#i’m texan and just really wanted to write about texas

[garyroachsandersonsbf]

Cowboy Hat Rule Part 1 - Ghostroach

SFW | Minor Violence

—

Currently the 141 were stationed in good ole’ Fort Worth, Texas. The hot and humid weather of mid July was harsh, and being in a full tac kit only made things more miserable. Two days already in the city and Soap was begging to go home. But they couldn’t, not just yet. The reason why they’re currently holed up inside of a van with a barely working AC unit, was because an anonymous tip gave the team a possible hit on El Sin Nombre. Said he was running large trades through the traveling rodeo, so here they are now, waiting outside the ongoing rodeo in Cowtown.

Ghost actually advised against deploying to Texas due to the lack of legitimacy in the tip’s claim and not much proof to back it up besides a half torn letter from El Sin Nombre himself that could’ve been a fake anyways. But as they were incredibly desperate to catch this guy for intel on the missing missiles, they took any chance they were offered to get him, and so Price and Laswell approved the mission and sent out the lieutenant with the three of his sergeants to meet up with Colonel Vargas, Sergeant Major Parra, and Commander Graves. It was only their second time meeting, but it felt like they’ve all known each other for much longer, guess that’s what happens in war.

“It’s so fookin’ miserable in here.” Soap pulled at the collar of his shirt that was drenched in sweat. “Cannae wait any longer before I gaun get heatstroke.” He then attempted to fan himself with his hand.

Ghost sighed and tossed a water bottle at him, “Shut up Sergeant. Rodeo should be done within the next hour, you can be quiet and wait until then.” Ghost tugged at his mask, repositioning it as the sweat caused it to cling flush against his face.

Soap scoffed, “Away n’ bile yer head!”

Suddenly Gaz’s voice perked up from beside Soap, “It is hot in here though, Soap’s not wrong about the heatstroke either.” He looked around the van at the miserable and sweaty men.

“We can’t risk opening any doors and exposing our cover over needing a little bit of air. Just drink water, you’ll live.” Ghost was very irritated that night. Having to come to Texas was the first thing that ticked him off. Then it was the weather. And then there was the plan they had. It was flimsy, nothing very solid to go off of in the first place, so naturally there’s a lot of room for error and danger, and Ghost didn’t like that.

Roach leaned in beside him, “What about a window?” His goggles rested on top of his helmet, allowing Ghost and the rest visual access to his eyes where currently Roach was lifting one eyebrow up expectantly.

“Negative Sergeant. You’re just gonna have to suffer.” His monotone voice showed no sign of sarcasm or humor. The sergeants all sighed loudly not being able to get their pleas through to the lieutenant.

“Heads up,” Rudy knocked on the metal mesh separating the back of the van with the two seats up front. “Two armed men just got out of a truck near an emergency exit at the rodeo. We may have something here.”

“About fucking time. Get ready boys.” Graves clapped triumphantly. Surprisingly to Ghost, Graves has managed to become more insufferable and obnoxious than Soap! And unfortunately for Ghost, he had the honor of sitting right next to the mercenary commander.

“Not yet,” Alejandro chimed in. “We don’t see any package, they’re only just standing around, no need to engage yet.” Then he whispered something in Spanish to Rudy, too quiet for Ghost to make it out.

After about 20 more minutes of waiting and various complaints about the heat, they finally got the green light to engage. “Eyes on a woman being escorted by three other heavily armed men.” Rudy called out, binoculars pulled up to his eyes.

“ID?” Ghost asked, trying to shift his body and look through the mesh and out the windshield.

“I think we got a hit on El Sin Nombre’s personal sicaria, Valeria Garza.” Rudy responded, tension in his voice.

“That’s the bitch who slipped through us last time in Las Almas, isn’t she?” Graves asked furiously. Back in Las Almas during their first meeting, they attempted to seize Valeria but they ended up being outnumbered and she was able to escape and go back into hiding.

“Easy there, Graves.” Alejandro warned from the driver’s seat.

Suddenly Rudy, who still was looking through his binoculars, yelled out, “Target getting into the truck, more men behind her loading crates into a black suburban, possibly the package she has to deliver.”

“Copy that, calling it in.” Ghost switched his comms to the channel with Laswell, as did the rest of the men. “Laswell, we have eyes on Valeria Garza and the package. Permission to follow and engage if needed?”

Laswell’s voice crackled through his earpiece, “Affirmative, you have the go ahead. Try to make it out of the city before engaging with them, we want to keep a low profile.”

“Copy. Going into pursuit.” Ghost stood up and reached over to bang on the metal mesh signaling it’s time to go.

Alejandro put the car into gear and began rolling out of the alleyway and down the narrow street a few hundred feet from the targets. They anxiously followed behind the cars, waiting for them to arrive at their destination. After about 10 minutes of driving, they turned onto a private dirt road where they were more exposed than before.

“Drop back following distance, they’ll be able to spot us much easier than before,” Rudy advised and Alejandro complied, slowing the vehicle down and leaving another couple hundred feet between them and the targets.

“Losing visual on Valeria and the package, too far back and too much dirt being kicked up,” the colonel warned. Suddenly their tail lights disappeared completely and the soldiers were unable to make out the cars through the dust. “Command, we lost complete visuals with targets. I repeat, we have no visuals on targets.”

“Something isn’t right…” Roach muttered anxiously.

“No,” Ghost agreed. “Pull over the van and-“

All of the sudden the truck and suburban came into view and were parked horizontally over the road, multiple of the armed men standing behind the vehicles, gun trained on their approaching van. Alejandro slammed on the brakes, causing the van to swerve and stop horizontally on the road as well, bout a hundred feet away from their enemies.

“GET DOWN!” Alejandro and Rudy yell, ducking below the windshield and windows as bullets begin to fire and hit the van. Ghost was extremely thankful for the armoured van Price gave them, a reinforced body and chassis, and bullet proof glass. It was enough to handle some firepower for a good amount of time, much longer than a normal van.

“Laswell, targets have opened fire on us, we’re pinned down.” Ghost yelled out through the comms, hands on his weapon waiting for an opportunity to engage.

“Shit! Get out of the van as quickly as you can and engage. We’ll try to send in reinforcements.” Laswell then went silent as she made her other calls for backup.

“We don’t have time to wait around for others! Ghost, are you able to get out the back door?” Alejandro yelled out over the loud gunfire.

“It’s risky but possible!” Ghost got up from the bench, still keeping down low in the van. “Moving out!” He swung open the door which was immediately hit by dozens of bullets. He waited until there was a minor pause in fire, as they were reloading, to leap out and run behind the van, quickly making his way to the front of the vehicle. He positioned his gun around the very front of the van and began to shoot at the cartel. He immediately downs one man who falls off the bed of the truck. “Need more power!” Ghost urgently called out, and a few seconds later Roach is behind him, laying down fire from over the hood of the van.

A couple more men drop dead but not enough to try and advance further. Gaz was the next to come out, staying at the back of the van, shooting from under the opened back door. He was able to pick off another guy, leaving about five cartel members and Valeria left. Each side continued to exchange bullets for another 5 minutes before the other side halted fire completely. Suspicious, Ghost peeks around the corner to try and spot them but is unable to see a single enemy. “Gaz, visual on anyone?”

“Negative, LT. Looks like they ran.” Gaz moved over to Ghost and Roach, Soap on his heels right behind him.

“Or they’re all dead.” Soap chuckled.

Ghost shook his head, “Don’t get too excited just yet, Johnny. Something is off.” He squatted and leaned against the tire, “Alejandro, you see anything?”

Alejandro picks his head up and peaks through the cracks in the window, “Nothing Ghost.” The van’s door creaks loudly as he opens it slowly, and steps out. “I think we’re clear. Rudy, come out.” Rudy on the other side of the van hops out and joins the other four soldiers still hiding behind the van. The men gather around to regroup and figure out what they need to do next. Valeria had once again slipped right of their grasp. “Hold up, where’s Graves?”

Ghost whipped his head around and walked carefully over to the back of the van where the door was still open, he peered through and saw Graves holding up a radio, speaking quietly into it. “Hey, the fuck are you doing? We’re regrouping, Valeria’s back in the wind.”

Graves turned sharply on his heel, an odd grin on his face, “Quite the opposite Lieutenant Riley. While y’all were shooting at the cartel, I called in some of my Shadows for reinforcement. They caught her and took down her escorts about half a mile out from here.”

Ghost didn’t praise his efforts, he only grilled him more, “And where’d you get the clearance for that, Commander? Hadn’t heard you over the comms at all.”

“Shepherd gave the go-ahead. Turned on a different frequency and asked him directly.” He began to step out of the van, bumping his shoulder against Ghost’s harshly, “No need to worry, Lieutenant.”

“Well,” Roach walked up to Ghost, “Think we’re going to need a new ride.”

Ghost looks at the van full of bullet holes and shattered windows, smoke emitting from under the hood. “Think you’re right about that, Bug.”

—

[javier-pena]

three's a crowd

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader x Joel Miller

Word Count: 9.9k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You’re in love with Frankie and he is in love with you, but you both have no idea how to act on it. Until Joel Miller comes along.

Warnings: friends to lovers | alcohol consumption | smoking | pining | jealousy | reader’s hair can get wet without it being an issue | Joel is kinda sleazy in this (but reader is very much into it) | mentions of cheating | protective Frankie | threesome m/f/(m) | a surprising amount of biting | the oral fixation in this is insane, I’m sorry | it’s all about hands and fingers | voyeurism | semi-public sex | cuck!Frankie but also not really (guess you’ll have to read it to find out what that means) | nipple play | (brief) fingering | (very brief) masturbation (m) | unprotected p in v sex | rough sex | spanking | orgasm delay | overstimulation | creampie

Notes: I started writing this fic in June and it was supposed to be a fun little summer thing and then stuff happened and now it's October - but here it finally is. There isn't really much I can say about it except that Dani @alexturner saved the whole thing by pointing out that the final fic wasn't really like what I had talked about while discussin the idea with her and after editing it, it's much, much better. I also had a lot of fun talking about Frankie's and Joel's backstory with you, Dani 🤭 maybe I'll write that one day ...

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

BEFORE

It must have been two years ago, or maybe it was three. Your hair was longer, you had just broken up with your boyfriend of five years, had just moved to a town where you didn’t know a single soul. “A fresh start is what you need.” That’s what your therapist said to you when you cried your heart out after Derek dumped you and moved in with his new girlfriend a week later. But she hadn’t been talking about this, moving halfway across the country, all the way from Maine, where the winters are cold and the air is always salty, to Texas, where it almost never snows and the tornado sirens make you run for cover.

That’s how you met Frankie, sweet, smiling Frankie. Your truck broke down in the grocery store parking lot and he jump-started it. He stuck out to you because he was wearing a pale blue baseball cap, bleached from countless summers under the hot Texan sun, and not a cowboy hat like all the other men around. You bought him dinner at that steak place that would become your favorite, and after three shots of tequila you opened up to him. He held you when you started to cry, took you home, slept on your couch when you asked him not to leave.

You’ve been friends ever since.

He showed you around San Antonio, he flew you to Enchanted Rock in a helicopter he rented, he even took you to Mexico where you found out he speaks Spanish fluently. He helped you fix the roof of your bungalow when it started leaking. You, in turn, took him to the cinema, made him watch horror movies that made him squeal, dragged him along to a rodeo, taught him how to ride a motorcycle when he told you he had always wanted to learn. The two of you just clicked. It felt right.

Now, after three years, you can’t imagine your life without Frankie in it. You don’t remember who you were before him, and you don’t want to. He’s your best friend, and you’re his. Where one of you goes, the other follows. And of course, people mistake you for a couple, of course they ask, “And what about your girlfriend here?”, they say, “You’re lucky to be dating such a nice young fella”. You always laugh, correct them lightheartedly. But sometimes you wish they were right. You love Frankie as a friend, more than you ever thought you could love anyone, but sometimes you want more.

You almost got that more about a year after meeting Frankie. One of his friends, Santi, was in town, and you went out with a group before taking advantage of the hot tub that came with Santi’s motel. There were drinks involved, one thing led to another, and suddenly you found yourself straddling Frankie, wearing nothing more than a bikini, your fingers tugging on his curls, his hands roaming all over your body. It didn’t go any further than that, and the next morning he dropped you off at your house with his usual, “See ya ‘round.” He never talked about it and neither did you. He was probably regretting it and you didn’t want to lose him over something like this, so you left it all unsaid.

He started dating someone soon afterwards, first Arabella, then Bessie, and you hated them both, even though they were probably decent women. Luckily, neither relationship lasted long because it hurt. You didn’t tell Frankie, acted perfectly civil around them, but it felt as if your heart had been dropped from a great height and had shattered against the pavement. You had to ease that pain with a couple of meaningless one-night-stands but they couldn’t take your mind off Frankie buried deep in another woman when it should have been you. And when you told him about Billy and Carson and Hank and Landon and Clara to provoke him to do something, he just shrugged it off and said, “I’m glad you had a nice evening.”

Frankie is single now, and so are you, and life is good. It isn’t always easy, but it’s a far cry from how it was in Maine. You’ve made peace with the whole Frankie situation, realizing it might just be enough knowing you’re the most important person in his life, even if you’ll never have him completely. This way, there also won’t be a messy breakup, hurtful things said in anger, actions you can never undo. You’re content with being Frankie’s best friend, and that should be enough.

It's summer now, one of the hottest on record. The AC in your bungalow broke and Frankie wanted to help you fix it, but then he got busy at work. That was almost a week ago, and you use these circumstances as an excuse to hang out at Frankie’s place as much as possible. He doesn’t mind. He has a big pool in his backyard that he always shares with you, and he loves your company. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he’s putting off fixing your AC on purpose.

You’re floating on your back, eyes closed, the sounds around you muffled by the water. Frankie is lounging in a chair by the side of the pool, resting in the shade after a hot day. Every time you glance over at him, his eyes are closed. That gives you the freedom to truly look, to see him how not many people are allowed to see him.

You take a deep breath and dive, floating weightlessly for a few seconds. It’s so easy to imagine this to be your life, Frankie to be your boyfriend. If he were, nothing would be different. You’d get to use your shared pool, watch him doze in the shade, help him prepare dinner later, laugh at his corny jokes … Your heart squeezes when you realize you have all of that and still it isn’t enough. What’s missing is riding him by the side of the pool, your bodies sticky with sweat. What’s missing is kissing his neck while he’s watching the brazier. What’s missing is knowing he’s yours and you’re his, come what may.

There’s a shadow by the side of the pool, and you scramble upwards, breaking through the surface with a gasp. “What?” you ask, smiling up at Frankie, shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand.

Frankie gives you a thumbs up. “Just making sure you’re not drowning.”

You’re treading water as you say, “Would you jump in and rescue me if I was?”

He laughs. “I’m pretty sure you’re a better swimmer than me.”

“I’d make it worth your while.” You wink at him.

He lowers himself into a crouch so he’s closer to the surface of the water, closer to you. “How?”

“Ever heard of mouth-to-mouth?”

He laughs one of those laughs that comes from deep inside his chest and shakes his whole body. “Leave it to you to make saving someone’s life sound sexy.”

“But it is sexy,” you say emphatically. “Imagine pulling me from the pool, your big, strong arms wrapped around me. I think you’d stay calm and collected; you’d know exactly what to do. Any woman who doesn’t fall for you after that would be a fool.”

Frankie dips his fingers into the water and flicks some of it in your direction. You squeal and try to duck, but the drops still hit you in a quick shower. “Shut up,” Frankie laughs.

You use your whole hand to try and shove the water back toward him. You miss. “Stop it,” you tell him, no weight behind your words, a broad smile on your face.

“Hey!” he shouts. “Don’t make me come in there, young lady.”

He always makes you laugh when he calls you that, the air of authority he puts into his words. You’re not that much younger than he is, but he always acts as if you’re 20 years his junior, while you have started calling him “gramps” to rile him up.

You propel yourself backward, away from him toward the opposite side of the pool. “You’re too chickenshit.”

“Oh, just you wait.” He starts to pull his shirt over his head, his cap that he always wears getting caught in the hem of the neckline. You really try not to but you can’t help looking at his soft belly, the white skin such a stark contrast to his tanned arms. You wonder what it would be like to touch him, what sounds he would make in response to the difference in pressure, if you were using your nails or –

“Am I interruptin’ somethin’?”

You don’t mean to, but you squeal at the sudden appearance of a strange man next to Frankie. You were so preoccupied staring at your friend you didn’t notice someone else approach.

Frankie lowers his shirt. His cheeks are slightly flushed. “Joel!”

You glance between the two men, but neither of them offers an explanation. Instead, a heavy silence settles itself over this already muggy afternoon.

Finally, the stranger, Joel, speaks. “Is this a bad time or –?”

“No, no,” Frankie quickly assures him while you bite down a harsh, “Yes, it is”. Frankie runs his palms down his shirt, trying to smooth the creased fabric. “I just … I had no idea you were in town.

“Well, I am,” Joel replies in a tone of voice that rubs you the wrong way. “I thought I’d drive by, see if you’re home.”

Frankie glances at you, seemingly only now remembering your presence. “This is Joel Miller,” he says in an oddly formal voice. “We sometimes work together.”

“Hi.” You raise your hand out of the water to wave at Joel, the smile you put on not reaching your eyes.

If you had to guess, you’d say Joel was older than Frankie by at least five years, maybe even ten. He’s taller too, broad-shouldered where Frankie tends to fold in on himself. His graying hair is slightly too long, but his graying beard makes him look handsome, especially when he gives you a twisted half-smile as if he’s fully aware of what he just interrupted and is taking pleasure in your discomfort and annoyance. You want him to leave but with a clench of your stomach you realize you also want him to stay.

“She your girlfriend?” Joel asks without pretense, nodding at you in a way that makes you clench your fists.

Frankie chuckles awkwardly, a sound you only heard a few times before and always hated. He lifts his cap with one hand to scratch his scalp, then shakes his head. “No, we’re just friends.”

Joel shifts, rolls his shoulders ever so slightly. “Nice to meet you, just friend of Frankie’s.”

Can’t say the same about you, you want to say but if there’s one thing you learned from your years spent in the south is that there is nothing more important than hospitality. “You too,” you say instead, and start kicking the water, doing laps in the pool. If you ignore him, maybe he’ll leave soon.

But Frankie opens a beer bottle for him and Joel sits down in the lawn chair next to him, taking a big swig. You try to ignore them as best as you can, but you can’t keep your ears from straining to catch snippets of their conversation.

“… between jobs … just a couple o’ nights …”

“… go out tomorrow … bar in town …”

“… broke up with me ‘cause she … her friend …”

Sometimes Frankie laughs in a way he only does when he wants to impress someone. Usually, you can see it too, usually you admire the same people but there is something about Joel that makes alarm bells ring in your head. And you don’t like the way Frankie behaves around him. You don’t want to call it submissive because you hate that word, but it feels as if he’s putting up a front for Joel, not saying what he really wants to say, not doing what he really wants to do.

But then sometimes Joel’s eyes are on you, his gaze hooded, and he doesn’t look away when you catch him staring. There is something in the brazen way he does it that makes you crave more, and you’re a little bit disgusted with yourself for wanting that. You don’t know this man, and you don’t like what you glimpsed so far, but when he asks, “Any chance of you joinin’ us, sunshine?” you’re so very tempted to say yes.

“I wanna shower first,” you answer, pushing yourself up on the edge of the pool. Joel’s eyes immediately shoot to your chest while Frankie’s are glued to his bottle, his fingers busy picking at the label.

“Don’t keep us waitin’,” Joel says in a tone of voice that grates on you and makes you tighten your jaw. You want to flip him off, and he knows it too because he raises his half-empty bottle to you. You wish Frankie would say something, or at least acknowledge your presence, but a loose thread on his jeans has caught his attention now. Your chest tightens with annoyance and, even though you’re loath to admit it, hurt, and you huff at Joel before grabbing your towel and making your way toward Frankie’s house. You feel Joel’s eyes burn a searing mark into your back.  

You have no right to feel the way you do, you tell yourself as you work shampoo into your hair. Frankie can be friends with whomever he wants to. This is his house and he can let himself be treated however he sees fit. And you’re not dependent on him to defend you against a jerk like Joel, you can manage that all on your own. Besides, it’s not as if Joel is going to be around for long, he will most likely leave after another beer or two, so there really is no reason for you to get so worked up about it.

And yet …

You turn off the water with a quick jerk of your hand.

Stepping out of the shower, locating a fresh towel, it’s like second nature to you. You briefly bury the face in the soft fabric, inhaling the clean scent of Frankie’s detergent, a scent that will always bring you comfort. Then you pull one of the several dresses you keep at Frankie’s house over your head before using the towel to superficially dry your hair. It comes away smelling like him, which sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You’ve come to terms with it, you really have. Yes, you sometimes dream about kissing him, yes, you can’t stop fantasizing about what the two of you would be like as a couple, but what you have is nice. And it feels like it should be enough, which should count for something, right?

“Took your sweet time in there, sunshine.”

You jump, only registering Joel’s presence leaning against the opposite wall as you pull the bathroom door closed behind you.

“There’s a half bath next to the kitchen,” you tell him, avoiding his searing gaze. “You know, if you need to go.”

You try to scurry down the hallway and back out into the garden, but Joel pushes himself off the wall and steps into your way. “I don’t,” he answers. “I was looking for you.”

You sigh and look up at him, hoping he’ll notice your mild annoyance. “Why?”

“Frankie’s busy with dinner.” His gaze sweeps you from your damp hair down to your bare feet, widening as he notices your dress is slightly too tight at your chest. “And you look like good company.” Before you can come up with a snide remark, he’s two steps closer and his hand is suddenly resting on your waist, his palm hot to the touch even through the fabric. “You’re certainly prettier.”

The sudden contact, his brazen approach catches you off-guard. It’s been years since a man has treated you like this, and many years more since you were free to do with that whatever you wanted.

“Come on.” Why is his voice so low suddenly? “Cat got your tongue?”

You roll your eyes. “N-”

But before you’re able to finish the second short sound, the thumb of his free hand is on your bottom lip and he starts to pull it down. “Let me check.”

Before your brain can consider all your options, you bite down on his finger, hard, out of reflex, drawing a hiss from him. He pulls back, steps away, shakes his hand. But that sleazy half-smile is still firmly fixed on his face. “Oh, you’re a little fighter, is that it?”

You take a step closer to him in an attempt to intimidate him, but he doesn’t budge. “I just don’t like it when people touch me without my permission.”

“I bet that sweet little pussy of yours is tellin’ a different tale.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You shove him, both palms hitting his chest, and he loses some ground.

He tries to snatch your wrist but you’re too fast for him. “Careful, sunshine. Don’t irritate me.”

“Why?” You push your chin forward in defiance. “What are you gonna do about it?”

“Oh, I have some ideas.” Joel reaches for your waist again, but you manage to step back quickly. He balls his hand into a fist. “I just ain’t sure you’d like them very much.”

“Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

“I’d like to teach you some,” he shoots back.

The sound of Frankie clearing his throat makes you jump. He’s standing behind Joel, just inside the sliding door that leads into the garden, a cocktail shaker in his hand, an apron covering his chest. “Drinks are ready,” he announces, his voice tense. Then he turns around, leaving you to wonder how long he’s been standing there and how much he heard.

Your stomach curls tightly with shame. Not because of anything he might have overheard or because of anything you did, but because you liked the way Joel talked to you, you liked that he decided he wanted you and went for it. You liked being close to him, feeling his uninvited touch on your body, hearing him say those lewd things. And all the while you forgot about Frankie, for the first time in months.

Joel glances at you and some of the shame must show on your face because he says, “If I kissed you right now, do you think he’d punch me?”

And just like that you’re back to feeling the slow grating of annoyance, like nails scraping down a chalkboard. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you huff before pushing past him and stepping back out into the garden.

The evening light is softer now, the heat feels less oppressive. The sun has begun to dip toward the horizon, and Frankie’s shadow is long against the grass as he waits for you to rejoin him by the pool. You want to put on your brightest smile for him, want to show him how much you appreciate everything he is doing for you, but with him you never have to pretend. Your face lights up when you see him whether you want it to or not, your steps quicken, your heart feels full of happiness. Even someone like Joel can’t ruin that, no matter how hard he might try.

“All clean?” Frankie has a lopsided grin on his face and a martini glass in his hand. When you nod, he hands it to you. “I made it just the way you like it.”

“Thanks, honey,” you tease and playfully kiss his cheek.

“This one’s for you.” Frankie hands Joel a tumbler full of amber liquid.

Joel raises an eyebrow. “Just whiskey?”

“You seem like a whiskey kinda guy,” Frankie answers with a shrug before taking off his apron and hanging it over the backrest of his lawn chair.

“What are you having?” you ask, sitting down on one of the sun loungers Frankie keeps next to the pool.

Frankie lightly shakes his beer bottle. “I’ll stick with this for now.”

You glance from him to Joel and then back to him as both men remain standing, clutching their drinks. “Well, this is nice and relaxing.”

“Sorry,” Frankie mumbles and lets himself fall back into his chair. “Long day.”

Joel chuckles and steps forward, but instead of choosing the chair next to Frankie’s, he sits down on the sunbed right next to you. The rough denim of his jeans scrapes against your naked thigh and you scoot away from him, clearing your throat. Joel doesn’t seem to have noticed; his eyes are fixed on Frankie.

“You never told me you had a nice place like this,” he says, vaguely waving his hand at the pool and the manicured lawn. “I would’ve come over much sooner.”

“Where do you live?” you ask before Frankie can say something.

Joel chuckles before taking a sip from his whiskey. “You know what would go great with this?” He pulls a crumpled pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket of his jeans, conveniently having to lean against you to retrieve it. You push back, refusing to make yourself small. He holds the pack out to you first, but you shake your head. He doesn’t offer it to Frankie.

“She asked you a question.”

Your eyes snap from the sight of Joel lighting a cigarette, the filter hugged firmly between his lips, to Frankie, who has his elbows propped up on his knees, a thumb and forefinger wrapped around the neck of the beer bottle, holding it precariously.

Joel takes a drag from his cigarette and exhales slowly. The smoke tickles your suddenly very dry throat. “I live here and there,” he finally replies. “Wherever work takes me.”

“Okay, so where do you currently live?” you probe.

Joel waves his hand around. “Y’know …”

“What he means to say is that he’s currently between houses,” Frankie clarifies, a slight tension in his voice you haven’t heard before.

“Oh, so you’re a bum?” Is Frankie’s face lighting up with satisfaction at your comment or are you only imagining that?

Joel takes another drag. “I’m whatever you want me to be.”

It was bad enough that he had no regard for your boundaries when Frankie wasn’t right there next to you, but he can’t expect you to just take it now that Frankie is this close. You try to stand up, but his hand closes around yours and pulls you back down next to him, the force of it making some of your drink spill.

“Hey!” you protest loudly, but he only slings his arm around your shoulder.

“His girlfriend just kicked him out,” Frankie goes on, pretending he didn’t notice what just went down. “He cheated on her with her best friend.”

“Couldn’t have been a very good friend then.” You pick Joel’s heavy arm off your shoulders and let it fall down next to you.

Joel shrugs. “If I see somethin’ I want, I take it.”

“Must be lonely, going through life with that mindset,” you observe, watching him as he stubs out the cigarette against the tiles surrounding the pool.

“Depends on what you want out of life, I s’pose.”

You glance up at the slowly darkening evening sky, currently a soft, darkening blue, then take a sip from your very strong martini. “And what is that?” you ask, watching a bird glide across the sky.

“D’you wanna fuck her, Miller?”

AFTER

“Yes.” It comes out rough and breathless and eager, and suddenly your blood is rushing in your ears. You have no idea when the evening shifted to this, but you suppose it was inevitable from the moment Joel walked in. You just didn’t think Frankie would be the one to ask the question.

You glance at Frankie, sweet Frankie, who always respects you, always treats you like you’re royalty, and you see something in his gaze you’ve never seen before, a sort of strangled curiosity, like he’s desperate to find out where this might go, but unsure if he can handle the way there. You smile at him, and you nod, and his pupils dilate immediately, setting your heart pounding. That’s all he needs from you, and all you need from him.

Frankie puts his beer bottle on a small table next to his chair, leans back, crosses one leg over the other, ankle resting against his thigh. “Tough luck, pal,” he says, and next to you Joel stiffens. “You can kiss her though.”

For a moment, you’re right back there in high school, a bottle pointing at you, your friend Ines grinning at you from across the circle, Billy licking his lips nervously. But you’re all grown up now, you’ve played these games a million times, should know their rules by heart. Then why are your hands so sweaty?

Joel doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t even wait for you to turn toward him. His hand is already at the back of your neck while your eyes are still on Frankie, and his lips have found yours while you’re still trying to decipher the look in Frankie’s gaze. The kiss is rough, almost unpleasantly so, and you can taste the nicotine and whiskey on Joel’s tongue that claims your mouth with hungry licks. Joel’s whole body is pushing against yours, and you push back, pressing your chest against his, making his concentration slip briefly. You use this moment of inattention to gain the upper hand and bite his lip, less violently than you bit his finger but hard enough for him to inhale sharply. Maybe even hard enough to draw a little bit of blood.

Joel shifts, tightens his hold on your neck, and pushes up against you even more, like he’s trying to get you to lie down and submit to him. Resisting his efforts gives you a feeling of power you’re unable, maybe even unwilling, to control. You’re still trying to come to terms with the newness of the situation, with the shift that has taken place, but you know exactly what you want, and that is not to give up one inch to Joel without making him work hard for it.

Joel’s hand is on your naked thigh now, tough callouses rubbing against smooth skin. Just like his kisses, it almost feels too violent, but then you remember Frankie’s hands roaming your body in that hot tub, the way the water hadn’t managed to soften his skin. You remember how much you wanted him that night, and suddenly you wish Joel would touch you more.

As if he can read your thoughts, Joel’s hand is suddenly at the underside of your breast, cupping it through the fabric of your dress, his thumb finding the nipple so confidently as if he has touched you a million times before. Your body responds to the touch immediately and you lean into it, your lips parting in a stifled moan. The pad of his thumb rubs across your hardening nipple, rolls it through the dress and the bra you’re wearing, and you should push him away, make him feel like his efforts are futile and he has no effect on you whatsoever, but it’s been too long. Too fucking long. You’re on fire, unpleasantly so, feeling like you’re burning up too fast, like the flames have barely touched you and you’re already turning to ash. You press yourself into Joel’s touch as your jaw slackens, and he grabs your breast and squeezes it roughly while pushing his tongue into your mouth with the sole intent of making you gag.

“Hey!” Frankie’s voice is sharp, but when you flinch away from Joel and glance over at him, he’s still sitting in his chair holding his bottle of beer.

Your ears feel hot with shame as you refuse to acknowledge Joel’s presence and avoid Frankie’s gaze. Frankie was the one to suggest the kiss, Joel made the first move – then why do you feel such shame? Like you’ve been caught cheating? Why do you feel it’s wrong to –

“What?” Joel asks, interrupting the spiral you’re about to slide down.

Frankie squeezes the neck of the bottle, his skin making a wet sound against the glass. “We said kiss.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see that sleazy smirk return to Joel’s lips. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with a little second base.”

Frankie seems to consider this, his eyes fixed to the ground beneath his feet. You wish you could tell what was going on in his mind, but your heart is still racing like you’re being hunted for sport and your body is screaming for Joel to put his hands on you again, and all of that is too much to read Frankie.

Frankie holds out a hand to Joel. “Cigarette,” he says, and Joel obliges. You watch Frankie light it up and take a deep drag, a sight so unfamiliar it makes you eager to commit it to memory. “So you really wanna fuck her then?” he finally asks.

There is a pressure low in your abdomen that makes you shift against the lounger.

Joel only laughs, crude and hoarse, as if deigning that question with an answer is below him. “Where did you get that idea from?”

Frankie takes another drag, a short one this time, before glancing directly at Joel’s crotch. You follow his gaze to find a bulge there, one that definitely wasn’t there before, straining against the stiff fabric. When Joel’s eyes find yours, you make sure he sees you lick your lips. His jaw twitches.

Frankie leans back comfortably in his chair, some of the ash from the cigarette landing on his pants. He brushes it off with a flick of his wrist. “I’ll let you fuck her. But you’re gonna do exactly as I say.”

You think you must have entered a parallel universe or another dimension. For a short while at least. None of it makes sense: the cigarette in Frankie’s hand, the way he talks and what he says, that man next to you who is nothing more than a stranger, who had his tongue in your mouth two minutes ago, and that all of this makes you wetter than you can ever remember being. But then Frankie’s eyes meet yours, dark pupils blown unfamiliarly wide, and yet there is something in them you recognize – this isn’t a stranger who is looking at you, this is your best friend. No matter what happens next, he’s going to look out for you. All you need to do is trust him.

Next to you, Joel shifts, adjusting his crotch. He licks his lips. “Yeah.” He nods. “Okay.”

Your eyes are on Frankie now, heart racing in your chest, mouth completely dry, as you wait for what comes next. Your brain is running hot trying to go through all the possibilities of what Frankie could have Joel do to you, but all you come back to is Frankie kneeling in front of you, spreading your legs. Joel is nothing more than a shadow beside you, watching with a hungry gaze.

Frankie leans forward and reaches out his hand as if he means to touch you, but then stops himself and leans back. “You don’t have to do as you’re told.” The softness in his voice catches you by surprise, but he goes on before you can analyze it. “To start, do whatever you’re comfortable with.”

You glance at Joel, at how stiff his shoulders are, and you face him, trembling fingers pulling his shirt up where it is tugged into his jeans. Up and up you pull it until he has to raise his arms for you to get it off, and then you finally see his body betray his nerves as his chest flushes a deep red. There is a scar on his left collarbone, old and slightly brighter than the skin around it, there are some sparse, dark gray hairs on his chest, and his stomach is so much firmer than Frankie’s, so much less inviting.

Joel huffs and your gaze shoots back up to his face. “Kinda boring, don’t ya think? Pullin’ off my shirt when you could’ve done anythin’ to me?”

You won’t let him get to you, not like that, not when Frankie’s eyes are on you. “There’s no shame in me enjoying myself by taking things slow,” you retort. “I know your first move would’ve been to stuff two fingers into me but where’s the fun in that?”

“Oh, you’re gonna see where the fun in that is when you’re comin’ ‘round ‘em,” he replies with that infuriatingly sleazy smile darkening his face.

You lean in just a tiny bit closer. “Only if Frankie lets you.” God, that thought turns you on so much your head starts to spin.

Once you recover, Joel’s right hand is cupping your jaw, his grip firm, while his thumb rests against your lips. “Someone should stuff that mouth o’ yours.”

You open your mouth then, until his thumb is only pressing against your bottom lip. You let it slide in past your teeth until you can feel it on your tongue, heavy, tasting like nicotine. You close your lips around the digit and suck on it, your cheeks hollowing, your tongue massaging it. The corner of Joel’s mouth twitches. Somewhere to your right, you hear Frankie’s chair groan.

The sound of Frankie’s voice interrupts you. “I want you to take off her dress.”

With a wet plop, Joel pulls his thumb out of your mouth and then starts pulling at the straps of your sundress, pushing them down your shoulders.

“Slowly,” Frankie adds, his voice calm as if he’s talking to a semi-feral animal.

Joel moves you so both your feet are planted firmly on the ground, then shifts so he’s behind you. He finds the zipper at the back of your dress and begins to pull it down, torturously slowly as if there is something he wants to prove to Frankie. As more and more of your skin is revealed, he brushes over it, calloused fingers making you shiver. His hands feel so much like Frankie’s, and yet not at all like him. Frankie would be soft and gentle too, but he wouldn’t scrape you with his short nails, he wouldn’t tremble like it takes everything in him not to devour you whole.

The fabric of your dress glides down your shoulders and back, and comes to rest around your hips. It isn’t anything Frankie hasn’t seen before – your breasts are still covered, after all – and yet there is something in his gaze when you look at him, a strange kind of longing, like desire that has been kept in check for so long it has become second nature to him. You can see it in the flare of his nostrils, in the darkening of his eyes, in the way his bottom lip trembles briefly before he darts out his tongue to wet it. And yet he sits there, watching, his body unmoving like it has been trained not to give in.

“Take off her bra.”

Even Frankie’s voice is controlled and even. You shift, pulling back your shoulders and pushing out your chest in an attempt to get him to break, but his gaze shifts from you to Joel as he waits for the other man to follow his orders. Joel doesn’t need to be told twice. He flicks open the clasp at your back with one hand and your bra falls away. You push out your chin, willing your face not to heat up.

Frankie’s throat works as he swallows, a small crack in the otherwise impenetrable wall he has put up. “You’re perfect …” His voice, too, cracks on the second syllable and he coughs. “Wouldn’t you agree, Joel?”

Joel doesn’t reply. Instead, he cups one of your breasts again and squeezes the nipple tightly between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch you back as a small stab of pain shoots through you. Now that the protective barrier of fabric is gone, you can feel just how rough his skin is against your sensitive spots, how his callouses catch in places your own fingers smoothly glide over. Your head falls back against his shoulder as he pinches your nipple again, as he begins to roll it roughly, pull on it from time to time to hear you hiss.

Joel’s chest rises and falls against your back, hot skin pressing into hot skin, his breath caressing the back of your neck. He runs his nose from your earlobe all the way down to your shoulder, then back up again, but before he reaches the starting point, he sinks his teeth into your neck and bites down, drawing a shivering gasp from you. And then he doesn’t let go. He bites down harder, holding you in place, while cupping your breast with his entire hand, kneading it until your world tilts.

You’re not aware of how desperate you are to find purchase, but the garden and the pool and the sky above right themselves when your hand finds Joel’s thigh. The denim is rough beneath your palm, but he is a rough man so it doesn’t surprise you. What does surprise you though is how hard you have to fight to keep yourself from bucking your hips.

“Joel, stop.”

For just a short little while you had forgot Frankie is there with you, but his voice reminds you with brute force. And when Joel does as he’s told and you are left with nothing to distract you, all you can do is look at your best friend, at his fingers wrapped around that cigarette, and wonder what it would feel like to have him play with your nipple instead of Joel. The painful way your heart constricts at that thought utterly catches you by surprise.

Frankie takes a final drag on his cigarette, flicks the butt away, and clears his throat. “You’ll only do what I tell you to do.”

You shift, the fabric of your underwear rubbing against your clit sending a bolt of desperation through you, mixing with that unbearable longing to create a heady, dangerous cocktail. “Frankie, please.”

Frankie takes you in, and you have no idea what he sees, but he runs his thumb across his bottom lip and asks, “Do you want him to touch you?”

Joel runs his fingers up and down your arm, his touch so light it feels like torture. You try to squirm away but he keeps you trapped against his chest.

You exhale shakily. “Yeah.” There’s a brief moment of hesitation, one that makes your heart flutter as you decide whether you should keep going. You do. “God, I’m so wet.”

Joel’s wandering fingers close around your upper arm like a vise.

But Frankie keeps up his walls. “Show me how wet she is, Joel.”

You don’t think there has ever been a moment in your life where you were more turned on, a single moment where you were less in control of your body and your desires. You try to stand up, your legs trembling like you just finished a marathon, hands wrapped around your dress, ready to pull it all the way down. Joel doesn’t even let you straighten your back. He pulls you back against his chest and wraps an arm around yours before running his free hand down your stomach, not seductively or teasingly but as if he has a task to fulfill. You’ve barely registered the sensation of his fingers against your lower stomach before he has pushed them past the fabric bunched around you hips and into your underwear, and this time you lose the battle against your own body. You roll your hips into his touch as your eyes flutter shut, you push and push, moans and whimpers urging him on. He doesn’t need to be encouraged – he rolls your clit beneath his index finger, just like he rolled your nipple, before dipping it lower, pushing past the muscles at your opening and up into you.

Before you can make sense of it all, he removes his hand and holds up two fingers right in front of your eyes, glistening with your slick. Your chest heaving, you try to catch your breath.

Frankie’s eyes are wide open. “What does she taste like?” he asks, his voice rough as if he hasn’t used it in quite some time.

Joel rubs his thumb against his index and middle finger, toying with your slick. “Don’t you want to find out for yourself?”

Frankie nods so slightly you can’t be sure it really happens, then hides behind a smirk, and you feel something unbearably insisting curl up tightly in the pit of your stomach. “You tell me.”

Suddenly, Joel’s fingers are at your lips, pushing into your mouth. You open up, surprised by the sudden intrusion, and then his thick digits are pressing down against your tongue, making you gag. Tears are filling your eyes, and spit drips out of your mouth as you feel Joel’s hot breath against the shell of your ear.

“Tell him.”

You can’t, not even if you wanted to. Not because you can’t taste yourself on Joel’s skin, not because you can’t talk with his fingers filling up your mouth, but because Frankie flies out of his chair, brow furrowed and fists clenched. Before he can come to your aid, you close your hand around Joel’s wrist and push his fingers even deeper into your mouth, not breaking eye contact with Frankie, not even for a split second.

Joel presses down against your tongue and you suck on his fingers eagerly, but none of that matters to you. The only thing you care about is the red flush creeping up Frankie’s neck and into his cheeks, and the way he keeps closing the distance between the three of you until he’s standing right there, close enough for you to reach out and run your hands up and down his thigh.

Frankie’s hand is warm and heavy as it closes around yours, pulling Joel’s fingers out of your mouth. You gasp, unable to prevent a thin thread of spit from connecting your lips to Joel’s hand. It winks out of existence a second later when Frankie’s mouth clashes against yours, drawing another gasp from you, one that releases months and months of pent-up longing, one that originates deep in your chest but almost dies on your lips, stifled by wonder.

It isn’t a soft kiss, it isn’t even particularly well executed since your teeth clash painfully and Frankie pushes too hard too quickly. He also tastes more like Joel than himself, of beer and cigarettes, but none of that matters. He could have given you a small peck on the cheek and it would have been the greatest kiss you had ever shared with anyone. You feel his breath against your cheek, a shaky exhale, and before you can stop yourself, you find yourself fisting his shirt, fingers clenched so tightly you will never be able to let go again. That is all you ever wanted, all you ever prayed for, and now that you have it, you never want to lose it again.

Eventually, Frankie pulls back ever so slightly and whispers against your lips, “Summer, that’s what you taste like,” and it’s such a corny line it should have you rolling your eyes, but instead you crane your neck and seal your lips to his again, high from the feeling of your tongue in his mouth. He huffs and pushes up against you, but he’s not close enough – there’s still so much space between you. You reach up and grab the collar of his shirt and pull him even closer, but suddenly rough hands grab your arms and hold you back forcefully.

“I wanna go first.” It isn’t a request, that much is clear.

Frankie pulls back and smiles down at you, his face soft and open, searching for any indication you don’t want to do this anymore. Even though you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you want him right now, the thought of him watching while Joel fucks you, utterly in control of the situation, makes you clench around nothing. Frankie can tell – he switches back to his neutral mask in the matter of a second. “You didn’t do as you were told …”

It isn’t a threat, but it might as well be.

Joel hooks a thumb into your mouth and pulls down your bottom lip. You try to bite him again, but he is prepared this time, holding you in place. “Let me come in her mouth at least.”

Frankie grabs Joel’s wrist again and pulls his hand away from your face. “No.”

You have never heard him use that voice before, that kind of voice that makes you snap to attention, that voice that commands people to follow him. You shift, trying to rub your thighs together, but it’s just a primal reaction you have no control over. All your attention is on Joel trying to pull his wrist out of Frankie’s grip, and on Frankie holding him in place, the muscles in his arm straining.

“I’m going to sit back down, and you’re going to fuck her.” Frankie’s voice is so calm it sends a shiver down your spine. “Slowly,” he adds, letting go of Joel’s wrist. “And if you make her come before I tell you to, there’ll be consequences.”

Every muscle in your body tightens. You’re too wound up to rationally consider what Frankie is proposing, too wound up to think about how much you want this and what that might mean. You glance behind you to catch Joel’s reaction, to see if he’s just as affected by Frankie’s proposition as you are, just in time to watch him lick his lips.

“And I get to fuck her however I want?”

Frankie’s gaze shifts to you. It’s nothing more than a glance, a quick check-in, and you nod, just as quickly, just as imperceptibly.

“Yes,” Frankie answers.

Next thing you know, you’re up on the lounger, knees and hands braced against the soft pillows, faded from long summers under the hot Texan sun, focusing on the sounds of Joel unbuckling his belt. You feel your throat tighten at those sounds, leather scraping against skin, metal clicking against metal, but your mouth is too dry to swallow. Joel unzips his jeans, then there’s a rustling sound, followed by a deep, needy groan. It’s enough to make your heartbeat stumble over itself with excitement. You try to turn your head and glance behind you to see what he is doing, but Joel catches your movement and forces your head down, firm grip at the back of your skull.

“Stay.”

To your right, you hear the sound of Frankie shifting in his chair. He doesn’t intervene.

Joel grabs the bunched-up fabric of your dress with both hands and begins to tear it with quick, jerking movements, ruining it. It falls away and glides down to the ground where it comes to rest next to the lounger, leaving you almost completely exposed to Joel. And Joel doesn’t hesitate. He pushes the thin fabric of your underwear aside and sinks into you with one deep, calculated thrust you can feel in your chest.

Your fists clenched, your head hanging low, you try to take it, but his thrusts send shudders of pain up and down your body. It’s not unbearable, and it shouldn’t surprise you; he fucks like he does everything else – rough and with an edge of violence to it – but the stretch is uncomfortable, and the thrusts are greedy, so much so you wish he had surprised you after all.

“Slow down,” Frankie orders, and you lift your eyes to him. A muscle twitches in his jaw, and when Joel does as he’s told, he watches you closely, searching your face for any signs of the discomfort lessening. You shift, your body adjusting to the feeling of being so full, and when Frankie asks, his voice low, “You okay?” you realize that you are. You’re more than okay, actually. Two more shallow thrusts from Joel and you’re completely relaxed.

“Yeah,” you answer, just for Frankie to hear and his lips quirk up in a smile.

“We’re good,” he tells Joel.

Joel’s open palm lands against your ass cheek catching you unawares, as does the moan you let loose at the sudden burst of pain. Frankie swallows, or at least you think he does – you can’t be sure with your eyes flutterin shut. You push back against Joel, eager for more, pulling him deeper inside of you with a greedy clench.

“The way you’re clenchin’ ‘round me makes me think you’ve never had dick before.”

Joel’s voice comes out restrained, the words are punctuated by more slaps, one harder than the last. Their meaning is lost on you as you are reduced to a babbling mess, unable to retain anything that is happening outside of your desire for him. You gush around his cock, hot and wet and wanton, and somewhere between the thrusts and the grunts, you hear a chortle.

“Greedy little thing, aren’t ya.”

That chortle is what pulls you back into yourself, and you risk another glance behind you, hoping that this time he will let you see. He does, and you watch him pound into you, both hands on your hips, denim pulled just low enough to free his cock, dark hairs curling just above it, streaked with bulging veins. He has one knee braced against the lounger, one foot firmly planted on the ground. You almost hate yourself for being so affected by that sight, but you can feel everything tighten, your body begging for release.

“Fuck,” you groan, your voice breathy. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I’m gonna –”

With a condescending smirk, Joel reaches for your clit. “Go ahead, sunshine.”

You close your eyes, focusing on how you’re clenching around him. You’re so, so close, you can almost taste the release on your tongue. Your mouth hangs open, a moan begins to emerge from someplace deep inside your chest and –

Joel’s hips falter and still, and you can feel yourself flutter desperately around him, but it’s not enough. You glide along his length, coming down from the edge, frustration blossoming in the pit of your stomach. Joel’s fingers rest uselessly against your swollen clit, still as the rest of him, and whenever you try to grind yourself against them, his touch lessens.

“Joel …,” you whine, opening your eyes to look back at him.

It’s not Joel your gaze lands on. It’s Frankie, standing right there next to the lounger, one hand on Joel’s head, fisting his hair, pulling on it so his chin is raised high, his neck exposed, a thick vein pulsing near its base. Joel is breathing heavily, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t try to free himself, while Frankie looks down at him, darkness clouding his features.

“You’ll do as I tell you or I won’t let you come inside of her.”

Frankie lets go of Joel’s hair with a shove to drive home the point. Even now, freed from his restraint, Joel doesn’t fight back. He glares at Frankie as if he’s imagining beating him bloody, but he does like he’s told, removing his fingers from your clit to dig them back into your hip. He picks up the pace again, thrusts a little shallower than before, drawing a sigh of relief from you, scratching that undefinable itch Frankie restraining Joel like that triggered in you. That itch you don’t want to examine too closely right now but that you know you’ll return to.

Frankie pats Joel’s shoulder, two firm raps against the straining muscles. “Good boy.”

You clench so hard around Joel he must notice, but he doesn’t remark on it. He resumes the steady snapping of his hips while your eyes fall shut and drop down to your elbows, those two words floating around your mind like an echo.

Good boy.

A desperate little whimper escapes you, one at least Frankie seems to hear, because he runs two knuckles up and down your spine in a movement that is meant to calm you but shoves you toward the edge with a violent jolt. He must know what he’s doing to you, there is no way he hasn’t noticed. And it should fill you with shame, it should make you resent him, the way you lie bare before him, showing him the most vulnerable parts of yourself, but it only makes you want him more. You open your eyes to find him standing right next to you. This close, you can see how tight his pants stretch over the bulge you hadn’t noticed before, how you think you can even make out a dark spot of precum forming against the fabric. You lick your lips.

“Frankie, please.” Your voice is rough and broken, laced with desperation.

Joel shoves into you so violently you feel the thrust in your throat, but he doesn’t say anything.

Frankie leans down and places a soft kiss against your temple, then runs his thumb across your furrowed brow. “Just tell me when you’re ready.”

You whish you could tell him you’ve been ready ever since he suggested Joel should fuck you, but you can only laugh, a broken sound followed by a hard swallow.

Frankie straightens his back, his eyes bright with excitement. “I see.” He makes his way back over to his chair and sits down, the wood groaning beneath his weight. “Go ahead, Joel.”

Joel picks up the pace, making every thought, every doubt you might have, instantly disappear from your head. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing you hard, and after that it doesn’t take long at all. After that, you let out a deep moan and push back against Joel so hard it makes him lose his rhythm, but it doesn’t matter. You’re coming, pulling him deeper into you as he fucks you through it, letting you squeeze him as you sink deep into pleasure, losing track of your body’s movements.

You come back to the surface when you’re spent, and everything feels sore and tender, but Joel doesn’t stop. There is a burning between your legs now and you hiss, reaching back for him.

Frankie is there next to you again, cupping your cheek. You have no idea when he approached, what made him leave his role as spectator this time, but you instantly relax when you feel his touch on him. “Just a little more,” he murmurs, calming you. “You can take it, I know you can.”

You watch him squeeze the bulge in his pants, and giving it another, harder squeeze when Joel grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back. The proof of how much he’s affected by you is enough to chase away the discomfort and rekindle the fire in the pit of your stomach. Your eyes glued to the bulge in Frankie’s pants you wonder what it would be like to feel him thrust into you, chasing his release, to feel him take what he needed from your body, fueled by how much you want him in return.

Finally, Joel stills and spills into you, groaning as his orgasm sparks through him. But your eyes are locked to Frankie’s, as neither of you dares to look away.

THE OUTCOME

The neon sign of the motel casts deep shadows into the cabin of Frankie’s pickup. Your gaze is fixed to the flashing letters, promising vacancy. A car rushes past, its tires whispering against the concrete, still hot from the Texan summer day. You try to ignore the tightness in your stomach, but when a door falls shut with a rattling bang somewhere nearby, you feel that sound like a punch to your gut.

“That was fun,” Joel says from the backseat. He stretches his legs, kicking his foot against your backrest. “If you ever wanna repeat that …” He lets the offer hang there in the air between you.

Frankie grabs the steering wheel tightly, the wood groaning under his skin. “We’ll know where to find you,” he finishes the sentence.

Joel braces both hands against your backrest and leans forward so his lips are close to your ear. “I think I’ll stick around for a while, so if you ever wanna grab some drinks, sunshine …”

Only half-listening, you reply, “Whatever,” fighting down the nausea you’ve been feeling ever since you climbed into Frankie’s truck.

“Whatever,” Joel echoes with a huff, opens the backdoor, and climbs out. “You know, I’ve had better,” he adds, before shutting the door with a loud bang.

“Hey!” Frankie barks, but you shake your head, and Frankie lets him walk away.

It doesn’t matter what Joel says to you. You couldn’t care less. Because as soon as Frankie starts the car, he’ll drive it straight over to your place, say goodnight without really looking at you, and tomorrow, he’ll pretend that none of this happened. Just like he did before. And as much as you hate that thought, you’re going to have to live with it.

As Joel climbs the stairs to the second-floor landing of the motel, you say, “You’ll want to take me home now, right?” It’s best to get it over with as quickly as possible.

The wood groans again, but this time from Frankie loosening his grip. He takes off his cap and runs his fingers through his ruffled curls. You don’t look at him, but you study him out of the corner of your eye, trying to read his face. He puts the cap back on, then slings his arm across the backrest of your seat. “Actually … I was hopin’ you’d come back to my place.”

The nausea you’ve been feeling pricks up its ears with interest and then curls up into a tiny ball, tugged away in a corner of your stomach. “Oh?” you say. And that’s all you manage before he closes the distance between you, his left hand cupping your jaw, his lips brushing against yours, tentatively, asking for permission. You give it to him by fisting his shirt, pulling him toward you, by smiling against his lips, exhaling all the tension in one short giggle, full of relief. He strokes his thumb across your cheek at the same time as you open up for him so he can brush his tongue against yours. You find yourself mirroring him, hand on his cheek, thumb running over the stubble there, relishing the feeling of him being so close.

You pull away first, and he follows you, mouth slightly open, chasing another taste. “What are we gonna do at your place? Do you have more friends who want to fuck me while you watch?” you ask, high from the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, from that promise that he won’t forget about any of this in the morning.

A neon flash lights up Frankie’s face, once, twice, as you watch his cheeks darken with a flush. He takes his time, studying your face closely. “No,” he says, his voice a low rumble, so unfamiliar it draws a smile from him, “I want to fuck you myself.”

If you enjoyed the fic, I'd love to hear from you 🥰 feel free to leave a comment or drop into my inbox anytime ...

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[dogboytim]

hey can you write a story about Thomas Hewitt getting jealous when a man is talking to his S/O

OH BOY CAN I. ANON IM GONNA SMOOCH YOU FOR THIS.

This is more fluff than anything because I need this scenario out of my head.

It wasn’t very often Thomas got jealous. There was nothing for him to be jealous of most times. Nobody really came out that far unless that got lost. A similar situation to how you ended up here but obviously you had a more happy ending compared to most.

The Texas heat was rarely friendly, especially on days like today when you and Thomas were cooped up in Luda Mae’s shop. The small desk fan did nothing to cool the two of you down but they didn’t exactly have money for a good AC unit.

“Hey, sweetheart.” A thick southern drawl came from the door, causing both you and Thomas to look. The man definitely wasn’t from here. That wasn’t a Texan accent at all. It was clear from the way Thomas clenched his jaw that the pet name didn’t sit right with him.

“Can I help you?” You tried your best to sound polite but it came out more passive aggressive. You watched as the man strolled in, head held high like he owned the whole damn state. Thomas didn’t care much for people in general but this man was pushing his limits by just existing.

The man leaned over the counter, eyes looking you up and down like a stray dog eyeing a piece of meat. “I’m a bit lost and I was wondering if you had a map or something.” He moved closer, the top half of his body nearly over the counter. You opened your mouth to speak but you were quickly silenced when Thomas slammed a map down on the counter.

He had officially had enough.

The man took the map and gave your boyfriend a glare. You could see that if you didn’t get Thomas out of here soon, he was going to snap. You wished the man the best of luck and told Luda Mae that you and Thomas were headed home to cool off.

“Thomas, you do I love you and only you right?”

No answer. Not that you expected one anyway.

You sighed, pulling into the driveway. It was likely Hoyt would bring the man back for supper. You knew Thomas would enjoy killing him but right now you had to focus on reminding him that you loved him.

“Tommy.” That got his attention. He raised an eyebrow, silently asking what you wanted. Your hands found their way to his face, thumbs running over his cheeks. Gently, you lowered his mask. This was something he only let you do.

You kissed him.

That kiss made his heart flutter. Oh how he loved the way your lips melted against his. If this was what he got for being jealous, you can bet it’ll happen more often.

[roachspeaks]

YOUR WRITING IS AMAZING 💞 i beg you to write some headcannons about the sawyers family with their s/o, in tcsm. with the new characters from the game if you can (sissy and johnny)?? thanks🫂

Sawyer Family x gn!reader basic hc’s

Omg this took way to long, writers block is a killer. I’m gonna admit I had to do some research and read some fics to get to know some of the characters I don’t usually write, but here we go<3

Disclaimer: the Sawyer family tree is so very very confusing, so the characters I went with: Bubba, Johnny, Sissy, Drayton(who is gonna be the older brother but more father figure bc his role is confusing), and Nubbins,

If I missed anyone, let me know and I wasn’t completely sure if you wanted this fluffy or smutty, so I went safe. If you did want smut, ask me please. And it shall be done:)

Bubba

•The sweetest boy, always reaching out to you for affection.

•He’s a big hugger, and a bear hugger too. Sometimes forgets how much bigger he is than most other people, but how can you say no? Even when he’s knocked the wind out of you with those big arms of his.

•He’s a simple man, he could die peacefully and fulfilled in your embrace.

•PRAISE HIM!

•He corrects himself on accidental roughness, tell him he’s doing such a good job and he’ll melt.

•Sometimes he gets easily frustrated because of people not understanding his intentions, so be patient with him. Reward him with hugs and cuddles and he’ll be satisfied.

•Late night talks! Even if it’s more enthusiastic grunts and whines. You’ll both be lying in bed and he’ll just be babbling happily about his day, or about how much he loves you with the widest grin on his face.

•He’s never really had a ‘relationship’ before, so there are times when you have to remind him what’s appropriate in front of the family and what’s not.

•Like sometimes he’ll get really excited, and start kissing you all over.

•But it’s at the dinner table, and some people in this Texan conservative household don’t want to see that PDA.

•His brothers and sister just love teasing him left and right about you, and he couldn’t care less. He loves you, and he’d tell the whole world if he could.

•The warm humidity of Texas is all he’s ever known, so one night there’s a weird and sudden cold snap, and he is absolutely freezing. You aren’t allowed to move from being his personal heating pad.

•But you aren’t complaining, trapped in a pile of blankets with the man you love isn’t the worst way to go.

•Sometimes he’ll go hunting in the forest and bring you back wild fowl, or something other than what the Sawyers all usually eat.

•Sure he wants you to be part of the family, but he notices the way your face scrunches up at the prospect of eating other people.

•It confused him at first, then it clicked that you didn’t like eating people. Like how he didn’t like his vegetables(or that’s how he thought about it).

•So he brings you other more humane alternatives.

•He hates rain and storms, they confuse him. As nobody took the time to explain to him what was happening, why everything was so loud and dark.

•It takes a lot of convincing and encouragement until he’s not cowering in fear at the thunder and lightning(thinking of making a one shot about this tbh).

•To sum it all up, he’s hopelessly in love, and he’d do anything and everything to protect you, and make you happy. He loves the feeling of your soft skin on his. Even if you have rougher hands, it’s nothing compared to his, and he loves it.

•Be gentle with this man, love him to death I beg<3

Johnny

•He’s a cocky bastard, even before you were officially together he was treating you like you were married to him under the state.

•Has absolutely no shame, and he will make out with you in front of Sissy to make her annoyed.

•He’s hyper fixated and persistent, meaning he will get what he wants eventually. So it’s better not to fight him on it(whatever it may be).

•Just like with Bubba, he is teased RELENTLESSLY. More so about how soft you make him. Or how whipped he is for you.

•Whenever he does something remotely sweet or nice to you in front of his siblings(and sometimes even his father and mother) he’ll get a sharp whistle and a chorus of teasing and laughter.

• “Wow Johnny, you really are just a softie huh?”

• “Shut it..”

•He’d never admit it to his family, but he would do anything for you.

•Any guy(or girl frankly) makes the mistake of catcalling or harassing you? They’re dead on the news the next morning.

•As I said even BEFORE you guys were officially dating.

•And he’s a jealous jealous man, so even if it was a misperceived or imaginary threat, it’s enough for him to kill them.

•He tries to be normal for you at first, tries to ignore the taunting from his family that he’ll slip up and scare you away.

•Then he quickly discovers your a freaky little thing by nature, even if your a little freaked out at first.

•Because who wouldn’t want a boyfriend so obsessed with you that he’ll murder for you?

•He likes it when you touch his hair, especially when he’s all sweaty from one thing or another.

•He won’t make you eat people, sometimes he doesn’t either. Not because he’s disgusted by it, more so because he gets bored of just one thing.

•The type to decide when you wake up, whether he’s up before you or not. Sometimes he’s clinging onto your midsection telling you ‘just five more minutes’ for the next hour and a half,

• Other times it’s a note left on your nightstand after he’s left to do farm chores, saying ‘If I see you up before 11 so help me god’

Sissy

•She personally lives for the thrill of bringing you(male, female or other) back home to her family. Specially her daddy.

•She doesn’t hide anything about her life from you even from the beginning. Meaning she expects the same blatant transparency.

•Loves annoying her brothers, mostly Johnny.

•She refuses softness in front of her family because as stated prior, she knows she’ll be made fun of excessively for it.

•That’s not to say she isn’t clingy and all over you.

•She is, it’s just much less ‘lovey dovey’ more ‘this person is mine, touch them and I’ll kill you’.

•She loves when you treat her, growing up she was often overlooked by her family, or even underestimated.

•Buy her something pretty, or something like a plant and she’ll be even more in love.

•She’s never liked loud animals, but she likes cats. Despite her family’s protests, onetime when she was a kid Nubs tried to kill a cat for lunch, she beat him silly. Saved the poor orange kitty and fed it for years.

•Her favourite colour is orange because of that.

•She sleeps like she’s constantly taking up to much space, she curls into one side of the bed and tries to keep there.

•It would be greatly appreciated if you pulled her close, let her uncurl from her little self created ball.

Drayton

•This man has his moments, and I’m not completely sure how I feel about him.

•The Sawyer family often picks on each other and teases each other but Drayton and Nubbs often take it just a little too far.

•His younger siblings are constantly poking fun at his attempts at leadership, and I feel like that makes him a deeper character then I’ve really thought about before.

•He’s a classic older cowboy type, a gentleman with a very stereotypical older brother vibe.

•He tries to keep his family safe, and that includes you when you find your way into his heart.

•He isn’t exactly ‘sweet’ but he can commit to sentimental gestures if that’s something you like.

•The occasional bouquet of wild flowers on your nightstand, or a kiss on the cheek before he goes out for work in the morning.

•He often judges himself too harshly, his decisions and his ability to lead his family, just tell him he’s doing good. He’ll melt in your hands like putty.

•His siblings often make risky choices just to show they can, and it stresses him out(more than he’ll show or admit).

•He can be bad at minding his manners, especially when people are riling him up.

•All he needs is someone to come home too, someone who can appreciate him for all he does and all he tries to do.

(His is really short but I’m unfamiliar with his character😂)

Nubbins

•He’s definitely the most openly clingy if the bunch, he’ll stick to your side like he’s glued there.

•Whether you’re going for a drive into town, or just getting up to go make something for yourself, he’s on your tail.

•He loves being pressed up against you, barely(if any) space between your bodies.

•It makes him feel safe.

•Drayton, Johnny and Sissy often tease him for being dumb, but he’s not dumb! You don’t think so..right?

•Unlike many of the others, if he needs your reassurance, he’ll ask you for it.

•He loves it when you run your fingers through his hair, or down his back.

•He tries to be polite, at least after you teach him what exactly that means.

•He’s very possessive, some days when there isn’t any work that needs done, he’ll just hold you hostage in your bed.

•He loves sunrises, sometimes he wakes up at a specific time just to watch them(his internal clock).

Some of these are shorter than others, if you want anymore specific head cannons let me know, or any other characters<3 have a lovely day.

[onthewaytosomewhere]

the wip-iest of days

so after a bit of delay - i.e. distraction in the another wip variety i'm back in my southern philanthropy words.

thanks ever so much (dr, alex) @theprinceandagcd & @typicalopposite for the early wednesday tag! 💚

words and lots of tags under the cut

“I have it on good authority that anyone from Texas can be a cowboy with the right attire, though that drawl of yours makes me think you wouldn’t need the clothes for it.”

“I have a friend that used to say that every Texan was one cowboy hat or flannel away from singing ‘Home on the Range.’” Percy cocks his head, and Liam elaborates, “It’s an old song we all had to learn to sing in grade school and all about ‘that cowboy life’”

“Yeah, I’m somewhat familiar with the song …” Percy trails off, and Liam seizes the opportunity to get them back on track; after all, he was promised to be allowed to play the part of the broncing buck. His fingers make quick work of undoing Percy’s fly, and he follows as Percy stands back on the floor at the side of the bed and assists Lian in pushing the not-quite-leather pants to the floor.

Liam is curious about how they can be both leather but also something else he can’t place, and he is about to ask when he realizes Pez is standing in front of him in nothing but a thong. They leave nothing to the imagination, clinging to his uncut cock, and Liam slides his finger along them, sliding one under the waistband and exposing the tip of Percy’s cock. He leans in and licks at the exposed tip, tonguing the foreskin still clinging to the head. He watches as it slides down to rest just under the tip and tongues at the frenulum there on the underside of what might be the prettiest cock he’s ever seen, and he hasn’t even seen it all. He hooks a finger in the silky thong, tugging it down to expose the rest of the cock, he really wants to get his mouth around.

💚💚no-presssure, tag ur it to @adreamareads @agame-writes @anincompletelist @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites

@dragonflylady77 @duchessdepolignaca03 @england-would-fall @firenati0n @firstsprinces

@forever-fixating @getmehighonmagic @henryspearl @heysweetheart-writes @hgejfmw-hgejhsf

@inell @inexplicablymine @itsmaybitheway @jellibuns @jmagnabo92

@junebugclaremontdiaz @kiwiana-writes @littlemisskittentoes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @mikibwrites

@msmarvleouswinchester @nocoastposts @piratefalls @priincebutt @softboynick

@sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stellarm @suseagull04 @tailsbeth-writes

@taste-thewaste @thedramasummer @thesleepyskipper @thinkof-england @tinyarmedtrex

@wordsofhoneydew @yrsacdfox @indestructibleheart @everwitch-magicks

@cricketnationrise @orchidscript @cha-melodius

@captainjunglegym @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @oxfordslutphase

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

A Night By The Fireplace

Summary/Prompt - SPN Pond Secret Santa: Stuck home because of a snowstorm

Pairing - Jensen Ackles x Reader

Christmas Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N: This one goes out to @little-diable you said you like to read angst and smut so I tried to give you a bit of both along with some fluff to balance it out. I hope it’s ok. Merry Christmas!

Also, Thank you so much to @spnfanficpond for organising this fun, festive event. I had a lot of fun writing this!

Warnings: angst and SMUT

The notification you have been dreading all day pops up on your phone: All Flights Departing Austin, Texas Cancelled - Pending Weather Conditions

You sigh as you look out your shared bedroom window at the blizzard blowing past outside. Having watched the local weather last night you knew it was coming, not that your native-Texan husband believed you at the time. You dump your packed suitcase on the ground beside the bed and stomp out of the room in search of your husband to pass along the news. 

Hearing your footsteps, he interjects quickly holding his phone up with the same alert. “I know, I know. I’m sorry. Let me have it, you told me so.”

“I did tell you so! We should have moved the flights up! I told you!”

“I know. But in my defence, when have we ever had a white Christmas in Austin?”

“The other year, when this exact same thing happened! When we first got married!”

“Apart from that?”

“Jensen!”

“I know, Honey. I’m so sorry.” He walks closer to you to pull you into a hug but you push his hands away.

“No, I’m too busy now. I’ve gotta call everyone and let them know we’re not gonna make Christmas because my husband is a colossal dick and wouldn’t listen to his wife!”

“You think I wanted to get stranded here in Austin? I just didn’t expect it to actually blizzard!”

You roll your eyes at him and dump your phone down on the bench. “No, you know what? You call everyone and let them down!”

With that, you storm out of the room and back upstairs to try and destress. You decide to run a bath to warm up from the unusual cold and relax your body and mind. 

After a while, you hear a soft knock on the door. Before your husband steps inside with an apologetic look. He kneels beside the tub dipping his fingertips in the warm water. 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve listened to you and changed the flights. I called everyone and let them know what happened and took full blame.”

“I’m sorry too, the snowstorm isn’t your fault.”

“This feels like it’s getting cold. How about you come downstairs?” He leans down and kisses you before standing up and holding your towel out for you. Once you stand up he wraps you up in it and then pulls you into his arms. “I’ll give you a few minutes to get dressed and meet you in the lounge.”

You quickly slip on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie and then hurry downstairs to catch up with Jensen. Downstairs you’re met with a beautiful picnic mat spread out on the floor in front of the crackling electric fireplace with two hot chocolates, popcorn, chocolate-coated strawberries and some pasta carbonara from your favourite Italian restaurant. He pats the spot on the floor next to him and you take a seat. He wraps one arm around your shoulders, grabs a strawberry with his free hand and holds it up to your lips. You take a big bite and let out a small involuntary moan at the sweet mix of the juice and rich dark chocolate. 

“A quiet Christmas with just the two of us wouldn’t be so bad,” you admit when you finish chewing. 

“I know I’m away for work so often. So I always want to make the most of the time when I’m with you.”

“You definitely know how to do that.”

“Well, there’s one more treat for you. You get to pick the movie, no complaints from me, I promise.”

“Really? Even a chick flick?”

“Whatever you want.” He hands you the remote.

You flick through Netflix before settling on a sappy Christmas movie. As the movie fills the background you tuck into the array of delicious food Jensen collected for you. You take turns feeding each other the strawberries until they’re all gone. Then you lay back on the cushions he scattered around and cuddle as you enjoy the movie.

After a few minutes, you can tell he’s getting bored as he starts to leave kisses all down the side of your neck as his hands drift south, massaging your sides until they slip under the hem of your (his) hoodie. You tip your head back exposing more skin to him which he promptly takes advantage of as he climbs on top of you. He works his way back up with his lips and nibbles on your earlobe before whispering, “I thought you were watching the movie?”

“You’re blocking it,” you reply with a moan as he nips you again. 

“Want me to stop?”

You wrap your legs around his waist, “don’t you dare.”

He chuckles lowly before grinding his lower half against yours causing you both to moan. He slides the hoodie off your body and throws it off to the side. “Really, baby? Are you just as bare under these sweats?”

“Maybe…” you say teasingly before being cut off by a moan as he slides a hand up to squeeze your boobs, lightly running his thumb over your erect nipples. 

“So sexy…right here with you is so much better than being stuck in a plane or with family where I have to control myself around you. This right here is all I want and need for Christmas.” He kisses your lips quickly, not letting you deeper it, as he pulls away and works his way back across your cheek, down the centre of your neck, onto your chest, circling your breasts before finally kissing over each of your nipples. You moan out loudly and buck your hips into his at the stimulation, but he pins your hips down with a strong hand on your waist as he takes his time licking, nipping and sucking each nipple and breast until he’s left satisfactory marks all over them. 

“Baby! Jensen, please! I need more!” You groan out, not completely sure what you even want apart from just more of him. You claw at his shirt-covered back trying to pull it up. After a moment he gets the message and sits up a little to yank it off and throw it over with yours. 

When he leans back down he kisses you again before asking, “How are you? Want me to take you up to bed?”

You shake your head as you glance over at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree you’re now glad you insisted on setting up and decorating early despite your holiday plans. You look back into his forest-green eyes and smile. “I’m perfect right here.”

That’s all the reassurance he needs to continue his pleasurable assault on your body. Working his way down to your belly button and waistband, leaving a trail of wet kisses all the way. When he finally dips his fingers under the elastic he pulls it up and then lets it snap back against your hips causing them to jolt up. With little exploring needed, he can already tell you’re commando underneath which has him straining against his jeans even more than before, if that were even possible. 

“Stop teasing!” You beg desperately, which he finds so sexy. It spurs him on to finally slip your sweats down your legs gently and onto the floor with the rest of your discarded clothing. But much to your dismay he continues to tease; kissing along your hips and down to your thighs, skipping over where you want him most, he kisses all the way down to your ankles and even leaves a featherlight kiss on each instep before working his way back up the other leg until he’s face-to-face with your core. 

“Open your eyes, baby,” he softly orders. Only when your eyes flutter open and meet his, does he finally kiss your clit. You try to fight against your eyelids, but as his tongue darts out to draw patterns you lose the battle and squeeze them shut, throwing your head back again moaning his name and a collection of profanities. As his tongue and mouth continue to work their magic on you he brings one hand up spreading your labia open before sliding one finger inside you easily. Thanks to his attentive foreplay you’re already so wet and ready for him. He easily slides in two more and curls his three fingers up and forward to reach the spongy spot inside that has you crying out even louder and trying to buck your hips against him for more. He continues to work his fingers and mouth against your sex until he finally feels the familiar clenching on his fingers. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so well! Come all over my fingers.”

Without much extra effort necessary he pushes you over the edge, causing you to follow his instructions. He works you through it, not stopping his movements until you’re completely limp and exhausted beneath him. You shutter as he pulls his fingers out of you and sucks them clean, moaning at the taste. 

Once you catch your breath a little you slide your hands down his chest and stomach to his waistband, but he captures your hands, stopping you. “Tonight’s not about me. That was my apology for not listening to you. You just lay back and relax. I’ll tidy up here and then we can go to bed.” He kisses you tenderly before standing up, stretching and gathering all the empty food containers and mugs and taking them to the kitchen. Leaving you alone, exhausted and blissed out on the rug in front of the fireplace.

[irladagio]

in light of my recent posts and reblogs, i really want to share my recreation of finch AND ink how it is possible that i made them to be able to be stand alone characters. finch and inks backstories. how they are interesting and how ink can be autistic without it being a terrible and rude stereotype. :) also with them being able to keep much of their og personality if you wanna even call it that.. finch, though i do ship him with hacker, does not need him to be interesting or even involved… I’m going to start with Finch (bc i love him just read my blog page..) his backstory. It’s a lot heavier than what it was made to be. As someone who is familiar with racism and has read many books on his time…I can confirm it was not “yup war and that’s it :)” no. it’s dark and traumatic and I wanna make sure I write it in that light. War/Racism/Transphobia isn’t light or easy to deal with.. and that definitely would explain his “i can’t open up because i’ll get hurt” mentality. I have so much so many extra characters that balance out the excessive amount of men in ds (i understand why tho) they’ll be his friends, subordinates, enemies? World building!!!! I headcanon that he has BDP and I am in no way a mental illness expert and I’ve actually done research like someone who wants to write a character with a condition.. but i want to be as accurate as possible, so i’ll step away from focusing on that for now. But i would basically explain how he manages it, his day to day and stuff like that. This Man Love To Dance And Write and IDC what you say people. Yeah also he’s also texan. deep south, has a slight country accent. Odessa, Texas. No changing my mind on that one either. Katja, I think i wrote a post on her um yeah more on her later. I know im mostly focusing on Finch and yeah i tend to do that i’m sorry. But what im saying is!!! I rewrote him, and I’d love to share it! (ALSO IF YOURE INTERESTED PLS MESSAGE ME, KEEPING THIS TO MYSELF IS PAINFUL AND ITS ALL I THINK ABOUT ACTUALLY..PLSSS)

obviously im not sharing the entire thing rn but whenever i have time i’ll work on the post. hopefully..🤞🏽

[multifandomrandomgirl]

The Ropes That Bind Us - Peter Tork x Female!reader PART FIVE

Masterlist

Taglist: @strawberry-sunset-skies

Trigger warnings: Physical abuse, I also made myself cry again writing this, so I guess that is a trigger warning too?

-----

“Mike! You have mail!” Micky screamed from halfway across the pad. Mike rolled his eyes at the curly-haired man and walked over to get it.

“Huh, it only says ‘Michael’, no address, no surname.” Michael noted, sliding his thumb under the seal of the envelope. “What in the Texas prairie chicken is this?” Michael hissed, pulling out the letter inside.

‘I have him.

Your precious little bassist is with me.

I have him tied away so that he no longer ruins your band and their potential.

You could do so much better than that blond dummy.

He added nothing at all to your band or your lives. I bet you hadn’t noticed he was gone until now.

You’ll probably never find him, or maybe you won’t even want to find him, he causes you a lot of issues I notice.

Yours,

Lord Reynolds.”

Mike scowled at the letter, he was disgusted. Who was this Lord Reynolds and how dare he assume that the boys thought that way of Peter? Sure, he could be a bit of a handful sometimes with his naivety and kindness often getting them all into trouble, but Peter was Peter. He was irreplaceable, not just in the band, but in their little family too. Peter was almost like a glue that bound them, he brought the peace to the pad. They needed Peter.

“Michael, what is it, babe?” Davy pushed himself up on his tiptoes to try and read the letter over Mike’s shoulder, he heard a sniffle from the Texan, he wasn’t sure if it was a sad sniffle or an angry one, so Davy gave him a small hug.

“It’s about Pete. Someone took him.” Michael handed the letter to Micky whose hand was already outstretched, the curly-haired man and the tiny Brit next to him read over it, their expressions turning to one of anger.

“This Lord Reynolds person sounds like a right idiot. I don’t know about you fellas but I care about Peter a lot and think he adds a lot to the band and the pad. I certainly think we need Peter.” Davy frowned. The two Americans nodded in agreement.

“I’m disgusted that they think we don’t care about or need Peter. Everyone needs a Peter!” Micky sighed, a pair of Texan arms pulled him for a hug. This time, all three of them were in tears, they just wanted their bassist back. Knowing who took him didn’t make the situation much better, they weren’t sure who this Lord Reynolds was, and they had no idea if Peter was okay. For all they knew, he could be beaten and bruised again or he could be worse.

“What are we going to do?” Davy whispered from behind the two older men.

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

“Y/N? Are you awake?” Peter whispered, glancing over at the other side of the dark room. He still had no idea what the girl looked like, he had a description that she gave him when they met, but he knew that she was definitely prettier than she had said she was. He really wanted to know what she looked like.

“Yeah, I am. What’s up Pete?” She replied, he hated being called Pete but he’d happily let her call him that any day. ‘God, I’m really beginning to sound like Davy’ He thought. ‘Here I am, falling for a girl I know little about, I don’t even know what she looks like, but I bet she’s really cute’.

“Just wanted to check you’re alright!” He answered.

“I’m doing great” How are you feeling now sweetie?” God, there she went again, Peter felt all sorts of funny, warm feeling in his tummy as she called him ‘sweetie’.

“I’m doing absolutely amazing.” He grinned, although he couldn’t see her, he knew she was smiling back at him.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Peter froze, judging by the fact the footsteps sounded the same as the ones earlier, he knew it was their captor returning to check on them, Peter froze. He had almost forgotten that he’d been kidnapped and tied up, he’d been too busy thinking about and talking to Y/N to even think about the fact he was currently being held hostage.

“Alright you fuckers, I heard a voice. Who was it? Speak up now and only you shall be punished. Remain silent and both of you shall suffer.” A deep male voice said, making Peter jump slightly, he had no idea what to do. He had been talking but he was so scared, as he went to open his mouth, Y/N spoke up.

“It was me Sir, I’m sorry.” 

Peter wanted to speak up and tell the man that he too had been talking, but it was too late, he heard a loud slapping sound, followed by a cry, Peter flinched. He was so scared, Y/N was the one being hurt and yet he was terrified, as the slapping continued, her cries got louder and Peter shrunk down into himself out of fear. He really really wished more than anything that Michael was there to hold him and protect him from harm. He felt silent tears trickle down his cheeks. Poor Y/N he thought she doesn’t deserve this, I was talking too.

“If you don’t stop crying, I’ll hurt you more, you whingey little slut.” The man hissed, Y/N let out a small whimper, the sound that followed was louder than any of the other slaps that Peter had heard before.

“I said shut up, don’t make me pull the knife out again.” Y/N stopped making any sort of sound, Peter had no idea what was going on anymore, he could only hear the sounds of the man hitting the girl, she was hiding any hurt she was feeling.

After what seemed like hours, the man finally stopped hurting her and trudged back upstairs, grumbling and muttering some horrible words about her.

The room was silent, or nearly silent. Peter could just about make out the sound of a small, soft cry from the other corner of the room. Y/N was finally able to feel the hurt without risking a more severe punishment.

“Y/N? Oh Y/N, please. I’m sorry, I should have spoken up, and don’t use your excuse of me not deserving this again, you don’t deserve this. I want to say thanks for you taking the blame, but that would be wrong of me. God damn these stupid ropes, I want to come hug you, Michael does that when I’m hurting or have been hurt, he sits and holds me close and it really helps. I wish I could hold you close and help you get through the pain. Ouch, stupid rope burn.” Peter fought really hard against the rope and the tears that were threatening to fall from his eyes.

“Thank you Peter.” Y/N said quietly. “I’m glad you didn’t speak up though, he would have hurt you so bad, and I will use the excuse of you not deserving this again, you’re so sweet that anyone hurting you would have destroyed the both of us, I think I’d have to commit murder if someone hurt you.” This made Peter giggle slightly.

“You talking to me is comfort enough, thank you, Peter.”

[dezz111]

It’s Murder Before Birth, Everything After is Statistic

“All day, every day, therapist, mother, maid, nymph, then a virgin, nurse, then a servant. Just an appendage, live to attend him so that he never lifts a finger. Twenty-four-seven baby machine, so he can live out his picket fence dreams. It's not an act of love if you make her. You make me do too much labour…

(Paloma)

”

     On March 23rd, Paris Paloma released a song that had taken the women of TikTok by storm. It was everything we as women wanted to say to the patriarchy. We, the women (or anyone in possession of a uterus) have the oh-so-wonderful “duty” of bearing the next generation.  Whether by choice or by force. With the overturning of Roe V Wade last year, our rights seem to be doing a moonwalk into medieval times. The Supreme Court claimed to be Pro-Life and was backed by thousands of self-righteous people who most definitely don't want to adopt your baby like the hypotheticals profess. All they really cared to do was “protect their houses, protect their friends, protect their wallets. But women is where it ends…(Romeo).” Because they're not the ones losing nine months of their autonomy with a minimum sentence of 18 years if they decide to keep little Timmy out of some guilt-ridden form of responsibility. The decision to actually ban abortions was left up to each individual state, because God forbid they take full responsibility for their actions. Which has been anything but fine and dandy, especially if you live in Texas. Or the South in general, really. But lo and behold, a white man did what white men do best and swung his proverbial dick named Audacity. And of course, he's from Texas.

(Sorry Sandy, no defending Texas now.)

   Enter Judge Matthew J. Kacsmaryk, the cherry-picked pick-me of the Texan government. Cocksmark issued a preliminary ruling invalidating the Food and Drug Administration’s 23-year-old approval of the abortion pill mifepristone. Mifepristone is a drug best known for being the safest option for abortions, something lawmakers have an issue with unless the hot secretary needs one. It also has been studied alongside cancers, the drug has proven effective in blocking progesterone, a hormone that helps some cancers grow (Koide). But that’s just cancer, something that kills living children and their parents. No, what Cocksmark is worried about happens before the brain has even developed. Or hasn’t developed. Or is even viable? It really just comes down to if the egg was ever fertilized. It doesn't matter if it's an ectopic pregnancy, your womb goes septic or your baby is born without a skull. Not even the permanent loss of function for your fallopian tube (which you kinda need to make a baby) isn’t enough (Zernike).

Now this drug has been around for as long as I’ve been alive and if it ain't broke, why change it? Because. That's simply it. Because. There’s no rhyme or reason to it. They change it because they can. For men who are quickly finding their privilege coming into question and their egos in check, there's a level of control they feel they must impose as their testosterone levels drop and the blue pill waits for them in the back. There’s an archaic part of their brain that never made it out of the sixties that desires to see the world below their feet and pesky things like reproductive rights make it hard to keep Barbara at home pregnant with the kids. There’s a status quo they wish to maintain built upon a weaponized belief system. 

But that’s just speculation.

What’s not speculation is that while they say we can’t “kill our innocent kids”, someone else definitely will. Because I’m writing this on April 16, 2023, and just yesterday there were 9 mass shootings in the United States of America. On April 10th, there was a mass shooting in Louisville, Kentucky that killed five people and left four injured. Out of all the mass shootings I could have chosen, this one, in particular, is special. Because this shooting marked the 146th mass shooting in 100 days. Now, I’m really bad at math. But I'm pretty sure that means that there were more mass shootings than days in the year. Six days later and we are at 163 mass shootings. That means in less than a week, we’ve had 17 mass shootings (Gun Violence Archive). 

Since this whole gun control thing seems to be a joke, let's tally up the score:  

Mass Shootings: 163

Mass Murders: 15

Children (Ages 0-11)

Killed: 75

Injured: 172

Teens (ages 12-17) 

Killed: 434

Injured: 1,503

Defensive Uses: 306

Suicide: 6,996

Total Injuries: 9,506

Total Deaths: 12,246

   There has been a grand total of 12,246 deaths due to gun violence this year. And what do we win?! A Gucci belt to go with our third-world title! (Cue thunderous applause.) Because we have to be winning at something if there’s no change.

Gasp!

I finally get it. With this younger generation not wanting to bring children into a world that gives them nothing but trauma, the government will just force them to do it. Because who will buy more guns for us to shoot each other with if no one replaces the kids we kill? It's the Circle of Life! Hakuna Matta, your life is worth less than a wartime law unless you're still in the womb.

Or you're a dog. Then, you can have an abortion.

                                                    Works Cited

Gay, R. (2023, April 11). The Audacious Roundup. The Audacious Roundup - by Roxane

Gay.RetrievedApril13,2023,from https://audacity.substack.com/p/the-audacious

-roundup-806?utm_source=post-email-title&publication_id=237330&post_id=112139115&isFreemail=true&utm_medium=email

Gun violence archive. Gun Violence Archive. (n.d.). Retrieved April 16, 2023, from

https://www.gunviolencearchive.org/reports/mass-shooting

Koide, S. S. (n.d.). Mifepristone. auxiliary therapeutic use in cancer and related disorders. 

The Journal of reproductive medicine. Retrieved April 13, 2023, from https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/9693404/

Paloma, P. (2023, March 23). Labour. YouTube. Retrieved April 13, 2023, from 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jvU4xWsN7-A&ab_channel=ParisPaloma

Romeo, R. (2022, July 6). Fuck the Supreme Court (rant song). YouTube. Retrieved April 

13,2023,fromhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z55f_B7QbqE&ab_channel=rioromeo

Williams, K., Holpuch, A., & Robertson, C. (2023, April 10). Gunman kills 5 co-workers at 

Louisville Bank on Livestream, police say. The New York Times. Retrieved April 14,2023,from https://www.nytimes.com/2023/04/10/us/louisville-kentucky-shooting

.html?smtyp=cur&smid=tw-nytimes

Zernike, K. (2023, March 7). Five Women Sue Texas Over the State’s Abortion Ban. The 

NewYorkTimes.RetrievedApril14,2023,from https://www.nytimes.com

/2023/03/06/us/texas-abortion-ban-suit.html 

[bagels-n-cheez]

"I’m not Trans, but I want to help. What can I do?"

To start, I just want to point out that I am a gay, latino/white man writing this so y’all please comment if I say anything incorrectly.

Gender affirming care is at risk in many states across the US, meaning trans kids are more at risk for suicidal ideation and mental health problems as they are denied access to puberty blockers and hormones. These treatments save lives!

This isn't anything new as LGBTQ+ rights as you know have bun under the radar of Republicans for years now. States like Texas have already passed laws which outlaw GAC for minors giving these youth little option but to pack up and leave or detransition.

You’ve probably also seen the political hellscape unfolding rn and to be honest I don’t blame you if you’ve tried to tune it out or are currently hiding under a rock like Patrick. It’s a scary and frustrating time to be part of the LGBTQ+ community. You’re mad, I’m mad.

So often I see people get on here and talk about what’s wrong with our country or how Ted Cruz is the literal reincarnation of the devil (and they might be on to something). For real though, what are we supposed to do as young adults? Some of us can’t even vote, yet decisions are made which impact us every day.

Bear with me but I’m going to try to suggest ways you can help out your trans or gender diverse brothers/sisters/siblings against the wave of Anti-trans sentiment from Christians and conservatives.

VOTE

If you are 18 or older, that’s the best way to get your voice heard. Even if you live in a red state, every vote matters. If we voted as much as old people, imagine how much influence we would have. Here’s a link to register. So seriously, GO. REGISTER. VOTE.

https://www.vote.org/am-i-registered-to-vote/

Brandon Bell—Getty Images

Join a rally

To all my fellow Texans, if you can get to Austin, to the capitol, you can go make your voice heard (quite literally) by joining in peaceful protests to make those law makers see us. We’re here, we’re queer and we are outside your office!

They’re so isolated from reality that they don’t even know how many of us support the Trans community.

You can find more resources on protests here: State Protests – Queer Youth Assemble

Part 2: Bring a Friend!!

If you have friends who support you and the LGBTQ+ community, ask them to come with as an ally! We need more people who aren’t part of the community to stand with us and stand with trans youth. Y’all don’t be shy now ;)

Be VOCAL as an Ally

Simple actions like putting up a trans flag or calling out transphobia (not using preferred pronouns, dehumanising, etc) really help trans kids and adults feel like there’s people out there who support rather than hate them. It might not change other people’s minds but it sure helps to start conversations and to humanise trans people.

"What about if I’m not out yet or not able to do any of that??"

This is a tough one. I want to say first, your safety and livelihood comes first and foremost. We all know what it’s like to have to hide who we are from our family and friends because we’re scared that we’ll lose everything. Please don’t stress about it, we love and support you!!

Donate! If you can’t be involved directly on the ground, this is good step to support the community without risking your own situation or if you have circumstances which stop you from participating.

Again, you can donate or volunteer your time with groups like Equality Texas and other organisations which fight for the rights and protections of transgender and gender diverse people.

Find a group in your state or support a group working in hostile states!!

NBPizza21 - iFunny

Together, we can take small steps as young adults. But don’t feel like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. We are a community, and together we can confront with our heart and soul the injustices we face everyday so we can make a better tomorrow. Stand up! Fight! Let them know what’s right!!

Anything that I missed? Reply here so I can update the post as y'all chime in :) The more the merrier

[lunarfleur]

As Long As You’ll Have Me ~ Dwayne Robertson

CW:shameless fluff, Dwayne being a romantic

Tagging: @collieflower215 @sophie-i-guess13 @juneberrie

Additional notes: This was written based on a scenario I sent Liz, who is now preparing to write for The Mighty Ducks over on her page

This is x gender neutral reader!

“Well, I’m goin’ to bed,” Dwayne’s grandfather announced, standing up slowly.

“You kids have fun.”

“Not too much fun,” his mother warned, following her father inside the house.

The Texan night was suddenly quiet, peaceful in the arms of Dwayne. His family had all gone inside. Voices chattered distantly inside the house but it all seemed to be miles away.

You watched as the flames of the campfire danced. Red and yellow ribbons of scalding heat intertwine while sparks jump and dance. It swayed in the wind and a shiver ran up your spine. Dwayne pulled you closer.

“They like you,” he said suddenly. You looked up at him from your head’s place on his shoulder.

“Yeah?” You questioned. He nodded, smiling proudly.

He rested his forehead against your’s and gripped your hands a little tighter. Crickets chirped all around you, buzzing excitedly. Texas was nice, you had learned.

“Mama likes you especially,” he chuckled. This made you smile. “Hasn’t stopped talkin’ about you since she met you.”

Dwayne’s mom was a wonderful woman, small and curvy with flaming red hair and blue eyes. She was kind and gentle, but good at being tough when it’s needed. She’s the one who raised Dwayne to be so respectful. The minute you had been introduced it was as if she’d known you for years.

Dwayne went quiet for a moment. His thumbs brushed across the skin that covered your hands. All you could feel and see was him. You liked it better that way, anyhow.

He kissed your knuckles quietly, seeming to be in deep thought.

“You thinking about something?” You asked. He just hummed in response. Then Dwayne took a deep breath and looked up at you. His dark eyes lit up against the fire.

“You love me?” He asked. This was a common question. Most of the time he asked it just to hear you say you loved him. This time, however, it seemed different.

“Of course I do,” you replied. You missed not a single beat, having heard the question before, before adding, “why?”

Dwayne shook his head, shrugging. His brown eyes gazed deeply into your’s. He smiled and placed a kiss to your lips. Then he kissed you again and again. Again and again and again. That’s how it always was, how it always would be. A change in state wouldn’t make it any different. He loved you just the same.

When he pulled away, you were met with his red face. It wasn’t from the fire, either. Dwayne’s face got red when he was nervous. But what did he have to be nervous about?

“I got this for our one year,” he chuckled awkwardly, “but I dunno if I can wait that long.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, black box. You felt your heart ram against your ribcage, knowing full well what was inside.

He opened it up and grabbed what sat inside. He fumbled with his hands before grabbing your’s. On your finger he slipped a simple, silver band. The cold metal hit your skin. Dwayne flipped your hand over, kissing you palm.

“What’s this?” You asked. Maybe that was all you could say. Dwayne took in a sharp breath and looked back up at you.

“Like I said, this was supposed to be for our one year.” The words came out as a chuckle. But then he paused, silent for a moment. “But I couldn’t wait that long ‘cause I keep fallin in love with you more every day.”

He scooted closer to you, his hands holding your’s gently. Dwayne stared at you with eyes like you had never seen. He looked at you with eyes that made you think that there was something worth seeing.

“People have said that first loves don’t really last but I don’t think I’ll ever meet someone who makes me feel what you do. And now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure I wanted to love you. You made me feel…warm. I liked that.” You sucked in a breath sharply.

“I never loved you on accident,” he whispered, voice suddenly dropping.”

He pressed his forehead against your’s once more. Your breathing had become uneven, ragged. Maybe it was due to the tears that threatened to well up in your eyes. Maybe it was the way your heart was about to jump out of your chest. Maybe it was just him.

“When’d you get so romantic?” You asked quietly, weakly. Dwayne chuckled and you followed along.

You pulled your hands away from his to observe the ring closely. You slipped it off your finger. It was simple, a silver band. But on the inside of the ring there was an engraving. It read:

‘No matter where, no matter when.’

You smiled down at your ring. Dwayne caressed your cheek with his hand and pulled you in for a kiss. It was sweet, genuine. This kiss didn’t have the fun, playful feeling like others always did. This one was deep, harder even. It said everything that couldn’t be spoken.

“I love you,” you whispered. It made no sense for anyone else to hear it. As long he knew, you would be okay. Dwayne smiled, kissing you in reply.

“I’ll be your’s as long as you’ll have me.”

And he kept staring at you. His gaze never budged. And maybe that’s why you swore to never let him go. There was a sky full of stars, and he was staring at you.

[quietmyfearswith]

sparse sleep ; syverson x fem!reader

status — completed oneshot

word count —1,972 words

summary — in which syverson has trouble sleeping.

warnings —swear words, fluff?? mentions ptsd and war things, angst?? insomia, implied smut, sleeping (literal sleeping) with strangers (thats dangerous please dont do that)

pairing — syverson x fem!reader

a/n — dont mind me, im just trying to get out of my fanfic writing rut so i would really appreciate some feedback and asks/messages are open! if you follow me, please state your age/age range in your bio. i will block you if you follow me and don’t have your age/age range in your bio!!!

tagging —​ @la-cey @melancholyy-hill @pedropcl @beck07990 @doozywoozy

masterlist | series masterlist | join my taglist (please follow the rules)

“Shit! I’m so sorry,” Sy apologized as he accidentally spilled his drink on a woman who was sitting by the bar; his eyes lifted from the stain his drink made on her velvet dress to her eyes. Wow she looks beautiful, he thought as his mouth hung agape and he struggled to formulate words. “It’s alright,” She reassured him and chuckled at his panic, “I trust it was just an accident?”

It took him a few seconds before foolishly nodding his head, “It was, I’m sorry,” He pointed to the gathering crowd behind him that were rushing to get out to the balcony, “I was being pushed around by all these people.” It was a mere ten minutes before the new year approached them.

“Ah, well I don’t know about them but I’m not too keen on the fireworks,” She stated as she paid her bill. This lured Sy in as he hasn’t met a lot of people who disliked fireworks like he did, “You don’t like fireworks too? How come?”

She shook her head as she stood up from the chair, “Well just one of the reasons is that it bothers a lot of dogs.”

“My dog hates the fireworks too!” He said, too excited and he had to clear his throat as he began to walk along with her, “‘Tis the reason why I chose a hotel room with soundproof walls, or so they say.” Waiting for the elevator, she cooed at the mention of his furry companion; she was too excited that she couldn't help herself from asking, “Do you mind if I see your dog? Only if it’s alright, of course.”

The elevator let out a soft chime, Sy gestured for her to step in first and she did, “Sure!” He entered his own floor number and smirked smugly at her, “You sure this isn’t some devious plan of yours to lure me in and seduce me?”

She could feel her heart beat increase as she shook her head and slapped a hand to his pec, “No! Excuse you I just happen to love dogs so much, okay?” The former captain could feel the nervousness start to sink in as the elevator didn’t play out instrumental music; shifting his weight between his feet, he took a good look at her face as she was looking on her phone with a slight frown.

“What got you pouting over there like a heartbroken child?”

His Texan accent was thick when he said that sentence that it had her laughing softly as she chucked her phone into the back pocket of her denim jeans, “Where’s that accent from?”

“Texas; you from there?” She shook her head as she told him where she was originally from. The soft elevator chime informed them they were on the Captain’s floor. Taking charge, Sy exited first and his one hand pressed against the elevator doors, giving Y/N enough time to step out of the cold box. “Are all Texans a gentleman like you? Or is it just you?”

A deep chuckle erupted from his chest as he reached for his hotel key card in his back pocket once they were in front of his hotel room door, “Some are as dastardly as they come, while some clean up their act only to impress the ones they’re courting.”

As he opened the door, he gestured for her to enter first and she did with a smile; upon closing the door behind him, they both could hear Aika’s excited  barks coming from the bathroom. “You might want to sit first on the bed, I’m gonna get her out.”

“Taking me to bed already? Naughty Texan you are,” Her flirty remark had the both of them laughing, but she happily skipped and sat on the bed as she patiently waited for the dog.

“And this is Aika,” Sy announced as the German Shepherd patiently and in a disciplined manner walked beside him; it was impressive to Y/N how the cute pooch was, despite her excitement — which was visible with her wagging her tail vigorously — she was still staying beside him before being given permission to approach her.

“You can go ahead and pet her,” Sy nodded as he sat on the floor beside Aika. With that signal, she knelt down and proceeded to scratch the space between her ears as she greeted, “Hi Aika, how are you?”

Sy looked with adoration as the girl giggled out loud when her face was being smothered and licked by Aika’s tongue, “Alright easy now, girl,” He tried pushing Aika to him; but to no avail the female dog seemed to have preferred his new found friend more as she plopped herself onto her lap and nuzzled to her.

“It seems like she might have chosen over you,” She observed as she stroked her fur with a smile; “I can’t blame her for doing so; I would have chosen you too, you know?”

His remark had her eyes widening and shock and she could feel the heat rushing up to her cheeks, “I don’t think I’m strong enough to carry you on my lap, Sy.” It was the first time he heard say her name and he felt this tremble inside him — due to all his years in the military, he mistook the feeling for something of fear while he was out in the battlefield — but really it was just butterflies floating around in his stomach.

“Well doesn’t have to be sitting on your lap, you could sit on mine you know?” He threw in a wink to mask his nervousness. Biting her lip, she gently jostled Aika off her lap and moved to sit beside him, until the outside of both their thighs were grazing against each other, “Let’s start off like this first and see where we go from here, yeah?”

“I’m fine with that,” He grinned at her, he checked on his wrist watch and noticed how they were a minute away from welcoming the new year, “Last sixty seconds of this year and it’s giving me a gift as a way to end and start the new year’s.”

Loving the sound of that, she took a bold move to sit on his lap, he tilted his head up to look at her as she was caressing his bearded cheek, “How ‘bout we welcome the new year with a kiss then?”

Instead of verbally responding, he took charge and slanted his lips with hers; pleased with what he did both her hands ran across the short trims of his hair while his large, warm hands circled around her waist.

The loud countdown by the people counting down the last ten seconds could be heard, but both of them could only focus on the feel and taste of each other. As their lips danced together, they both could feel the rumbling sound of the fireworks, they felt a dog snuggle in between them.

Breaking away from the kiss they both turned their attention to the sweet furball; Sy cooed at her while he was rubbing her head lovingly, “It’s okay, girl. We’re here, we won’t let the fireworks harm you okay?”

It was abordable to see how snuggly the pooch was, they giggled among each other while they brushed her fur lovingly. Sy moved her body around so her back was to his chest, whereas AIka settled her head into her lap; it had only been less than a few hours before they had met each other, they both felt safe and at peace with each other.

“She’s so adorable, how long has she been with you?” She found it odd how the collar she had did not contain a name tag. “Been together for almost three years now, she’s an army dog.”

With that information, she turned to face him, “Are you a veteran?” He nodded with a tight-lipped smile. Her hands left Aika’s fur and turned fully to hug him, rubbing the wide expanse of his back, “Thank you for your service, Sy.”

Part of him found her reaction quite silly, but at the same time no one has expressed such sincere gratitude to him and the fact that it came from her warmed his heart even more. “Well I had to make the world safe for you now, don’t I, love?”

Removing his tight hug around him, she jokingly shoved his shoulders but smirked otherwise. “So what are your plans now that you and Aika,” She pet the dog once more to remind her that they were here for her, “Have retired from active duty?”

“Gonna be training newly recruited soldiers — gives great pay and benefits, so I thought why not?” She pouted and tilted her head as her fingers ran around the hair that was by the nape of his neck. “Maybe try to get some sleep for once.”

“You have trouble sleeping? Do you have nightmares?”

Sy nodded sadly as he bit his bottom lip, “Not really nightmares, moreso flashbacks of all the explosions and killings.” He took a deep breath before continuing his recount of his sleepless nights, “Part of the reason why I don’t like fireworks, really. They remind me of when I was back in Iraq.”

The feeling of the pad of her fingers felt great along his skin, prompting him to open up more and let down his walls. Disconnecting his gaze from Aika and onto her eyes allowed him to see orbs of hope and love. “I’m sorry to hear that, Sy. You’re so brave for having to get over the terrors that keep you up at night.”

“Maybe if I had someone to hold me, I wouldn’t have trouble sleeping.”

The captain was only joking, but she didn’t hesitate when offering, “Well I could hug you to sleep at night, test that strategy of yours?” He looked at her with bewilderment, “You’d sleep — not the euphemism — with a man you just met?”

Shrugging her shoulders, she pursed her lips, “I’ll take my chances with you, Sy. But I don’t think you’re the type to lure women and kill them in their sleep now, are you?”

He chuckled and pecked her lips softly, “Well damn am I glad that you’re taking your chance on this Texan captain. I can lend you some clothes so you can dress up?”

She nodded and stood up, offering her hands to him which he gratefully took as he stood up. Silently, he handed her clothes and guided her to the bathroom, allowing her to dress and freshen up first. Once she was done with her routine, she then exited the bathroom and told Sy it was now his turn to change. As the captain was changing into more comfortable clothes, Y/N had been petting Aika and humoring her.

“Are you ready to sleep now?” He smiled as he leaned against the wall as he was watching the lovely scene in front of him.

“I am, and I do hope you get to sleep well.”

There was the warm feeling in his chest and stomach again; instead of addressing it internally, he just picked Y/N up from the floor and laid them both down on the wide bed. “Show off,” She remarked as she cuddled up into him — her arms wrapping around his wide frame as her legs tangled with his.

“Happy new year, by the way,” She said after a few moments of silence after they were cuddling. Nodding to himself, Sy pressed a tender kiss on her shoulder before greeting her back, “Oh it will be, love.”

And that night did prove his theory right, that he does sleep better with someone holding him. But that wasn’t the only reason as to why he wanted to keep her in his life for a long time.

[deathbecomesnerds]

“Middle of the Night” | Astrid x Raymond

A/N: Whump. Whump. And more Whump with some Fluff at the end. I really wanted to write Astrid’s mom, and this just seemed kind of perfect.

She was in her kitchen from her childhood back home in Texas, she sat at the kitchen table with a glass bottle of Dr. Pepper and could hear the crickets chirping outside. Astrid smiled at the sunset outside when she heard rustling from the kitchen and turned to see her mom coming out from the kitchen.

“Alright,” Rebecca said, sitting next to Astrid with a glass of iced tea “Tell me about this guy!” she said with a Texan accent and a bright smile on her face.

Astrid looked at her mom and smiled, she looked just like how she remembered–it almost brought a tear to her eye. “Well,” Astrid blushed, “His name is Ray.”

“Uh-huh. What does he do?” Rebecca asked before taking a sip of her tea.

“He’s retired.” 

Rebecca tilted her head at her daughter, “Retired? How old is he?” 

“He’s 46.”

The older woman smiled “Okay. Well then what did he do before he retired?” she asked.

Astrid licked her lips “He…used to be the right hand to a drug lord. And I know mom–not ideal, but he was really good at his job, and then Mickey wanted to sell the business and now…”

“So he’s like your father?” Rebecca asked, a small frown formed on her face.

Astrid shook her head “No.” she said firmly “He’s nothing like Dad. He is…was professional, he’s neat, organized, smart, and charismatic Handsome.” she said with a small smile before taking a sip of her drink “He’s great with the kids.”. 

Rebecca smiled “So what does he do now? All day with nothing to do?” she playfully jeered.

She chuckled “He spends his days with the kids while I’m at work.” 

The older woman chuckled “He takes care of the kids all day, while you’re at work? That’s impressive!” she took a sip of her tea “Show me a picture of this guy! I wanna see him.” Rebecca smiled. 

Astrid chuckled, pulling out her cell phone and looked at all the pictures she had of Ray–none of them did Raymond Smith any justice, but she found a picture of him with the kids that she adored before turning the phone towards her mother as she leaned in to glance at the picture and gasped gleefully.

“Oh my god, Corienne! He is so handsome! And those babies!!” Rebecca pouted before looking up at her daughter with a smile. She held her hand “I am so proud of you. I love you so much.” 

“I love you too, mom.” Astrid said with a smile, then remembering that this wasn’t real and she could feel tears forming in her eyes “I miss you.” she whispered.

Rebecca teared up as well, “I miss you too, baby.” she said with a faint smile. “But I’m with you. Always.” 

She gasped as she awoke in the darkness. Her heartbeat was beating a million miles a minute and she felt hot and sticky to the touch as Astrid sat up and looked around the bedroom before her eyes stopped at Ray as he slept peacefully. She sighed in relief at his snoring before she felt a tear fall down her cheek and brushed it away. 

She never had a dream like that. It felt so real and Astrid knew it would be impossible for her to go back to sleep as she pulled the heavy sheets away from her body and got out of bed. 

Astrid walked out into the hall, going to check on the kids to find them both sound asleep with Antoinette quiet in her crib and Enniss partially dangling from his bed while he drooled. She placed him back into bed before tucking him in tighter and kissing his forehead. 

She retreated downstairs, not sure what to do with herself but her body instinctively went into the kitchen and began pulling ingredients for something. She hummed to herself as she looked at what she had pulled out and nodded to herself. 

He groaned, turning in his sleep before reaching out for Astrid to find her not where he had left her earlier in the evening. Ray moved his hands around the bed to make sure he hadn’t missed her before opening his eyes to see a blurry view of the bedroom.

“Star?” he muttered before he sat up in bed and turned on his nightstand light to find her vacant from her side of the bed.

Ray put his glasses back on and glanced around the room, “Astrid?” he called out before getting out of bed to check the bathroom to find it dark and vacant. Ray took the opportunity to check on the kids before heading downstairs to hear light clanking.

He picked at the corner of his eye to get an eye boogie out when he walked into the kitchen to see his wife covered in cake flour while making tiny fondant flowers.

“Astrid?” he called out to her, getting her attention as she stopped mid flower to glance at him while he approached her. “Star, what are you doing up so late?” he asked her quietly.

Astrid shrugged, “I couldn’t go back to sleep.”

Ray glanced down at the fondant, and then around at the kitchen to see the cake in the oven “So, you’re baking a cake?” he asked her.

“Well, it’s complicated. It’s okay, just go back to bed.” Astrid said softly.

He shook his head “No. I wanna help you finish the cake.” he muttered, “And you can tell me what’s bothering you because you haven’t made a cake in the middle of the night since Enniss was born.” 

Astrid huffed, going back to the Rose she was making “I just had a dream, and my mom was there. It felt so real, Ray.” she said, perfecting the small petals. “We were sitting in the kitchen, talking.”.

Ray watched as her bottom lip quivered slightly, and she took a deep breath before putting the decoration down and sighed while looking at Ray. “I know that your relationship with your parents wasn’t great before they died. And you’ve said ‘no harm, no foul’...but I loved my mom. And I miss my mom.” her voice cracked. 

He stroked her cheek, pulling Astrid closer to him before he kissed the top of her head “I know you do, Star. And if I could, I would bring her here. Let her drive me insane by being that grandmother.” He released her from his grasp and brushed away forming tears from Astrid’s eyes, “But all I can do is honor her memory the best that I can. By loving her only child.” he whispered. 

Astrid sniffled again, a smile formed on her face as she leaned in to kiss her husband “I love you, Raymond.” 

“I love you more, Star.” he said back to her. “Now lets get these flowers ready for that cake.” he said with a smile.

Astrid smiled, “Well, I have the decorations under control, so maybe you can make the frosting since I haven’t done that yet…”

“You just don’t want me to touch the fondant.” Ray accused her.

She didn’t bother denying it as she looked at him “You can’t make a Daisy to save your life, Raymond.” she proclaimed.

Ray nodded “Yeah, that’s fair.” he muttered. “But I did make a decent Butterfly that one time!”

“Beginner's luck.” Astrid smirked.

“Alright. Alright. Fine! You can play with the fondant by yourself. What kind of frosting am I making?” Ray asked as he quietly grabbed a bowl from the top shelf.

“Coconut.” 

Ray smiled, glancing at Astrid as she perfected another flower. He knew how she ached for her mother, and he was envious of her. But he knew that in her yearning for her mother, she was a great mother–and just a great woman all around. 

[gisellelx]

Consider this ask a general prompt for any nerding you would like to do for us re: linguistic thoughts about various Cullens. Also: any particular headcanons of how they've influenced each other's speech in general? (I was going to say re: Edward emulating Carlisle but that might not be the most interesting example)

Okay commence much belated nerding out. Relevant post.

Under a cut because sorry, I went to town here. tl;dr--the Cullens sound different to each other, and their backgrounds and relationships have affected the way they sound over time. But they all can sound exactly how they need to any time they need to.

Here are two useful things we know about why people do or do not change the way they talk.

Communities of practice: this is a concept which comes from education but which has gotten adopted in several adjacent fields, including sociology and linguistics. Basically, the idea is, the way you talk will reflect the kinds of relationships you want to have with people around you, and how you want to draw lines separating your group from other groups. My easiest-to-understand example of this is that my friends from college athletic bands had some terms and inside practices which arose because of our shared experience of playing in those bands. We were in band twenty years ago, but if you're having drinks with a few other bandos and leave the bar, someone will go "ohhhhh see ya!" like the cheer we yell when someone gets put in the penalty box at a hockey game.

Convergence and accommodation: Speakers often try to sound like people they want to connect with in more than just practices and inside jokes. The more you want to connect with someone (combined with your personality), the more likely you are to adopt their style of speaking. This is in the short term, which is accommodation (you start to speak more slowly because the person you're speaking with speaks more slowly) or dialect convergence (over time your whole way of sounding starts to shift toward other people's.) Some evidence that extroverts do this faster, but it also depends on how desirable the connection is.

Convergence is probably more influential for the Cullens than CoP, although I imagine there are some CoP kinds of things that happen to vampires more broadly and the Cullens specifically. In particular, I suspect (and write) that the Cullens have lots of euphemisms for things: they talk about "mistakes" to avoid talking about murder, about "Royce" and "Charles" to avoid uttering the word rape, Edward's rebellion is called The Time or Edward's Sojourn (that's Carlisle).

The bigger question is, how would they sound and how would they naturally converge (or not!) based on their personalities and relationship.

So. You have the Cullens. Kind of a rough-and-tumble rundown of their varieties:

Carlisle: I headcanon Boston Brahmin . In the 1700s, the London accent was /r/-full, so Carlisle would've arrived to the US sounding more like a current-day American speaker than we associate now with British English (received pronunciation usually being the exported one). He would've hobknobbed with the educated elite on the eastern seaboard and picked up what they sounded like at the time. He loves being American--this is where he found his purpose and his family. So shifting toward that accent makes sense for him.

Esme: Lower middle class US midlands. The central Ohio accent is often perceived to be extremely neutral. It's not--there are some truly funky features--but people think it is, so there's not much reason to move away from it. She might have tried her hand at a transatlantic accent, but she slides back into her middle Ohioan often, because it's easy and it's not usually considered "bad" anywhere. She makes fun of the way Carlisle says rather. He teases her about how bag and egg are the same sound for her.

Edward: Northern Cities Shifted Chicago. If you've ever heard a Chicagoan pronounce the word Chicago, well, there you go. I realize this probably fucks with the gentle, sexy attempt-at-American accent delivered by Robert Pattinson. Edward was born too late to have transatlantic imposed on him, and so his accent was probably left to be.

Rosalie: Another reason they hate each other--they sound alike. Rosalie is on the other side of the Great Lakes, was born not that much later, and Rochester is another major source of Northern Cities Shift. So she and Edward sound...pretty much the same. They're both upper middle class/upper class and are picking up the prestige version of the NCVS.

Emmett: Appalachian. Pretty much enough said. The post I linked at the outset lays out a few things from Appalachian speech.

Jasper: East Texan. Texas is not general southern--there are a handful of features which make it notably different than say, Louisiana.

Alice: Upper class Mississippian. Now, this is somewhat indistinguishable to a northern American or non-American ear--maaaaybe you notice sort of "high class southern" but it's subtle. She's got a bunch of features of southern English, though, but the more prestigious versions of them. Not quite To Kill a Mockingbird--that's Alabama-- but that's not a bad place to start to hear it.

So that's where they're starting. Where do they end up?

Carlisle: sticks with Brahmin. The moment he arrived in the US means a lot to him, and so he defaults back to that first major change, when he adopted an American identity.

Edward: Probably goes without saying, but he sounds exactly like Carlisle. He shifted his default as soon as he was able, and his intense adoration of Carlisle means he converged on Carlisle's variety. He also picks up Carlisle's idiolect--particular phrases and verbal tics--again, because he wants to be like Carlisle in any way he can. "Oh my God will you quit; you're not Carlisle" is a phrase that gets uttered in annoyance often.

Esme: Keeps her central Ohio accent. She loves Carlisle more than anything, but there's nothing particularly stigmatized about her variety. So she keeps it. She's happy to be her own person.

Rosalie: Does not wish to be a part of this family and regrets her change. She certainly does not converge toward Carlisle's style, but the pressure of sounding anything like Edward, even if his dialect has shifted, is also grating. She brings her NCVS a little more toward Esme's Ohio variety over time.

Emmett: This man killed a bear* with his bare hands in the Smoky Mountains. He's real proud of being a mountain man and he sounds like one. He also has a healthy disdain for the upper-crustness of Carlisle and Rosalie and Edward and is determined to bring them back down to earth. Over time the most obvious parts of his dialect do fade--he doesn't use "a huntin'" very often, for instance. But he can shift into full on Appalachian on a dime and often does. It's fun for him.

Jasper: Stays East Texas. He's very proud of his cowboy identity, and is the least connected to the Cullen family as a community of practice. He can sound like whatever his paperwork says he does, but in default, he's still got the same Houston variety he's had for two centuries. I don't love darlin' darlin' Jasper in fic but I chalk that more up to writers learning how to have a light hand with dialect rather than it being something he fundamentally wouldn't say--he absolutely does say it. Also says bless your heart.

Alice: Biloxi is not that far from Houston, and she and Jasper, who are wound around each other, pick up each other's verbal mannerisms and reinforce subtle aspects of each other's gulf of Mexico accents. She both mellows Jasper's Texas English while also moving her own English toward his.

So in "default" mode, the Cullens sound a little different to each other. But there's no way a Twipire would somehow be unable to move perfectly and seamlessly between multiple English accents as they needed to. There's no reason to think that any of them showed up at Forks High School sounding like anything but exactly what their paperwork said their dialectal background ought to be.

*by the way this would've been a black bear, not a grizzly. I'm sure he loves grizzlies, but he wasn't fighting a grizzly in the Smokies. He probably got tangled up with a really mad mama bear. This is a pet peeve of mine, I admit.

[jjfics]

On The Run | 01

ship: Five Hargreeves x Female!Reader 

summary: The Hargreeves have to leave the Academy behind and run away to Dallas, Texas. The Reader is a lot more anxious than Five and thats understandable, but they need to focus.

series: read part 2 here

author: jane jack aka your girl jjfics 

words: 1950

warnings: mentions of blood, death and murder, (feelings of uncertainty and anxiety, flashbacks) and lots of angssst (why do i love writing angst thoughh??)

a/n: there will definitely be a part 2 so keep those notifications in checkk

It felt as if you could read everyone else’s thoughts through the silence. The car kept moving at a fast speed as you passed cities and villages. From time to time you would worry Five was going to lose control of the car, but he never even flinched. 

He just looked at the road before you; stress and worry were clear in his eyes. There was so much he needed to figure out. Who were you going to be from now on? And him? And his siblings? Were you going to hide forever? 

“Five” you whispered. He didn’t hear you. Or maybe he did and he chose to ignore you. “Five” you said again, this time catching his attention. 

He turned to look at you for a moment and then he focused on the road again.“What?” 

“Can we stop for 5 minutes at the next gas station, please? I have to wash my hands.” you said quietly looking down. 

He pursed his lips before he spoke again. “No.” Five was just being direct. The more time it took you to get to Dallas, the more vulnerable you became. 

Dallas…

You fell through the vortex a couple of months before Five arrived. With no idea where the others went or how to find them, it was really just you, all alone. You were the last one Elliot took a picture of before the chaos of the second apocalypse began. The alley was strange, and so were the people. Everything was different here. You were disoriented and scared. According to the confused strangers when you asked them the date, you were somewhere way before your birth.

First thing you realise when you don’t even have a home anymore is that you need money. It can be so crucial. But how will you, a nobody in the 60s, survive if all you knew how to do, was sing? Music was how you met your best friend Vanya for the first time: at an audition. And after that followed the concerts. The public loved the two of you.

So you did what you did best. 

One day, while walking aimlessly on the busy streets, searching for a place selling cheap food, you started singing your favourite song. A song no one around had ever heard, a song you danced to with Five once. People started to gather around you and listen as you went on. This was it, this is where you were in your element. Your father forced you to take singing lessons when you were four. You didn’t enjoy it at first, but you grew up to love it. People clapped and left you money before going on about their day. So you ended up spending the entire day there. By nightfall you had been given enough money for the whole week. 

You were leaning on a cold brick wall and eating a sandwich when you saw someone drop a newspaper. Curiously, you grabbed it and were shocked by the headline. 

“Young woman sings in front of a bakery stealing every Texan’s heart. Who is the mysterious singer to whom many would empty their pockets for a show? 

You had been living in an apartment above The Rosemary Club, the place you worked at now. You sang almost every night and earned a lot of money and visitors for your boss, so he let you stay there. 

One night, you had a special visitor. He wasn’t there to see you specifically; he was working, just like you. Luther went everywhere his boss went, he was his bodyguard. You made eye contact a couple of times but never spoke on that evening. You couldn’t even look at him without cringing away. Not after what he did to Vanya. Five might say that she’s the bomb, but in your mind, that bomb was pretty much activated by Luther.He tried to talk to you but you avoided him as much as possible. 

“y/n! Wait, stop running away, God!” 

“What do you want, Luther?” you gave him a cold look.

“To talk to you? Isn’t that what normal people do after they haven’t seen each other for a long time?” he asks. 

“I don’t want to talk to you.” you said and ordered a drink. 

“Jesus, y/n, what's wrong with you?”

“Do I have to remind you that we’re here because of you?”

“Because of me? What do you mean, didn’t you see how Vanya literally destroyed the M-”

“Shut up. I don’t care.” you cut him off. “Have you met anyone else besides me, you stalker?”

“No.” he admitted. ”I tried searching for Allison but they haven’t found her yet.” 

“Right. Amazing. Five? No news about him either?” His expression softens. He knew about your relationship with Five, and how much you two meant for each other. 

“No, I’m really sorry. I don’t know where he is…” his voice only getting smaller when he saw the disappointment in your eyes.

You looked up from your drink and to the big man next you. “Then you can leave. I have to go get dressed.” You put your glass on the counter and left.

Your days in Dallas were easy. Life was always the same and you knew what to expect. Sometimes Luther and his boss would show up at the club and you would ignore each other. You sang, you were introduced to some people and you would make small talk with the bartender. Day after day, always missing your friends. Missing 2019. Missing Five. Your life was easy, but you were alone for the most part. You missed cuddling with Five before you went to sleep together and then waking up in his arms. You missed how he would come and pick you up after practise. How he would kiss you after every concert and tell you how proud he was of you. You missed him truly. 

The bow to the public mixed with a charismatic smile and a wave was how you always ended a good show. Walking off stage you rolled your eyes when you saw who came towards you. 

“There’s someone who would like to talk to you.” he said with a stupid smile planted on his face.

“I’m on break.” you tried to walk away. Luther grabbed your arm and spun you around so you would be facing him again. “Hey! What are you doing? Back off!”

“Believe me, y/n, you really should go talk to him” 

You eyed him suspiciously. “Well alright then.” you said sarcastically. “But keep your hands to yourself.” 

“Yeah, right, sorry.” he said and stepped to the side . “Come with me, he’s waiting outside.” he babbled before leading you to the main entrance of the club, one which neither of you used. This all seemed sketchy. If he was trying to kidnap you, I’d be no surprise. 

The air outside was cooler than usual. You crossed your arms and huffed. 

And then you saw him. Right there, alive and in front of you. He was well. He survived. 

He was still wearing his uniform, which was clean. He must've just arrived. 

You ran to him as fast your red heels allowed you to and he met you with a warm embrace. He still smelled exactly like himself. A day to him, months for you. Is this what it felt like for him when he was stuck in the future? You hugged him tight and inhaled his scent deeply trying to forget all these nights you cried, hoping he would come through the door and hug you. Hoping he would materialize in front of you like he did for his father’s funeral.

The man still looked young, but you knew damn well who he was. He wasn’t someone you’d forget that easily. Finally, he was here, with you. 

He pulled away and it almost pained you. It was crazy, of course, to think that after all this time you’d lose him again, but even as much as moving an inch scared you now that he was right here. 

“y/n.”

“Five”

Your lips melted together in the most awaited kiss of the century. Of all time maybe. His hands glued themselves to your waist again and you saw him perfectly in the dim light of the alley.

Your eyes were empty. You wanted to wipe your hands but the blood on them had dried already. 

“Five, please I need to wash my hands. I need to- I- I have to wash it all away- Please” 

He hated that he had to hear you beg and yet he couldn't stop. It’s for her own safety, it’s for our safety, he would think. 

“y/n we can’t stop now. Even 5 minutes could mean our deaths right now. Please understand” 

And you wanted to understand. You wanted to stay calm just like the rest, but they were trained. They’ve done such things before. You however, didn’t. Everytime you looked at your lap you saw her again. Laying there, lifeless. You saw the knife as it fell from your hands, making an awful sound when it hit the floor. Maybe if you’d wash them, the flashbacks would stop. 

“Please, I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t be like this. This is not- It’s not-” 

Your breath was uncontrolled. Everytime you closed your eyes, you saw her again. Everytime you would inhale, she would exhale for the last time, again, and again, and again. You were fully sobbing now. 

Vanya’s hand softly touched your shoulder from the back seat and you flinched. “Shh, it’s just me” she cooed “It’s just me” 

You tried to relax a bit and then spoke again, hoping to get it right this time.

“I’m a bad person, Five. I just killed an innocent woman and… and I have her blood all over my hands.” you looked at him to find he was already looking at you. Guilt and regret were visible on his face. “I’m a killer, Five.” you wept. 

He reached your cheek with one hand and wiped your tears away. “She wasn’t innocent” he stated. “She’s killed many people.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m any less of a killer” 

“Well, then. I’m a killer too. More or less than my siblings here. So we are all on the same team.” he spoke calmly, as if the Hargreeves discussed murder at the dinner table every evening. Thinking about it twice there’s a big chance they did, when the old man was still alive at least.

“But you killed to survive, Five. You had to. I didn’t but she’s dead now.”

He huffed in annoyance. She’s not used to this. Take it slowly, he thought.

“You had to, too, y/n. It was self defence. If it wasn’t her then… well then let’s not think about it” he finished. Then I would be the one dead, you added, but only in your head because you knew how much he hated thinking about anything bad happening to you. He wanted you safe. You wanted him safe.

“Okay then. But as soon as we’re in Dallas we’ll stop and get new clothes.” you started to come back to your senses again. Right. You need to get to the city and find a way to trick the Commision. Or maybe you needed to hide. Or just freshen up and get on the road again. You didn’t know exactly what you were going to do, but if anyone found the map Diego was holding in his lap right now, they’d know exactly what your first stop was going to be. The Rosemary Club.

[gohyuck]

concept: vietnam veteran!jeno lee x bartender!reader

warning: if i ever write this you can bet it will be pretty critical of the war, and will likely include mentions of ptsd, alcoholism, maybe smut? but maybe not, etc.

note: jeno being korean is definitely capitalized upon here for story-related reasons, but this does not mean anything about the reader’s race or ethnicity or anything. if i end up writing this fic it’ll take a ton of research, too (source: i read like 5 articles alone for this short blurb, from korean immigration to the u.s. to popular vodka in the 70s)

the year is 1973. it is january 27th, 1973, and you’re in southern texas bartending when president nixon announces that he has signed the paris peace accords. the u.s. is pretty much officially out of the war. you throw a washcloth over your shoulder and put away newly scrubbed out shot-glasses as the elated disk jockey stumbles over his words while speaking. he’s old. there are few young men on the radio. there are few young men anywhere. the boys are coming home, the aged voice crackles over the radio.

the shot glass in your hand slips, centimeters away from the shelf. it shatters. you’ll have to get the dustpan. there’s a new gash across your big toe, bleeding bright red. you need to start wearing tennis shoes on the job. you reach over and turn off the radio. the boys never should have had to leave. 

that night, you serve more cheering, excited, hopeful people than you have served in a long, long time. shouts of ‘more’, cries of ‘he’s coming back, he’s coming home!’ permeate the air around you. it’s nauseating. it’s so nauseating. you spend the next morning mopping up other people’s puke from the establishment corners. you spend the next night bent over the toilet in your cramped apartment yourself. 

the year is 1975. it is april 23rd, 1975, and you’re still in southern texas bartending, mostly because you have no way to leave the state. if you have to be in texas, it’ll always be austin. besides, you’ve gotten used to the steady stream of regulars that pass through, with the occasional new face that never returns. tourists. you love and hate them. some have stories to tell, and those are the good ones. some expect stories from you, and you can’t stand people like that. it’s no matter, though, not on april 23rd, 1975. you don’t meet any tourists then.

you meet him. and he’s peculiar, right off the bat. 

you know he isn’t new in town - that much is obvious - but he isn’t quite used to what austin is becoming, either. a vet. has to be. you’ve served vets before, of course you have, but something about this one... 

he’s so damn young. can’t be over a few years older than you are, if that. you shouldn’t be surprised, of course you shouldn’t: you’d done your fair share of protesting back in ‘68, tagging alongside your older cousins as they’d marched, screaming at the top of their lungs about being old enough to die but not old enough to vote. you must have been in middle school, then. they sent the boys off to die anyways.

he comes in midday, right after the lunch break locals have left. the place is almost empty, and your feet are absolutely aching from the recent rush, but he looks just a little lost (and you’d be one hell of a liar if you don’t admit that you quite like the way he looks) and, before you know it, you’re calling him over from the front door.

“sit up here at the bar, sir,” you give him the best customer service smile you can muster. “it’s the best way to experience good old southern hospitality.”

he says nothing, only lets his eyes bore into yours. after a moment too long, he nods slowly, shucking his light jacket off and leaving it on the coat rack at the entrance. his black hair is getting just a little long, covering his eyes almost entirely, and you realize that he probably hasn’t had a haircut in a while. his steps to the bar are slow, deliberate, but you don’t mind waiting for him.

“just vodka,” he says, voice soft and lilting and very, very slightly accented. it’s low, deep and likely once full of life, but he’s reserved now. subdued. it might be because of the fact that, by now, it’s only the two of you left in the joint. “two shots.”

“a name? for the tab or for payment.” you ask, though you really don’t need to. not now, anyways. he’s just gotten here. still, you don’t know how drunk he’s going to get, so maybe it’s best that you ask now, and not later. you ignore the fact that you’re only asking simply because you want to know. 

“jeno lee.” his response is curt, emotionless. his dark eyes meet yours again. he’s korean, and you have to admit that you don’t meet very many korean people in your part of the world. the immigration act had only been enacted back in ‘65, and, even then, most people traveling in ended up in california or new york. not texas. never texas. explains the accent, too. not a hint of texan in it.

you grab two shot glasses from behind you with one hand, procuring a bottle of wolfschmidt in the other. mr. jeno lee offers you the tiniest hint of a smile once you’re done pouring, and that’s that. before you can ask him anything else - though you don’t know if he even wants you to do so - a regular walks in through the door, and you busy yourself with finding the whiskey she likes. 

once you’ve served her, you turn around to ask your intriguing new customer if he’d like anything else, water perhaps, only to find two empty glasses and a few crumpled up dollar bills on the counter. there’s a nickel in the otherwise empty tip jar. there are no other traces of the quiet, handsome stranger, and you can’t help but feel as if you’ll never see him again. you aren’t quite sure why the thought fills you with an unexplainable sadness.

it’s no matter. you push it aside. you don’t know him, and he doesn’t know you. hell, he doesn’t even know your name. by the time the after dinner rush hits and all the men come in from the nearby strip clubs, you’re already over jeno lee and the great big nothing you know of him. you wipe down the counters, mop and dust the floors as needed, clean the glasses, greet the bartender who has the shift after yours, and finally get off your goddamn feet once you get home. you don’t think of him once.  out of sight, out of mind.

that’s why it’s so much more shocking when he comes in at the exact same time on april 24th, 1975, and orders the exact same thing. 

explaining the concepts tag: these are ideas i’ve had that i’m considering turning into fics! i post them under concepts to get y’alls opinions. let me know if you want to see this as a fic someday!