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tongue-like-a-razor · 6 months ago

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Hotter Than Texas | Part III

Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x F!Reader

A/N: Thank you for all the lovely messages about this series! I'm so happy y'all are loving it and are excited to see it continued <3

Summary: Bradley Bradshaw is tasked with transporting a not-so-delicate package in the form of Jake Seresin's baby sister, who turns out to be Bradley's dream girl worst nightmare.

Aka it's a road trip, strap in.

CW: swearing, age gap (10 years)

WC: 2200+

Part I | Masterlist

“You got a girlfriend, Brad Bradshaw?”

Bradley looks over at you, sitting in his passenger seat in a green sundress, fiddling with a charm on your bracelet. “No,” he replies rather hoarsely, unsure how to interpret your question.

“Why not?” you continue, your tone light and carefree, as though you’re just asking about the weather.

“I dunno,” Bradley mutters uncomfortably, returning his attention to the road.

You look up at him abruptly and he throws you a brief glance; just long enough to see the concern on your face. “Think about it,” you suggest.

Bradley sighs, making a concentrated effort to check his blind spot before switching lanes – like driving could distract him from this conversation. Why doesn’t he have a girlfriend? He’s never really thought about it so, clearly, it hasn’t been at the top of his priority list. “The last girlfriend I had was in college. Didn’t last long, either,” he says, hoping this might appease your curiosity enough for you to change the subject.

“Hmm.”

He looks over at you again, wondering what you’re thinking. Wondering if you might consider this little detail a red flag. “I haven’t really met anyone I wanted to spend all my time with,” he says. Until now.

“Interesting,” you muse, leaning back into your seat as though you’re satisfied with this response.

“Is it?” Bradley asks, his gaze inadvertently coasting over your bare thighs every time he glances at you.

You shrug mildly, your fingers once again toying with your bracelet.

“Do you have a boyfriend?” Bradley asks, feeling temporarily bold.

“Mmm,” you deliberate, dropping your hands into your lap and slanting your head back against the headrest. “We’ll see.”

Bradley furrows his eyebrows, now watching you more than he’s watching the road. “What does that mean?”

“It means, we’ll see, sugar,” you respond absently. Then, suddenly, you spring up in your seat. “Apple orchard ahead!” you exclaim, pointing at the sign on the side of the interstate.

Bradley, more confused than ever, blinks between your outstretched arm, the billboard, and the road. “You want to pick apples?”

You give Bradley a look and say, “They’ll have pie!”

“Oh!” Bradley chuckles. “Say no more.” He makes a few lane changes so as not to miss the fast-approaching exit.

“We can have the pie for lunch,” you say, glancing at the clock on his dash.

“We can stop for lunch and then get pie,” Bradley proposes, hoping to once again enjoy the pleasure of your company at a restaurant.

You consider his offer and then counter with, “We can have some pie, then have lunch, and then have some more pie.”

Bradley laughs. “Sold.”

…

About an hour later, Bradley is sitting with you on a small dock overlooking a creek, the open pie box positioned in between the two of you.

“That’s a fresh pie,” you comment, sticking your fork into the flaky crust.

Bradley grins at the top of your head as you lean over the box to take a bite. For some reason, your obsession with pie supremely amuses him. “You’re fucking adorable,” he says before he can stop himself.

You freeze with the fork in your mouth and then slowly blink up at him, your eyes searching his for a moment before you sensually draw the fork out of your mouth and then lick it for good measure. Bradley nearly has a heart attack. You smirk at him playfully and then get to your feet. “You think?” you ask, as though you want to hear him say it again. You bend over slightly and lift your leg to remove a sandal.

Bradley watches you gracefully step out of your shoes while beads of sweat collect under the collar of his t-shirt. How could he have let that kind of thing slip?

“Fancy a dip, Rooster?” You eye him mischievously.

Bradley gulps as you bunch up your sundress, exposing more of your legs than he should ever get to see, and dip a toe into the water. The current bubbles around your foot.

“It’s cold!” you squeal, lifting your foot out of the water with a laugh.

Bradley chuckles, getting up as you hop in your excitement on the edge of the dock. “Careful,” he cautions, holding his arm out in case you fall. “Don’t slip.”

You plunge your whole foot into the water before promptly removing it with a splash and a yelp.

“Come on,” he says. “How cold can it be?”

You giggle, taking a hold of his arm as you once again lower your foot into the creek.

Bradley lets his hand close gently around your elbow, steadying you while your toe makes circles in the water.

“How deep do you think it is?”

And before Bradley has a chance to respond, you make your way to the bank and take several steps into the creek, squealing as you go. Bradley shakes his head with a laugh as you wade further in.

“What’re you waitin’ for, handsome?” you call to him when you’re about knee deep in the water.

Bradley, who’s pretty sure he’s going to be replaying that line in his head for the next week, strolls up the dock toward the bank. He slips off his shoes and stands on the slope for a moment, letting the water lap at his bare feet.

“It’s freezing, right?” you exclaim giddily.

Bradley shrugs as he finally enters the – admittedly frigid – water. “It’s nice,” he says. “Refreshing.”

You snort as he strides toward you and, when he’s close enough, you dip your hand into the water and splash him.

“Hey now,” he cautions. “Don’t start something you wouldn't want me to finish.” He’s deep enough now that the bottoms of his shorts are skimming the surface of the water.

You giggle and splash him again – harder this time.

Bradley shakes his head, lowering his hand into the water. “Just remember,” he says, “you asked for this.” And then he glides his hand along the surface, sending a cluster of water droplets in your direction.

You screech, covering your face and, not a moment later, start a boisterous aquatic attack, showering him with icy water and completely impairing his visual field. The skirt of your dress floats in the water like a lily pad as you retreat deeper into the creek.

Bradley, who’s now soaked from head to toe, peels off his t-shirt and tosses it onto the dock. Then, he follows you deeper. “You’ve been warned, princess,” he says, gathering a wave of water and sending it in your direction.

You scream as the giant splash drenches you entirely. You stand still for a moment, accepting your fate, and then you wrap your arms around your shoulders, shivering as you glance up at Bradley whilst water drips from the tip of your nose. “I’m all wet!” you shriek.

Bradley laughs, finally approaching you. “What did you expect?”

“That you’d let me win!”

Bradley eyes you with a smirk. “Let you win? Honey, you don’t know me at all.” Bradley can’t remember the last time in his life he’d used so many pet names, but, looking at you, they just keep rolling off his tongue.

You pout at him, your lashes dripping water every time you blink. “I’ll get you back when you least expect it,” you say.

Bradley chuckles. “Your lips are turning blue,” he says, noticing that your teeth are starting to chatter.

You let Bradley lead you out of the water and, once you’re back on the bank, you start to wring out the bottom of your sundress. The wet material sticks to your curves invitingly and Bradley begrudgingly looks away.

…

“Want me to drive for a while?” you ask, approaching the car.

Bradley looks over at you with an amused smirk as he pulls open the passenger door. “Nope,” he responds.

“You don’t trust me with your precious Bronco?” you ask playfully.

Bradley chuckles, shaking his head. “I just don’t mind driving.”

“Neither do I.” You shrug.

Bradley ponders for a moment before replying, “Next time.”

You raise your eyebrows at him. “Planning another road trip with me already?”

Bradley feels the unwelcome – but vexingly predictable – stutter of his heart as you continue to hold his gaze. He tightens his grip on the frame of the door he’s still holding open because he can’t very well sink his hands into you. Not only are you much younger than anyone Bradley’s ever dated, you’re also Hangman’s little sister, a reality so unfortunate that it almost feels contrived. Of all the girls in the world, why does he have to be so utterly infatuated with you? After a few seconds of – we’ll call it deliberate – silence, he grins. “If you’ll have me,” he says.

You smile. “Fun,” you say, drawing a little closer to the passenger door – a little closer to Bradley. “Where are we going?”

Bradley gulps uneasily. “Anywhere,” he says, his voice raspy and uneven.

You graze your teeth over your bottom lip and Bradley could swear that the heat of the afternoon sun is about to melt his very bones. “I’ve always wanted to take the scenic route to Alaska,” you muse, pursing your lips.

Bradley watches you unblinkingly. “Let’s go,” he says.

You let out a peal of laughter and slap him lightly on the chest. “Can you imagine?” you exclaim.

He can. “It’s a bit in the opposite direction,” he says somewhat ironically. “But anything’s better than the desert,” he concludes, slowly shifting his weight after standing very still for a very long time.

You smile at him sympathetically, as though you can tell he’s suffering greatly. “Rain check?” you ask softly.

Bradley, who is absolutely sure that there isn’t a single organ in his body left uncooked, comments facetiously, “Does it ever rain here?”

…

“Let’s stop for some coffee,” you say about half an hour after getting back on the road.

If Bradley didn’t know any better, he’d think you might be finding excuses to extend the trip. “With a pinch of salt?” Bradley teases you, but obediently merges onto the offramp.

“I’m thinking of switching majors,” you say quietly, as though you’re unsure whether you really want to share this information.

Bradley glances over at you as he pulls up to a red light. “Sounds like you might need something a little stronger than coffee.”

You snort loudly and then let out a dramatic sigh. “I’m thinking you might be right, darlin’.”

Bradley’s heart races as he pulls into the lot of the first bar he sees. Frequenting watering holes is absolutely on the list of things Bradley should not be doing with his colleague’s baby sister. But you seem like you need to get something off your chest. And Bradley can’t imagine a more ideal way to spend an evening.

The tavern is low-lit and crowded, and you shift slightly closer to his side upon entering. Bradley instinctively places a hand on your back, like it’s meant to be there or something. He guides you through the packed bar toward an empty table near the back and waves down a server before taking a seat across from you.

He slides you a cocktail menu and watches you peruse it without saying a word. When the server arrives, you order a paloma.

Bradley orders a whiskey neat and fixes you with a weighty look once the server departs. “You want to talk about it?” he asks.

You shrug. “We can.”

Bradley continues searching your face. “Do you want to?”

You sigh and look down into your lap. “Nobody knows yet,” you admit. “I’m halfway through my junior year so switching would really set me back.”

Bradley nods sympathetically. He knows all about being set back. “What are you thinking of switching to?”

“Psych,” you respond hesitantly.

Then the drinks arrive and you fall uncharacteristically silent. Bradley takes a sip of his whiskey while you down a quarter of your cocktail in one gulp. “You want my advice?” he asks. “Or are you just sharing?”

You meet his gaze distantly. “My parents are gonna flip shit,” you says monotonously, as if you haven’t even heard his question.

Bradley smirks at you. “It’s their job to overreact,” he says. “They just want to protect you.”

You absently run your finger around the rim of your glass. “My brother’s gonna question my judgement. Say I’m making a mistake.”

“Your brother has questionable judgement, himself,” Bradley points out.

You let out a small chuckle. “I wish I knew both outcomes before making a decision.”

Bradley could sure relate to that feeling. “Sometimes, you just have to go with your gut. It may not apply here, to be honest, but this guy I know – one of my superiors – he uh, he has this motto: ‘Don’t think, just do.’ I’m not saying yours has to be a split second decision. But, if it were, and you had to decide this minute, without weighing the consequences or talking it over with your family, what would you choose?”

You blink up at him soberly and state, “Naval Academy.”

Bradley’s eyes widen stupidly as he processes your words. “That” – he croaks, then clears his throat – “that’s not psychology.”

You suck in your cheeks and solemnly shake your head.

Tag List

I’ll be tagging the rest in the comments shortly!

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peachdues · 3 months ago

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a little more Kyojuro, for my loves 🤍

@stuckinthewrongworld I apologize in advance, I’ll probably be in your DMs constantly about this one. Same with you, @tearmint

A continuation of the first sneak peek of my new Virgin!cop!Kyojuro x escort/callgirl!Reader fic, teased here

“I have to take you Amane General,” Kyojuro’s voice is gentle and quiet. “It’s protocol.”

Your eyes find his, watching you through his rearview mirror, his own expression that of sorrow. Remorse.

Bitterness creeps up the back of your throat. You loathe pity; you couldn’t stand to see it in the eyes of your newer clients whenever it came time for you to set out the terms of your services. There was always a hint of pity in their eyes, as you explained what you would and wouldn’t do; what their money could and couldn’t buy.

Never was their pity enough to make them walk away; go back to their families, their wives, and spend their fortunes on something worthwhile. It was only ever self-serving; a crumb of penitence that they would turn to later, if for nothing else than to ease their own guilty consciences. They couldn’t be all bad, fumbling for their discarded belts, their ties and suit jackets, if they felt a little bit of pity for the poor girl forced to be their outlet for the night.

By the time they tossed you your earnings and closed the hotel room door, they’d feel markedly lighter. Like they’d done a service, sparing a morsel of concern for some nobody. Besides, they paid well. That alone was enough to offset whatever guilt or shame they felt for dialing your Madam’s number to begin with.

It’s protocol.

Yeah, sure it is. As standard as it was for him to pull you back over the bridge’s ledge. A requirement of his job, not something he did out of any morality of his own. Just business, no different from your dealings with your clientele.

You’ve never cared for their pity, and you sure as hell can’t stand the trace of it in his eyes. You open your mouth, ready to tell him he can take his pity and his fake concern and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine, when you realize he hasn’t looked away.

The acid you’d cooked up to spit his way fizzles out in your throat. Pity, as you’d learned, was fleeting. Always subject to conditions, to limitations. Something to be chucked at the suite door, forgotten when it came time to shed clothes.

But not with Kyojuro. Instead, in his gaze remains that same undercurrent of warmth, the one that needled you into placing your hands on his shoulders, and allow him to pull you back from the bridge’s edge. One born of a genuine concern that, by all accounts, wasn’t part of his job description to give.

A kindness you haven’t known in God knows how long.

—

For the better part of an hour, Kyojuro drives and drives. He makes no effort to talk, save the odd comment about some ad on the radio, or the state of the roads. Everything is topical at best; he does not press. He does not demand. He does not expect.

Another twenty minutes pass before you realize he’s driving in circles. The bridge is only six miles or so from Amane Gen. It would’ve taken him under ten minutes to get there in normal traffic, and even less right now, while the City still slept.

He’s dawdling.

You wait until he completes his next circle around the main interstate before you speak. “Protocol, huh?”

Even from the backseat, you can still see part of his profile; how his cheek raises in a smile. “You said you liked watching the sunrise, right?” Kyojuro inclines his head to the left.

You peer out the passenger window. There, just beyond the skyline of the city, the sky has begun to lighten.

A lump forms in your throat. You’d thought he’d asked you to sit on the left hand side of his car so he could keep a better eye on you in his mirror. But here, strapped into the left passenger backseat of his cruiser, he’s given you an unobstructed view of the east.

“Any moment now.” He says. “It’s pretty spectacular from here.”

And it is; before long, the first streak of pink ripples across the horizon, followed by muted hues of orange and purple. Sleepily, the sun begins peaking over the skyline as it gently coats the city of the new light of dawn.

A tear slips down your cheek, but you do not dare look away.

Kyojuro drives his circles until the sun is well over the top of the tallest skyscrapers. Only when the last ray of pale pink and orange fades into the blue or the sky, does he finally take the exit to Amane General.

Neither of you speak; not until an ER nurse brings a wheelchair to roll you back to the examination area, and even then, it’s Kyojuro who bids you a quiet goodbye, his card pressed into your palm.

It’s probably for the best, you decide as you watch his back retreat through the throng of ER attendees. Thank you wouldn’t have been enough, anyway.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kyojuro rengoku #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny rengoku #kny kyojuro

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bellaxgiornata · 1 year ago

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You're Safe With Me [Chapter Six]

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.8k

[You can find the full series summary and masterlist of chapters for You're Safe With Me here.]

a/n: Finally we get the next chapter! There's a surprise in this one; can y'all catch it? Things are starting to get even more interesting...and dangerous, maybe. Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @lunaticgurly @allaboardthereadingrailroad @linamarr @hollandorks @sleeperthelazy @marcysbear @mattkinsella @mattmurdocksstarlight @xxdrixx @v4leoftears @aoi-targaryen @danzer8705 @anon-cat-posts @heimtathurs @kmc1989 @thepunisherfrankcastle @agirlcandream84 @americaarse @desert-fern @youmakelovinfun @callmebrooklynbabes @jooheoniesdimples

"What are you doing?" you asked in confusion.

Looking out of the front windshield, you watched as Frank pulled off onto the exit ramp on the side of the interstate. Frowning, you glanced over at him in the driver's seat beside you. He was focused on the road, his face set in his typical flat and stern expression as he drove with one hand on the wheel. His other arm was resting against the window beside him, his hand absently running across the firm set of his lips.

"Takin' a detour," he replied simply, eyes remaining fixed ahead.

"A detour to where?" you pressed.

Frank’s attention shifted to you for a moment, his eyes briefly scanning the inquisitive look on your face before his focus returned back to the road. Eyebrows rising up onto your forehead, you impatiently waited for a response of some sort from him–anything at all–but he remained mute. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement.

With an irritated huff you glanced back out of the windshield, noticing the van was now gradually rolling to a stop at a stop sign. Eyeing the shops and gas stations around the area, you were still confused as to what would make Frank take a sudden detour. You thought he'd said this morning that he was trying to put as much distance between you and what had happened back at that motel you’d been ambushed at the other night as fast as he could. He wanted to make it as difficult as possible for the Patriot Militia to pick back up on your trail.

So what the hell was he doing stopping? It was still a bit before dinnertime and therefore still earlier than when he usually stopped for a motel. A look at the van's gas gauge showed you that the tank was just over half full. If he was stopping for a bathroom break he usually just said so because he always warned you not to 'fuck around,' always eager to just get back on the road.

And really, you couldn't have him stopping. Not here. Not right now. Not after yesterday.

"A detour to where ?" you pressed further.

"To Walmart," he finally answered.

One of your brows quirked up onto your forehead at the simple response. As if a detour to Walmart was the most obvious thing in the world right now while you were driving state to state with the Punisher trying to stay alive. When he predictably didn’t elaborate, you pushed for more information.

"What's at Walmart?" you questioned.

Frank’s focus remained on the road as he drove, a muscle twitching in his cheek. "You need a phone in case of emergency," he replied, his tone a bit clipped. "And I'm guessin' you need some things since you left your place so quick." He shot you a look over his shoulder as he added, "You don't even have a coat. It's gettin' cold in some of the places we're driving through."

At his response, you sat in the passenger seat completely stunned, entirely forgetting about your current location and the shooting you'd seen on the news last night for the first time today. He was making a detour just for you ? So you could get things you needed because you hadn't had a chance to properly pack before you'd slipped out of your house?

"You're taking me shopping?" you asked incredulously.

Frank shot you a firm, stony look as he pulled up to a stoplight. "Let’s get one thing straight right now. I am not taking you shopping, Spunky," he snapped. "It's a Walmart, not a goddamn mall. You're going to quickly grab whatever the hell it is you need while I grab you a prepay. This isn't a fun stop. Got it?"

You nodded, still in shock that Frank was actually taking the time to do this for you, even if Walmart was not the first place you'd want to stop and buy clothes at. But if you were being honest, with the way he'd been treating you so far, you figured you'd be begging him to let you find a laundromat just to wash the few clothing items you had. Yet here he was letting you grab some necessities–and you certainly were going to make sure you grabbed some tampons while you were there.

The light turned green and Frank continued to drive, turning farther up ahead and navigating his way to the nearby Walmart. Your eyes were staring out of the windshield as your mind raced, quickly trying to make a mental list of everything you needed while attempting to ignore other thoughts. You weren't about to test Frank's patience; you were sure he wasn't kidding about not wanting you to spend a lot of time there so you had to prioritize what you absolutely needed.

A few minutes later he'd pulled the van into a parking spot in the Walmart parking lot, your eyes still glued to the window as you took in the sight of all the other parked cars around you. Frank cut the engine before shifting in his seat, the movement of him reaching towards the center console and grabbing his wallet catching your eye. Wordlessly he opened it, pulling out a stack of bills and counting some out. Folding the stack in half, he held it out towards you and you froze in your seat, eyeing the cash.

"Take it," he ordered. "It's two hundred. Should be more than enough for a coat and a few things. Can't have you usin' a credit card or anything for them to track."

For a moment you just stared at the cash, feeling awkward about taking it but also increasingly aware that it meant you and him would be splitting up inside the store. Nerves shook loose in your stomach as that realization fully hit you, but when he held the cash out further towards you with an irritated grunt, you hesitantly reached out, accepting it from his hand. Though it still felt weird taking the money from him even if he'd told you that this little road trip was being funded by the government.

"Should probably get yourself a hat and some sunglasses," Frank added. "To help disguise yourself. Might be useful at some point while we're running."

"Okay," you replied softly, mentally adding it to your checklist.

Frank held your eye, his stare making you a little uncomfortable with how hard it was. Especially with the way your palms had begun to sweat at the thought of him not being right beside you in the store. Ever since he'd tossed you into the back of the van at Ruby’s Diner he hadn't left your side for longer than a quick bathroom break.

"We don't have long," Frank told you. "I'll give you twenty minutes. Get the necessities. Take a piss. Meet me at that exit–" he said, gesturing to the doors nearby, "–in exactly twenty minutes. No later."

"But what if–"

"No later," he reiterated firmly.

"Alright, Sunshine," you grumbled, unbuckling your seatbelt.

Opening the van door, you slipped out of the seat and onto the pavement, pocketing the cash and carefully surveying the parking lot around you yet again. There were a handful of parked cars–about the amount you'd expect in a small town a little after two in the afternoon on a Monday–but no one was wandering around outside. Though that didn't stop the prickle of fear beginning to form low in your gut as you anxiously hugged your arms around yourself, increasingly becoming more nervous.

You knew exactly where you were right now. Ever since you and Frank had gotten on the road this morning and left the Happy Lodger Motel, you'd made a point to pay attention to the road signs and read the maps posted at the rest area stops. You were currently on the outskirts of Harrisonburg, Virginia. Which was very near Glen Allen–the place where the shooting had happened just yesterday afternoon. Meaning you were currently very near recent Patriot Militia activity.

And Frank had no idea.

Frank's form appearing around the front of the van startled you, causing you to jump on the spot. His eyes narrowed at you curiously as he paused mid-step. He had clearly caught the way you'd frightened just now. You knew that he'd noticed something had been going on with you today with the way he kept watching you with those perceptive eyes of his. He had asked you a couple of times now if you were alright, but you'd always simply lied and answered yes. He hadn’t said anything past that, but the way he continued to silently stare at you with a look of disbelief on his face was unnerving. It was as if he was waiting for the right time to pull the information out of you.

Truthfully you knew you probably needed to tell him exactly what was going on because clearly Madani hadn't told him much herself. If there was possible danger nearby, you knew he should be made aware of it. For both your sakes. But Frank was still hard for you to read. Would he think you were far more trouble than you were worth to protect if he knew the full story? If he knew what was actually going on? Is that why Madani hadn't already told him herself? Because as much as you didn't like the killing he did, you had to admit, you'd be dead without him. You needed him. You couldn't have him bolt on you and leave you an unprotected target for an entire militia with members that spanned the countryside.

The thought of you on your own without Frank had your fists curling around the fabric of your shirt, arms hugging your chest a bit tighter. You were too terrified right now to question when your fear of Frank had shifted to a fear of losing him in just a matter of days.

"You good?"

Drawn back to the moment, your eyes darted over towards Frank. He was standing there with that hard to read expression on his face, but it felt like he was seeing right through you. He knew you weren't good. But instead of telling him the truth, that fear of him abandoning you to fend for yourself in a Walmart parking lot so close to a place you knew there were militia members, you simply nodded and hummed out an affirmative. Frank's eyes narrowed further, his lips thinning out. You forced a smile onto your mouth, but even you could feel how tense it was.

Without another word, Frank turned and headed towards the entrance of the store. Sucking in a deep breath you followed after him, each step further increasing your panic. By the time the pair of you stepped inside, Frank was gruffly reminding you that you had twenty minutes to meet him back here before he walked off. And then you were alone and fully panicking.

Ducking your head, you tried to keep your breathing even as you hurried towards your right. You were going to try to focus on why you were here and not on where you were. Attempting to remain calm, you prioritized grabbing tampons first because the thought of asking Frank to stop and let you buy some later was absolutely mortifying.

For a few minutes you navigated the Walmart, trying to orient yourself and read the aisle signs as you went. The store was massive and all the aisles looming above you felt suffocating right now. Internally you kept repeating the items you needed, listing them off in your head as you tried to ignore the racing of your heart and the way your breath was starting to come in faster each time someone in the store made eye contact with you.

You wished you could say you felt safe in the semi-busy public place, but you knew better. The Patriot Militia clearly had no qualms with opening fire in public and killing innocent people. The only place you felt safe anymore was at Frank's side. But as your jaw clenched tight, you fought the surge of fear roiling in your stomach at the reminder that Frank wasn't by your side right now.

Grabbing the box of tampons from the shelf, your hand nearly crushing the side of it with how tight you were holding on to it, you turned and headed back out of the aisle. You needed to find a hat, sunglasses, and a winter coat. If you had time, you'd find a few more clothing items for cold or hot weather. Since you and Frank were going to be all over the country, you knew you needed to be prepared for all types of weather wherever you found yourself with him.

As you continued your shopping, trying to keep track of the time with a clock that was on the wall just past the registers, you felt that gnawing guilt since watching that news segment last night at the bar return to you. Somehow it crept its way past the fear still holding you in a vice and you suddenly froze, overcome with that guilt that had been steadily chipping away at you all day until it abruptly drowned you in it. Your hand fiercely clutched the hanger of the tee-shirt you were holding, your left arm crushing the other items you had to your chest as the thoughts hit you again all at once.

You'd heard them talking about Glen Allen at the Patriot Militia rally where this whole nightmare had begun. At the time, the city hadn't rung any bells in your mind because nothing had happened there. But you'd told Madani about it and your fears, and you knew she'd obviously heard it mentioned on the recording you'd sent her. But still, the shooting still happened. People had still been injured and killed. The proof of that was on the news last night at the bar you'd been at with Frank. And somehow it felt like it was partially your fault for not doing more to stop it. For not finding a way to warn everyone in Glen Allen or finding a way to stop the shooters ahead of time instead of just running and hiding and saving yourself.

Your hand began to shake, gripping the hanger even tighter in your fist. Your breath was coming in even faster and sharper now than it had when Frank had initially parted ways with you at the store entrance. Eyes closing, you tried to fight the lightheadedness washing over you. But the longer you stood there, guilt and fear mingling together and clawing at your mind as it spiraled further, the more you felt yourself freeze up and your feet root themselves to the floor.

You weren't going to survive this. Eventually these people would find you and kill you. And all the deaths and terror they caused before and after that would partially land at your feet. You were a news anchor, you could have reported this. Tried to stop them somehow. Maybe even told Frank ahead of time and been in Glen Allen and he might have been able to stop them.

But you'd done nothing instead.

Your hand tightened so hard around the hanger that you felt it snap in your fist. Feeling like you could barely breathe, your eyes clenched closed tighter as your thoughts continued to spiral further and further, your chest constricting firmly around your lungs and your heart. You were hyperventilating now, having a panic attack in the middle of the Walmart.

Something grasped onto your shoulder and you gasped, eyes flying open. Frank was standing just beside you, concern written clear across his features. Those warm, dark brown eyes of his were boring into you, but instead of fear, you felt relief flood you at the sight of him.

"C'mon," he urged softly, gesturing his head towards the registers. "Let's get your things and go."

He gently pried the shirt you'd been holding onto–the one you'd snapped the hanger on–from your hands. And then slowly, he carefully took all of the items from you without a word before making his way towards the registers. You followed after him easily, the promise of safety in his presence quickly quelling the panic in your mind as your breathing became less shallow.

Once again you'd wrapped your arms around your chest, nervously hugging yourself as you stood next to Frank. He was focused on ringing up all of the items you’d had, his face expressionless as he used the self-checkout. You were far too relieved that he’d found you when he did to care that he was currently ringing up your box of tampons.

After he’d bagged all of your items into three bags, Frank grabbed them all into one hand before he turned towards you. His left hand reached out, landing on the middle of your back and surprising you with the touch. Gently he began to guide you out of the store without a word, though you knew plenty of them were soon coming. For now you focused on keeping in step with him, surprised to discover yourself relaxing even further underneath that large, warm palm of his on the center of your back.

It was a minute before you were both back at the van, Frank opening the back doors of it and setting your bags onto the floor of the vehicle. You had significantly calmed down in his presence and under his gentle, reassuring touch by now. Whether Frank had noticed that was unclear because he had quickly focused his attention on a cellphone he had retrieved from one of the bags, typing away on it as he sat down on the edge of the van.

"You gonna tell me what's actually goin' on now?" Frank asked, breaking the silence as he continued to focus on the phone in his hands. "Or you just gonna keep pretending you're alright?"

Exhaling a breath, you leant up against the side of the van opposite him, your eyes continuing to survey the parking lot. Thankfully the pair of you still seemed to be alone. Though you figured Frank was currently more aware of your surroundings than even you were despite it appearing that he was currently distracted.

"Wondered when you'd push," you whispered.

"Been in your head and jumpy ever since you saw that news story at the bar last night," Frank observed. "That story that upset you and made you want to leave last night." He glanced up from the phone, holding your gaze. "Guessin' that shooting’s got something to do with why you're on the run from this militia. Got me thinkin' there's some things I should probably know that you're not tellin’ me."

Guiltily you focused down on your shoes. Of course he’d picked up on all of that. Frank was smart and perceptive.

"Madani told you I'm running from the Patriot Militia then?" you asked softly.

"Said you accidentally stumbled on some information that proves they're a terrorist organization," he replied, attention returning to the phone. "And that there's some big names involved in the mess, too. Making it so she can't trust everyone in Homeland and any other federal departments."

"Yeah," you admitted nervously, looking up at him through your lashes. "That–that shooting on the news last night? That was them. The militia."

Frank's hands momentarily paused what they were doing, his jaw tightening as he glared at the cell phone in his hand. A second later he locked the phone screen, his attention entirely shifting to you now as his hands lowered to his lap. There was a hard set to his eyes, but you could also see the way he was trying to piece things together with that soft furrow between his dark brows.

"The shooter?" Frank clarified.

"Yeah," you told him with a nod. "Things must not have gone as planned because the shooter was apprehended by police, but he was supposed to be shot by a bystander. Like some of those other shootings going on around the country lately." Feeling your guilt beginning to creep back into your mind, you could feel the sting of tears in your eyes as you continued. "The–the bystanders who shoot the assailants in these mass shootings are also Patriot Militia members. It's all planned out, meant to paint them as heroes for carrying a gun and using it for protection. The others–martyrs for their cause."

"To push some rich political bastard's agenda, I assume?" Frank asked. “Considering there’s federal officials involved in this.”

" Many rich political bastards' agendas," you replied, nodding. "But I–I overheard them talking about Glen Allen, Virginia at that rally. I knew they were going to hit that city somewhere like this and it's–it's my fault it wasn't stopped. Its my fault–"

"Stop," Frank said firmly. "Stop it."

You froze, mouth still half open as you stared back at Frank. He was shaking his head as he looked back at you, his expression softer than it had been a minute ago.

"'S'not your fault," he repeated. "What those assholes are doing is not on you. You did what you could–you took this to Madani. She's dealing with this now."

"But I'm a news anchor," you continued, the tears further building in your eyes. "I could have gone on the news. Warned people. Outed them. Something more than just running and hiding."

"Doubt your station would let you air that," Frank told you. "And you'd have only ended up with a bullet right here," he said, pressing a finger to his forehead, just between his eyes. "Because you'd have had them on you instantly. If there's big names involved in this, I can guarantee you there's worse out there looking for you than these half-assed organized militia members, Spunky. People like me. Maybe worse. You’d have had them on your doorstep so goddamn fast if you’d have taken this public."

And that was what did it. The thought that there was possibly something or someone worse than an entire militia after you right now sent the tears running down your cheeks, hot and wet. Frank winced when he spotted them, running a hand across the top of his head.

"Shit, I didn't mean to scare you," he said. "'M'sorry. I just meant this isn't on you. You're doing your part to try to stop them. You can't control what those assholes are doing out there."

"Except you're probably right, though," you choked out. "There probably are others out there after me right now. And I–I can’t outrun them forever. Not if they’re all out looking for me.”

Almost immediately that tightness in your chest returned and you pushed off of the van, turning your back to Frank and burying your face in your hands. You couldn’t fight the sobs that wracked through you, ashamed that you were breaking down like this in front of Frank. But his words had set a new fear loose in you, one that felt like it confirmed the fact that you were on borrowed time.

Tentative hands were on your shoulders, your body going rigid at the touch. The tears continued to stream down your cheeks behind your hands, but you tried your best to hold back your sobs, though they kept coming out in strangled hiccups.

“Hey, hey,” Frank’s soothing voice said, his hands on your shoulders very gradually pulling you in towards himself. “You’re alright. Everything’ll be alright.”

“They’re going to kill me,” you breathed out, your hands muffling your words.

“No they won’t,” Frank said firmly. “I won’t let them. They’d have to get through me first. And I’m a stubborn asshole.”

You couldn’t resist the laugh that slipped out of your lips, Frank’s deep chuckle that followed somehow soothing. Slowly you lowered your hands down your face, the tears beginning to fall a little slower. Frank had somehow wrapped you in his arms, one of his hands soothingly rubbing back and forth across your upper back. The feel of it had you relaxing into him, though it didn’t help that you were now quickly becoming aware of your proximity to him.

“Told you I’d keep you safe,” Frank murmured. “And I’m gonna do that. You’re gonna help Madani take these assholes down. And I’m gonna make damn sure you’re alive for that. You hear me, Spunky?”

A slow smile spread across your lips at his words. You nodded, your forehead brushing lightly against his firm chest as you did.

“Yeah,” you whispered.

“Good,” he stated, unwinding his arms from around you.

He turned back towards the van, grabbing the cell phone he’d set down when he’d gotten up to comfort you. With his back turned for a moment, you hurriedly wiped the back of your hands over your cheeks, trying to wipe away the tears that had fallen. If you were being honest, you were still terrified of the nameless and faceless people out there after you, but Frank’s determination and confidence to keep you alive was certainly comforting.

“Here,” Frank said, turning back around and holding out the phone to you. “Already programmed mine and Madani’s number in there. Don’t think you’ll ever need it, but just in case you do, you have it.”

“Thank you,” you said.

Reaching out, you accepted the phone from his outstretched hand. Your other hand slipped into the pocket of your jeans, pulling out the cash he’d given you earlier. When Frank saw it he immediately shook his head, waving a hand at it.

“No, keep it,” he told you. “Probably makes sense you have some cash on you in case we’re ever separated.” When he saw the way your eyes widened he immediately added, “Which we won’t be, but it’s better to take precautions. Don’t need you stranded somewhere without money, right?”

“Right,” you whispered weakly, slowly returning the cash to your pocket.

Frank’s eyes narrowed at you for a moment, studying your tear stained face. You noticed his expression wasn’t as hard as it usually was at the moment.

“How far from that shooting are we?” he asked curiously. “I’m guessin’ you’re aware.”

“Less then two hours away,” you answered instantly.

Frank let out a grunt at your response before he turned, closing the doors to the van with two solid bangs that echoed in your ears. Your eyes followed his movements as you stood there quietly, grateful that the urge to cry in front of him again had disappeared for the moment. Though at some point you knew you were going to have to unpack whatever that unexpected moment with him was when he had yet again comforted you.

“Next time, tell me this information,” Frank said, turning around and facing you. “That’s the kind of shit that I need to know to keep us both alive.”

“I was–was worried you’d think this whole thing was too big for you to want to deal with,” you admitted awkwardly. “Was afraid if I told you that you’d…leave.”

Frank’s eyes fell closed, his expression briefly looking pained. A second later his eyes opened again, focusing back on you. The look in them was almost pleading when he spoke.

“I’m not gonna leave you behind,” he assured you. “Can you just–just please trust me on that? I’m here to see this through to the end with you.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay,” you whispered.

“Okay,” Frank confirmed. He gestured his head at the front of the van. “Get in. I’m gonna drive a bit in the opposite direction before we grab an early dinner and a motel. We’ll be on the road first thing tomorrow morning and puttin’ as much distance between us and this Glen Allen as we can. Alright?”

You nodded again in response. “Alright,” you agreed.

“Let’s get the hell outta here, then,” he said, turning and making his way towards the driver’s side.

Silently you made your way over to the passenger side, suddenly realizing that you were beginning to really trust Frank. And maybe you were even beginning to like him a bit.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Standing beside Frank in the motel lobby, your hands held the greasy bag of fast food that you’d both picked up just before stopping at this shady little motel, your duffle bag slung over your shoulder. Just like he’d said he would, Frank had driven a couple of hours in the opposite direction of Glen Allen, trying to put more distance between you both and that city. The pair of you were planning to get a room and call it an early night in the hopes of getting back on the road early tomorrow morning and putting even more distance between you and here.

Though neither of you had expected to be waiting in a line at this motel, something you could tell was irritating Frank with the way he kept impatiently running a hand across his mouth. You also noticed it wasn’t just you who��d been eyeing the young blonde with the long curls that were pulled into a pony-tail booking a room in front of you with interest, either. Frank had also been curiously eyeing her, something like concern written on his face. She looked barely eighteen–if she even was–and that combined with her staying in a place like this was admittedly strange and a little worrying. You couldn’t help but wonder what the hell she was doing here.

As if she could feel the weight of both sets of eyes on her, she glanced over her shoulder back at you with distrust on her face as the woman behind the desk filled out some paperwork. The blonde’s eyes narrowed, especially when they landed on Frank just at your side. She gave him a quick once over, her nose wrinkling in distaste as she did.

“What’re you looking at, rough road?” she snapped.

“What?” Frank asked her, head cocking to the side as surprise washed over his features.

“Why don’t you stop staring at me?” she shot before abruptly turning back around.

Frank’s attention shifted towards you as he sent you a look of confusion at the interaction, his dark brows pulling together. You shrugged wordlessly in response, shaking your head at him. Though you had to admit, part of you wanted to laugh at her comment. Not even knowing who Frank was, he already looked intimidating as hell for someone like her to just say something so brazenly.

It was a minute later that the girl had grabbed her key from the woman behind the desk, turning and storming off out of the motel lobby, giving you and Frank a wide berth as she went. Frank briefly watched her leave, a frown on his face before he returned his focus on the woman behind the desk who was looking rather bored.

“Can we get a room?” he asked, approaching the desk and pulling out his wallet. “Two queen beds.”

The woman immediately began to shake her head at him. “Uh uh. Don’t have any more of those,” she replied, gesturing a hand at the door. “She just took the last one for her and her father. All I’ve got is a single queen left.”

You heard Frank swear under his breath, running a hand in frustration through his short hair before he reluctantly agreed to take it. As he paid for the room, you nervously clutched the bag of food tighter in your hands, wondering what having only one bed was ultimately going to mean in a place like this. A moment later the woman was handing Frank the room key before you were following after him out of the motel lobby, silently making your way past the rows of doors while looking for room eleven.

As you approached the door behind Frank, you watched as he stuck the key inside and unlocked it. Awkwardly you stepped into the room after him, your eyes immediately falling on the single queen bed in the center of the space. Glancing around, you noticed that the only other piece of furniture was a very uncomfortable looking armchair and a small table beside it.

“You can take the bed,” Frank said, closing and locking the door after himself.

“And where do you plan to sleep?�� you asked, looking over at him.

Frank turned, taking in the room himself. His mouth pressed into a firm line before he gestured to the armchair.

“I’ll just sleep here tonight,” he answered.

“That thing looks way too small for you,” you pointed out.

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor,” Frank shot out with a shrug. “Don’t care.”

Your eyes dropped down to the worn and very dirty motel carpet. You weren’t entirely sure what color it had been initially with how faded and stained it was. You cringed at the thought of him laying down and sleeping on it. Gradually your eyes returned to the single bed as Frank shrugged out of his coat, laying it along the back of the chair.

“We could…share the bed,” you said awkwardly, not entirely sure why you were suggesting that idea.

Frank stiffened beside the armchair at your words, his head slowly turning back towards you. One of his dark brows rose onto his forehead as he studied you questioningly for a long moment.

“You sure you’re good with that?” he asked.

Feeling heat creep into your cheeks, you stepped over to the coffee table and set the bag of food down onto it before dropping your duffle bag to the floor. “I mean I trust you’re not going to do anything other than sleep,” you muttered. “You’re doing all the driving and–” you broke off, shuddering as you continued, “–protecting. You need to get decent sleep. I’d give you the bed and sleep somewhere else, but…admittedly I don’t really want to sleep on that floor or that chair, either. So…we could just share the bed?”

Hesitantly you glanced over at Frank beside the chair, anxiously chewing the inside of your cheek as you waited for his response. He was still studying you with one of his usual impossible to decipher expressions on his face. Eventually you saw him give a single nod in answer.

“Alright,” he agreed. “If you’re sure. Should probably eat though and get to sleep. I want to get outta here early tomorrow.”

With a sigh you turned, opening the bag of fast food and grabbing the chicken sandwich you’d ordered out of it before making your way to the edge of the bed to eat. As Frank rooted around in the bag for his burger, your eyes lingered on the muscles in his back and the way his shirt was straining against his thick arms. For a brief moment you wondered how it would feel to curl yourself around his hard body in that bed tonight, having him wrap those strong arms around you while he comforted you yet again.

Though you quickly shoved that thought aside, blinking rapidly as you averted your gaze, beginning to unwrap your chicken sandwich. You were both just going to sleep in that bed tonight, and whatever those thoughts were that you occasionally found yourself having about Frank needed to stop.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle x you #frank castle #frank castle angst #the punisher

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small-sinclair · 1 year ago

Text

Little Lady

Rusty Nail x fem!reader

Haven’t wrote this guy before but I wanna try it :3. It’s based off this.

Contains: I’m going to have Rusty and the reader about the same age (Rusty: 26, reader: 23). In this au, he’s just starting to kill.

Tw: light stocking, mention of murder, blood

Tag: @sketchy-rosewitch, @fluffy-little-demon, @poir0t-houck, @waxxl0ver, @crumb @ninakuli, @whimsyvixen, @roadkillerx

Part 1

When he saw you, he knew he had to have you. He knew that you were meant for him, but he wasn’t a fool. You’re smart, a perfect college girl, while he’s just a low-end truck driver. You don’t want to be anywhere near a drifter, a man that leaves for a few days, leaving you all alone. You wore a cute dress with flowers on it while he wore greased clothes and bloody boots. But when he saw your smile and heard your laughter, something inside his heart skipped.

He drove his truck along the sidewalk and came close to you, but you didn’t seem to mind. You gave him a smile when he called out, “Hey, little lady! Could you direct me to a station?”

“Yeah,” you answer, pointing down the street from your college. “Keep heading down that way and you’ll be close to the interstate. There’s a Love’s there.”

He looked at the road then back at you. He took in the sweet scent of lemon and vanilla, and he felt like he was home. There was something so bright and beautiful about you… he just didn’t know what it was.

“Thank ya kindly, miss.” He rolled up his window and started his way down the road, but his eyes drifts to his side mirrors. He wants to remember you.

************

A week past before he drives by the college again, and he sees you walking back from class. He couldn’t believe you were there. It’s like you were waiting for him… but he wasn’t going to fool himself. He just couldn’t.

Still, Rusty pulls up close to the side and rolled down his window. He admired your soft lavender dress with birds on it. He doesn’t expect you to remember him, but it doesn’t hurt to try. “Hey, little lady!” He calls out, making you jolt.

When you looked up, your eyes lit up and friendly smile formed. “Hey, again!”

“Hate to bother you but,” Rusty looks at the road as he drives slowly next to you, “but do you know a good coffee place?”

You smile and point down the road again. He sees your little charm bracelet shining in the sunlight. “Yeah! Just before you hit the interstate, pass the Love’s, there’s a coffee shop with a green roof.”

“Not Starbucks, right?”

You laugh and shake your head. “No. It’s called Luda’s Place!” you look back at him. “Great lemon bread!”

He nods and looks up at the road then back at you. “Okay… thank you, miss!”

“Have a good one!” You called, waving. You watched has his rid jolted with more speed, and you had a smile on your face. You hold your books closer to your chest and smiled. It was nice seeing him again.

************

The next week that followed, he saw you again, but a storm was coming from the north. He knew he had to haul fast to beat it, but he couldn’t help but pull up next to you once more. His eyes wondered over you light pink dress with roses sowed neatly. Your hair was put up in a braided bun, and your smile was just as bright as it was before when you saw his truck.

He slowed and pulled next to you. “Hey, little lady,” he says from his truck.

You look up then forward again. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

Rusty shrugs. “I do agree with you on that.” He puts out his cigarette in the ash tray. “Looks like rain.”

“Heard it’s a bad one,” you answer as you walked. “You’re not driving in that, are you?”

He shrugs as he looks in his mirror to see the dark clouds behind the truck. “Have to haul metal parts, darlin’.”

“But do you really?” You asked, lifting your brow. “I saw the radar, and it’s mostly red and purple.”

He scratched his chin in thought. “I guess you’re right.” He looks down. “You know a good place to sleep?”

“Yeah,” you pointed ahead. “Two streets up, turn left. Follow that road and it’ll take you to a motel.”

He tips his hat, but he thinks. “Do you need a lift?” He asks.

You shake your head. “No, I’m good, thank you!” You flash a smile. “Hope you drive safe!”

He rolls his window up before starting down the road again. This time, when you wave goodbye, he looks almost sad. Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t be walking alone before a storm, but he didn’t want to push his luck farther in fear of freaking you out.

Besides, the whimper from the back of the van caught his attention. His eyes flicker in the mirror to see the man tied and gaged next to his whore of a wife. He smirks then hammers down. He couldn’t wait to play his game with them.

****************

It goes on like this for 2 months.

Every week, he passes by you, rolling his window down to call for you. You couldn’t help but smile at wave as he slows his semi down. Even if he has someone tied in the cab or a dead body to hide, he always made sure you never saw the blood on his hands or in the scruff of his chin. He learned that you were a fashion design major, so you wear the dresses you made. Not that he minds, of course. He also learned that your graduating soon, and it made him smile.

“Where you thinking’ of going?”

“Somewhere far from here,” you answered, looking up at him with a glimmer in your eyes. “I always wanted to travel.”

He hums as he drives slowly next to you. “I’ve been everywhere, and I’ve never seen anything quite as beautiful as you.”

You blush as you hide your face behind your sketch book. “Bet you say that to every girl.”

He shakes his head as he blew cigarette smoke away. “Nah, just you, little rabbit.” His eyes glanced behind him at the woman, who was tied and gaged, in the cab. She had tears fall from her eyes as the blood dried from her lips. “I best be on my way then.”

You look up at him then at the road. “Be here next week?”

“As always,” he promises. “You just be safe.”

“You, too!”

As he drives off, he makes a plan for himself. He knows what he has to do to get you to come with him.

#rusty nail #rusty nail joyride #rusty nail x reader #joyride 2001 #joyride 2008 #joyride 2013 #slasher #slasher fic #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction #rusty nail fanfic #joyride fanfiction

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workingforitallthetime · 27 days ago

Note

I am BEGGING you to say more about Will and Mack in silence on the other side!! on my KNEES!

conveniently, i have 3.5K of will/mack that i could not resist expelling from my brain at the end of the google doc. grab a marshmallow stick and let me tell you a campfire story.

(this is very much an epilogue and is not going to make sense unless you've read silence on the other side. if you want the reward of mack/will you have to suffer through the mortifying ordeal of will/gabe/leno.)

Will could wait for Gabe to ask, but she’s done letting things happen to her. She packs a suitcase. She sits on the couch and waits. When she hears the sound of Gabe’s key in the door, she slips off her ring and clenches her fingers around it. The diamond digs into her palm as she rehearses the words in her head. I can’t get married. I’m sorry.

She texts her sister on the way to the airport, after the angry red dent fades. The pale strip around her ring finger is going to take longer, just like the mark on her neck. Can I stay with you for a couple of days?

Of course. Grace answers quick. Are you in Boston? Is everything ok?

Will’s not going to cry in the back of an Uber. Flight gets in at 10:30. And no.

As the plane pulls away from the gate, she texts Ryan. I’m moving back to Boston. She should switch into airplane mode. Instead, she waits as they taxi.

The reply comes as the plane rounds the turn onto the runway, bright rows of lights blazing the path ahead. Didn’t know you were from Boston.

Will’s swiping her thumb over the text thread to delete it when one last message pops up. Thought it was West Philadelphia. She snorts in spite of herself, and lowers her thumb onto the red trash can before she can second-guess it. She’s not going to cry on a plane, either.

The night air when she emerges from the sliding doors at arrivals is still late-summer muggy. Grace picks her up at the airport, and Will gives her the briefest version. I told Gabe we’re not getting married. No, it wasn’t a mutual decision. No, I don’t know what it’s going to cost. No, I haven’t told mom and dad yet, I’ll do it tomorrow. No, don’t say anything in the bridesmaid group chat, I’ll do it tomorrow.

The wheels of her suitcase are gritty on the floor of Grace’s apartment. She changes into pajama pants and an old St. Catherine’s t-shirt. She drinks a glass of water and racks the glass in Grace’s dishwasher. She sinks onto the couch, tipping her head back on top of the cushions.

“Oh my god.” Grace stops short at the edge of the room, peering at Will over the armload of bedding she’s bearing. “Did you break up with Gabe because he’s a vampire?”

Will touches the mark on her neck. It doesn’t feel like anything. If she hadn’t seen it in the mirror, she wouldn’t know it was there. “Wasn’t Gabe.”

Grace’s eyes bug out. I don’t want to talk about it, Will says, it’s not a thing. It’s not, like, the reason. It’s just something that happened. She takes the sheets from Grace and shakes them out and tucks herself into the couch. The streetlights outside cast thin stripes through the blinds and across the floor. She’s not going to cry into Grace’s fleece Patriots blanket.

The feeling in her stomach, hollow and sick, that settled in while she waited for Gabe to come home hasn’t gone away. It won’t go away for many days yet. Terrible days. Days of overhearing her mother on the phone apologizing to relatives about their nonrefundable flights. Days of trying to cancel wedding registries before she gets any more notifications about purchased gifts. Days of ignoring the voice messages from her parish priest, the one who was supposed to officiate. The absolute last person Will wants to talk to is a priest.

She goes back to the Midwest, feeling like a burglar in her own apartment as she packs up her things while Gabe is pointedly not home, driving her car along ugly interstates back to Massachusetts with her dad. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, while the road is empty in the beam of their headlights and they’re between episodes of a podcast about white collar crime, he tells her he’s proud of her. He knows it must have been a difficult decision. He trusts her to make the right choices. All Will can say past the lump in her throat is thank you. The tears trickle down the sides of her face in the dark.

She stays at her parents’ house. She writes thank-you notes that are mostly apologies. She goes to brunch with the friends who were supposed to be her bridesmaids, tells them it just didn’t feel right, I knew I’d regret it. None of them mention the cost of the bachelorette weekend last spring, but Will knows they’re all thinking it. When her mom asks, Will tells her she can pick up the dress if she wants. Will doesn’t want to see it. Every time she drives past the country club, the sick feeling in her stomach twists into a hard knot of shame.

On the September Saturday when Will was supposed to get married, Grace makes her go for a hike in New Hampshire. Golden leaves drift over the top of the low stone wall along the trail. At the top of the mountain, granite hills and colorful trees spread out below them. The lake in the valley sparkles in the autumn sunshine. They eat burgers at a roadside diner afterwards and drive back into Massachusetts after dusk, and then the day is over. It’s over, it’s done, it’s finally behind her, and now everything else is ahead.

She starts commuting into the office again. When coworkers ask, she tells them the Midwest didn’t work out. The engagement didn’t work out. After that, there aren’t any conversations about how unreliable she was last summer. She stays on top of her inbox, meets her deadlines early. Never misses a meeting.

Boston’s not the same. Her old places are all Gabe’s old places too. Her friends are all Gabe’s friends. Most of them aren’t reaching out. Even the ones who are on her side seem confused by her. They don’t understand, because Will can’t imagine telling anyone the real story.

She thinks about going out. Thinks about getting on the apps. Trying to figure out… whatever it is she has to figure out. She can’t manage to pull the trigger. Someone could see her, recognize her.

Losing Boston, or at least the version of Boston she used to love, feels like another breakup. A separate grief just as painful as her grief for Gabe and everything their life was supposed to be. But Will ends it just as unflinchingly as she did her engagement. She finds a new job, something in finance or business or law in New York City, because that’s the place you’re supposed to go to start over.

The details of the job aren’t important. All that’s important is that it’s a job where beauty and breeding and ruthlessness are assets, and Will’s able to leverage all three to the hilt. Oh, and also it’s in an established industry where Rick Celebrini is a known and feared figure.

Will makes the connection pretty quickly when she’s introduced to her coworker Macklin. Mack is a half-step ahead of her at all times and it would be infuriating for Will, if she didn’t like him so much. Or if he didn’t like her so much. Everyone tells them they’re such a great team, hitting all their metrics, seizing opportunities, climbing the ladder together. Will sees in Mack a kind of internal steeliness that matches her own, which isn’t that surprising from someone who was raised by Rick.

Will’s kept cautious by the pervasive sense that she would fuck up anything she started with Mack. That’s what she does. She ruins things. She ruined everything with Gabe, and she’ll ruin anything she starts with another guy. And she really can’t afford to ruin anything with Rick Celebrini’s son. She’s found her niche in this industry, and getting on the wrong side of Rick would mean starting over, again.

So Will remains just as impervious as she can be. Even as she and Mack get closer and closer, and everyone in the firm starts to talk about them as a dynamic duo, and their rising stars are more and more closely linked together, she keeps everything strictly professional. Sometimes her eyes follow the lines of Mack’s three-piece suits not just to appreciate the tailoring, and as soon as she catches herself she looks the other way.

(She’s scared. Scared that nothing’s ever going to feel like it did with Ryan. Scared that nobody else is ever going to love her as much as Gabe did. She’s scared she doesn’t understand what she wants and that she’ll never figure it out. She’s scared there’s something fundamentally wrong with her and that’s why she hurts people. She’s scared that how much she likes Mack means she’s going to hurt him too. She’s scared and nobody knows it, least of all Will.)

Mack’s fascinated by her, and all the more fascinated because of the total blank of her personal life. When he tries to draw her out, he learns about growing up in Lexington, prep school and field hockey, going to BC. They talk about Boston, joke about their BC/BU rivalry, threaten to bet on the Beanpot. Will goes to office happy hours, is clever and engaging at client dinners. But she dodges all questions about what her life is like outside of work. Mack doesn’t know anything about her friends, doesn’t know whether she’s dating anybody, doesn’t even know whether she’s straight.

But Mack knows the connection’s there, and he’s going to keep trying. Picture those gifs from the 49ers game: Mack’s trying to get Will’s attention, and Will’s ignoring him, and Mack doesn’t even care. He’s willing to work for it. He wants to work for it. That’s how Rick raised him: how hard you work is the measure of how much you care.

One day Will rounds the corner by the elevators and walks into a knot of coworkers talking about some smart maneuver Mack pulled, something he talked over with Will in advance so she immediately recognizes a reference to a client or a contract term. “No dick, but he’s got plenty of balls,” says someone with their back to Will, and everyone who saw her come around the corner gets an awkward expression on their faces.

Will gives them the same look of icy disdain she uses to shut down people who call her Mack’s work wife. Someone says loudly that they’ve got a conference call starting in a few and the group hurriedly dissolves, except one office gossip who caught Will’s momentary confusion and has been simply dying for an excuse to have a conversation with her on this topic. She follows Will into the elevator. “Didn’t you know he’s trans?” she says as soon as he doors close. “It’s all very hush-hush, nobody ever says anything because Rick’s bitten a few heads off about it. I was there at an off-site when he literally yelled at someone about pronouns.”

(Just imagine Rick Celebrini when his kid announces he’s a boy. Okay, says Rick, not in so many words, if you’re a boy you’d better be the most boy you can be. What are you doing today to be a better boy? Mack’s grown up with Rick micromanaging his medical care and tailoring his punishing workouts to achieve some not entirely defined standard of masculinity and generally making Mack feel like he’s not working hard enough if he’s not at all times trying to be The Most Boy. Rick does not react kindly to anyone who suggests that Mack is anything other than his son… including and especially Mack, who is immediately reminded that he is All Boy, Only Boy if there’s ever any suggestion he might stray from Rick’s expectations of masculinity. Mack knows better than to say yes when the menswear stores he frequents suggest a pink shirt or a floral tie to go with one of those three-piece suits.)

Not that Will knows any of that. She dials the iciness a few degrees colder and hums the most neutral hmmm in her vocabulary until her coworker blessedly exits the elevator, disappointed by Will’s unsatisfying reaction.

Will lets the doors close. She punches the button for a different floor without looking at the display, aiming generally for something a long way away.

It’s just a surprise, that’s all. That’s why her heart’s racing, the unexpectedness of it. A confounding variable in the already tangled mess of Will trying to sort out her own identity. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything on the long list of reasons why she needs to keep Mack firmly in valued colleague/work best friend territory.

It’s a chink in the wall, though. And a wall that’s already being subjected to Mack’s considerable efforts, as well as geologic forces beyond Will’s control, is going to crumble eventually.

It happens at the holiday party. Some swanky venue rented out for the night, marble pillars, parquet floors. Raw seafood on ice, top-shelf drinks. Towering centerpieces with pine boughs and crystals. Will, in her classy little black dress, doesn’t have a date, of course. Neither does Mack, in his black suit with some requisite element of lowkey corporate festive. A red plaid vest, a tie with tiny holly berries on it, something like that.

They circulate through cocktail hour like the pros they are, catching glimpses of each other through the crowd, always aware of where the other one is. Somebody’s seated them at the same table for dinner (Mack might have had something to do with this) and after a couple of glasses of champagne Will forgets that she ought to be making holiday-appropriate small talk with everyone else at the table and she starts doing what she actually wants to do, which is talk to Mack. Mack, with his blue eyes and soft hair and strong fingers tapping the base of his rocks glass, making Will feel like she’s at her witty, charming best. Basically, everyone else is Tyler Toffoli on the plane and Will and Mack are in their own little world.

They sneak sideways glances at each other during the speeches and toasts, silent acknowledgement of corporate inside jokes. Will doesn’t look at Mack when Rick’s got the spotlight, but she can feel him sitting up straighter next to her, a little bit of extra rigidity in his spine.

After dessert the table groups start to dissolve and word starts to spread among Mack and Will’s coworkers, the younger crowd, about where the afterparty’s headed. Mack catches Will at the edge of a conversation and says something low into her ear, just for her. Want to go someplace else?

Will does.

Mack takes her someplace loud and anonymous, with more drinks and a crowded dance floor. Will doesn’t shrug off Mack’s hand at the small of her back. They dance, closer and closer together, and Will’s eyes are shining, and when Mack finally kisses her Will kisses back like she’s drowning.

I’m calling a car, Mack says, and Will doesn’t let go, too much adrenaline and champagne and desperation to think about whether this is theoretically a bad idea. It’s been so long since somebody she cares about has touched her. Mack’s apartment is quiet and tasteful and Will barely sees it. She doesn’t want Mack to be something that happens to her. If this is happening, she’s going to make it happen just as much as Mack is.

If I was going to write a sex scene here it would be about how the expectations of masculinity that Rick has imposed on Mack have taken root in Mack’s assumptions about how he ought to have sex, and how that does or doesn’t align with what Mack actually wants, and how all of that collides with what Will wants, which is to eat that boy’s pussy.

Will falls asleep with her head on Mack’s chest and wakes up with the enormity of it all setting in. This is big, this is huge, and nothing that happened last night alleviated the underlying fear that she’s going to fuck it all up.

Mack can practically feel the tension radiating across the sheets at him. He reaches for Will. “I don’t want this to be a one-off.”

This does not have the desired effect of Will relaxing into him. Heart sinking, Mack tries again. “It can be if you want, though.” The pinch in Will’s brows doesn’t go away. Mack scoots back so he’s not touching her. “Just so you know, that’s really not what I want.” In the absence of a response, Mack starts desperation-yapping. “I know there’s something here, and I think you do to, and last night felt…”

Will’s eyes are huge across the gap between their pillows. She has to say something. “I’m a bad bet,” is what comes out. “I break everything.”

“Are you saying that because you want me to walk away?” Mack’s hoping that’s a quick answer, but Will looks like she’s actually thinking about it, so he keeps talking. “Do you want me to walk away?”

Very quietly, against the pillow, Will admits it. No.

Mack exhales. “Like, I’m not gonna. It’ll have to be you.”

He grins, like this is a joke, and it infuriates Will because he doesn’t understand. It’s not funny. Will’s warning him that he’s going to get hurt and he’s laughing. “That’s what I’m worried about,” Will hisses through her gritted teeth.

“That you’ll break up with me?” Mack, incredulous. “I can take it. That’s not a reason not to, like, try.” He reaches for Will again and Will lets him. “I could change my mind and dump your ass too.”

Will gives him a scornful look at the suggestion that anyone could ever break up with her, and Mack cracks up because it’s such an extremely Will reaction. “Let’s just be good, okay?” Will lets herself be pulled into his arms. “Until you break up with me, and I’ll deal with it. We can be good for now, right?”

Will whispers it against his lips before she kisses him. So good.

Eventually they get up. Will picks through Mack’s collection of sweats and ends up in a Canucks hoodie and Lulu joggers because she refuses to wear anything that has BU on it. They get coffee, and while they’re drinking it at opposite ends of Mack’s couch with their feet tangled together in the middle, Mack says I think you should tell me more about what you said earlier. About breaking everything.

Will’s silent, turning the sleeve of her coffee around and around the cup. There’s no way to avoid it. Mack’s going to have to find out sometime, if they’re going to do this. And Will really, increasingly every second, wants them to do this. “I was engaged,” she says, watching Mack. She can practically see his mouth forming questions, but he waits. “Like two years… three years ago now. My college boyfriend. Gabe. We were together for seven years. We moved to [Midwest city].”

“You lived in [Midwest city]?” Macklin’s laughing. “I can’t even picture it.”

“I know, right?” Will briefly experiences the warm glow of being known before she gets back to business. “It didn’t work. I cheated on him.” Will takes a deep breath. “Like, a lot. Her name was Ryan.”

She watches for Mack’s reaction to the pronoun, but he just nods. When Will doesn’t say anything else, Mack asks, “What happened to her?”

“I don’t know.” Will used to think about googling, but there’s no place to start. Ryan. The dive bar. The city. That’s all she knows. “It wasn’t… like that.”

“What happened to Gabe?”

“I ended it.” Will doesn’t have to google Gabe. He pops up in suggested posts, in her friends’ tags. He has a new girlfriend. They got a puppy. “It was, like, not very long before the wedding,” she adds, just so Mack knows how awful she is. “It really, really sucked.” Will puts all of the anguish of that brutal September into each really.

Mack forms his next question carefully. “Did you break up with him because he was a guy, or because he wasn’t the right guy?”

“I don’t know.” Will lifts her chin defiantly. It’s the most vulnerable thing she’s ever said. Here’s my fucked up situation. Here’s what you’re getting into.

“What’s that mean for me?” Mack does not relate to identity crises, having had his own identity rigorously reinforced since adolescence (or so he thinks). “Being… the guy that I am.”

“Oh, are you trans? I hadn’t noticed,” Will says, like she didn’t have her tongue in his pussy ten hours earlier.

Mack laughs, and that’s enough vulnerability for two people who don’t like it and are going to have to figure that part out later. “We should have dinner next weekend, if you don’t break up with me before then.”

If I was not inherently resistant to established relationship fic, there would be a lot to explore here. Chiefly, I’m intrigued by what happens when Rick’s singleminded focus on Mack’s masculinity (and the not-necessarily-positive ways that Mack has internalized that), collide with Will’s attraction to Mack, which is not premised on masculinity. Will’s got to figure her own shit out somewhere along the way, but she’s at least pretty sure that 100 percent masculinity is not on her list of priorities in a partner. I think that Rick is immediately welcoming to Will, to a degree that’s almost curious, and Will and Mack slowly realize that in Rick’s eyes Mack’s earned some kind of manhood badge by bringing home a hot girlfriend. Also, as ever, there’s a plot to be made out of Rick treating Will like another Celebrini child who warrants Rick’s micromanaging, and Will figuring out how to resist that without alienating Rick, and along the way prompting some realizations for Mack about the ways in which his Sheriff Rick upbringing was maybe a little bit fucked up.

Anyway. Here’s how the story would end. Mack makes it a running joke about Will breaking up with him. What do you want to do for Valentines’ Day, if you don’t break up with me before then? At first it’s jarring, and then it’s a comfort, a little reassurance that Mack still likes her enough that he’s willing to risk it all going wrong. Yeah, I could do Thanksgiving in Lexington if you’re not going to break up with me… Do you want to come to Whistler with us this year, if you haven’t dumped me by then?... I’m going to book our flight for R.J.’s graduation weekend unless you want to break up first. And then, over time, it starts to become jarring again. We should move in together when your lease is up if you’re not going to break up with me.

“Stop saying that,” Will finally says. “I’m not going to.”

“You’re not going to break up with me?” Mack’s about to fist-pump over his long game paying off. “Like ever?”

“Like ever,” Will confirms, and Mack can’t get down on one knee fast enough.

#can't believe will/mack was just a glimmer in our collective eye back when i started posting that story #it was always intended to end ambiguously but in the back of my mind i had questions about what would be next for that version of will #and now we know that there's only one way the bc line story ends: with mack #(i did think of a bc line alternate ending but it's so wrong although it did get me a little more time with frankie)#i know it would probably be more appropriate for will to move to the bay area but a sneaker-wearing tech company is just not it for her #also i originally envisioned this epilogue as r63 down the line and i continue to maintain that #macklin celebrini would make an adorable little lesbian in a pixie cut and a buttondown #but i couldn't stop thinking about that article with rick's weirdly personal comments about mack's body and like...#how would sheriff rick deal with Gender #and all of a sudden i am totally invested in trans mack sorry to anyone who cannot see my Vision #campfire story #silence on the other side #oh and plus also i was initially a bit disappointed that posting this work in chapters means it is no longer readily apparent that #i was the person to create the will/leno ao3 tag #but now i am so delighted that my fic will forever be next to teamwork makes the dream work #it is an honor merely to share a tag with that work of genius

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impala-dreamer · 11 months ago

Text

Cherry Wine

A Tale from the 'My Bloody Valentine' Universe

~Tom left town in a hurry, escaping capture by faking his death. On the run and distraught, he finds comfort in the arms of a stranger.~

Tom Hanniger x Rose (OFC)

2,453 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Sexual Scenes. Torture. Bondage. Psychosis. Movie Level Blood and Gore.

A/N: Written for @jacklesversebingo "Be good for me and I'll untie you."

This takes place immediately after the film and shows Tom still dealing with his issues, namely murder. If you're unfamiliar with the movie, I doubt it will matter. Just know that he is insane and dangerous. Hope you enjoy!

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

He didn't know where he was going, but he knew he couldn't go home.

He didn't even know where home was anymore. Was it back in Harmony surrounded by memories and the corpses of his childhood? Or back in the hospital with all of his twisted pain and overly medicated thoughts?

He didn't know.

So he drove.

He drove until the sun rose and hung high in the sky, blossoming over the Pennsylvania landscape like the face of God. Bright and warm, it beat down on the maroon truck as trees blurred in his peripheral.

When the gas tank was as empty as his stomach, he pulled off of the interstate and parked, taking only his wallet and jacket with him.

The late afternoon was warm. February had been uncharacteristically mild, and he tugged at the collar of his sweatshirt, readjusting the hood behind his head.

Bill’s Diner was open and crowded. Tables lined the big front window, each red vinyl booth filled with locals who chatted over never-ending cups of coffee and plates of over-done french fries.

A little bell rang overhead as he walked in, and a pretty brunette with long hair pulled back into a tight bun smiled.

“Sit anywhere, hun,” she called to him while navigating the sea of tables with her hands full.

Tom nodded and looked around for an empty spot before deciding on a stool at the counter. He sat and slumped forward, clasped his hands on the sticky linoleum. He stared at his hands, willing the trembling to cease, but it never really went away. He was always just a little bit anxious, some part of him always shaking even if no one else saw.

Trauma had slashed at his soul and the scars ran deep.

A deep breath steadied him and Tom looked up as the waitress came into view.

“Hey there. Welcome to Bill’s. Can I getcha something to drink?”

Her smile was captivating. Her two front teeth were adorably bigger than the rest and her plump bow lips were tinted gently with a red gloss that made them look forever wet.

He couldn’t help but stare.

She blinked and looked away, pale skin blushing a soft pink under his gaze. Bright blue eyes gleamed when she turned back and Tom’s chest ached.

She reminded him of Sarah but a little plainer, a little softer all over.

“Hello?”

She waved a hand in front of his face and Tom startled, sitting up straight and shaking his head to clear his vision.

“Sorry,” he said with a sigh. “Long drive.”

The waitress nodded and grabbed a mug from below the counter. “I bet.” She filled it with coffee and slid it to Tom who smiled and closed his hands around the cup. “You coming or going?”

He bit his lip, wondering how to answer. Where was he coming from? Where was he going? To hell, probably.

Tired green eyes swept over her. The plastic buttons on her white shirt were tiny and struggling to keep the thin fabric from pulling open across her breasts. Her dark jeans were tight and dusted with flour and a few drops of marinara that had slipped past her black apron. Her curves were decadent and she smelled like vanilla.

He cleared his throat. “Just passing through.”

She smiled kindly and laid a plastic covered menu next to his coffee.

“Well, alright then, stranger. My name’s Rose. When you’re ready, just holler.” She winked and turned away, leaving him to scan the day’s specials alone.

The giant clock in the corner ticked the hours away. Customers came and went. Coins were dropped; tips were thin. Empty plates smeared with ketchup stacked up in the kitchen; spilled salt was wiped from table tops with a dingy rag.

Rose was busy most of the evening, but never too busy to stop back at the counter and talk with Tom. She lingered near him, pretending to clean while they chatted about how it hadn’t snowed in a few weeks and how the price of gas was going down a bit. She was sweet and Tom liked being near her. She was beautiful and her voice was like a calm breeze that lulled and comforted him.

When the windows were dark and the fuchsia neon glowed bright, Rose set her hands on the counter and looked down at him.

“Closing time, buddy. You don’t have to go home, butcha can’t stay here.”

He looked up through thick lashes and smiled flirtatiously. “Already?”

Rose licked her lips. “Sadly, yes. All good things must come to an end. Or so I’m told.”

“That’s a shame.” Without looking away, he drained the sweet swill from the bottom of his mug. “There any place to get a drink around here?” He paused, calculating her interest, and then went for it. He had nothing to lose. “Or maybe I could walk you home…”

Rose’s cheeks burned and her smile was impossible to hide. “Maybe both.”

Tom rolled onto his back and stretched, rolling his head on his shoulders and taking a deep breath. He hadn’t slept so well in a long time; hadn’t felt so good in forever.

Rose had been just what he needed.

They sat on her cinnamon couch and drank sparkling pink wine. Tom hated it, but the bubbles felt nice and each sip seemed to loosen her up a bit more.

When the bottle was empty and the glasses drained, Rose scooted closer and set her hand on Tom’s knee. He bit his lip as her fingers climbed higher, held his breath as she palmed his dick through his jeans, let his eyes close as she climbed into his lap.

She was heavy and warm. He ran his hands down her sides, slid his fingers around the curve of her waist. She pressed her ass down over him and rolled her hips.

He hissed at the friction and pushed a hand through her long hair, dragging her down for a kiss.

Her lips were plump and delicious. The gloss on her mouth tasted so familiar to him but he couldn’t place it.

“I never do this,” she whispered, half laughing as she ran her hands down his chest.

Tom grinned and traced the soft flesh above her jeans. “I don’t know, you’re pretty good at it.”

She chewed her lip and blushed. “I mean, take customers home. I haven’t done this in forever.”

He stared deep into her eyes and popped the bottom button of her shirt. “Well, I’m glad you decided to.” He scraped his nails down her sides and Rose’s head tipped back, her eyes fluttered shut, she hummed lustfully.

“Me too…”

He smiled and tossed the sheet off of himself; sat up and scrubbed a hand down his face. He’d have to shave soon, but it wasn’t a priority. He scratched at his scalp and yawned.

“Mornin’.”

Tom sucked a strawberry nipple between his lips and melted at the sound she made. Rose arched her back, pushing her tits against his face and grinding down on his cock.

They were mostly naked, shirts and jeans tugged away and tossed into random corners of the small living room. Only thin fabric separated them now, and Tom rubbed his middle finger against her covered slit. Her raspberry panties were soaked.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.”

Rose nibbled on his ear. “Wanna see the bedroom?”

He jerked his hips, bounced her in his lap. “Absolutely…”

The bedroom was flooded with mid-day sun that filtered through the thin curtains, and he stood up in a sun puddle, feeling the warmth instantly. He sighed and walked to the adjoining bathroom.

The tile floor was freezing and he tiptoed in, pulled back the shower curtain and turned on the tap.

“You don’t mind if I take a quick shower, do you?”

She was total perfection.

Stretched out over the bed, her pale skin looked like fresh cream against the burgundy sheets. She moaned as he tied the silken sash tight around her left wrist, squirmed as he leaned over her to secure the right.

“Another thing I never do,” she teased, reaching with her mouth to catch a kiss.

“What’s that? Let a stranger tie you up?” His smile was devilish yet sweet and he gave in to a deep kiss.

“Not exactly a safe thing to do…”

He licked into her mouth; savored the taste of her. “No,” he laughed, pulling back to look down at her. “It’s really not.”

Blue eyes fluttered as Tom drew his hands down her nakedness. He cupped each breast, pinched her nipples, scraped his teeth against the stiff buds.

“Fuck, you’re driving me nuts,” she whimpered, tugging at the restraints, needing to touch him.

He settled between her thighs, his broad shoulders pushing them open wide. “That’s kinda the point.”

His tongue burned like fire against her clit. He nuzzled into her, lapped at her slick heat, teased her to the edge of ecstacy.

Rose bucked her hips into his handsome face, held her breath as he slipped two thick fingers inside. Her body tensed. Her mind blanked. Her pulse quickened.

“Fuck. Please…”

Again, she tugged at the sashes holding her tight and Tom lifted his eyes. He grinned at her struggle.

“Be good for me,” he breathed, “and I’ll untie you.”

Heavy, warm steam filled the room as Tom lingered by the sink. He toyed with her toothbrush, sifted through her medicine cabinet. There wasn’t much inside and everything was expected. Floss, antibiotic ointment, a few hairpins. Half a bottle of aspirin, tweezers, lotion.

He smiled. Her skin was so soft.

He slipped in like a knife through warm butter, filling her up with his thick cock.

Tom thrust against her; dug his fingertips into the soft flesh above her hip bones. “Fuck, you’re amazing,” he moaned, his eyes closed, head thrown back as her body tightened around him.

Rose held her breath, wriggling harder beneath him with each jerk of his hips.

“Please!”

He looked down at her wet, ruby lips and smiled. Leaning down, he folded her nearly in half and scratched hard down her sides. She squirmed and garnet lines erupted in his wake.

“So gorgeous…”

His pace quickened. She moaned loudly over the sound of his thighs slapping against her ass.

“Please!”

Each scream egged him on. Every twist of her body beneath him made his heart race.

Rose was panting, choking on her pleasure as he fucked deep into her.

“Tom-”

He closed a hand around her delicate throat, massaged the sacred arteries on either side.

She thrashed against the bindings; eyes wide and lips growing pale.

He squeezed harder and he felt her cunt pulse as she came. Blue eyes were fading in a sea of wine, blood vessels bursting as his grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he grit, riding her through the pleasure. “Just like that. Fuck!”

Tom closed the cabinet door. He swept away the fog with his palm and looked into his own eyes. He was happy, sated and beaming.

His lips were ruddy and swollen a deep red. He pressed his fingertips to them and sighed. He could still feel her kiss, taste her on his tongue.

She tasted like cherry wine.

He kissed her gently yet deeply, memorizing the feel of her plush lips against his and the way she melted into him. His cum ran down her leg, warm and messy.

He pulled away and rolled onto his side, yanked the thin sheet up around his shoulders.

She slept soundly; he mumbled in his sleep.

Tom stepped into the hot water and moaned happily. The pressure was sublime. Water pounded his aching muscles, burned his skin blissfully.

He ran his hands through his hair and turned around to face the spray. It washed down his cheeks, flowed into his mouth. He looked down at the drain and gasped as a whirlpool of crimson swirled around the chrome and disappeared.

“The fuck?”

His mind raced.

His hands were stained with dried blood; his forearms scored with claw marks.

He panicked, panting as the water washed the night away and his memory returned.

He ripped through her skin like a knife through warm butter.

Tom jabbed the blade into her; dug the tip into the soft flesh above her hip bones.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growled, green eyes wide as he watched the blood flow from her sides.

Rose gasped for a breath and wrenched her arms free of the silk sashes. She slapped at his chest, shoved his face away.

“Please!”

He looked down at her gaping ruby lips and smiled. With a murderous gleam in his eyes, he scratched hard down her side with the knife and watched the garnet stream erupt in his wake.

“So gorgeous…”

She kicked at him, summoning all of her strength to push him off even as her energy seeped away and soaked into the sheets. “Please!”

Each scream egged him on. Every twist of her body beneath him made his heart race and his cock twitch.

Barely able to breathe, Tom burst from the shower and steadied himself on the sink, knuckles blanching as he held on tight. He forced himself to look at his reflection and nearly broke as he saw the lingering blood on his cheeks. The splatter had been fast and furious- an arterial spray that painted his face from temple to chin.

“Fuck…”

He closed his left hand around her delicate throat, harshly pinching the sacred arteries on either side.

Rose clawed at his arms, drawing blood as she fought for her life.

He squeezed harder and felt her pulse slow. Blue eyes were fading in a sea of wine, blood vessels bursting as his grip tightened.

“That’s it,” he grit, lifting the knife to her jaw. “Just like that.” He sliced through her vocal chords, silencing her cries forever. A sanguine tide covered her milky breasts, stained his steady hands.

Through a cloud of steam, Tom stumbled back into the bedroom and bit back a scream.

Rose was laid out on the right side of the bed, her naked body posed as if sleeping. Her throat was torn, her sides split, chest carved open exposing the pale bones caging her heart.

He swallowed down a wave of bile and fell to his knees.

“Not again…”

Above the bed, drawn in Rose’s blood, was a simple heart.

Tom laughed as the last bit of life drained from her beautiful face. He bent to kiss her cold lips, savoring the last taste of her, memorizing the soft push of her lips.

He licked the blood from his fingertips as he rolled over, tired and sated.

She tasted like cherry wine.

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@akshi8278 @babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67 @k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05

#my bloody valentine #jacklesversebingo23 #fanfic #jensen ackles #tom hanniger

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ghost-likes-drawing · 9 months ago

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Just Wish I knew what caused it

(Fitpac exs to lovers)

Ch. 1 (to be named maybe)

Next Chapter

Translations done with assistance from: @caracolast (Portuguese) @keezers and @iridescentpull (Spanish)

Fit was driving along the interstate in silence…. okay mostly silence.

The Radio had given out about an hour beforehand and Ramon was sitting in the passengers seat fixing it; which wasn't all that quiet.

Fit was almost thankful for the lack of music, even if it did mean he couldn't stop thinking, because at least that meant he could wear his prosthetic arm and keep control of the wheel. With this distraction Ramon wasn't itching to take it apart again.

Fit’s mind was wandering, thinking about the circumstances he'd ended up in.

A single father traveling halfway across the country in the middle of summer to live on a ranch with strangers; one of which he had possibly fought in a war with.

The only reason he was even entertaining the idea was because Phil had suggested it.

And the only reason he was going is that he ran out of ways to avoid it.

He had no job, no extended family, and his savings were dwindling fast.

Phil had called Cellbit last week asking if he still needed more hands and if he had space for them.

A few days later, Fit and Ramon had as much of their life as they could fit in the back of their truck, that was almost twice Ramon's age, and were off to California. Everything else of value they managed to get in storage and Fit had a Trust to keep that paid for a while.

And as he thought about how he'd even get their stuff, he realized he didn't ask nearly enough questions. He knew he name of the guy who agreed to hire him; Cellbit. He knows he has kids near Ramon's age and that he is married but to who? Phil mentioned another hand who lived there but through the frenzy Fit didn't at all hear who it was and based on how Phil was talking about it, maybe he was supposed to know one or both of them? And if he didn't were they trustworthy? Were any of them? Fit had already been thinking of that anyway. He didn't care much if something happened to him but if something happened to Ramon, his beautiful baby boy, a gift from heaven, Fit could never-

There's a sudden loud static noise before some cheesy pop song that Fit doesn't know starts playing. The volume is turned down, “Finally! Fuck… look Fit I got it.” Ramon proudly lifted up the radio for Fit to see out of the corner of his eye before Ramon put the Radio back in its spot in the dash.

Fit smiled letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding “Hey good job kid… you're going to make a lot of money one day, just don't forget about me when you're a rich and famous mechanic.” He ruffled Ramon’s hair and Ramon laughed.

“I could never. I learned everything from fixing your shit” Ramon scoffed, smiling before flipping down the visor and opening the mirror.

Ramon gently traced his fingers over his upper lip examining it excitedly. Ramon had wanted a mustache since he was 5 and he finally had some dark lip hair develop after his 15th birthday.

Fit was excited for him. Even if it would come with the discussions of how the hell do you even maintain and clean facial hair. Fit had personal experience and it could be a hassle.

“How much farther do we have?” Fit asked after a bit getting worried they somehow missed the exit.

Ramon checked his phone which was navigating them; “5 miles to the exit, then another 10 till we're actually there. It'll be about 20 minutes”

Fit nodded appreciatively. “Alright then.” he mentally calculated which lanes he should get in and when based off the traffic level in each. “You excited? There's bound to be plenty of stuff that could use your touch.”

Ramon nodded but even only half looking Fit could tell something was off. “…Tallulah and Chayanne wouldn't lie to you about the kids you know”

“I know… it's just a lot of change… and… I still feel like it's my fault.” Ramon shrugged

“Ramon…” Fit cooed in his usual tone when he's trying to be assuring

“I know… I know. You're the one who wore the wrong arm and then lost the data but just-” Ramon faltered

“Ramon, this could have happened without you being around. And honestly my arm was a bad place to store the data I don't know why he insisted upon it.” Fit put his hand on Ramon's shoulder “This isn't a ‘you’ problem. I have it handled now, and if this doesn't work out I'll get us a cheap camping spot and I'll find something eventually.”

Ramon nodded “alright” he hummed and looked out the window “Thanks, dad”

Fit smiled feeling that maybe this time Ramon would internalize it.

Soon they were off the interstate and driving straight until they got to the Ranch. Waiting to meet them was a man Fit hoped was Cellbit, with a child who Fit thought couldn't be older than 6 and an older child that seemed to be around Ramon's age.

The older one was sitting on the fence, swinging his legs. He wore a yellow and green Jersey for a team Fit didn't recognize but seemed to have a Brazilian flag on it. His eyes were covered by his curly hair that he seemed perfectly content on leaving despite acting like a lookout. He was wearing shorts and one of his socks seemed to go up higher than the other. Fit thought this looked odd…

The younger kid, who was using the paved road just inside the fenced area of the ranch to skateboard, was wearing a red and white striped shirt that was definitely to big for him as you could only just see his shorts even though they went to his knees. His knees were covered by his pads, the kid was also wearing a helmet that covered most of his hair but it seemed to have a curl of its own.. He did note this kid probably had the largest pair of glasses he ever saw on someone under 18. The kid almost looked like Where’s Waldo.

The adult, who appeared to be taking a break from his own skateboard, wore a white tank top and brown pants with a green long sleeve tied around his hips. The back of his brown hair, that was graying in the front, was pulled back and he seemed to be enjoying the sun. He turned as he heard Fit’s truck pull up and stop before the gate. He smiled and climbed over and hopped down.

The older kid went to hop down as well but the man clearly recognizing it before it could happen stopped him “Richarlyson! Tua perna não aguenta isso! Não pula dessa altura.”

The kid, Richarlyson, frowned climbing down instead and walked over to stand next to the man. Fit put the car in park and got out. “Hello, my name is Fit. I got hired to work here, I'm looking for Cellbit?”

The man smiled and offered his hands “I'm him, It's nice to meet you, Fit” he looked him over, his eyes eventually landing on his prosthesis “Nice arm, who do you get them from?”

Fit looked at his arm “oh. Uh my son actually made this one, I had kept a bunch of my old arms in a box and he managed to put this together for my birthday one year.”

“Que massa! My Pai made my leg!” Richarlyson proudly proclaimed pulling up his shorts to show where flesh met the sleeve of a prosthetic. That “sock” was not a sock at all but metal painted fully black and honestly it looked very well made.

“Oh wow” Fit looked to Cellbit impressed but Cellbit shook his head.

“Ah! Não sou eu. that's someone else. I mean I am his Pai but not the one who made the leg.” Cellbit chuckled putting an arm on Richarlyson’s back.

Now that Fit was closer, the scars that littered Cellbit’s arm’s and face became more obvious. That was a war veteran if he ever saw one.

“So kid,… uh how old are you?” Fit asked, that was a question you were supposed to ask kids you don't know right?

“14” Richarlyson answers. “You?”

Fit pauses, that's not usually how these conversations go, but before he can answer

"¡Apa Cellbi! ¿Puedo ir y decir hola?" The younger child called

Cellbit waved him over.

The kid took his helmet off and crawled through the fence before running up and hugging Cellbit “Hello!”

“This is my youngest, Pepito” Cellbit introduced

“Aww, hello Pepito, my Name is Fit.”

Pepito pointed to the truck “Who’s he?”

Every one looked to see and Ramon waved through the window realizing he was being stared at.

“That's my son Ramon. He's a bit shy” Fit explained

“Oh okay…” Pepito nodded “I like his hair.”

“I’ll tell him you said so” Fit assured.

“Let me go open the gate and you can drive up to the house” Cellbit said “we’ll catch up”

Fit nodded “I mean, I can drive you. The only stuff in the back passenger area is a couple of suitcases and a cooler that can be put in the back since we're here now.”

Cellbit nodded “Alright, thanks, thank you.”

Cellbit had the kids move to the side and then hopped the gate before getting it open. Fit got back in his truck and after explaining to Ramon, he slowly drove through, the kids walked in and Cellbit closed the gate before Fit got out of truck to move the bags.

Ramon got out too. “Hey Fit” Ramon said grabbing his bag and keeping his voice low.

“Yes, my child?”

Ramon held back a huff “I can sit in the back with the kids” he offered

“You sure?” Fit asked, in Fit’s mind the truck was more Ramon’s then it was his own. Sure Fit bought it well before Ramon was something he even dreamed of having in his life but it only still ran because Ramon had got really into machines at age five. Ramon was his go-to mechanic since he turned eight. When Ramon was ten, Fit adapted his Will to specifically say the truck was not to be sold till Ramon decided. If felt wrong to sit Ramon in the back.

“I'm sure. It's a short drive. Makes you look better if your son has manners anyway.” Ramon nudged Fit with his shoulder

Fit nodded and patted Ramon’s shoulder before everyone filed into the truck.

Since Pepito was so young and Also small for his age, he sat upfront in Cellbit’s lap while Ramon and Richarlyson sat in the back. They were at the house in less than 2 minutes.

“So you're going to just pull up here. There's been a change of plan unfortunately.” Cellbit stated.

Fit stopped the truck and looked to Cellbit, worried.

“The guest house we'd usually have you stay in had a pipe burst and it flooded 2 days ago. It's still getting maintenance.” Cellbit explained “so for the time being you'll be in the guest room in the main house. It does lock” he said assuredly seeing Fit tense up.

Fit nodded. That was fine wasn't too bad, they'd manage. “Thanks for the heads up” he turned the truck off and got out.

As soon as Pepito was allowed to get out he ran into the house to go put the skateboarding things away. Cellbit chuckled and got out as well.

Ramon and Richarlyson waited a second but they didn't have much to stay in the car for, so they followed their dads.

“Mr. Cellbit?” Ramon piped up.

“Hm, yes?” Cellbit looked at him “what is it?”

“If you need help with the pipes situation I might be able to lend a hand” Ramon offered “I'm pretty handy”

Cellbit smiled “that's good to know but I think we got things under control"

“Yea my Pai is handiling it!” Richarlyson smiled “he's pretty good with that stuff.”

“It's true. I'm lucky to have him around” Cellbit shrugged “but hey, maybe he’ll want the help. We can always ask”

The door to the house opened “Cellbit, 'cê não me contou que o funcionário novo 'tava aqui” the door closed.

Fit thought the voice sounded familiar but… no that couldn't be. He looked up to see his new co-worker.

“Foi mal, Pac,” Cellbit states although whatever else he says was drowned out in Fit’s brain as he locks eyes with Pac for the first time in over a decade.

This couldn’t be happening… right? This was all a weird fucked up dream.

“Pai!” Richarlyson runs up to meet Pac pulling him into a hug that disrupts Pac’s eyes from looking into Fit’s as Pac hugs Richarlyson back “Olha pro braço do cara novo! Ele disse que o filho dele que fez, igual você fez minha perna!"”

And the nightmare gets worse as the realization dawns on him that not only has he disturbed his Ex’s peace half way across the country, but that Pac’s husband is his employer. “That’s just great”, Fit thinks.

Fit adjusts his shirt some and finally averts his gaze. Yep, he only feels the shirt in his right hand, he’s wide awake.

“Do you two know each other?” he hears Cellbit ask as the world goes back into focus.

“Oh uh, yea we did.. once..” Fit responds, not daring to lie

“Don't worry about it” Pac adds “it was a while ago.” But Pac’s face hides nothing in this moment. He's not happy. “I'm going back to fixing the guest house” And Pac kisses the top of Richarlyson’s head before walking off.

Without his permission, Fit’s eyes follow Pac .

If Cellbit knows what's happening he saves Fit the embarrassment of making it clear. “Come on. You're probably tired from all the driving. Let’s go get you two settled”

He pats Fit’s back hard enough to bring his attention back to the present and helps them get their bags before he leads him and Ramon inside. Pepito is coloring at the table and Ramon smiles and waves as they pass.

Cellbit leads them upstairs and to a room that's the most separated from the rest on that floor. “Com licença, I need to get the door unlocked”

He counts five bedroom doors and one labeled bathroom plus the one him and Ramon will be sharing for the time being and Fit starts trying to work out who they belong to. Just to keep his bearings. Only two of the doors actually seem to lock so one is probably Cellbit and Pac's while the other probably belongs to the other ranchhand he hasn’t met yet. One of the doors has a little pillow on the outside meant for teeth when parents don't want to risk waking their kids up by going under the pillow. That's probably Pepito’s. One of the blank door’s is probably Richarlyson’s but then who's the other belong to?

Cellbit finally managed to unlock the door, “Entendi!” He hands the key to Fit. Cellbit holds the door for Ramon and Fit as they shuffle in and put their bags to the side. It was a nice room, Decently decorated, there was a photo of an older gentleman labeled “Alfredo” on the bedside table that caused Cellbit to sigh "ai meu Deus...” he rolled his eyes and grabbed it “sorry I thought I cleared all the photos out, my husband must have snuck back in here and left this as a joke.”

Fit nodded not getting the joke himself “No worries. Thank you so much again for this. You have no clue what this means to me”

“Of course, of course, veterans have to look out for eachother.” Cellbit shrugged “and honestly you're saving my ass, we really need the help”

Fit nods and Cellbit leaves them to unpack

“That guy, Richarlyson’s other Pai.. you knew him, more then you let on.” Fit looked to Ramon “didn't you?”

Fit paused but before he could answer he was getting a call and used that as an excuse to avoid the question “one sec Ramon, Hello?”

“Hey Fit, haven't heard from you since you left just making sure you're safe.” It was Phil, he could have checked he just forgot.

“Oh yea… things are good… We got here safe, everyone's been nice…” Fit nodded

“Seeing Pac bothered you more then you thought it would huh?” Phil hummed sympathetically

“You knew?!” Fit demanded

“ I told you! How did you miss that!?” Phil demanded back

Fit paused and the more he thought about it the more of that conversation felt like a blur “You-!… you… probably did…” Fit sighed “yea it shocked me…”

Fit could hear Phil frown “I'm sorry Mate.., would you have not gone if you realized?”

Fit thought about it “no I would have… just would have been nice to be more prepared, it's my own fault I didn't pay attention” he chuckled. Ramon sat down on the bed testing its comfort.

Phil hummed “yea kinda is.” He said in his usual smug tone that at least caused Fit to laugh “but seriously, you going to be alright? It's a big change”

“Yea we’ll be alright don't you worry” Fit assured

“Alright, just remember if you need to talk-”

“I know I know” Fit interrupted “alright old man get back to your kids and let me get back to mine”

Phil scoffed to hide his laugh “yea whatever. Talk soon”

“Talk soon” and Fit hung up

Ramon looked up at him “didn't you” he repeated less a question and more of a reminder.

Fit frowned “well if you have to know, Drama Queen, yes I did. But it doesn't matter. Please drop it.”

Ramon seemed unsatisfied with the answer but shrugged “fine, that picture of the old guy was a really weird joke though right?”

Fit smiled “totally weird. Also ‘Alfredo’?”

Ramon chuckled and nodded “double weird”

Fit chuckled back.

Things just seemed to get complicated whereever Fit goes. But maybe this time… maybe this time things will just be okay.

Next>

Please point out any weird looking errors if you see them so I can fix them. I did get this beta's like twice and I found 3 different problems while making this post.

#qsmp #fitmc #qsmp fitmc #hideduo #fitpac #Qsmp Ramon #Just wish I knew what caused it #Ghost Draws's writing #ghost likes writing #pepito qsmp #qsmp richarlyson #qsmp cellbit #qsmp pactw #qsmp pac

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vampandvisiongirl · 5 months ago

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When you go into the archives and find a list of cute Cangel moments in the Angel books. If you're not familiar, while the series was running, they would release books that were their own episodes.

(C/A Goodness from the Angel books:) Because if she died it would be the most bad he ever felt. (Redemption) Because "Angel thought she...seemed to grow into herself more, becoming more elegant and lovely with each passing week." (Close To The Ground) Because Cordy called him young and good-looking. (Shakedown) Because he's not all angst, Angel can make Cordy laugh too! (Shakedown) Because he literally dreams about her. (Shakedown) Because he said, "I won't let him hurt you, Cordelia." (Avatar) Because "while she couldn't be sure of much in her life, she knew that if push came to shove, Angel would be there to shove back, to risk his life for her. She could count on him." (Avatar) Because she gives him a pep talk when he starts doubting himself. (Soul Trade) Because everyone else can see that Angel's "her guy". (Hollywood Noir, Bruja) Because Cordy knows Angel's the only one whose been there for her since day one. (Bruja) Because he told everyone to be quiet when Cordy appeared on the television screen. (Haunted) Because "that was his Cordy on a national television show, the girl he'd known since she was a spoiled high school princess and had watched grow into a beautiful and confident woman." (Haunted) Because "her week's enforced absence just pointed out to Angel how much he'd missed her." (Haunted) Because "he missed the sound of her laughter, the arch of her voice when she was annoyed, the shriek when she was startled. Soon, he thought. The game can't last forever, and then she'll come back..."(Haunted) Because "his only thoughts were for Cordelia."(Vengeance) Because he "won't let anything happen to her." (Vengeance) Because she scowled when Elain flirted with Angel. (Vengeance) Because when she fell asleep Angel kissed her forehead. (Vengeance) Because it takes a while for comprehension to dawn on Angel when he's looking at her. (The Longest Night) Because Cordy sticks up for him and says he's "Not evil. Just not exactly Mr. Sociable." (TLN) Because Angel looks at her when she says this. Then she brushes his arm with her hand. (TLN) Because Angel likes it when she's happy and if it takes attending a party to do that, then he'd make sure he was there. (TLN) Because he got her Christmas present first before anyone else's. (TLN) Because he happily calls her "the Queen of Shopping and all other shoppers must bow down before her." (TLN) Because she winked at him and called him fine. (TLN) Because she undressed Angel with her eyes. (TLN) Because he likes the idea of Cordelia being intersted in him. (TLN) Because he likes the idea of Cordy hitting on him. (TLN) Because her hands dropped mischievously behind his back and made Angel go, "Ow!" (TLN) Because she cheers him up when he gets a mean Christmas gift from Wolfram & Hart that upsets him. (TLN) Because he tries to be Thoughtful Guy when it comes to Cordy. (TLN) Because he wants her to stay. (TLN) Because he doesn't want her to drive alone late at night. (TLN)

#cangel #cordelia x angel #angel the series #ats #cordelia chase #angel x cordy #angel and cordelia #angel and cordy #angel books #angel the series books

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prettyboypistol · 1 year ago

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TF2 Sniper x M!Reader 18+ || Passenger Princess

[Road Head][Mutual Masturbation][Sound Kink][Voyeurism]

You knew exactly why you were chosen as Sniper's handler. Miss Pauling was absolutely swamped in work regarding Soldier's effective elimination of a local ecosystem and starting of New Mexico's largest fire in recorded history. The Administrator couldn't be bothered to do anything field work related, so the closest employee was chosen to accompany Sniper- the leash to keep the prized dog from running away.

Both of you thought it was stupid to worry about Sniper of all people running away. Hell, it was more likely that either you or Miss Pauling would be fly to Europe to snag Spy from an impromptu vacation. The rumble of the camper van starting up jostled you out of your passive aggressive daydreams of Monacco beaches as Sniper gave you a look.

"I don't need a bloody babysitter." He muttered to you, clearly unhappy with the situation.

"I totally agree. I'll just stay in the car while you do you, m'kay?" You responded as you buckled your seat belt and relaxed into the worn leather passenger seat. Sniper took a moment before he responded with a simple yet impressed hum of approval.

With that, the painstaking drive wore at your patience. You stayed as quiet as you could, as Sniper did not initiate any conversation... but the opportunity to be so close to one of the mercs! You were usually the cleanup crew! Just one question wouldn't hurt, right? Besides, Sniper seemed calm enough. Miss Pauling described Sniper as one of the most reasonable mercs, so if you had a shot to have a conversation with any of them, Sniper was your best bet!

"So uh, got a name?" You finally broke the silence. God, you felt like a fish out of water.

"..Sniper?" He responded, a slight smile on his face. You could barely tell it was a smile!

"No- nonono, I meant like.. your actual name."

The exhale through his nose was what you could only assume was a laugh.

"Right then, Mick Mundy. Why's it matter?"

"Just.. curious."

"Great, stuck 5 hours in a car with a curious type." Sniper sighed as he briefly rolled his eyes. His sarcastic nature put you off slightly. Did he not want to talk? That was more than fine if he didn't, but he could have said that!

A few moments pass as the awkward tension churned like butter. "Well I suppose I should ask your name too, be polite n' all." Sniper spoke up.

"Oh, does it matter for me though? I mean, I'm just an assistant." You laughed, but eventually confessed your first name.

"That's not a bad name, but I guess you're right. If we haven't met for this long, then we probably won't cross paths again." Sniper shrugged. "How long have you been in Teufort?"

"A few years, I was hired on by Miss Pauling to help with cleanup and stuff... the only reason I'm here with you is because she's busy with news repression. How about you?"

"I got the call about 4 years ago."

"Nice, nice... Paid well?"

"Yeah, 'can take care of my ma and pa."

"Aww, that's sweet."

"You?"

"Eh, it's an hourly job and I haven't slept on 2 days."

"Jesus." Sniper muttered as he glanced at you quickly. You looked well put together from a passing look, but in a more comfortable surrounding? Your eyebags were far more prominent. "Why don't you get a nap in since it's just interstate travel for a bit?" He offered.

You decided to take Sniper up on his offer and get the first taste of sleep that you've had in a good 53 hours.

As the gentle rocking of Sniper's driving drifted you off to dreamland, Sniper kept his thoughts to himself. God, you were hot. As soon as Sniper saw you, he wanted to pin you against the side of his camper and fuck you. But no, he had a code. Be polite, be efficient. He was a professional, with no feelings attached. Although, with you so sweetly asleep not 3 feet away from him, you made him reconsider lust as not an emotion, but a primal need. Rules of nature and all that junk. The way the barely setting sun kissed your skin as you curled around yourself made Sniper bite the inner side of his cheek in restraint.

By the time you woke up, the clock told you that there was a good hour left of driving before you two reached your location. You yawned and stretched, groaning against your will as the noises of your body started up. The little sighs and whimpers drove Sniper insane.

"Mornin'" You groaned as sleep still held you captive. Your body swayed, which led you to slump against the armrest between the two chairs, your head tapped gently against Sniper's side.

"Good morning, you awake?" Sniper muttered.

"Mhm... god, you're hot." You sighed sweetly, not completely aware that you said that out loud.

"Thanks mate, you are too." Sniper assured. He took a risk when he put his hand atop on your head, thumb rubbed over your temple. You giggled and pet his thigh.

Sniper cleared his throat awkwardly, was this a good time to ask? Was it even appropriate? God, your hand was too close for comfort yet so achingly far away! "Do you wanna..?" He hummed, his voice barely above a whisper. You nodded as you fumbled with your pants.

God, the sound of you when you touched yourself- the sound of skin that slid over skin, the sound of your tongue wetting your palm, and the sleepy sigh of need, it all ruined Sniper just to hear. This was grossly unprofessional and impulsive, where the hell did this even come from?! Had you felt the same thing he had? He couldn't look over at you, his hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as he grit his teeth.

"Hey, I'm curious." You speak up, your voice breathy as you continued to move your hand up and down your dick.

"Yeah?" Sniper responded, eager to answer.

"Have you ever gotten road head?"

Quick hands unzipped Sniper's pants and moved Sniper's hard cock through the slit in his underwear. A few experimental pumps was the only warning Sniper got before you swallowed around Sniper's tip, which gave you a choked out moan from Sniper. He was lucky that he was good at driving one handed as he shoved your head down deeper as his fingers twisted into your hair, nails scraped into your scalp.

He wasn't a dick you could deepthroat easily. You choked and coughed violently before you tried again with another effort, half of his length in your mouth with the base covered and jerked off by your hand. You assumed Sniper to be a quiet sort, and you were mostly correct. The bated breathing, the muscle spasms of his stomach, and the deep exhales as Sniper tried to keep his primary focus on driving only spurred you on. As you pleasured yourself, you took extra care to moan around the cock in your mouth.

The noises churned like a thick putty in Sniper's chest. Yeah, getting hsi dick sucked was great, but Sniper was always a more auditorial person. He was able to hear everything and he loved it. Oh shit- wait- god damn it!

Your mouth was flooded with cum as Sniper shuddered out his orgasm with little huffs and groans. You wanted to tease him for popping so fast, but you were far too busy swallowing it down.

"Christ, I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it."

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 sniper #tf2 x reader #fanfiction #sniper x reader #tf2 smut #tf2 sniper x reader #sniper x m!reader #sniper x male reader #team fortress 2 smut #tf2 x male reader #prettyboypistol #prettyboy pistol

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atlurbanist · 2 months ago

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A freeway interchange as "urban renewal" in Atlanta

by Darin GIvens | Dec 9, 2024

This area, immediately south of Downtown Atlanta, is bounded on the north by Memorial Drive, on the east by Fraser Street, on the south by Fulton Street, and on the west by Central Avenue.

First photo: 1949 (GSU Digital Collections)

Second photo, showing the same area: 2024 (Google Maps)

This is part of the area dubbed Washington-Rawson during the post-WW2 Urban Renewal period. It wasn't the name of a distinct, existing neighborhood -- it was a name for a project that defined the blocks to be demolished for new development. The original plan appears to have been to displace the current population and build a place for wealthier (and whiter) residents. probably to compete with suburban flight.

It was, of course, a horrible plan that erased neighborhood fabric and uprooted thousands of residents, hitting immigrant and Black communities the hardest. The fact that it didn't actually turn out as hoped is small comfort. What did get built instead was a giant I-75/85/20 interchange, cutting off communities from each other and from walkable access to many destinations.

The following are passages from Daniel Judt's “Limitations of the Past: Atlanta’s Stadium and Atlanta’s Image, 1960-2015.” Yale Historical Review (Spring 2015)

"While the press and the Hartsfield administration maintained that clearing Washington-Rawson would get rid of one of the city’s worst slums, some saw the area as merely lower-middle class. Washington-Rawson was not a single neighborhood, but an intersection of two streets within the parameters of the urban renewal project. (Renewal projects were often named after streets.) The project pulled from parts of three neighborhoods: Summerhill, Mechanicsville, and Peoplestown" "[Mayor Ivan] Allen thought there would certainly be interest in developing an upper-middle class residential community that could link to a modernized downtown. By 1959, much of the Washington-Rawson site had been leveled...Residents of Mechanicsville and Peoplestown, the two neighborhoods directly affected by the program, saw 3,261 living units dismantled; over 3,000 individuals and families were removed." "...His plan for an area flush with businesses had, by 1963, ground to a halt. Vast amounts of land had been cleared, but the city could not find private developers interested in buying up the area. The project had lost space due to the construction of the messy intersection of Interstates 20, 75, and 85. The intersection was supposed to give the greater Atlanta region easy access to the CBD, but instead awkwardly cut off the remaining urban renewal land from the shopping district. Citizens in their cars would likely head straight home rather than traipse into downtown."

We can't entirely undo the bad plans of the past, but we can use better intentions to mitigate their impact and create good urbanism in every possible space. The few pedestrian passages that do exist near this interchange should be excellent environments for walking, and cycling (they currently are not).

Each neighborhood affected by this gulf of asphalt should be given every bit of public help available to be a complete urban space with its own shopping districts, parks, and affordable housing. Looking at the Mechanicsville neighborhood for instance (it lies immediately south of the area pictured above), one still sees a lot of empty land where buildings used to be. Looking at the neighborhood on the city’s GIS mapping tool, you can see the parcel divisions that used to be homes and more:

And Downtown, which became cut off from other parts of the city by the interstates, needs thousands of new residents to help it become a more self-sufficient place that relies less heavily on weekday commuters and events goers in order to achieve the level of vibrancy a downtown should have; and to take advantage of the high level of transit service and walkable streets here.

Making mistakes is something that all cities do at some point (though this kind of mistake is particularly egregious and worthy of scorn). Another thing cities do is make corrections -- we can do it by adding life to dead spaces and by redesigning the public realm of our streets, with an eye on equitable outcomes. It’s past time that we address the mistakes of Atlanta's Urban Renewal period in a comprehensive way that lifts up our neighborhoods above the detritus of car-centric, racist, and classist actions.

#atlanta #downtown atlanta #urbanism #urban renewal

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honeysuckleharringtons · 1 year ago

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Part One: "Double Shot" ~ S. Harrington

Summary: (Then) In the small town of Hawkins, Indiana lies the Byers family, a family of four who might just be gaining a fifth member of the family. — (Now) Brew and Me, known for its punny motto and delicious coffee, might soon be known for bringing people together in unexpected ways.

Pairing: Nurse!Steve Harrington x Fem!Byers!Reader

Word Count: 1,808

Content Warning: teen pregnancy, small mention of abortion, vomit/morning sickness talk, mild swearing, mentions of food, mentions of medical-related things (not detailed, just mentioned), lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: thank you to @dungeons-are-too-cold and @heartshapedhargrove for constantly listening to me talk about this series, i love y'all sm

Originally Written: 10/16/2023

honeysuckleharringtons' masterlist can be found here!

'brew and me' series masterlist can be found here!

[ Then, June of 1987 ]

Hawkins was a quaint little town, just about an hour and a half outside of Indianapolis. Hop on the interstate and drive northwest for a while, and soon enough, you'd be met with luscious sugar maples and winding back roads into a small town filled with big families. That's where you'd find the Byers', a family of four who lived near the outskirts. But for the four of them, things were about to change in a very big way.

"It's okay," you whispered to yourself, a gentle reminder that, quite frankly, you were having a hard time believing. "It's just a little pregnancy test. It can't hurt you."

The test itself might not have been capable of inflicting pain on you, but whatever results it bore to you a half hour later might. The visionary knife in your gut twisted at the thought of the test lighting up with a positive. You willed yourself not to think of it, afraid of somehow speaking it into existence despite the words not leaving your mouth.

A knock rapped against the bathroom door, startling you from your current train of thought. "Honey," Joyce called on the other side, "dinner's almost finished."

"Yeah, Mom," you managed to stutter out, attempting to mask the anxiety coursing through you. "I'm just gonna shower and then I'll be out."

You felt slightly bad that you'd be wasting all the available hot water for the next half hour, but you couldn't risk someone coming in and finding the test. The distraction a shower would bring you would be an added bonus.

As soon as your mother’s footsteps receded down the hardwood hallway, you got to work. After looking over the instructions at least five times and then managing to open the wrapper with trembling fingers, you finished the test. A couple nervous breaths exited your lips as you placed the stick on the counter, then promptly hopped in the shower. Attempting to wash away all the messiness of the day—but not the messiness of your thoughts—you let the water cascade down your body, the warmth of it lacking its usual sense of comfort.

As your fingers combed shampoo through your hair, thoughts ran rampant through your mind. Y/N Byers, a mother. Even if the title made you a bit hesitant, at least it would finally give your boyfriend a reason to grow the hell up, right? You loved him, truly, but that boy certainly needed a reality check.

You forced yourself to look at the upside of things. For one, you'd had plenty of training. Between your younger brother and babysitting throughout your teen years, you definitely knew enough to at least get by. Your current gig as a day-camp counselor at The Peony, the local country club, was just the cherry on top. For two… were there any more positives of this?

While you wanted to see a good side to the situation, you couldn't help but consider the possibilities of getting kicked out of the house, being forced to break up with your boyfriend, and the decision of even keeping the baby or not. Your stomach twisted at the thought of being homeless and your baby being fatherless. A wave of nausea hit you so hard you were nearly puking in the shower, a pain so horrid that morning sickness could surely never compare.

You rushed out of the shower, not even bothering to grab a towel before emptying what little was left in your stomach into the toilet. Your eyes glared up at the test on the counter as you wiped off your chin with a piece of toilet paper. It was almost funny, you thought, that a tiny white stick could be holding the answer to your future.

Forcing yourself up from the cold tiles under your knees, you managed to reach the shower and finish the rest of your nightly routine. Your hands shook as you gripped the nob, wondering if this would be the last shower you took before your final step into womanhood.

You had to remind yourself how to breathe as you reached for the test, giving yourself one last look in the mirror. Your skin was some shade of pale green, nausea coursing through you as naturally as the blood in your veins. Here goes nothing.

Blue. The test lit up the brightest shade of blue. It might as well have been screaming, "You're pregnant, dumbass!"

The test fell from your hands and into the sink, the device practically staring at you. Another wave of nausea hit you, forcing you to sit down on the cold and wet edge of the tub. As your exhausted hand ran through your hair, you sifted through the millions of thoughts fighting for your attention.

Another soft knock sounded against the door, one of your brothers reminding you that dinner was finished. Maybe you answered, "I'll be out in a minute," or maybe you didn't manage to say anything at all. You really weren't sure because all the blood in your body rushed straight to your ears to the point where you couldn't even hear yourself breathing anymore. Maybe you'd passed out and this was all a strange fever dream. You really, truly, didn't know.

In fact, in the midst of your internal battle, there was really only one thing you were positive about: you had no idea what the hell you were going to do.

[ Now, November of 1991 ]

"Welcome to Brew and Me, where our motto is- Oh, it's you." You sighed heavily as you registered who was standing on the other side of the counter.

Steve just stared at you with his eyebrow raised. "I'm not sure I'm familiar with your motto. Can you remind me again, miss?"

Your eyes nearly rolled out onto the counter. "The usual?" you asked reluctantly, hands on your hips as you all but challenged his request.

He pushed his wire-frame glasses up the bridge of his nose, a hand landing on his hip in rebuttal. You'd never seen another human being as joyful as Steve was when he got the opportunity to mock you. "That's not the motto," he reminded you in a sing-song tone.

All interest in fighting left your body, finally giving in to his wish. "It's always a brew-tiful day for coffee," you forced out.

His lips turned downward into the cutest pout, and your heart swooned at the sight. "You should really work on how you express-o yourself. That was just sad."

Steve knew his slip of the tongue would make your blood boil, and his pout quickly turned to a smirk as he watched annoyance wash over your face. "The word is espresso, and I'll have you know that I have been considered one of the happiest coworkers here so take that."

He snickered at your sad attempt at a fight. "I find that incredibly hard to believe," he countered. "To answer your previous question, yes, I'd like my usual. Double shot tonight."

A flash of sympathy appeared on your face. You knew all too well what he was in for. "Long night?"

"Exam in the morning, clinical tonight."

You gave him a sympathetic smile before turning to your coworker to bark out his order. "Hazelnut Americano with double shots for John Lennon!"

"Someday," he said, his eyes narrowing in on you as you struggled to hold in your laugh, "you're gonna realize that these glasses are one of my best features. And then, you will finally agree to that date with me."

You just shook your head, waving him off toward his favorite table in the house. A small smile crept its way to your lips, but you did your best to hide it. Your heart went aflutter at even the simplest of actions from him.

Steve Harrington could be described as the most attractive man alive, but just as easily be described as the most stubborn one in the same breath. Sure, he had beautiful, tousled brown hair and hazel eyes that you could get lost in if he'd allow it. Add in the way he looked in his uniform slate-gray scrubs and you were done for. But on the opposite hand, Steve also didn't know how to take no for an answer. Still, you found it quite endearing that three months in, he was still very interested in that date he brought up every time he came into your little coffee shop.

The devil on your shoulder practically begged you to say yes—yes to Steve, yes to the whole nine yards that came along with dating him, all of it. But the idea of actually saying it? Well, to be frank, it scared you more than anything in the whole world. Still, you couldn't help but wonder what it might be like if you ever did accept. His hair fixed up the right way, scrubs traded in for slacks and a nice sweater… your heart flipped at the thought.

That was when that devil sitting on your shoulder decided to do the most devious thing. You didn't really believe in 'out of body' experiences, but it was the only logical explanation to why your feet had carried you over to his table all on their own.

You'd never have the courage to say what was coming out of your mouth, but your little demon friend surely did. "Tell you what, doc?" you started, leaning down and narrowing your eyes at him. "When you successfully guess my favorite thing on the whole menu—without help from any of my coworkers, classmates, or professors—then we'll talk."

Steve just stared at you, mouth agape, for the remainder of the time it took one of your fellow baristas to whip up his coffee. Some mix of shock and fear of disappointment sat on his face for so long that you headed back to the counter, grabbing his coffee and a sympathy cookie from the display while you waited for him to come back to life. When he still didn't respond, you did the only thing left—say the motto and continue on with your work.

"Have a brew-tiful day, friend," you said, much more enthusiastically than earlier. You glanced down at your watch, noticing it was almost time for your break. You were tempted to sit at his table just to see how long it would take him to form another coherent sentence.

Finally, he spoke again, slowly coming out of his dazed state. "You…" he hesitated, possibly trying to think up an intelligible string of words from that dictionary he always carried with him for no apparent reason. "You said yes…"

"I did," you confirmed. "And I hate to rush off, but I have to take my break."

"You said yes," he repeated, pure shock coming over him. "Huh. I guess it really is a brew-tiful day."

AAAHHH, MY BABY IS OUT INTO THE WORLD 🥹

I don't think anyone understands how happy I am for you guys to finally get this series. Like, I have been shaking in my boots, waiting to post this for you guys and now you have it!!! 🥹

Thank you so very much to Georgia (tagged in the extra notes at the top) for listening to me talk about this series sm and for helping me brainstorm so many lil things for this series. I love you so very much, my bestie 💞

Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed and I can't wait to see you guys back here for part three next weekend! 🫶🏻

-> taglist: @dungeons-are-too-cold @ducky-died-inside @awkotaco24 @liberhoe @princesseddie @aftermidnightwriting @manuosorioh @esoltis280

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dantakeyoman · 1 year ago

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𝐉𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄𝐘 | 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞

♡ 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐡𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

♡ * 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒏𝒈, 𝒔𝒆𝒙𝒚, 𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆, 𝒛𝒐𝒎𝒃𝒊𝒆-𝒌𝒊𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑱𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒏. 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔. *

♡ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐦 (𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬), 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐠𝐨𝐫𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐨𝐟 𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𝐬), 𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐮𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬, 𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐞𝐭𝐜.

♡ * 𝒔𝒑𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒚: 𝒓𝒐𝒄𝒌 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒇𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏 𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒍 *

𝐎𝐍𝐄

Amazing how quick things can go from bad to unfathomably fucking bad.

Waking up on that fateful day, you thought you'd go through your normal routine.

Eat your honey-bun breakfast, show up late to your brother's car shop, starting working, and then return to your shitty apartment for a horrible TV dinner and a movie.

Not once did you plan for him to try to bite your face off, and not once did you plan on chopping off your only brother's head because of it.

It didn't take long after that for the entire world to go to shit, which made you grateful that your father had the paranoia of a redneck.

After taking a quick stop home and packing a duffel full of goodies, you headed off in a stolen pickup truck as far as you could from Newark.

Which was now a zombie war-zone.

A couple months and various zombie scares later, and here you were, walking the interstate in the middle of Texas, your recent mode of transportation having broken down a couple miles back.

"Might as well take inventory," you grumbled to yourself, taking in a deep sigh as you plopped down on a barricade.

You found it comforting to talk every once in a while, even if it was to yourself.

Life in the apocalypse was lonely.

If you didn't, you'd probably forget how to talk all together.

Unzipping the duffel, you rummaged around, counting what you had.

2 grenades, a shotgun, a rifle, and a couple more magazines.

Not too shabby.

You suddenly heard a noise. A rumbling one.

It was a car engine.

Snapping your head over to its source, you could see a black Cadillac Escalade with a snow-plow attachment heading straight for you.

Fast.

Pro, driving means no zombie.

Con, sometimes humans are worse than the zombies.

Pro, they got a working car.

Con, might also have a working gun.

...

"I got guns, too," you smirked, pulling out your glock from your pants and staying seated, shifting so whoever couldn't see the weapon.

To your surprise, he pulled up right next to you, stepping out the car.

You held up your gun, pointing it between his eyes, and he cocked his lever action shotgun, pointing it at your chest.

Finally having the chance to get a good look at him, you took in his outfit.

He had on brown cowboy boots tucked under the hem of his blue jeans, a black v-neck, a leather jacket, tacky shades, and to top it all off, a brown, real deal Brazil hat.

He used his other hand to toss his shades, allowing you to see his blue eyes as the two of you stared each other down.

He was actually kind of handsome...in a rugged, apocalypse sort of way.

You raised a brow, removing the safety off your glock to show you were serious.

And he did the same thing, cocking his gun with a smug expression.

Still trying to hold out, you kept your position, but he raised a brow, making sure you really wanted to go there.

You caved.

With a sigh, you returned the safety, using your other hand to hold up a thumb.

He lowered his weapon, nodding toward his truck as he walked off to do something.

You threw your bag over your shoulder, trudging towards the passenger and opening the door.

Using your gun, you did a quick check of the car, making sure there wasn't anyone or anything present that could harm you.

"What're you lookin' for?" The man curtly asked with a country twang as he plopped down in the driver's.

It seems like he returned from kicking over a motorcycle.

"Danger," you answered, sitting down and shutting the door, turning to him with cold eyes.

"Nothin' back there but my duffel bag," he half-assured, something about the look in his eye letting you know he was telling the truth.

"Good," you nodded, turning to face the road.

He stared at you a moment, almost as if he was studying you, and what to do next.

"You say more than one word at a time?" He cocked a brow.

You turned to him seriously, "...Yes."

He sighed, accepting that that was probably the best he was gonna get, and turned the key to the ignition.

You tried to suppress the feelings of guilt, deciding to turn and look out the window.

But it kept clawing at you.

'This guy's doin' you a solid. Show at least a little gratitude, pig.'

"Thank you," you caved, keeping your eyes trained on the window.

Slightly taken aback, he turned to you, before snapping himself out of it.

"Don't mention it," he nodded, pulling off.

And as you started to find a steady speed, your eyes managed to catch a glance at the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat in the cup-holder.

God, you hadn't had a good drink since you raided that liquor store a couple weeks back.

"You mind?" You asked, cutting your eyes at the bottle as if you were a lion and it was a juicy gazelle.

He slightly smiled, "Knock yourself out."

You grabbed the bottle by its neck, taking a hard swig and relishing in the delicious burn with a sigh.

"You got a name?" You asked again, not letting the liquid courage go to waste.

"Stop," he quickly shut down, keeping his eyes on the road, "No names. Keeps us from gettin' too familiar."

Realizing he left his humongous knife on the armrest, he picked it up, tossing it in the back.

"Whatever you say, Crocodile Dundee," you shrugged, taking another swig.

He gave you a quick look, noting the comment before moving on.

You noticed this with a small smirk, but covered it by passing off the bottle.

"Where you headed?" He asked, taking it from you and knocking back his own swig.

"Jersey," you answered, scratching your head with the tip of your gun, "You?"

"Tallahassee," he replied.

A wonderfully terrible idea popped into your head.

"Y'know, Jersey and Tallahassee are both east..." you tried to lead.

"So?" He asked, turning to you.

You sighed, "So, Tallahassee, you wanna stick together? 'Til we reach a crossroads."

"Here's the deal, Jersey," he started, "I'm not easy to get along with...and I'm sensin' you're a bit of a bitch."

Your eyebrows furrowed at the last part, and you shot him a quick glare that told him to watch it.

"But...I'm willin' to take this relationship as far as Texarkana."

You shrugged, resting your cheek in your palm as you watched the window again, "Fine by me."

He scoffed with a smile, "You're a little ray of sunshine, aincha?"

"Like you're all peaches an' cream, Tex," you rolled your eyes, "Just drive."

"I can tell already you're gonna get on my nerves."

"Feeling's mutual."

𝒛 𝒐 𝒎 𝒃 𝒊 𝒆 𝒍 𝒂 𝒏 𝒅

After driving an hour or so, picking up some scrawny kid on his way to Ohio, the three of you got to know each other slightly better.

Which made you realize just how fucked you were traveling with these two idiots, and how stupid you looked right now.

"We look fucking stupid right now," you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"What are we doing here?" Columbus, the scrawny kid, asked, turning to Tallahassee.

"Well, take a look," Tal scoffed, "It's a goddamn Hostess truck."

And he was right.

The three of you had pulled over on the side of the road, where a large Hostess truck had fallen into a ditch.

"So what?" Columbus raised a brow.

"I could use a Twinkie," Tal proudly nodded, stepping forward to go down the hill.

You rolled your eyes, but followed, holding your gun at the ready.

Until you realized you were missing someone.

"You comin'?" You asked, turning to Scrawny.

"Yes. Yeah. Just one second," he puttered, suddenly starting to do squats and lunges.

You and Tal turned to each other, sharing the same disbelieving look before turning back to the idiot.

"You fuckin' with me?" Tal asked.

"No, I'm not," Columbus grunted, doing some sort of marching, "You should actually limber up as well. Especially if we're going down that hill. It is very important."

"I don't believe it. You ever see a lion limber up before it takes down a gazelle?" Tal scoffed.

Columbus paused, "...Fair enough."

You rolled your eyes, starting your descent and reaching the truck already.

"With the time you ladies take, I'll be dead before we get back on the road. Could we hurry this up?" You sighed.

The two men quickly joined you, and once Columbus was at the ready, you opened the door.

Only for hundreds of packages of Sno Balls to come pouring out.

But not a single Twinkie in sight.

"Sno Balls? Sno Balls?!" Tal began to rage, frantically sifting through the pile, "Where's the fuckin' Twinkies?!"

"I like Sno Balls," Columbus smiled with a full mouth, already chowing down.

"I hate coconut," Tal scoffed.

You gasped, but he was quick to correct himself.

"Not the taste, the consistency."

"Nearly had me," you mumbled, taking a bite of your own Sno Ball.

'I don't think I could travel with someone who doesn't like coconut.'

"Oh, this Twinkie thing, it ain't over yet," he assured, turning around and storming back up the hill.

You sighed, shifting your gun over your shoulder by it's strap, following him.

"Hey, this may be bad time," Columbus started, trailing close behind, "but I gotta take the Browns to the Superbowl."

"Again?" You cocked a brow, turning to him, "Might as well take the shitter with us."

𝒛 𝒐 𝒎 𝒃 𝒊 𝒆 𝒍 𝒂 𝒏 𝒅

"I've heard there's a place that's untouched by all this crap," Columbus started, laying down in the backseat.

"Back east, yeah?" You chimed, looking up into the rear-view.

"Yeah. You heard the same thing?" He perked up.

"No. I came from the east. Shit over there's just as terrible as here," you scoffed.

"Out west, we hear it's back east. Back east, they hear it's out west. It's all just nonsense," Tal shrugged, keeping his eyes on the road, "You know, you're like a penguin on the North Pole who hears the South Pole is really nice this time of year."

"There are no penguins on the North Pole," Columbus corrected.

Tal turned, "You wanna feel how hard I can punch?"

You snickered, but hid it by turning to the window, deciding to zone out the conversation.

Until you missed a key shift.

"Wait, the last time I laid some pipe?" A sentence stuck out.

You were listening now.

"Last time you went twenty toes, put Percy in the playpen?" Tal tried to clarify.

"Who's Percy?" Columbus asked.

"Wallpapered the closet? Passed the gravy? Went heels to Jesus?"

"He can't understand you, hill-billy," you rolled your eyes.

"Oh, made love," the boy suddenly realized.

You and Tal winced at his...oddly intimate wording, "Well, just sex."

"It was three weeks ago. In the back of an abandoned FedEx truck," he caved.

"Shut up," Tal gasped in disbelief.

"I, uh, I was headed east. She was headed west. And we took shelter in the back of the truck. It was full of undelivered packages."

"What was her name?" You cocked a brow, skeptical.

"Uh...Beverly. Beverly Hills," he quickly scrambled.

"You dog," Tal nodded, proudly.

"Yeah, right," you shook your head.

"Why don't you tell us the last time you got fucked, Sunshine?" Tal asked, purposefully being blunt to embarrass you.

You glowed red, but quickly tried to play it off.

"I-." "Aye, aye, aye," he suddenly interrupted you, his attention turned to the she-zombie devouring the poor bastard in the middle of the road.

'Oh thankGod.'

It would've been embarrassing to admit you hadn't had sex since before the outbreak, especially after how much you were ragging on Columbus.

"Oh my God," Columbus grimaced, "You know, it makes you sad, it makes you...it makes you think if you can go back to the way things were right now...y'know you'd be out in the backyard, y'know, trying to catch fireflies. And instead...this."

"It makes you-." "Hungry," Tal admitted.

"Read my mind," you agreed, wishing you'd packed more Sno Balls.

"I'm worried about you two," Columbus sighed.

"Look, whatever you have waiting for you in Columbus, I promise you it ain't prettier than our friend here enjoying her Manwich," Tal explained, stepping on the gas.

Just as he drove past her, he kicked out his door, hitting her square in the head, knocking her over with a laugh.

"You're fucked," you chuckled, watching her roll like a tumbleweed in the rear-view.

"Hey, these fuckers destroyed the world. I'm allowed to have a lil' fun with 'em."

𝒛 𝒐 𝒎 𝒃 𝒊 𝒆 𝒍 𝒂 𝒏 𝒅

#tallahassee x reader #tallahassee #zombieland #zombieland x reader #@novamariestark

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