the embankment reacts under the force of your third creation, chunks of rock flying and sending two men tumbling down the slope.

But it isn’t over.

“Jane…!” Jeremy shouts weakly. “Look out…!”

Turning around, you are suddenly attacked by one of the bandits, eyes wild and fiery as he clutches onto your throat. “You think your little magic tricks will be enough?” He squeezes hard, his nails digging into your larynx and he forces you to the ground.

“Jane…!” Jeremy cries and just as he gets to his feet, he is soon attacked by yet another, and the gun falls out of his hand. They wrestle into the ground, and with his injury, Jeremy struggles to gain the upper hand.

Gasping for air, your vision tunnels, the edges tinged with blackness. In this desperate moment, you reach out, fingers clawing at anything they can find. Your hand brushes against the cold metal of Jeremy's discarded revolver. With a jolt of adrenaline, you grasp it, jamming the barrel against the bandit’s stomach, and pulling the trigger.

The gunshot echoes through the air, a sharp, definitive sound that momentarily slices through the cacophony of the ongoing battle. The bandit’s grip loosens as he leans back, eyes wide in shock and pain. He falls backward into the dusty ground, clutching at the wound that now mars his abdomen.

You gasp at the sight, unsure if it is because of the violence or a flash of memory.

A woman, being shot in the head. And a man with dark hair and dark eyes letting her body fall to the floor…

The man now dead, you whip around with the gun in your hand. You can do this, you can save Jeremy. The man is on top of him, landing blow after blow into his head with a rock.

You cock back the hammer and fire.

Jeremy’s attacker recoils as the bullet rips through his chest and he falls backward into the dirt.

You breathe for just a moment, looking around sharply to see if there are any more. There aren’t. They’re all gone.

Relieved, you look back to Jeremy, and he’s not moving. You study his body, and you cannot see the rise and fall of his chest, for there isn’t none.

An icy grip squeezes your heart. “Jeremy!” Your feet move on their own accord, propelling you towards him until you are kneeling at his side. His once smooth and handsome face is now a twisted mess of blood and bruises, an image that will haunt you forever. The metallic scent of blood fills your nostrils and bile rises in your throat as you try to hold back tears. You can feel the weight of the world crushing down on you as you see him in this state, and all you can do is pray for some miracle to save him from the brink of death.

But your prayers would be in vain.

You know he’s dead.

He’s dead.

You feel sick. An image of a boy lying in your arms. Pale and lifeless, your voice hoarse from screaming, begging on the streets.

“Jeremy…!” you scream at the top of your lungs, your throat burning from the pain until you hear nothing left escape your lips.

You feel dizzy. Your head pounds with an ache that begins to weigh you down. The world spins around you. A whirlwind of days and hours gone in a matter of seconds. Jeremy, his life, gone, without as much a fighting chance. How many times has he gone on this journey before? What could he have done to deserve this?

And then it appears again. The boy in your lap, your hands, young and cold, reaching out to touch his face…

“Antek…” you say…your voice but a whimpering cry.

And as it leaves your mouth, you feel the weight of it all and the world fades to black.

***

You feel something soft underneath your face. You feel the weight in your body as you lie on your side. Warmth, something deeply warm heats your skin. You smell charred wood and hear pops and crackles. Fire.

Explosions.

Those men.

You open your eyes and quickly push yourself up to a sitting position. You feel the softness under your hands. You look down. An animal pelt, all white beautiful under the glow of the firelight.

How did you get here?

“Jeremy…?” you whimper, though you are unsure why. He’s dead.

“I couldn’t help him.” a deep voice speaks softly.

Your breath hitches and you feel the blood draining from your face. You’ve encountered it enough to start recognizing it. Turning slowly, you look past the fire near you, into the eyes of Arthur.

You feel something building in your chest, something that burns more than the fire ever could. You flare your nostrils. “You…!”

He holds up his palms, unmoving from where he sits. “Look, I was—”

“You followed me?!”

He shakes his head. “I was nearby. I…I was trackin' you, but I came runnin' when I heard the gunshots.” He pauses and seeing that you aren’t going to interrupt him this time, he continues. “By the time I got there, most had run or were dead…” And his eyes soften. “And you were just layin’ there.”

“And Jeremy…?!”

“He was already gone. I…buried him.”

Your eyes narrow. You only hope that he got a decent burial. “Where?” you hiss.

He looks pained at your words and something else you can’t pin down. “In Great Plains. Just after crossin’ the river.” He looks at you, almost wantonly. “I…risked a lot doin’ that for him.”

You scowl. “Giving someone a burial is risky?”

“When you’re a wanted man, it is.”

Your eyes widen. “Who are you?” And you dare ask a more important question. “And how do you know me?”

You see it in his expression, an aching familiarity, a recognition as he regards you sitting there. His mouth opens and closes, words wanting to escape but don’t. “You…you was with us, in a gang.” He reaches behind his head to scratch his neck. “We…kinda grew up together.”

The flash of memory you had when Jeremy took your hand. Arthur’s young face. That would make sense if you grew up with this man. “We’re siblings?”

He almost laughs at that and shakes his head quickly. “No.”

Then you remember the music, groups of people dancing. But those people were different. You felt shorter, smaller, and he wasn’t there. It’s strange. When you think about things that had hurt your head before, they don’t hurt now when you bring up those exact thoughts again. Perhaps, it is only new ones?

You remember what Jeremy said, about them being a blessing in disguise.

Oh, Jeremy…!

You feel the tears swell up in your eyes and you find no willingness to conceal them as you begin to sob. “He’s dead…!” you cry. “He’s dead and I couldn’t save him…!”

Your chest tightens and you feel like you can’t move, can’t breathe. The tears fall heavy down your soiled cheeks and you hold yourself for comfort.

That’s when Arthur moves toward you. You feel a sudden uneasiness when he reaches for you.

You quickly move back and rise to your feet. “Get away from me…!” you hiss and he moves backward, raising his palms.

“M’sorry,” he says softly. His voice holds a trace of genuine regret, a sound that stirs something within the depths of your fragmented memories. The campfire casts shadows across his face, making him appear both menacing and mournful at once.

You wipe your cheeks roughly with the back of your hand, trying to regain some form of composure. You need to mourn, but you also have questions. You have an obligation to Blackwater, you need to return to Mr. Lewis. But what will you tell him?

But if what Arthur says is true, if you were with a gang, could that mean you’re wanted, too? Not an aristocrat?

Would it be worth going back at all?

You sit back down on the pelt, and Arthur carefully returns to his spot beyond the fire. You appreciate the space he’s given you, despite his recent effort to embrace you again.

“It weren’t your fault what happened,” he speaks softly. “A lotta wagons get raided ‘round there.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?”

Arthur doesn’t react in anger, but his eyes look saddened. “I am a bad man,” he says. “But I ain’t like them.”

“Does that make me bad, too?” you snap.

He is quiet for a moment. “You ain’t never done the things I have.”

You’re still skeptical, but your own curiosity is betraying your bitterness. “What did I do? What role did I play?”

“Are you makin’ fun of me?”

You snort. “I just don’t know if I believe you.”

He readjusts his sitting position on the ground and cocks his head, you can see more of his face under the brim of his hat as the glow of the fire is on his skin. Those eyes of his, even in the dark, make you think of paintings of the sea.

Where have you seen those?

“What if I tell you some things about you? Things that only you and a few others would know?”

You raise an eyebrow, a small gesture of disbelief and confusion. "I don't even know who I am," you say with a hint of despair creeping into your voice.

His shoulders slump in response, a mixture of disappointment and understanding in his expression. "You don't remember anythin’?" he asks, his tone gentle yet searching for any flickers of recognition in your face.

A feeling of emptiness washes over you at the thought of having no memories to hold onto. "No," you reply, shaking your head slightly. "I just remembered how old I am."

A soft smile forms on Arthur's lips, his eyes filled with compassion. "29," he says, the number rolling off his tongue like a familiar melody.

Your eyes widen in surprise. He could have thrown out any number to try to convince you, but he chose the precise and accurate one.

“Let me tell you some things.” The man's voice lingers in the air, hesitant yet eager. You feel a flutter of curiosity, your reservations slowly fading away. Memories flood your mind, images and whispers that have haunted you for weeks.

With a deep breath, you meet his gaze once more. “Who is Kitka?” The question tumbles out of your lips before you can stop it, the name feeling both foreign and familiar at the same time.

His smile widens, his piercing blue eyes that hold a wealth of secrets. “That’s you. Your name.”

You can't help but feel a rush of confusion and excitement at the revelation, wondering what other mysteries this enigmatic man holds. You repeat it, and it doesn’t feel uncomfortable settling there. “But when you grabbed me…in Valentine…” You see his frown fall, it must not be a pleasant memory for him, either. “You called me Kit.”

He offers you an explanation. “That’s what most call you. Guess some have trouble sayin’ your real name.”

“Do I have a last name?”

He grimaces. “I might be sayin’ it wrong, but it’s Petrova.”

You roll the name around in your mind—Kitka Petrova. There's a distant echo of familiarity, like a whisper from far away. "Petrova," you repeat, tasting each syllable. It feels foreign yet oddly comforting.

Arthur watches you closely, his gaze intense but not imposing. "There's more to you than that, though.”

You tuck your chin. Minute by minute, you are coming to believe him. This was more than what any doctor could help you with and it doesn’t hurt or give you a headache. You heard a woman speak that name, you felt her take your hand and dance. “There was a woman…” you begin, feeling your hands tremble at the thought. “She knew my name…” You look back to meet his eyes. “Do I have a mother?”

Arthur looks at you, his eyes softening as he speaks. “She died before I met you.” But lifting his forefinger, he points to the ring on your hand. “But that…that was hers.”

You look down at your hand, the gold band shining in the orange light. “So…I’m not married? Or engaged?” You feel a pit in your stomach. “No one was looking for me.”

You hear a rustling and look back up to see Arthur moving to you again, but he stops suddenly, remembering the proximity that you prefer. But he speaks to you earnestly. “We thought you was dead. I…”

But you clearly aren’t. “Folk in town say I was found in an alley. By the docks.”

His eyes widen. “That ain’t what Dutch told me.”

Dutch. Why does that name sound familiar…?

Suddenly, your head begins to pound.

Oh no, a new memory.

You want to fight it, so badly, but after knowing what happens afterward, you are tempted to let it run its course. You press your palms against your temples and feel yourself bending over into your knees without straining yourself.

“Kit…?!” Arthur says, his voice raised and concerned.

You don’t want him to touch you, you don’t want anything to interrupt. “Let me be…!” you snap.

You close your eyes shut and try to give in to what your mind wants to tell you.

You see something white. Grey. Paper. Words and lines. A Newspaper. A Headline.

BLACKWATER MASSACRE

DUTCH VAN DER LINDE GANG RESPONSIBLE

Your head pounds heavily and you feel it intensify. It’s becoming too much, you have to stop.

You try to open your eyes and come out of it, and stumble as you try to move. “I…have to…” You rise to your feet, your vision blurry as you try to get some air. It is dark, with nothing but light from the moon creeping through the trees, you hold out your hands to protect yourself as you keep walking.

“Kit?” You hear Arthur stand up and follow you.

You raise a hand to keep him at a distance, needing space to breathe and think. The name Dutch Van Der Linde spins in your mind like a relentless cyclone, pulling at the edges of your fragmented memories. “I need to walk,” you manage to say, your voice tremulous but determined.

Arthur hesitates, but he nods. “Just, let me go wit’chu.” He raises his hands. “I’ll keep back, I just want you safe.”

You nod, albeit reluctantly, and begin walking away from the campfire's comforting glow. Your feet crunch the dry leaves underfoot as you navigate through the dark forest. The air feels crisp against your skin, and each breath you take seems to clear your head just a little more. Arthur follows a few paces behind, his footfalls heavy and sure. They don’t frighten you or worry you, but they almost seem comforting.

You know this man. You don’t remember him fully, but somehow you know him. That much is clear.

You keep walking until the headache subsides again, and by now you have gone deep into the forest you aren’t sure you can navigate your way back. You stop and you hear Arthur stop as well.

“If we aren’t siblings…” you finally say. “But we grew up together…” You turn around to look at him. Shadows are cast from the moonlight, but you see his figure standing there. “How did I come to be in a gang of outlaws?”

“Kit…” he begins, his voice almost hesitant. “It might be too much to tell you…After what you just—”

“I want to know,” you insist, your strength returning. “Tell me.”

He sighs. There is a pregnant pause before he speaks again. “Hosea found you…in California. He heard you beggin’ for help.”

“I was hurt?”

“No.” His pause makes your heart pound in your chest. “But your brother…”

Brother? You try to search through your mind, struggling to find a face, a name—anything. “A brother?”

“Yes,” he answers. “You told me his name was Antek.”

The name hits you like a crashing wave. You remember the feeling of it in your mouth, then you remember. You said it before you passed out. You do know.

He was the boy in your arms. The boy pale and brow misted over in fever.

Arthur steps closer, his voice gentle. “He was very ill. You were cradlin’ him; alone and desperate. That’s when Hosea brought you to us. No doctor would help you ‘cause…well…”

“I was different,” you say, remembering the slurs that have been echoing in your mind for the past month.

Gypsie. Circus trash. Slavic scum.

You never understood why they were addressed to you, but you realize it now. You weren’t born into a wealthy family. You were born into a family of immigrants.

Your head begins to hurt again, but it isn’t as painful, for parts of this new information were already remembered. “But what about the music? The dancing?”

In the dark, Arthur’s voice is the only indicator of his presence. “Dancin’?”

You can barely see your hands in front of you. “There were wagons, men and women dancing.”

“That might be somethin’ before our time,” Arthur reasons.

You shake your head, frustrated. “It’s all jumbled. Why can’t it just be in one order? I…I remember your face, but not my family…?”

It is then that you feel a hand take you gently by the arm. Your breath hitches but you don’t try to pull away this time. “Come back with me,” he offers, his voice tentative. “Let’s get you back and rest. Then we can go to our camp on Horseshoe Overlook. Maybe the memories will come easier in time."

Go with him? To the gang? You don’t know where Horseshoe Overlook is, but you have a feeling that it is far from Blackwater.

Blackwater. Mr. Lewis.

But you know now that this gang that you supposedly were with, was the same gang that was responsible for the massacre. You don’t know how you were directly involved, but you aren’t the person you thought you were.

You aren’t a good woman. You are a wanted criminal, and it is a miracle that you’ve made it this long without being discovered.

You can’t go back now.

You nod, feeling the exhaustion tug at your limbs with an insistence that can't be ignored any longer. “Okay.”

“Let’s find our way back.” You hear him swallow hard. “Take my hand.”

Using your arm as a guide, you find his hand that has a gentle grip and take it softly, your hand is so small in his, his calloused hands showing signs of years of hard labor. You tried to remember the last time you held his hand, but the memories are like water slipping through your fingers — impossible to hold. As you walk alongside Arthur, the moonlight casts shadows that play tricks on your eyes. Every rustle of the leaves, every whisper of the wind sounds like a fragment of a forgotten melody, the echoes of your past life calling out to you from the depths of the night. You feel your heart beating faster, not just from fear or confusion, but also from a budding sense of anticipation. What if the key to unlocking all your lost memories lay just beyond the horizon, at this camp that Arthur mentioned?

Or will it reveal more things about yourself that you don’t want to know? You once thought that you were a wealthy woman engaged or married, but now you are a poor orphaned immigrant.

The journey is silent, save for the occasional crunch of dry leaves underfoot and the distant howl of a coyote. With each step, you feel a tug on your mind, fragments of forgotten dreams or perhaps buried realities trying to claw their way to the surface. You glance sideways at Arthur, studying his profile against the moon as the light finally bleeds through the trees again.

He’s rugged. His thick beard is clean now, and his face isn’t covered in mud. His nose has a scar over the bridge, indicating he’s been in more fights than the one you’ve seen. Do you know where he got that scar? How long have you known this man? You also see the mark you left on his face when you struck him in Valentine. “I’m…sorry for hurting you.”

Arthur senses your regret, his grip tightening ever so slightly. "It's alright, Kit," he murmurs, the sound of your name in his voice stirring something deep within you. The familiarity of it sends shivers down your spine, a mix of fear and longing intertwining within your chest. You find that your hand feels comfortable in his. You don’t want to let him go and you can’t figure out why. Your breath comes out of your nostrils loudly, frustrated at your own mind not helping you.

You continue walking, and it isn’t long before you reach where he had set up his small camp. You finally take the time to see his layout, a small tent, his untied horse, a mahogany bay Tennessee Walker, who grazes on a small brush nearby, and the fire, whose coals are still glowing. “How far are we from them?”

“Not far,” he answers softly, and you feel him let go of your hand. He approaches the fire, and takes a stick on the ground before stirring the coals. “You hungry?”

You fold your arms. “No.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t look at you, his eyes still gazing at the fire pit. “You can take my tent. I’ll…sleep out here.”

You aren’t sure why, but you don’t like that suggestion. You haven’t been the most kind to him, and you’d hate to take his only shelter. “That doesn’t feel right, Arthur…”

He looks up at you at the sudden mention of his name. That is the first time you ever said it out loud, at least to your knowledge. You see it in his eyes, there is something there, a hunger, a loneliness that seems to mirror your own. It’s as if in that single moment, the distance between you both isn't just physical but emotional, stretching back years, across untold secrets and shared memories. Things he clearly knows but hasn’t told you.

Arthur breaks the gaze first, chuckling softly. "Kit, I insist. You need rest more than I do." He stands erect after throwing some more wood in the fire and he begins to remove his buckskin jacket. Walking around the fire, at a distance from the tent, he rolls up his jacket like a pillow and goes to his knees. “We will head back in the mornin’.”

Your aching body and weariness remind you of your need for sleep, you yawn deeply. “Alright.” You head for his tent and crouch your way in without saying another word.

Inside, the tent smells faintly of leather, tobacco, and pine, a scent that is oddly comforting and familiar, like a distant echo from a past life. You settle into the sleeping roll that was already laid out, pulling its cover up to your shoulders. The fabric is coarse wool but warm, and as you snuggle into it, you finally give into sleep.

***

The sounds of birds chirping wake you up and you discover to be out of the sleeping roll and hugging it. The wool is pressed against your face, your nose buried in its scent. For the past month, you’ve never woken up to being in a position like this before, but then again, you haven’t been sleeping in a tent outside, but in your own room in the hotel in Blackwater.

And as your mind wakes up, so do your other senses.

You hear a metallic sound coming from beyond the tent and rising to a sitting position, you rub your eyes. “Arthur…?” you call softly, hoping that is the source of the noise.

“Mornin’,” he replies. “Got some coffee if you want some.”

You smack your lips. Do you like coffee? You don’t remember drinking it at the restaurant or the hotel. Can’t hurt to try it.

Straightening your shirt, you see your torn-up skirt. You can’t go back to Blackwater for your money and clothes. You’ll have to make do for now.

You crawl out of the tent. Opening the flap, you see Arthur by the fire, pouring a pot of coffee into a small, tin cup.

He’s wearing a different shirt, a dark green, but the hat is the same. He must travel around a lot, to pack another set of clothes with him. “It ain’t the best,” he excuses. “But it warms up the bones pretty good.”

You rise to your feet and so does he, holding out the cup to you.

You take the cup from his hands, feeling the warmth seep into your chilled fingers. The steam rises in gentle swirls, carrying with it a rich, earthy aroma that sparks a faint memory, like a whisper in the back of your mind. You wrap both hands around the cup, enjoying the heat before bringing it to your lips.

He lied to you. This coffee is the best you have ever had, or remember. Of course, that isn’t the best compliment you can think of, but you can think of worse things to conjure up.

He must see the approval in your eyes, for he looks down, almost bashfully. “You seem to be doin’ okay…after last night.”

You swallow before speaking. “I suppose it could be worse.”

He nods, smiling. “That it can.”

He pours himself a cup and drinks it slowly, you both taking in the morning view. He had set up camp in a small clearing, with an opening of the trees leading the eyes to look into a canyon and waterfall below. You aren’t sure where you are, but by the gradient of green to golden, you suppose Blackwater isn’t far.

“Why Blackwater?” you ask. “I remember the gang did it.”

Arthur offers a solemn answer. “I wasn’t there on the boat. Nobody really will tell me what happened.” He sets his cup down on the ground by the firepit. “I came in time to help them escape, when Pinkertons showed up, and things went bad.”

“You didn’t see me get shot,” you infer.”

His eyes meet yours and you see the regret in his eyes. “I was…We…” his voice trails off and he looks away. “I weren’t there.”

You look into the little bit of coffee that remains in your cup. “I was shot in the back, the doctor said it’s a miracle I’m still alive.”

“Shoah is.”

There is a moment of silence and you can’t help but wish he had more to say about the massacre. If he wasn’t there until the end, then he couldn’t possibly know about Heidi, or what happened to you. Dutch said you were dead. Could he have seen you?

Arthur begins to kick dirt into the fire. “We should get goin’. We want to make it back before it gets dark.” He walks over to his tent and begins to take it down as he speaks to you over his shoulder. “Can you go into my saddle bag and give Montana an apple?”

Your brow furrows. “Montana?”

“The stud over there.” He gestures to the Tennessee Walker with a tilt of his head. “Got him up near Colter.”

Not sure what Colter is, you walk over to the horse as he looks on at you, his brown eyes soft and alert. You see the flare of his nostrils as he takes in your sent. He doesn’t move once you approach his side, and you get on your tiptoes to reach into the saddlebag. Feeling the inside of it, you find something smooth and round. Pulling it out, you reveal a red apple.

Montana nickers excitedly, spotting the fruit in your hand.

You can’t help but smile, feeling a soft spot for him already. You extend the apple towards Montana, watching as he gently takes it from your palm, his lips tickling your skin slightly. It's a brief interaction, but one that fills you with a sense of comfort—something that’s been rare since the ordeal.

As Montana munches on the apple, you glance back at Arthur, who has finished with the tent and is now watching you. You feel something in your stomach, and you wish your body and mind would work together for once.

“He likes you,” Arthur says. “You’ve always gotten well with my horses.”

“Have I met this one before?” you ask with interest. You like the idea of having a way with animals. Maybe that’s what you did in the gang. It seems less violent and dangerous.

He shakes his head. “No, he’s new. The last one, Boadicea, you knew her. Wouldn’t let anyone else ride her except you 'n me.” His smile falls. “She was shot durin’ our escape. I had to leave her.”

The revelation hits you like a sudden gust of wind, disorienting and cold. To learn that such loyalty had been cultivated and then lost under such brutal circumstances stirs a deep sorrow within you, one that resonates with your own fragmented memories of loss and abandonment. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur watches you carefully, perhaps gauging how much of the past you remember, or maybe how much you could handle knowing. "Thank you," he replies softly, turning away momentarily as if to hide a flicker of pain that crosses his rugged face.

A silence hangs between you, thick and heavy, as the remnants of sunrise paint the sky with streaks of purple and orange.

You offer a soft smile. “Maybe we should get going.”

He nods. “Perhaps you’re right.” He walks up beside Montana, packing his tent and bedroll on the saddle. Without another moment, he hoists himself up on Montana’s back and offers you his hand. “You okay with riding behind me? Your horse is back at camp.”

You feel a sudden excitement and take Arthur’s hand. He pulls you up as though you were but a flower on the ground and you swing your leg comfortably over. You settle behind him and try to figure out where to hold on. Bashfully, you place your hands on his waist, clutching onto his jacket.

With a soft clicking sound from his mouth, Montana trots on through the trees.

“I have a horse?” you finally ask. “And you’ve kept them this whole time?”

“‘Course, she was all I had to remember you b—” and he stops himself, quickly changing the subject. “You named her Odliv.”

It comes to you naturally and you smile. “Low Tide.”

You see Arthur nod in front of you. “Right. You always said you played in tide pools when you were little.”

“In California,” you deduce.

“Yes.”

You resist the urge to lean into his body and inhale the scent of pine and tobacco you can’t seem to get enough of. “How old was I, when we met?”

He answers quickly. “16.”

You frown, realizing that was how old you were when your brother died. “I was just a child.”

“Yes.”

After a moment, you think of another question. “And how old are you?”

Arthur laughs, and you feel the vibration in his body. “How old do you think I am?” You don’t like the teasing, after asking a rational question. Your intrusive thought wins, and you slap him hard on the arm. “Ow…!”

“Remember what I did to you yesterday?” you threaten, but clearly with a hint of jest. “I wasn’t trying to joke.”

He exhales, shaking his head. “I’m too old.”

You furrow your brow. That isn’t what you would’ve guessed. By his agility in the fight, and how he lifted you in the saddle, you’d think the man would have more confidence. “You may be sun-beaten and gruff, but that doesn’t make you old.”

He laughs. “I’m 36.”

And somehow, that doesn’t bother you. “You’re only as old as you feel, Arthur.”

You can feel his body tense for a second. “You told me that once.”

Your heart skips as memories flicker like distant stars in the vast night sky, obscured yet persistent, leaving a tenderness in your head. You wonder how many of those words from your past linger in his thoughts, how many times he's replayed them during your absence.

The silence stretches between you, comfortable yet filled with unspoken questions. Montana’s steady pace picks up and you ride alongside some train tracks as they line the ground westward.

After a few more miles, you decide to ask another question. “How many are there? At camp?” You look at the landscape as you pass it by. “I imagine most will expect me to remember them.”

“They might also regret callin’ me a liar.”

“What?”

“I told them what happened, in Valentine. That I saw you. They thought I was goin’ crazy, took one too many hits from that fool. Even Dutch, he—” His body tenses again and he shakes his head. “They’re gonna believe me now.”

You can sense the growl in his voice, his determination to prove them right. But you have other concerns. These are people you supposedly know. People you’ve talked to, and shared memories with, and you don’t remember a single one. You managed to remember Arthur, so you hope that you will these people, in time. “Tell me about them, Arthur,” and you pat his abdomen, hearing his breath catch. “Tell me their names.”

And so, after relaxing, he begins as you brace yourself for the headaches that may come. “There’s John Marston, he came into the gang when he was just a kid. He picked on you a lot, especially when I weren’t around…”

Thank you for reading!

Tag Requests:

@photo1030

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #fanfiction #arthur morgan #ao3 writer #rdr2 #Arthurxreader #Arthurxfemale reader #amnesia #unrequited love #angst #pining #mc is bilingual #czech #Romani

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orions-quill · 8 months ago

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Okay so this isn’t a thing. This is not from any of my WIPs, I want to make that perfectly clear. I was listening to Bastille and got possessed by a scene in my mind and had to write it. I don’t know who these characters are or what they want, this basically wrote itself lol

Uhm, cw for funerals? I think?

The funeral was a quiet affair. The only attendants were the five of them and the body of Kevin six feet under. Out of them, the only one who had shed any tears had been his sister, Nora; everyone else simply watched as the coffin was lowered and covered in dirt. They had barely had enough money to bury him, let alone for a reception or a priest to give a speech (though, to be fair, Kevin would have probably hated a priest).

“This is your fault,” Gabriel was the first to brake the silence.

“Gabe.” Ellie’s voice was even, but the name was a veiled warning.

Alex ignored him in favor of staring at the freshly moved dirt. He had just enough time to readjust his arm in the sling before Gabriel was grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and hoisting him closer. It would’ve been more threatening if he hadn’t been leaning almost all his weight on Alex and balancing on one foot. Alex still didn’t look at him, but he didn’t need to to picture the bandages on his head.

“Why can’t you express anything at least once in your life?!” Gabriel yelled, shaking him with force and causing them both to trip. Mark barely caught them on time.

“Gabriel! Stop it!” Ellie intervened again, pulling him away from Alex and recovering his crutches for him.

Gabriel leaned on her, clutching to her shoulders for dead life, but his eyes were trained on Alex who still didn’t dare look at him.

“We can never go back, Alex.” Gabriel said through gritted teeth, his agitation setting his injuries aflame. “Do you understand that? Things will never be the same. We will never be the same again.”

Finally, Alex tore his eyes away from the grave and looked first at Nora and Mark standing to his right, then at Ellie and finally at Gabriel. He adjusted the sling again.

“I know,” Alex said, before turning away and leaving.

—

That’s it? I don’t know what’s going on lmao

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #writerblr #writerscommunity #writing #writer community #writing community #my writing #my wips #? maybe?

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gothushi · 4 months ago

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who would would brake the bed from overstimulation? I don't know why, but I think it's hot when the head board brakes or cracks 🤣 I think either Rob, Nikolai, and hook would be the top to "accidentally" brake the bed. But I wonder how others would react

ur so right tbh… mtl in my opinion is

• rob

• charlie

• nikolai

• hook

• simon

• luke

• seb

• father anthony

• ernst

• quinten

for rob to simon, they’re all quite rough, or they can be at least. rob just will not gaf he’ll ignore the old bed frame creaking a little more louder than normal.. too focused on ur cunt wrapped around him and how ur whines are pitching higher and higher.. before he knows it the wood beneath his hand on the headboard just snaps and he almost falls on u. barks out a loud laugh and hoists u up by the waist to keep going despite ur protests. this isn’t really the same thing but i can picture charlie fucking u over the dining table or a small side table and one of the legs is so loose it just falls from the table and he has to catch u. manhandles u onto some other surface to keep fucking whilst grumbling about having to clean that up later. nikolai is just rough in general, granted he’s spent years and years having adjusted to his different strength, but sometimes he gets a little too feral and will crack the wooden beams on ur bedframe or dent the metal on it. god help u if its an old bedframe.. that things ending up on two legs. hook is hard and rough half of the time, and i think if he were at ur place he’d probably break something. (his house is full of nice, expensive furniture so.. wldnt break easy) ur whining but he just keeps fucking u and cooing abt buying u a new one. i can totally see simon tied to the headboard and he pulls so hard the wood snaps… gets super embarrassed abt it but u make him forget quite quickly

luke, seb, and father anthony all have the potential to break some furniture but tbh i can’t see them really doing it. i think they worst they would do it break the restraints u use on them

finally ernst and quinten…. sorry. not breaking any furniture bc they’re already too busy being broken themselves. falls apart instantly and easily so they’re too weak to break anything

#simon walker #simon walker x reader #extinction rob #rob extinction #extinction rob x reader #nikolai beyond the rave x reader #luke davenport #luke davenport x reader #charlie the stomach x reader #the discovery of heaven quinten #quinten quist #quinten quist x reader #ernst stranded #ernst x reader #seb as if #seb as if x reader #hook x reader #father anthony x reader

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dis0rderly-cl0wn-nerd · 10 months ago

Text

Crack A Smile and Cut Your Mouth

Ledger!Joker Origin Story

Chapter One - Jack

Warnings: Child abuse, domestic violence, alcoholism

Chapter Summary: Jack is introduced and we get a glimpse into his childhood and teen years.

Author’s Note: I finally finished the first chapter and came up with a title! (Title may change because it’s kinda dumb. I was scraping my brain for ideas okay) Anyway the first chapter came out shorter than I expected but the next chapters should be a lot longer 🤞 I’m super excited about this story! I’ve been planning this for a while. I hope you enjoy <3

Next >

The cool night air blew in Jack’s face as he whizzed down the pavement on his skateboard. He was on the main road but he didn’t care. Nobody was out during this time of night.

The small town was quiet. Businesses were closed and porch lights were on. The only sounds to be heard were crickets chirping and the flickering gas station lights at the end of the road.

Jack came out here often to get away and clear his head. He loved to skateboard and he was good at it too. He didn’t like skating with the other kids in town so he stayed clear of the rink. The streets were his safe haven.

He glanced down at his watch and decided it was time to head home. His mom would be worried. He shifted his weight to his back foot on the tail of the board, braked, and turned around.

He dreaded the thought of going back. His father would be home. No doubt yelling at his mother for something she did “wrong.” There was no telling what kind of mess he would walk into once he got home.

He left the main road and turned onto his street. It wasn’t long before he reached his house. The house was one story tall and painted white with a front deck built by his father. The deck had withered and rotted with time. Some of the boards were missing. His father had yet to fix it. Their home was plain but got the job done for a family of three people.

Jack went around back where his bedroom window was. He pushed the window open and tossed his skateboard onto his bed. Then he hoisted himself up and climbed inside. He closed the window, listening intently to his parents in the kitchen.

Just as he predicted his father was shouting at his mother again. From the sound of his voice Jack could tell he was drunk. What else was new?

“Why is the food cold?!” His father yelled.

“You told me you would be home at 6. You got here at 9:30.” His mother told him calmly.

Jack heard a loud smack and his mother scream. That was his que. He cracked his door open and stuck his head out to see what was going on. His mother was on the floor and his father stood over her, beating and berating her. Jack saw enough and sprung into action.

“Leave her alone!” He shouted and shoved his father away.

The drunk then turned his anger towards Jack and shoved him to the ground. He kicked him in the stomach repeatedly. Jack grunted in pain. He assumed his usual position and curled into a ball to protect himself.

“Scott, no! Stop! Leave him out of this!” His mother cried but was ignored.

“Shut up, you stupid bitch!” Scott shouted and didn’t hold back beating his son.

Eventually he became bored and stopped. He turned to his wife and snarled, “I’m goin’ out. Next time you better do as I tell you.”

With that he stormed out, slamming the door behind him. Once Jack was sure he was gone, he uncurled himself and rolled onto his back. He closed his eyes and sighed. His mother, Jacqueline, sat upright and gazed at her son sadly.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Jack smiled softly. “I wanted to.”

“Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“Eh, I’ll probably have bruises later but I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me.”

“I have every reason to worry about you. Come here.”

Jack crawled over to his mom and she pulled him into a hug. She kissed his cheek.

“I love you so much. I’m so sorry you have to deal with this. It isn’t your fault.”

“It’s not yours either, mama. He’s just an asshole.”

Jacqueline eyed him for cursing but agreed nonetheless. Jack rested his head on her shoulder. She stroked his long brown hair and laughed to herself.

“What?” Jack asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You need a haircut.” Jacqueline told him and pointed to his curly strands cascading past his shoulder blades.

“Nope. I’m keeping it this way for as long as I can.”

“Uh huh. What are you gonna do when you enlist?”

“Cut it off since I have to. But once I get out I’m growing it back.”

Jacqueline shook her head. She glanced up at the time.

“You better get to sleep. It’s getting late.”

Jack nodded and helped his mother stand up. She kissed his cheek one more time and then they retreated to their bedrooms for the night.

Jack stripped down to just his t-shirt and boxers. After moving his skateboard from his bed to the floor, he climbed into bed and curled up underneath the covers. It felt good to finally lay down. He was exhausted.

It hurt a little to lay on his side because of the bruises that were now forming but he was used to it. There was rarely a night where Jack slept without any discomfort. His father had been beating him for as long as he could remember.

The booze wasn’t entirely to blame. Scott Napier was extremely short tempered and quick to violence. The alcohol only heightened it. How his mother ended up with him Jack never knew. Most likely it was one of those situations where someone doesn’t realize they’re in an abusive relationship until it’s too late.

Jack closed his eyes and tried to forget about his father so he could fall asleep. He often tried to block out the abuse but each time Scott beat him, it brought back the memories all over again. Sometimes in the form of nightmares and other times through random flashbacks throughout the day.

He was 17 now and becoming a young man but that didn’t stop him from wanting to curl up underneath his covers and cry himself to sleep like he did when he was younger.

He rolled onto his back and gazed at the ceiling, lost in thought.

“My leg hurts, Mommy.” Jack whimpered into his mother’s chest.

“I know, baby. Mommy’s doing the best she can.” Jacqueline said as she bandaged the cut on Jack’s small leg caused by another one of Scott’s violent outbursts.

She finished the wrap and kissed it. “There, all better.”

…

“Come here you little shit!” Scott shouted and grabbed Jack by his shirt.

He pulled him close and struck his face. Then he hurled him into the wall. Jack got his breath back and crawled underneath his bed. He gasped when Scott grabbed his ankle and dragged him back out. Scott kicked him in the side repeatedly and then resorted to using his fists. Jack cried and begged for him to stop.

“There you go with that crying again! You’re just like your fucking mother!” Scott bellowed and kicked him hard, knocking him over.

Jack curled in on himself and sobbed.

“Stay in here and cry then!”

The door slammed and Jack was alone.

Jack sat straight up and brought himself back to the present. He breathed in shakily and slicked his hair back. The memories always kept him awake when he should be sleeping. After taking a few minutes to calm himself, he was finally able to clear his head and lay back down. Before he knew it, the comforting embrace of sleep took over and Jack was out like a light.

#ledger joker #jack napier #heath ledger #the dark knight #nolanverse #my writing #cross posted on ao3

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aneurinallday · 1 month ago

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Out There

If it weren’t for bad luck, I would never have met him. We would’ve passed each other by on that quiet stretch of Welsh road without a second glance. But as it was, happenstance (and his absent-mindedness behind the wheel) brought us together.

It was November 1974, and I was cycling home from work, having finished my shift at a small café that mostly served hikers and ramblers. The winding road snaked up and down and around the hills, leaving my legs burning and my back aching. I was counting down the days until I’d saved enough money to buy my first car, but in this economy, I’d be lucky if I could afford driving lessons.

The route was even emptier than normal - I couldn’t remember the last time I’d passed a vehicle. As I rode laboriously along, the road grew narrower, as many Welsh roads did. I was now flanked by broadleaf trees and dense, wild hedges which were impossible to see through. I put my head down, pedalling head, hugging the poorly maintained verge as I debated what to have for supper.

The sudden sound of an approaching engine made me jerk my head up. A white and brown campervan - which in that moment seemed like a monstrous metal behemoth - had turned the corner towards me, and was hogging the middle of the narrow road. There wasn’t enough room for us to pass each other, and I was moving too fast to brake. I attempted to mount the grassy verge that led up to the hedgerow, but it was too steep and filled with gnarly roots.

The van swerved at the last second - a delayed reaction which told me that the driver had only just noticed me - and clipped my handlebar, narrowly missing my hand.

“Fuck!”

I was flung to the ground, shielding my face with my arms, and rolled for a few feet along the asphalt. I sprawled on my back and lay gasping while the campervan screeched to a halt. The driver leaned out of the window - a man in his thirties with wild, tousled dark hair, and thick facial hair to match, his eyes hidden behind a pair of large sunglasses.

“You alright?” he shouted.

“You dickhead! You swiped me!”

He jumped out and hurried towards me as I sat up.

“Are you alright?” he repeated, “You’re not hurt, are you?

“Why were you speeding?” I demanded.

“You were speeding too!”

“You weren’t even looking at the road!”

“Neither were you!” I grabbed my fallen bicycle and tried to stand it upright. The front wheel was hopelessly bent. “Now I’m fucked. Thanks!”

“I’m sorry…Just wait there, will you?” He crouched down to examine the front of his van, fretting over the front tyres. Apart from a big scrape in the paint, his vehicle was unscathed. He sighed in relief. “Hop in, I can give you a lift.”

“No, thanks. You might hit someone else.” I began to walk away down the road, cursing under my breath, wheeling my misshapen bicycle alongside me as it squeaked pathetically.

“Wait - wait!” he called after me, “You can’t walk home like that. Where are you headed? Let me drop you off.”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Come on, I can’t leave you stuck here.”

I slowed to a halt and looked around. We were in a sparsely populated area of rural Wales, and few drivers came this way. I was too tired for a long walk home, and I knew the night would be pitch-black.

“Fine,” I said, and wheeled towards him.

He opened the rear doors of the campervan and hoisted my bicycle inside. I caught a glimpse of the cramped interior, which was cluttered with cardboard boxes of papers and plastered with what looked like magazine clippings. It didn’t look like a serial killer’s setup.

“In you get.”

He went to open the passenger’s door for me, but I opened it myself and climbed in. I sat rubbing my sore elbow and grimacing as he climbed into the driver’s seat beside me. I could already feel the bruises starting to form.

“Right, let’s go,” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

He executed an awkward three-point turn between the hedges, and began to drive back the way he’d come, at a noticeably slower speed than before. I sat tense in the passenger’s seat while he concentrated on the road.

“Whereabouts should I drop you off?” he asked.

I dodged the question, not wanting to reveal where I lived to a stranger.

“Just follow the road, I’ll hop out,” I said.

“Okay.”

“What about you?” I asked, changing the subject, “Where were you headed?”

“Nowhere, really. This, uh…this van is my home, you see.”

“You were driving pretty fast for someone going nowhere.”

“Well, I thought I saw something.”

“Saw what?”

He didn’t answer.

Hearing kitchen utensils rattling in their holders, I glanced over my shoulder at the living space behind us. On one side was a compact kitchen - stove, sink, and cupboard - and on the other side was a small table which unfolded from the wall, with a narrow couch-bed next to it. Blankets and clothes were strewn about, and the cardboard boxes were stacked high. I began to suspect that this wasn’t just a holiday home, but his permanent residence.

“You’ve got a lot of papers,” I said, “Are you a researcher?”

“...Yeah, something like that.” He sounded reluctant to answer. “I’m documenting strange phenomena in the area.”

“Strange phenomena? Like…spirits? Are you a ghost hunter?”

“Not exactly. It’s a lot broader than that. Unexplained sights, unusual noises, mysterious disappearances…anything out of the ordinary, really.”

“Well, you won’t find much of that around here. This is Wales.”

“You’d be surprised. Paranormal activity doesn’t care about borders.”

Now that the pain had subsided and my life was no longer flashing before my eyes, I felt calmer, and a little guilty for yelling. These narrow country roads were a nightmare to share with anything larger than a Mini, and I’d been almost as slow to react as him.

“Sorry I called you a dickhead,” I said, “The roads are shit around here…”

“No, it’s alright. Don’t apologise. I was going too fast.”

“We’re both dickheads. Let’s leave it there?”

“Sure.” Without taking his eyes off the road, he removed one hand from the steering wheel and reached out. I shook his hand with a snort of laughter.

We drove in silence until we passed through my village, where I told him to stop at the corner. I was a safe walking distance from home, but far enough that he wouldn’t know which street was mine. He helped me fetch my damaged bicycle from the back of the van.

“Thanks for the lift,” I said.

“No worries. Here,” he was fumbling in his pockets. He pulled out a tatty old wallet that was depressingly thin. “Here, take this. To help pay for your repairs.”

He handed me a one-pound note.

“There’s no need - ”

“Please. You need to get that thing fixed. Besides, this whole thing could’ve turned out a lot worse.”

Reluctantly, I took the note. It wouldn’t cover the cost, but it would certainly take the edge off.

“Thanks,” I said, but he was already driving away. I watched as he reversed up the narrow lane until he had space to turn around, then accelerated on his way. Whatever his mission was, he didn’t have time for long goodbyes.

The second time I saw him, I was cycling home from the local post office on my freshly repaired bicycle. It took me a moment to recognise the beat-up campervan parked by the side of the road, until I saw the dark-haired figure standing beside it, leaning into the driver’s seat. It was the scruffy stranger. I slowed to a stop, putting my feet down on the asphalt.

“Hello?” I said.

He withdrew his head from the van to glance up. His sunglasses were off, and he looked tired.

“Oh. Hello there.”

As I approached, I realised that there were dents in the van’s panels, and the windows had been smashed in. With a dustpan and brush, he was carefully sweeping big crumbs of broken glass off the front seats and out of the footwells.

“What happened?” I exclaimed.

“It’s nothing,” he sighed. “Just some boys.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yesterday I was driving around, asking questions. You know, the local history, if there are any records of supernatural activity, whether anyone’s seen anything strange lately. Some of the village lads didn’t take too kindly to an out-of-towner poking around. I was asleep when a brick came through the windshield.”

“Shit. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. They just wanted to scare me off.” He emptied the contents of the dustpan onto the ground. “I see you got your wheel fixed.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” I leaned my bicycle against the side of the van. “What can I do?”

“You don’t have to help…”

“I want to.”

“Well…I won’t say no.”

His wing mirrors were crooked, as if someone had tried to knock them off. We helped each other to tape them back into position. Then he grabbed the cardboard lids off a few of his boxes, and we flattened them and taped them over the smashed windows.

While I held the cardboard in place, I stole a sidelong glance at his face. His brow was furrowed and lips tensed with anxiety, but his eyes were a lovely shade of green, and his features were undeniably attractive. Even through his thick moustache and beard, I could tell that he was handsome.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“What - ? Oh - um, it’s Gethin.” He seemed taken aback by the question. “Gethin ap Daffyd.”

I waited for him to ask me my name, but he didn’t.

“Thanks for your help,” he said as we finished the job, his tone subdued.

I thought of his thin wallet, and all his worldly possessions crammed into the back of this tin-can. I felt suddenly terrible.

“How long are you going to stick around?” I asked.

“I don’t know. However long it takes me to find what I’m looking for.”

“Well, I’m getting paid at the end of the week. If you’re still here, I’ll lend you a fiver for the windows.”

“I can’t let you do that.”

“It’s only fair. You helped fix my bike so I could keep going to work.”

“But - ”

“Besides, this van is your home, isn’t it?”

He looked at his beat-up vehicle, and his shoulders sank in defeat.

“Alright,” he said. He took a breath and tried to buoy himself up. He slapped the dented white hood with a strained smile. “You can come back any time. I’ll be…well, I’ll be in the van.”

“Maybe I will,” I teased, and cycled off, resisting the urge to glance over my shoulder to see if he was watching me.

Little by little, meeting by meeting, we became friends. Sometimes I would see him cruising around the valleys, and we would wave hello to each other as we passed, or we would stop to have a chat through his window.

“Seen anything paranormal lately?” I would ask.

“Not yet!”

He seemed cheerful at first, optimistic - but as the days turned into weeks and his search continued to prove fruitless, I could sense his mood darkening. He smiled less, and nodded his head curtly instead of waving at me. Finally, I decided he needed cheering up.

I found him parked in his usual spot overlooking the valley, sitting on a small folding chair, scribbling furiously in a notebook. He looked up when he heard my wheels creaking towards him.

“Morning,” he said, “How are you?”

“Not too bad. Got time for a bite?”

I held up what I’d brought - a stick of butter and a small loaf of sweet, spiced bread studded with tea-soaked raisins. A smile crossed his face.

“Bara brith?” he exclaimed.

“Fresh from the bakery. I thought you could do with a pick-me-up.”

“You shouldn’t have. Let’s share it - want some tea?”

“Oh, go on then.”

“I’ll put the kettle on.” He jumped up from his flimsy chair. “Come in, come in.”

He disappeared into the back of the van, and I followed at a cautious distance.

“Sorry about the mess,” he said as he frantically cleared a space on the couch-bed for me to sit. “I keep meaning to tidy up, but…”

“It’s okay.” I perched on the edge of the mattress. “I’ve always thought it’d be nice to live in a campervan. You could go to sleep in a different place every night, wake up to a different view every morning…Seems exciting”

“I thought so too. Reality turned out a little different.”

He put the kettle on to boil. I watched as he cut the loaf into slices and slathered them with butter. It was clear from his fumbling hands that he wasn’t used to company.

“So! What do you do…”

I was about to say ‘for a living’, but stopped myself. This didn’t look like the home of someone who was consistently employed. I cleared my throat and started again.

“So, what do you do exactly? I mean, the whole ‘researching strange phenomena’ thing. What exactly does that entail?”

“Well, I…” he hesitated, then squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “I’m a full-time UFO chaser.”

“UFOs? I thought those only happened in America.”

“Oh, far from it! There have been sightings all over the world - Peru, Brazil, France, Scotland. We’re just the latest ones on the list. I’ll show you.”

Dropping what he was doing, he crouched down to rifle through one of his boxes. I stared at the top of his head - at his dark, thick hair that curled in every direction. For the first time, I noticed how soft it looked. I felt a sudden, inappropriate urge to reach out and touch it, which I quickly suppressed. I knew neither of us would ever recover from the embarrassment.

“Here!”

He pulled out a thick notebook which bulged with a mess of newspaper clippings, and began flipping through it. From my angle, I could see the pages he was turning - old headlines dating back to the 1940s, sensationalist magazine articles, blurry photographs of lights hovering over treetops, artists’ impressions of extraterrestrials. I began to realise that this wasn’t just a man with a hobby, but a man with an obsession.

“Look. Look at this,” he said, turning the notebook towards me so that I could see a cut-out newspaper article. It was dated January 23rd 1974, less than a year ago. “Read what it says. Multiple residents of the village of Llandrillo, in Merionethshire, reported seeing strange lights over Berwyn Mountain and nearby Bronwen Mountain.”

“I heard of that. Didn’t it turn out to be a meteor?”

“It was multiple lights, moving in multiple directions. And they heard noises too. What kind of meteor behaves like that?”

“Well…” I said doubtfully, “I don’t know…People do all sorts of things for a laugh, or to get in the local newspaper. Maybe aliens are real, and maybe they have visited Earth, but isn’t it more likely that people are just having a laugh?”

“It’s not just aliens, you know,” he said, “These entities could be anything. Interdimensional beings that manifest as lights. Demons from another plane of existence. Some kind of Soviet spy technology. Our future selves, come to visit their primitive ancestors.”

“You mean, like time travellers?”

“Exactly. They could be anything. We just don’t know. But we’re going to find out.”

I looked at the sky outside - the same sleepy Welsh sky I’d looked up at my whole life - and tried to imagine a flying saucer blotting out the sun. The very idea seemed preposterous.

“Why would they come here, though?” I wondered, “Why Wales? All we’ve got is hills and some old ruins.”

“Who knows? They could be researchers too, studying our environment, our biology, our behaviour. Maybe they’re as curious about humans as we are about them.”

His excitement was growing. There wasn’t enough room to pace up and down the van, so he stood in one spot and gesticulated wildly.

“That’s the problem with people! Most people just wake up, go to work, sit in front of the telly for an hour, and go to bed. They don’t care to ask questions, they don’t care to dream. They have no imagination, no curiosity about the world around them.”

He pointed emphatically to the window.

“There’s something out there! I know there is! Sooner or later, someone is going to learn the truth. Whether it’s me or some fellow in Texas, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that we find proof. The universe has countless mysteries, and if we can unravel just one of them, it’ll be worth all the mockery.”

He must’ve seen the scepticism on my face, because he stopped and sighed, lowering his head.

“Maybe there is something out there,” I conceded, “But still, that doesn’t mean every story is true.”

“Of course,” he sighed, “Half of these UFO sightings are just pranks or acid trips or rare atmospheric phenomena, I know that much. But the rest…”

“Have you ever seen one?”

“No,” he admitted, “But I will. I know I will.”

The kettle began to whistle on the stove, putting an end to our disagreement. He made two cups of tea, sweetened with a thick dribble of condensed milk from an already open can.

“Here you go,” he smiled as he handed one cup to me.

“Thanks.”

He stood opposite me, leaning his back against the kitchen counter. For a while we were silent, sipping tea and eating buttered slices of bara brith from chipped saucers.

“So how long have you believed in UFOs?” I asked, hoping to envoke some happy childhood memories.

“As long as I can remember. I was just a little boy when I found out about the foo fighters.”

“The what?”

“The foo fighters. Strange lights seen by Allied pilots during the war. They would appear out of nowhere and chase after Allied aircraft, almost like they were toying with them. But they never caused any harm, and they moved in a way that defied all laws of aerophysics.”

“That must’ve been a sight to see. It sounds insane.”

“My parents said the same thing,” he chuckled regretfully, “Living in postwar Wales, well…they didn’t take kindly to the idea that they were being watched from above. They were from Cardiff, you see, and they had to endure two-thousand bombs falling on their city. All my wild ideas about alien aircraft and disembodied lights flying over their heads…They didn’t have patience for that kind of talk. They tried to beat it out of me.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m on my own now.” He awkwardly downed the rest of his tea and finished his last bite of bara brith. “The future! That’s all that matters.”

He deposited his empty cup and saucer into the tiny sink and began to wash them. His movements slowed, and he stood hesitating, before turning off the water and facing me.

“Listen, are you busy in the evenings?” he asked.

“Um…not really. When I get home from work, I just read a book or watch some telly until bedtime.”

“Then you should join me one of these days! We could search for the answers to life’s great mysteries.”

I started to laugh, but his expression was deadly serious. My smile faded.

“Me? But I’m not…Look, I don’t know anything about UFOs. And all I know about aliens is that film with the spores and the pod people.”

“It doesn’t matter if you don’t have prior experience. I’ve been driving around in this stupid van for years, staying up every night with a camera and a pair of binoculars, and so far I’ve got nothing to show for it. I need a second pair of eyes. And the fact you’re a newcomer means you might notice things that I overlook.”

“Oh. Um…”

“Besides, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who’s actually listened to me.”

“Well…” As I often did when uncomfortable, I sought refuge in humour. I straightened my back, squared my shoulders, and held out my hand officiously. “In that case, consider us colleagues, Mister Gethin.”

He shook my hand, and just like that, I was an honorary UFO chaser.

Against my better judgment, I began to accompany Gethin ap Daffyd on his quest to prove the existence of the non-existent. While other people were busy putting up Christmas decorations, we spent hours driving around the district, documenting strange rock formations or unusual markings on trees which he insisted were alien radiation burns. His passion seemed reinvigorated, but whether that was a positive or negative reaction to my presence, I wasn’t sure - either he felt bolstered by my friendship, or he felt a newfound desperation to prove himself.

Whatever the reason, his energy was infectious, and I couldn’t deny that I got caught up in it. There was a certain romance to the idea of another world existing beyond ours, and despite myself, part of me wished I could share his enthusiasm. I might not have believed in UFOs, but the idea of being the first person to capture credible, indisputable evidence of one held a certain appeal. To be part of a discovery that was historic, mind-blowing, possibly world-altering…who wouldn’t feel tempted?

But truth be told, that wasn’t why I spent all those hours sitting in his campervan, listening to him talk. It wasn’t the search that interested me, but the searcher. I couldn’t help watching Gethin’s hands as they moved animatedly, his strong forearms when his black sleeves were rolled up, the way he subconsciously rubbed his beard as if to soothe himself. I found myself thinking of him when I was at work, cycling home faster than normal so that we had more time to spend together, and missing the sound of his voice when I was eating alone in front of the television.

My visits grew longer and longer, until finally, we arranged to spend the bank holiday weekend staking out an auspicious spot in a forested patch of hillside, high above the valley. I cycled to our usual meeting place on Friday evening, bringing some camping supplie, a change of clothes, and a copy of The Magic Valley Travellers, and then he drove us up into the trees. Arriving at the roadside clearing which he’d scouted out, we went to work, setting up his camera equipment and testing his modified radios, which he claimed could pick up signals of extraterrestrial origin.

The three-day weekend passed as I expected it would: uneventfully. Gethin spent the days scanning the skies with his binoculars or fiddling with his equipment, while I sat in the van and read my book. To him, it was his life’s work, but to me, it was a very peculiar camping trip. Not my cup of tea, but certainly better than spending the festive season alone.

We spent the nights sitting by the campfire, wrapped in blankets, heating cans of soup on a portable stove while he told his stories. As our tiredness grew, our conversations faded away, and we sat in comfortable silence before retreating into our respective nests - me on the van’s narrow bunk, him in a sleeping bag by the fire.

On Monday morning, I woke to the sound of kitchen utensils clattering and Gethin humming under his breath. He was bustling around the tiny kitchen, rummaging through the chaos of tin-cans and vacuum-packed jerky. The window was open to admit a gentle breeze.

“Morning,” I yawned.

“Good morning,” he said as he heated up a frying pan on the stove.

“Did you stay up all night?”

“I tried to. I nodded off, though. I went through our time-lapse footage when I woke up, but we didn’t miss anything.”

He peeled open a tin of Spam, turned it upside-down, and smacked it until the block of processed pork fell out with a gentle thud. He cut it into slices and began to fry them. The air filled with the delicious, salty smell of cooking ham.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said without looking up, “I know you don’t believe in any of this stuff. But I appreciate the company. I don’t really get to talk to people a lot.”

“You’re welcome,” I said uncertainly. “I know I’m not exactly the ideal UFO-hunting assistant…”

“No, no, I like to be challenged. It helps me remember why I’m out here. Stops me thinking in circles, just going crazy…”

The slices of meat sizzled in the pan. He turned them over with tongs to brown the other side. I went out into the bushes, freshened up, and returned to find that the table had been set, and he was pouring two cups of the blackest coffee I’d ever seen.

“Last chance saloon,” he said, “Come on, eat up. Today is going to be a big day, I can feel it.”

We sat down and picked up our mismatched cutlery. Gethin wolfed his breakfast at alarming speed, eager to get to work, while I sipped my coffee and savoured my Spam. He waited for me to finish, his leg jiggling impatiently. It wasn’t long before he filled the silence the only way he knew how: by regaling me with UFO tales.

Over the course of our relationship, he’d told me countless stories of alien abductions; of people being chased home by glowing orbs; of wreckage-strewn crash-sites and subsequent government cover-ups; of beaches where mysterious patterns had been drawn in the sand. I enjoyed listening to them the same way I enjoyed listening to any well-told story: as a work of fiction to be appreciated, but not to be believed.

“Isn’t it funny how they always look the same?” I said as he leaned back in his seat, “Always a flying disc and a big beam of light…always a little man, grey or green, with a big head and big eyes…It’s almost like people absorb each other’s stories and repeat them. Consciously or not.”

“Or maybe all the descriptions match because they all saw the same thing.”

“And the abductions? The medical experiments? The…probing? You don’t think one person got famous for telling a story, and then everyone else realised they could get famous too?”

“I doubt anyone wants to be remembered as the fellow who got snatched by a little grey man.”

“I’m not so sure…You’d be amazed the things people come up with.”

“So everybody is a liar?”

“I didn’t say that. Some people are liars, and some people see what they want to see. If you’re staying in a house that people keep telling you is haunted, well, you’re going to start looking at the shadows a lot differently.”

“Alright.” He sat down opposite me, resting his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together. His green eyes bore into mine. “When was the first recorded sighting of a flying saucer?”

“I don’t know. The fifties?”

“1878. Almost a hundred years ago. A farmer in Texas named John Martin saw a saucer-shaped object flying at - quote - ‘a wonderful speed’. And before that, in 1803, some Japanese fishermen found a hollow, saucer-shaped boat drifting off the coast. The entity inside presented itself as a young woman, who spoke to them in an alien language before floating away. So what do you think is more likely? That people in different countries and different cultures have been telling the exact same lie for nearly two centuries, or that we’ve been visited by other life-forms?”

“Well, I choose the third option: that sometimes the sky does strange things, and sometimes the human brain does strange things, and sometimes those strange things meet in the middle. If the right person sees the right thing at the right time, then boom, extraterrestrials exist.”

“Then what about the mass sightings in Europe in the 1560s? The hours-long dogfight between flying cylinders and flying orbs in Bavaria in 1561? None of those people had ever been exposed to the idea of an aircraft, let alone an aerial battle.”

“I mean, if hundreds of people in Strasbourg can have the uncontrollable urge to dance until their feet bleed, I think hundreds of people in Nuremberg can be convinced that a solar flare is a battle between angels and demons. Especially if they stare at the sun for long enough.”

Gethin sighed, leaned back, and chugged his now-cold coffee.

“I know it all sounds bizarre,” he said, “But can’t something bizarre be true? Think of all the things which used to be considered fairy-tales, or blasphemy, or lies. The shape of the earth, the concept of human flight, the health benefits of hand-washing. All of those things have been proven not just possible, but real.”

“But back then, we were looking at the truth from a place of ignorance. We’re not ignorant any more. Now, we’re looking for extraordinary answers to ordinary questions, because we want the world to be more interesting than it actually is. Sometimes the correct answer is the most boring one.”

“Well,” Gethin said, “You might be happy to live in a boring world, but I’m not.”

Silence fell, and I sensed that a line had been crossed. Our normally friendly arguments had, for the first time, turned hostile. Unsure how to salvage the conversation, I concentrated on polishing off my plate.

“Thanks for the Spam,” I said.

“No problem. Anyway!” he slapped his thighs, trying to perk himself up. “Ready to change the world?”

“Yep.”

The day passed in much the same manner as the two days before it, with camera checks and conspiracy theories and not a single UFO in sight. That night, disappointed but not discouraged, we began to pack up our equipment, ready to return to civilisation in the morning. As I struggled to collapse a telescopic tripod that seemed to weigh twenty pounds, I heard Gethin’s voice behind me say:

“Come look at this.”

I turned to see him lying flat on his back on the ground, staring straight up. I followed his gaze, but could see nothing except the night sky.

“What is it?”

“You can’t see it standing up. Come down here.”

I gingerly lowered myself onto the ground beside him, folding my hands behind my head so the soil wouldn’t get in my hair, and lay staring upwards.

“Where am I meant to look?” I asked.

“Everywhere. Just…everywhere.”

It was a clear night with only a few wispy clouds, and in the blackness sparkled a multitude of tiny white dots.

“I often do this to clear my head,” Gethin said quietly, “And every single time, I wonder if there’s someone out there, looking back at me, asking themselves if I exist. I wonder if they search their skies for answers, just the same as I do. And the possibility that the answer is no…that’s what breaks my heart.”

“Why?”

“Because this view is the most wonderful thing that’s ever existed. And if we’re alone in the universe…if we’re a freak accident, just floating on this blue anomaly of a rock until we die…that means we’re the only ones who can see it. And once we’re all gone, no animal will ever look up in awe. No living thing will ever worship the sun or sing songs about the moon. Trillions of stars will just keep existing, unseen, unloved, until the last gasp of the final photon decays into nothing. That’s why we can’t be alone. That’s why aliens have to be real. I need them to be real. Am I making any sense?”

“Yes.”

He drew a ragged breath and sighed it out, but whether it was a sigh of relief or melancholy, I couldn’t tell.

We lay side-by-side in silence. As I stared up at the stars, as millions of my ancestors had before me, I began to feel a curious sense of weightlessness, of letting go. It was as if my body had forgotten that I was lying in the dirt outside a grubby old campervan in Wales, and all I could see was the night sky stretching for eternity in every direction. I felt like I was the size of an atom, floating calmly in an infinite black ocean speckled with distant worlds that no human in a billion years would ever reach.

It should’ve been frightening, but instead it was peaceful. I was a tiny and insignificant particle, just like everyone else who had ever existed, and that was okay.

I quickly snapped back to reality. The ground was hard, the night was cold, and the stars were just stars. I sat up, wincing.

“It’s getting chilly,” I said through chattering teeth, “Let’s go back inside.”

“Sure.”

We clambered back into our seats, wrapping ourselves in blankets, and huddled together until warmth returned to our extremities. The more comfortable we grew, the sleepier we became. Without meaning to, we began to doze.

It was light that woke me. A bright, pale light shining through my eyelids, making me grimace and avert my face. Was it morning already?

“Mmphf,” I grumbled, “Turn it off.”

The light intensified in response. I forced open my tired eyes, blinking and squinting in the brightness. Beside me, Gethin was likewise stirring, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Suddenly, he sat bolt upright, alert.

Hovering over the dark trees, directly above the hood of our van, was a bright light. A search-and-rescue helicopter, I thought, probably looking for some lost hiker - but there was no noise. All we could hear was the rustling leaves and our own breathing. What kind of helicopter was silent?

“My God,” Gethin breathed. “It’s there. It’s right there.”

Shielding my eyes with my hand, I tried to make out the shape behind the light, but it was too dazzling.

“What is it?” I whispered. “Can you see? All I can see is light…”

“I’m not…I’m not sure. I need a better view.”

We were afraid to raise our voices above the barest murmur, as if we might somehow startle the light into disappearing. Transfixed, all we could do was sit there and gaze up at it.

The light slowly moved, rising higher in the sky until it no longer filled our vision. Then it began to move away horizontally, drifting further down the road at an almost glacial pace. Without taking his eyes off it, Gethin slowly reached in the direction of his rucksack, groping blindly in the space behind his seat.

“My camera,” he murmured, “Help me get my camera.”

But before I could move, as if sensing what we were plotting, the light halted abruptly. For a moment, neither of us breathed, and even the forest seemed to have frozen in time. Then, like a startled animal fleeing into the undergrowth, the light darted away from us across the treetops. Its speed horrified me as much as it awed me.

“Shit,” said Gethin.

He turned the ignition key, and the campervan’s motor rumbled to life. Cursing at the inadequacy of his own vehicle, he gave chase, accelerating down the road. I scrambled to put my seatbelt on.

“Are you sure we should be chasing it?” I cried out, “It might not be friendly…”

“But what if it’s trying to lead us somewhere? I need to see where it’s going. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, abduction?”

The light began to swing from side to side - sometimes darting in sharp zigzags, sometimes swaying in lazy undulations. Something about its movements seemed playful. I began to suspect that the consciousness controlling it, whatever or whoever it was, wasn’t interested in outrunning us. Why else would it be following the road when it could easily lose us among the trees?

“How?” I blurted out, “How is this possible?”

“It knew we were searching for it. It knew. So it found us first.”

“But…how…I mean…” I stuttered. Words failed me. “Is this fucking real? How is this happening to us?”

“Grab my bag. Get my camera out.”

“Okay.” I groped for his rucksack, but a swerve of the van caused it to lurch out of my reach. “Shit - I can’t - I’m sorry - ”

“Get my camera out! Take a photo!”

“I can’t - ”

“Now!”

I could see the needle on his speedometer moving further and further to the right. A new fear gripped me.

“Gethin?” I said.

“What?” he snapped.

“Maybe we should slow down.”

“What are you talking about? There’s a fucking UFO in front of us! We’re experiencing a one-in-a-billion event and you want to slow down?”

We were driving too fast in the dark, the glare of our headlights only illuminating a few metres in front of us. The trees, thrown into stark relief, seemed to jump out at us like monsters, then disappear just as quickly.

I was scared.

“Slow down,” I repeated, but Gethin couldn’t hear me. He was hunched over the wheel, peering up through the windshield.

“Erratic patterns…unpredictable movements…impossible speed,” he was muttering to himself, “No manmade aircraft could turn that fast without losing momentum.”

Then the forest ended, and we found ourselves speeding along a naked hillside. To our right, the hill rose so steeply that we were unable to see the top of it, and to our left, it fell away into a blackness so deep I couldn’t see the bottom. Realising I was mere inches from the edge, I instinctively recoiled, leaning away from my side-door and towards Gethin.

“Pull over!” I yelped, “Stop!”

“We’ve almost caught up with it! I’m not stopping now. I can’t!”

“Fuck the stupid UFO! Stop the van!”

“I can’t! We’re so close!”

“Gethin - !”

We both felt a stomach-dropping absence of ground underneath us. My blood ran cold, and then I let out an involuntary shriek as our front tyres hit the earth with a heavy thud, bringing us to a slamming halt. We both stayed frozen - him clutching the steering wheel with both hands, me bracing myself against the dashboard - while we waited for another impact, but it never came. I realised the van was resting at an angle, as if our rear was in the air.

The light was gone, and we were stuck in a ditch.

“Jesus,” I gasped. “Jesus, I almost had a heart attack.”

Gethin didn’t reply at first. His mouth opened and closed, and his green eyes were wide and unblinking.

“Fuck,” he suddenly said, “Fuck, are you alright? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. I just - I just need a minute. Just give me a minute.”

“Okay. Okay, hold tight.”

He tried in vain to reverse out of the ditch, but couldn’t find the purchase. As we swayed, a wave of nausea and dizziness washed over me; I squeezed my eyes shut and waited for it to pass.

“What if I get down there and push?” I said faintly.

“No, it’s not safe. You could get flattened.”

Finally, he gave up and turned off the engine - killing the headlights - and put his head in his hands.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” he said, “This was my fault. I’m an idiot.”

I neither agreed nor disagreed.

We sat in silence and darkness, drawing deep breaths to steady ourselves, until we felt calm enough to climb out. The cold night air cleared my fuzzy head. Gethin fumbled in his rucksack for a torch, switched it on, and began to walk in desperate circles around the van, shining his light over the scene.

“Shit. We’re more stuck than I thought. Look, the rear tyres aren’t even touching the ground.”

I started to shiver. He approached me, aiming the torch at our feet so it wouldn’t dazzle us, and took off his black leather jacket and draped it around my shoulders. I held it close.

“Come on,” he said, “Let’s get off the road. Maybe someone else will come by.”

We made our way by torchlight to the grassy verge, where a low stone wall stood, and perched on it. I hunched forwards, pressing my cold hands into the folds of the jacket - I could still feel the drop in the pit of my stomach. We stared glumly at the dark shape of the crashed campervan.

“You’ll get it fixed up,” I assured him. “Don’t worry…”

“I’m an idiot,” he repeated. “I should’ve been thinking of our safety, but instead I was only…I was only thinking of the light. The stupid light.”

I could barely see his face, but I knew his expression was dejected.

“I’m okay, aren’t I?” I said.

“For a second, I thought - ” he hesitated, then rubbed his hands over his face, as if to try and clear his mind. “For a second I thought I’d got you killed.”

“Oh, please. I’ve ridden into bigger pot-holes.”

“I know. But the feeling…I’m so fucking sorry.”

I groped for his hand in the dark, and held it tight.

“Your hand’s cold,” I said.

“So is yours.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t get a photograph.”

“Forget the photograph. Forget the whole thing.”

As I sat and looked out across the dark hills and valleys, I realised we were going to be okay. I could see the distant twinkles of windows and Christmas trees and fairy-lights, probably a hundred people eating a late supper and watching television. People with cars and trucks and tractors who’d be willing to tow us out.

“Hey.” I nudged him with my elbow. “We found a UFO.”

“...Yeah. Yeah, we did.

“We should go get help.”

“We should.”

“And then we should head down to my local pub. We could both use a pint.”

“God, yeah.”

We rose unsteadily to our feet. Gripping his torch with one hand, and my hand with the other, Gethin led the way down the hill towards the lights of civilisation.

For @lordbettany

#aneurin barnard #fanfic #out there #simon ryninks #UFO chaser #Wales

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