#if your ever in Texas. Spring is a wonderful time to come

[lilybug-02]

Happy Spring 2023 - Part 3! 🌺🪴💐

This is a showcase of the Texas Bluebonnet, also known as the Texas State flower. Wild Bluebonnets only bloom in the early spring and find themselves all along highways and pastures across the state in patches that can span acres. Thanks to the Texas Highway Department and many other influential figures, these and other wildflowers are protected by the State. It’s even illegal to pick them without proper cause. Something I found out recently, was that they can come in a variety of colors, such as pink, red, and even strait white, although these are quite rare.

[itwasntimethatdidit40]

Merry Christmas, baby.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!reader Rating: just a little tiny bit of smut so still +18 but it’s mostly a huge pile of angst and fluff soooo Words Count: 10669 😵‍💫 Tags: POV second person, reader wears dresses, skirts, blouses and heels, she uses make up, she’s a journalist and a writer, no physical description of her is given besides having hair, angst, fluff, friends to lovers, slow burn, loss of a parent, infidelity, divorce, mention of food, alcohol consumption, both reader and Pike are bad at feelings, swearing, slurs, dirty talk, quarrels, reconciliations, funeral, sharing a bed, kissing, sad thoughts, casual encounters, mention of coffee, mention of spring break activities, geography probably a bit random (but I looked at the maps, don't jump down my throat, I did research and I've actually been to Boston many years ago, I tried my best lol), brief mention of Teresa. I hope I haven't forgotten anything, if so I'll add it immediately. A/N: Written for @pedrostories Secret Santa event, hello @letsgobarbs, I’m your Secret Santa! 🤶 Happy Christmas Eve, I hope you'll have a wonderful holiday season! 🎄 I hope you enjoy this story and I hope you find the angst, yearning and pining you wanted. Among the characters you had indicated as favorites there was Pike and I liked the idea of ​​trying to write him for the first time, he is so sweet and cute and he deserves to be happy, I hope I gave him an ending worthy of him 🥹 I apologize if you find any mistakes, English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so I did it all with just one pair of stupid and tired eyes 😵‍💫

A huge thanks goes to all the lovely people who supported me through the process while I was having a full crisis about everything in this fic 😂 @baronessvonglitter @almostempty @arcanefox207 @joelmillerisapunk I love you all, happy holidays 🥰

1990

“So what do you think?” 

“Um...you're good” You've just heard the ugliest Take on Me cover ever, but you can't tell the guy standing in front of you and looking at you with hopeful eyes. 

Marcus is your best friend, you've known him for a couple of years, since both of you were two dorky freshmen at your new school. You were looking for the literature room and wandering lost in the hallways when Marcus asked if you needed help. You bonded right away because you didn't know anyone else, you had just moved to Sacramento because of your father's job and he was from Texas, so it had seemed natural to lean on each other.

Over time you had become such good friends that he had met your parents, he would often stay for dinner, and your dad would let him use your garage to rehearse with his band. 

Marcus had put up flyers at school and enlisted two other boys, Timmy and Dave, who became the guitarist and keyboardist of Rocket Baby Doll. The name of the band was terrible, they were terrible, but you had never had the courage to tear them down in the face of Marcus's enthusiasm, he was sure that by continuing to rehearse they would make great progress. 

With his smooth talk, Marcus had managed to convince the committee to let them play at the freshmen's Christmas dance.

“You'll see that one day we'll be on the cover of Rolling Stone,” Marcus joked. Or at least you hoped he was joking because otherwise you wouldn't know how to talk him out of it. 

Marcus was a dreamer and he liked to do it big. He wanted to be a musician, or maybe an FBI agent, he told you. Two careers that had nothing to do with each other, but you knew that if anyone could afford to have ambitions it was him. Marcus was tenacious, persistent, dedicated, and never afraid to work hard to get what he wanted.  He certainly wasn't going to end up on the cover of Rolling Stone, but in your heart you were certain he was going to accomplish something important.

He was the kind of boy mothers liked, in fact yours loved him. When you needed math tutoring, he would come to your house totally for free and explain whatever you didn’t understand.

When Molly Preston wanted to exclude you from the winter dance because her ex-boyfriend, Ryder, had asked you out, he had been the one to give her a speech.

When you had a bad day Marcus would take you to get your favorite ice cream, you would talk for hours, and in the end he was the only one who could cheer you up.

Whatever problems you had, Marcus was there for you landing an helping hand. 

You knew your mother not too secretly hoped you would get together but it never happened, Marcus was your friend, just a great friend.

“Come on, my mom made cookies for everyone,” you told him as he continued to fantasize about what you might do. You would be their manager and you would both become rich and famous. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground, even though he was a very good student and even had better grades than you.

You were 17 years old, your whole lives ahead of you, and you hoped that you will remain friends for many years to come.

_____________________________________________

1993

“What do you mean there is only one room available! We had booked two!” 

Marcus had yelled at the front desk of a motel where you stopped for the night. 

The owner, a rather creepy guy with a long scar on his right cheek, slumps in his shoulders, heedless “If you want number 12 is free, otherwise you can take your asses somewhere else for all I care.”

Marcus was fuming. 

It was spring break, any hotel was totally booked, and the possibilities were already significantly reduced given your pockets. 

You didn't even want to come; you had just broken up with Derek, your college boyfriend, and were back at your parents' house with the intention of spending your vacation there healing your wounds. Vegetating on the couch, reading books, watching movies, just relaxing. That was what you wanted to do. But Marcus had insisted, “Erik, Alice, Kate and Robert are in San Diego, let's join them!” 

You had shaken your head and declined “No way, I've seen enough wild college parties and besides, I'm not really in the mood.” 

“Oh come on, you don't want to spend Spring Break crying over that jerk,” he had said, shrugging and looking at you with his big brown puppy-dog eyes. 

“Marcus, I really don't feel like it.” 

“Come on, please do it for me! You'll see we'll have fun, they're nice!” Surrounding yourself with drunk and stoned 20-year-olds was the least of your desires. 

But on the other hand you felt you couldn't say no to him, it had been months since you had seen each other, your relationships had been reduced to long letters and phone calls telling each other about each other's schools.

You had chosen different colleges, Marcus had been accepted at Berkeley in California and you were at Boston University. You had changed coast, climate, everything. You were content but adjusting the first months had not been easy, you felt homesick and you missed your best friend. You were happy for him, you had known since your senior year that you were going to separate but that hadn't made it easy for you. 

You had only seen each other in person at Thanksgiving.

He had been forced to go to his relatives in Nevada for Christmas.

So you got dragged down to San Diego, because deep down Marcus was right, brooding all vacation about the relationship with Derek would not be good for you. You had had other guys before him but Derek had been special, until you found out he was cheating on you. You cried for hours on the phone with Marcus and he listened to you the whole time so maybe you owed him a little too.

After insisting on getting at least a room refund, Marcus had turned to you displeased “apparently we have no other choice.” 

“We'll adjust” you had smiled, but you couldn't deny that you were a little nervous. 

Once in the room he, too, seemed self-conscious. 

There was a double bed with a hideous floral bedspread in the middle of the room, brownish carpeting on the floor, dingy pictures hanging on the walls, and an old dresser on the opposite side of the bed with a rickety TV on it.

A smell of cheap deodorant with a musty undertone wafted around. It was the worst room you had ever set foot in, but at this point there was nothing you could do but make it okay. Sleeping in the car didn't seem so appealing.

You had set your bags down and looked at each other awkwardly “This room is awful,” Marcus had whispered, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand “I'm sorry, it didn't look that bad from the brochure.” 

“It's not your fault, I bet those pictures were taken at least 20 years ago” you had laughed ��it will do for one night” 

You had retrieved your pajamas from the suitcase and went to the bathroom. The light blue tiles made it look like a hospital, there was an old plastic curtain in the shower and the sink looked like it had been through a war but at least it looked clean. There was a strong smell of disinfectant that made you a little nauseous. You had changed quickly and returned to your room to Marcus who was sitting on the bed intent on calling his parents “Yes mom, everything is fine, we will be back tomorrow. Yes, sure, don't worry I'll definitely say hello to her, she's in her room now” You had noticed that he had not said anything about your misadventure, you had sat down smiling on the opposite side of the bed trying to be silent. 

Marcus had rolled his eyes closing the call “she is so old-fashioned.” 

You had laughed “I find her lovely” 

Marcus had chuckled “we'd better sleep, we have a lot of driving tomorrow. Are you okay with that side?”

“Yes, it’s fine” you had nodded ”however I'd rather get this bedspread out of the way, it gives me nightmares even when awake” 

Marcus had observed it agreeing that yes, it was rather eerie.

You had taken it off and laid it on the dresser before slipping under cold, scratchy and wrinkled sheets.

You looked at each other and burst out laughing, the situation was comical to say the least. “God, I think I won't forget this bed for a long time,” Marcus had said. 

“It feels like being in a burlap sack.” You had laughed.

“Could you not squirm like that?” 

“Sorry, I'm just looking for ways to be comfortable,” you had said, ”Mattress is lumpy.” 

You had laid on your side with your back to him and closed your eyes, trying to sleep. 

“So, did you have a good time?” you had heard Marcus whisper.

“Yes” you had replied “thank you” And it was true, his friends were really nice. You had bonded with the girls and exchanged addresses and phone numbers “you were right, I needed a vacation”

“I know, I'm always right” he had sentenced from the other end of the bed.  

You had turned to look at him "oh sure, like the other night when we ended up at that beach party and you said it was allowed and then we had to run away because the police were coming?”

“It was just a little misjudgment!” He retorted.

You had burst out laughing again “come on, sleep, Mr I know everything”

Marcus had turned off the lamp on the bedside table, next to the phone with which he had just called his mother “Hey...I need to tell you something” you had heard him say. 

“What?” the tone had suddenly changed and you felt confused, you looked over your shoulder at him in the dark. 

“I kissed Alice the other night” he seemed awkward in telling you and you didn't understand why.

“Oh. Well, good for you. She's a lovely girl” he was your friend, you were happy for him. 

If it weren't for the fact that you secretly hoped he would kiss you. You'd been thinking about it for a few days, ever since you'd seen him come out of the water while you were at the beach.

It had seemed to you that everything had started moving in slow motion, your eyes glued to his tanned skin, to his broad shoulders, to the way the water slid over his chest in little droplets that died on the waistband of his swimsuit. It was a feeling you had never experienced before in five years of knowing him. You had never seen Marcus as anything more than a friend, but in that moment, with his hair disheveled, his skin wet, a smile plastered on his face as he told you and the others that ocean was great, he had seemed like a vision, and you had felt your cheeks heat up. 

Where on earth that attraction came from you didn't know, but it had hit you hard and clear, like a bump on the head that had suddenly awakened you. You had convinced yourself that your brain was doing this to protect you from painful memories with Derek, lingering on your closest friend who had never let you down. Your trust in men was at its lowest, and Marcus had always reassured you, kept you out of trouble, and he was most reliable guy you had ever known.

He said he would do something and he always, unfailingly did it. You could not say the same about Derek or any other guy you had ever been with.

You had tried to chase that feeling away, burying it in the corner of your mind for all the following days; you didn't want to ruin the friendship between you, and you were pretty sure he didn't feel the same way about you.

Sure, you thought you kissed him on your 18s birthday while you were drunk, but the next morning you were so ashamed that you hadn't even told him about it, pretended you didn't remember anything and that it had never happened. Marcus had done the same, and everything had ended there. Two years had passed since that night, you had gone to college, you had both had more or less long relationships.

That one kiss was now so far away that you had listed it among “once-in-a-lifetime mistakes.”

"I wanted to tell you, that's it. Friends tell each other everything, right?"

“Yes, of course, you can tell me anything, I’m happy for you” you replied 

You had listened to Marcus talk about the girls he liked dozens of times and you had never cared, you would have certainly forgotten it, it was just a passing crush, you told yourself. That annoyance you felt, that bitter taste in your throat, would disappear after a night's sleep. Your friendship was more important, you wouldn't have ruined it just because your brain had thought it interesting to make it something more.

Yet when you had tried to sleep all you had seen was Marcus kissing Alice. You had not seen them, fortunately, but it was not a hard scene to imagine, and unfortunately it was now implanted in your brain. His strong arms holding her, his soft lips resting on hers, her surrounding his neck with her arms, her pelvis rubbing against his. Suddenly you couldn't stand it. You had narrowed your eyes, cursing your creative mind, grunting in frustration. 

“Hey, is everything okay?” had asked Marcus from the other side of the bed.

You had lied, of course, but you had kept brooding until you fell asleep exhausted by the workings of your brain.

In the morning you had woken up confused, not at all rested, and in his arms.

Your face was resting on his chest next to your hand. How had you ended up there like that? You didn't know. You felt like you didn't know anything anymore. 

He was blissfully asleep. He seemed unaware of anything as your throat was dry, your head ached, and your pussy throbbed. Yes, throbbing, desperately. The warmth of his body, the scent of his skin, that knowledge you felt inside that this was exactly what you wanted and you couldn't even quantify how long you had wanted it.

And the panic that had seized you immediately afterward. You were convinced it was a mistake, the most terrible mistake you could make. So why did it feel so right? Why did his body feel like it was made for you? Oh no, no you couldn't allow that. Certainly he had no idea whatsoever about the situation, there was no way he was aware and let you do it, it was all your fault. 

You were going to ruin everything, your friendship, your relationship with the one man who really seemed to understand and support you. And for what? To fuck him once? It wasn't going to work between you romantically. You were going to have to spend two more years away seeing each other only during the holidays to begin with, and then you were both stubborn, too proud...no, it was wrong, you didn't care what your body told you, you had to let your brain prevail.

You slowly slipped away, back to your side of the bed, practically holding your breath, cursing yourself and your heart that wouldn't stop hammering in the middle of your chest.

He had woken up shortly after, acted as usual, getting up, stretching in his T-shirt and basketball shorts, mumbled good morning to you and locked himself in the bathroom. 

Your eyes had slid lasciviously over his body, stealing glances of his exposed skin between his T-shirt and shorts, of his broad shoulders stretching the fabric, of his thighs...

All while you wanted to sink into a black hole and disappear forever. You sank your face into the pillow to keep yourself from screaming. 

And what was worse was that you had to carry the burden of what you felt alone because the person you would normally talk to about it was the one you were longing for. Wonderful, a wonderful situation. 

When he had come out of the bathroom, with his beautiful smile and that rough voice that he always had early in the morning you almost lost control. You were about to beg him to join you in bed. Ugh, your 20s, uncontrollable, stupid, senseless hormones.

“What are you waiting for? Come on, go get dressed, we have to leave,” he had told you, in the same friendly and vaguely mocking tone as always. 

“Oh. yes, thank you, I promise I will be quick.” You had stammered.

You got up, grabbed some random clothes from your suitcase, your beauty case and went to the bathroom to shower and change. He would be ready in 10 minutes at most so he would always let you go to the bathroom first, to give you time to do your makeup and fix your hair. Marcus knew that about you, too, and he was okay with that. 

You closed the door behind you, feeling the tears stinging your eyes. You had managed to hold them back until that moment, but in the shower, covered by his of the water, they had flowed copiously and salty down your cheeks. 

____________________________________________

2000

“Hey! How are you! My goodness, long time no see!” 

You had met him at the supermarket, as you were going around the shelves intent on shopping for your mother. 

You were back at your parents' house for Thanksgiving with your husband, John. 

The last person you thought you would see was him. 

“Marcus!” you had squeaked.

“I am fine! How are you? And Danielle?” 

Your mother had taken it upon herself to inform you that he had also married, had no children, and had become a detective. 

“Danielle is just fine, she is right there down the aisle picking potatoes according to my mother's exact instructions,” he had rolled his eyes, chuckling.

Damn, you had thought, he's breathtakingly handsome. 

You hoped that in all the years you had lost touch with each other he would have lost at least some of his hair like his father, but apparently he had not inherited that gene. His hair was thick and healthy as usual, he wore a gray T-shirt under a black leather jacket and a pair of dark blue jeans. You hated the way he could put on two random things and look so damn perfect while you felt like you had spent your whole life in front of your closet wondering what to wear. And even more you hated his smile, so friendly and sweet, that it hadn't changed at all. 

He seemed genuinely glad to see you. 

You had lost touch with each other after graduation, despite the advent of cell phones, computers, and email. Your friendship had survived handwritten letters, postcards, prepaid phone cards but still crumbled eventually. You were on the opposite coast, intent on your master's degree, dreaming of becoming a writer; he was hooked on a career in law enforcement. 

The letters had become fewer and fewer, as had the phone calls, and eventually what was there had simply slipped away as the months passed, the commitments increased, and each of you tried to become the adult you had dreamed of being.

You had thought it was much better this way, you had stifled your feelings for him for another four years before accepting that nothing would ever happen. You had dated other guys in the meantime, but Marcus had always remained in your mind as the perfect guy you could never have. It was only when you had met John that you had allowed yourself to think that maybe it could work with someone who was not your old friend. He was understanding, sweet, supportive, present and caring with you. John was a really good guy and so you had finally decided to marry him. He had asked you one spring day at the Public Garden, while you were eating a lobster sandwich under a tree in front of the pond, watching the swans. Your offices were close by, so you tried to spend your lunch break together as often as you could. You had gotten a job at the Boston Globe, were in charge of the wedding column, and wrote romance novels in your spare time, sending manuscripts left and right in the hope that some editor would notice them. John was a stockbroker, pragmatic, punctual and very thorough in his work as much as he was sweet and attentive with you. 

“How about we get married?” he simply had said to you, with his mouth full. You had laughed, thought he was joking, until you noticed his serious and hopeful look and exclaimed “oh my God, yes!” throwing your sandwich in the air and wrapping your arms around his neck. That was all you wished for. You had moved in together in a beautiful house downtown, not very big but lovely, you had fallen in love with it as soon as you saw it. It was bright and warm, the right place to start your life with John.

You had, of course, sent an invitation to Marcus as well, but he had declined, saying he was very busy with work. You had kind of tied it on your finger and so you had decided that he might as well get out of your life after all. Times change, people change, all I can do is move on and try to forget how I feel about him by devoting myself to my relationship with John, you thought.

Now that you had him in front of you again though, he looked the same as he always did, only grown. And your heart had skipped a beat the instant you recognized his voice greeting you.

“How long do you plan to stay?” you had asked out of pure courtesy. 

“About a week, we were able to take a few days to relax a bit. We're always working like crazy, you know, we both needed to get away for a while. How about you?” 

“Yes, us too, by the way if you remember Sunday is my father's birthday and my mother really wanted us to be there.” 

“I guess. By the way, I'm sorry. My mother told me when we arrived.” 

Your father had been ill for several months and unfortunately there was little left to do at that point. He was slowly fading away and it would probably be the last Thanksgiving you would spend together.

“I thank you. Oh here's John. John this is Marcus, an old friend of mine. Marcus, this is John, my husband.”

“Nice to meet you, Marcus,” John had said, shaking his hand. 

“Honey, I'm done, shall we go?” had chirped Danielle's voice as she approached you. 

“Yes love, but first let me introduce you to an old friend of mine and her husband” Marcus had told her softly. 

“Oh it's you! Marcus has told me several times about you! It's nice to finally meet you in person.”

Danielle was beautiful, dark hair, blue eyes and delicate features, a little nose that looked as if it had been drawn by an artist, full lips, high cheekbones and a well-proportioned chin. Her voice was melodious and sweet and she looked at you with an excited and surprised expression, " He didn't tell me you were so pretty!" 

“Oh, thank you, you are too,” you had said, slightly embarrassed by such kindness. At that point John had held you proudly, as if you were his greatest prize. His arm had wrapped around your waist, and his eyes looked at you lovingly "didn't she? I'm lucky that she married me." 

Danielle had laughed graciously and shook his hand introducing herself, while you and Marcus looked at each other almost studying each other, as if you were both trying to figure out how happy you actually were in your marriages.

That habit of worrying about each other had not gone away; after all, you had been close friends for quite a few years, and your friendship had faded not because of a quarrel, but because of distance and becoming busy adults. And because you had to get over the crush you had on him, of course, but you had never told him that. 

“Well, we have to go now, anyway come and see us if you can. My mother would love to see you again,” Marcus had said before offering to push the cart full of food that his wife had left beside you and start toward the checkouts. 

“We'll try, thank you,” you had nodded. You definitely should have helped your mother, tried to soothe her at least a little from the strain of caring for your father 24/7; you didn't know how much more time would be left for other things. 

You had watched them walk off together from behind, down the canned food aisle where you had retrieved the ready-made cranberry sauce you would never have time to prepare. 

They were a good-looking couple, really, attractive, well-dressed, Danielle looking impeccable in a pair of jeans that bandaged her while highlighting her curves, a red blouse that matched her complexion, and a pair of vertiginous heels on which you didn't even know how to walk. She seemed to do it without any problem. 

“We should go too, honey” John's voice had brought you back down to earth. 

_________________________________________

Once home John had announced to your mother that you had met your old friend at the supermarket, and of course she was thrilled, “Oh, he's such a nice guy, I saw him and his wife the other day walking downtown, they are such a nice couple, aren't they?” 

John had agreed, taking a beer from the fridge “really” 

“Well, like you, of course” your mother had added, looking at you softly. 

And it was true, you were fine with John, he was a good person, a hard worker, he treated you like a princess. What more could you want? 

Yet since you had seen him again, Marcus's face had made room in your mind. The intrigued way he had looked at you, as if trying to understand everything that had happened to you in the years you had not been in touch, the way his arms were reaching out to embrace you when John had arrived, a barely imperceptible movement that only you had noticed because you knew him better than the palm of your hand, the dimple that had popped up on his cheek as he smiled at you, the usual one you had grown to love so much.

You had pinched the bridge of your nose as you tried to drive it from your mind “Are you okay love?” had asked John immediately. 

“Yes, I just have a little headache, I'll get something later,” you had lied, hurrying to put away the rest of the groceries. 

What annoyed you the most was that it seemed like not a single day had passed since you were in your twenties and you had woken up hugging him in the bed of that dingy motel. It was absurd. You had worked so hard to move on and now it felt like you were back where you started. 

You couldn't let that happen, you wouldn't let your marriage be disrupted by a casual 10-minute meeting with him. 

You would not have gone to his house, no matter how much you would have liked to see his mother who had always been so kind to you. 

You had other things to think about anyway; your father was stuck in a hospital bed that you had managed to get him to be more comfortable. He had been put in the guest room on the ground floor, next to the bathroom, he couldn't do the stairs, and it was also easier for your mother to accompany him. The strong and generous man he had been was wearing out before your eyes, and it was a terribly painful image. You knew he had little time left, and you didn't want to waste it chasing the ghosts of the past when you had a husband who was helping you and hugging you every night trying to lessen your pain. 

Your Thanksgiving dinner had been unique to say the least, each of you shuttling from the dining room to your father's to spend some time with him, making sure he had everything he needed, helping him eat and drink. You had marveled at how gentle and patient John was with your dad, the big man you had married, one with two shoulders like a football player, feeding your father fruit jelly almost more gracefully than you. 

You knew how fond he was of your dad, they had hit it off right away, but you didn't know how much he was willing to sacrifice for him. You were moved.

___________________________________________

Your father was gone four days later. You and John were supposed to leave for Boston the next morning instead you had to call in to work, cancel your flight, call your trusty neighbor Marge to ask her to look at your house, pick up your mail, and water your plants. 

You were crushed and at the same time overwhelmed with bureaucracy so you couldn't stop. You had forgotten to eat breakfast that morning, got dressed in a hurry to go to the funeral home to deliver the suit with which you had decided to bury your father, then went to do some paperwork with the insurance company and finally to the church to arrange with the pastor the time of the service and the proceedings. When you left the church you felt an emptiness in your stomach, your head was spinning, you had eaten barely a sandwich in the last two days. 

You knew you were about to collapse, saw a café across the street from the church, and went inside to get a croissant and cappuccino to go. 

When you came out you found yourself in front of Danielle. She was so sorry, of course your mother had informed Marcus's mother and they would be attending the funeral. Danielle hugged you as if you were her sister, telling you that she understood you because she too had lost her father a few years earlier and even though you didn't know each other well you could have called her if you needed anything. 

You had thanked her and headed for the car, locked yourself in and took a couple of minutes to chug your croissant and drink your cappuccino. At least partially regenerated from the late breakfast you had headed back home, where John and your mother were waiting for you.

In the car you had been thinking about how kind Danielle had been and how lucky Marcus was to be with her.

The next day you had put on a sober black suit that you used for the office and probably wouldn't be able to wear again after that day, put on just enough makeup, helped John put on his tie, and headed for church with him and your mom. 

All three of you were exhausted, grieving, trying to hold the pieces together as best you could with each other's help but your dad's absence was hard to bear. You wished you could have woken up and found it had been just a nightmare, you wished you could have hugged him and talked to him and he, as he had always done, would have found the words you needed most.

There was only one other person who could soothe your worries in the same way your dad could, and that person was Marcus. 

John had been able to be there for you anyway, with actions more than words, taking tasks to take away from you, relieving you of burdens you could not carry alone, and for that you were infinitely grateful. He was a good husband. 

After the service, under his arm, you left the church behind your mother. You had lost count of the number of people who had come to hug you, faces you had never seen, work colleagues of your father's whom you had never met, old childhood friends, the church was full of people who had come to remember him fondly. This pleased you, but it was strange to you at the same time. You wished you had some time to yourself, alone, to try to catch your breath and rationalize at least some of what had happened, that blender of emotions that had shaken and sucked you in. 

You had made your way to the cemetery, walking along the path that led to the family grave where your grandparents were buried you had felt like you were in a muffled bubble where everything moved in slow motion, barely sensing John's presence beside you. 

When you had arrived, you had looked up for only a moment and before you had seen Marcus's. You had not noticed his presence in the church, busy as you were with hugging and greeting, you had seen only his mother but he had remained in the background, respecting your grief. Just as you wished others had done. There was nothing more to be said, he always knew what you needed, no matter how many years had passed, he could still read you like an open book just like when at 18 he had realized that your highest aspiration was to become a writer without even the need to make it explicit in words. 

His eyes were swollen and reddened; it was obvious that he was moved. Beside him was Danielle with a pair of dark glasses covering her face, clutching his arm elegantly and dignifiedly. 

You had smiled weakly at him, thanking him with your eyes, and he had smiled back, looking at you with the sweetest, sorriest eyes I had seen that day. 

___________________________________________

You had stayed behind to watch the final burial operations, while John had driven your mother back to the car, who had burst into convulsive tears, crushed by the realization that she had lost forever the man she had loved most in the world. 

You had felt a hand barely graze your shoulder, you had turned around and saw Marcus standing there on the grass “hey” As soon as you had seen him the impulse to hug him had come to you spontaneously, he had welcomed you into his arms, stroking your head, wrapping you against his chest, trying to comfort you. 

Being close to him still felt like home, his warmth immediately made you feel calmer, less alone, and not that John couldn't do that but with Marcus it was different. He had always been different in a way that was impossible to explain but that you felt hammering hard in your heart.

“Thank you,” you had whispered, with the tears you had finally allowed yourself to shed wetting your cheeks and his shirt. 

“Don't mention it,” he had whispered, continuing to hold you close. 

You had lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away and asking where Danielle was. 

"She went home with my mom. I stayed in case you needed anything.” 

“It's okay, thank you, there was no need,” you stammered lyingly. Yes you needed him, now more than ever, and he knew it well. 

“Your mother and John?” 

“Aunt Maggie drove them home, they left my mom's car with me.”

“Do you want me to drive?” she had asked and all you could do was nod ”please. But then how are you going to get back?” 

“I'll call Danielle, don't worry” he had encircled your waist with an arm as he walked you to the car. He had opened the door and helped you get in, even buckled your seat belt no matter how hard you had tried to insist you could do it yourself. 

Marcus did not spare himself when it came to caring for others. 

He had climbed up on the driver's side and in a rush had hugged you back, there, inside the car, whispering, “You don't know how sorry I am, baby. Your father was a great man.” 

You had looked at him gratefully, amid tears that had begun to flow profusely again "thank you" 

He had kissed you, right after that. And the instant his lips had rested on yours, you had felt that you could not help yourself no matter how hard you had tried to bury your feelings all those years. There was something inexplicable that united you, a way of understanding each other that needed no words, as if you were made to recognize each other, to see inside each other's souls. You had read in his eyes that day in the supermarket how much he had missed you, and he had read the same in yours, and just before that you had felt the same need to have him near, in spite of John, Danielle, and anything else that told you it was wrong. Deep inside you had always known it was right, you had felt it from the moment you first met him. You had been crowing for years about people talking about soul mates, meetings of destiny, and things like that. But now you knew you had felt it. His soft lips on yours were like honey to your soul, you wished you could sink into that feeling, drown in that sea and never rise again.

You couldn't leave John though. Not after you had built a life together in Boston, not after he had supported and cared for you all those days. Not after all he had done for you. 

As much as it hurt to do so, you pulled away from his lips. “I’ve always thought about you, all these years,” he said. “I’m sorry, you know, I didn’t realize it before, that maybe we could be something more. I never told you, but I remembered that kiss we shared when we were 18 very well.” Marcus was a torrent of words and was saying everything you’d always wanted to hear. “And I remember the night in that motel, too, how you held me in your sleep. I���” You knew he was about to say something like “I love you” “I’ve always loved you,” and so you cut him off. “Marcus.” He paused, his mouth half open as he looked at you in shock. “It’s too late. We can’t. Maybe there was a chance a few years ago, but now? We’re both married, we have responsibilities, we have to be realistic. It’s not fair to Danielle and John. And I have a job and a life in Boston, I can’t just leave everything all of a sudden.”

“But I…” and you knew he was about to say those words again. “Please don’t say that. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

Marcus had fallen silent, looking down at his hands draped over his lap, and then said sadly, “I understand.”

You had just lost your father and now you were losing him too. It wasn’t fair, but it was the only thing to do. “Take me home, please.” He would have started the car without saying anything, driving to your house without looking at you again, perhaps afraid that he wouldn’t be able to let you go if he ever laid eyes on you again. 

You got out of the car just saying thank you, without hugging him because you knew it would have hurt even more.

____________________________________

2008

When John had told you that you should move to Washington DC, you had not taken it well. You did not want to leave Boston, the bright home where you had begun to build your new life, that city that had welcomed you. Starting all over again somewhere else, in a city you had never been to, seemed too much. 

In the end, however, you had accepted it; leaving John seemed even worse. And he had continued to be a good husband, so you saw no reason to part with him.

After all, he had received a good promotion, he had rented a house where you had found a familiar light again, it had big windows, high ceilings, big rooms. John made good money and had tried to accommodate you in everything. 

He had made it worth it all the way.

You had been struggling a bit to fit into the editorial staff of the new newspaper you had found work for. You were aiming for the Washington Post, but they had totally bounced you, which had been no small disappointment to digest. 

However, after all, your life had regained some meaning. 

It was now six months since you had moved, you hadn't heard from Marcus in eight years. And this time it was not because of distance, but because it had really hurt you to find out that he felt something too but it never seemed to be the right time for you. It would have been in 1993 perhaps, if you had had courage, if you had taken the risk of exploring your feelings together. He hadn't had the guts to tell you anything, you were too afraid, and when you had found common ground it had immediately collapsed. 

John had noticed that something was wrong, even he knew you well enough to know that it pained you not to hear from your friend again, and at times he had even urged you to call him. You had told him that he had said something unpleasant about Danielle while you were in the car and you had felt sorry for her, from there you had started to argue. It was a really boorish excuse and you were pretty sure John hadn't bought it but had played it off for the sake of quiet life. 

“Can you stop by the bank to deposit this check this morning?” he had told you that morning before leaving the house. You were sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and enjoying your day off. 

“Sure,” you had answered him, ”I'll go there before I go to the laundry to pick up my dress for tonight.” 

“Mmm the burgundy dress with that dizzying neckline?” he had told you as he leaned over to give you a kiss 

“Just that one” you had smiled as you returned the kiss and caressed his cheek ”you like it huh?”

“I'm looking forward to tonight” he had chuckled before leaving the house with his briefcase ”I'll be home at 7 o'clock okay?”

“Perfect, I'll be ready” you had thrown him a kiss and then curled up in your chair, finishing your coffee and admiring the view of the waking city outside. 

It was your anniversary, and he was going to take you to dinner at a French restaurant you had heard about in enthusiastic tones from your discerning colleague who was a food and wine critic. 

You had dressed quietly, gone out to do your chores, had a manicure appointment, then gone to pick up your dress at the dry cleaners and finally to the bank. 

As soon as you had left the bank you had bumped into a guy. 

You had looked up and been stunned. 

Marcus.

How was that possible? 

“Oh shit,” he had exclaimed.

His hair was slightly longer, he had grown a mustache and a beard but it was him, there was no doubt about it, you would have recognized him in a thousand. 

"What are you doing here?" you had asked him, widening your eyes, without a hello or how are you or anything else, you were too shocked. 

He was the last person you expected to see on your anniversary. 

Marcus had brushed his hand behind his neck, the gesture he always made when he was embarrassed “I got a big promotion” in a tone as if to apologize for existing in the same state as you, in the same city as you, for coexisting in the same environment as you.

“Whatever...I have to go, anyway, have a nice life,” you had tried to say quickly, to disengage yourself from that surreal situation. 

You had already turned your back on him when you heard him say “no wait...please...would you like to have a cup of coffee?”

You had turned silently to look at him. He couldn't have been serious. Yet he was.

And looking into those big brown pleading eyes, for some reason you had not been able to say no.

“All right,” you had replied with a shrug, ”I'll give you half an hour, then I'll have to go home.”

You went to sit in a café around the corner and ordered a cappuccino.

"So how are you?" you asked absentmindedly. 

“Danielle and I broke up last spring.” 

“Oh. I'm sorry.” It was like a blade through the chest to hear his voice again, to hear him say that he was single again and that his marriage was over. Somehow it made you feel guilty even though after eight years it was unlikely that the main reason for their breakup was you. 

“Yeah...she wanted children and for a while we tried but...” 

“Marcus please, I don't care, it's your business because it's over,” you cut off. 

You didn't have to get involved again. When you had thought back to your father's death and how he had confessed right afterwards you had been angry with him. Why had he done it at that time when you were so particularly vulnerable? It wasn't fair. 

"Sorry I-" he had babbled.  

“Never mind, never mind,” you had interrupted him again with a hand gesture. “Look, let's talk straight once and for all” you didn't know where all that aggression was coming from but it was growing inside you inexorably, like an infection ”why the hell are we here?” 

He had lowered his gaze to his cappuccino, then brought it back to you and stared at you in a way that made you feel naked and helpless. He still had an effect on you, and it pissed you off. “I miss you,” he had admitted under his breath, ”I miss talking to you and I miss having you around. I miss everything about you. When I saw you I couldn't believe it. But I know I can't let you leave without clearing things up.” 

“There's nothing left to clear up. It's over Marcus, can't you see that? There was never a right time for us.” 

“That's not true, I-” 

“Stop it! Look, I'm trying to live my life, you do it too,” you had screeched

“But-” 

“No 'buts'... Marcus, I'm tired. I'm tired of this running into each other and don't tell me it's fate because it's just pure randomness. John was transferred for work, now we live here, end of story. I'm still with him, okay? And I'm happy, so please leave me alone.” 

You could see his clenched fist on the coffee table, his eyes glazed with tears, his Adam's apple jumping as you mentioned John. He looked devastated. It was no longer your business anyway, so you had gotten up and made to leave, leaving a bill on the coffee table. “Don't look for me anymore.” 

Marcus had jumped up, his chair had fallen back crashing onto the pavement, and he didn't even seem to notice as he tried to stop you.

“Please” he had grabbed you by the sleeve of his jacket ”please.” 

You had turned back to him and looking into his eyes you had seen the little boy who asked you if he would ever be famous, the one who helped you with your homework, the 20-year-old who had involved you in the craziest vacation of your life, and then the adult who had broken your heart. 

“No.” you had whispered, ”no fucking way.” 

Marcus' face was a grimace of pain, as if in physical pain from your rejection, his shoulders hunched and his hand not letting go of you. He was pathetic and sweet at the same time.

His eyes were fixed in yours as he told you loud and clear, “I love you.”

I love you. 

You had longed to hear it come from his lips for so long that now it was like a lash that burned against your skin. You had stopped feeling like you were glued to the sidewalk, unable to take a step forward “What the hell! Did you have to tell me that? Was it necessary after I told you that I am still with my husband? Fuck, your timing is the worst thing ever. Do you know what day it is today? My wedding anniversary.” you had thrown up words at him angrily, feeling a knot in your stomach that nauseated you. 

“I don't want anything from you,” he had replied, his voice trembling, ”I just wanted you to know.”

“And now that I know according to you what have we solved? What have we gained? I'll tell you, absolutely nothing Marcus.” 

You had turned around and left, yelling at him, “I'll tell you again, don't ever look for me.” 

You had come home and taken a long hot bath, cried your last tears for him, and then decided it was John you had to think about, your special day. Marcus wasn't going to ruin it for you. You had prepared yourself carefully, put on the dress he liked so much, your favorite perfume, and waited for John. When he had come home you had driven out to a restaurant, had had a delicious dinner, sex as soon as you got home, and fallen asleep in his arms feeling that it was right. 

___________________________________

2010

“Love don't wait up for me, I'll be back late. I am so sorry, I love you.” 

It was already the fourth time in a week that he sent you such a message, by now John spent more time in the office than anywhere else. He had been given another promotion and was now mainly in charge of foreign exchanges, so he went to the office at impossible hours, came back later and later, and you barely saw him in the morning getting out of bed to jump in the shower. You hadn't had sex for at least a month, in those days you had talked more often with the mailman than with your husband.

Finally a publishing house had noticed you and they had published your book, you had gotten a chance to continue working for the newspaper by writing your articles from home so you could work on your second novel. 

You had huffed, looking at the screen, by now you were going to your friends' dinners alone, in those two years you had bonded with some couples in your neighborhood, and with a colleague from the newspaper and her husband. Every time you had been invited in the last three months John had declined, saying he had to work. 

You were beginning to feel really alone in your marriage, but you knew you had to try something. You still cared about John; you didn't want everything you had built together to be ruined. Sure, since he was earning more money he was showering you with unexpected and expensive gifts that certainly didn't make up for his absence, though. You had never been a materialistic person, no matter how beautiful the diamond bracelets and pearl necklaces and expensive shoes were, you missed falling asleep cuddled with your husband, feeling his caresses, having breakfast with him in the morning, spending a weekend together on the couch watching TV cuddling, simply spending time with him. For the past few weeks you had failed to write a word, you had hastily completed articles for the newspaper just to meet deadlines but your novel had stalled. You were busy cleaning to take your mind off things, you had joined the gym to force yourself to leave the house but then you would go back and find yourself spending entire evenings lounging around, not knowing what else to do. 

You had decided that night that you had to take matters into your own hands, put on a pretty dress, fixed your hair and make-up thoroughly, and then went out with the intention of surprising him. You were going to bring him his favorite dishes from your favorite Chinese restaurant to the office. 

When you had arrived at his workplace, you had looked up from the car window and seen the light on in his office. 

You had come down loaded with Chinese noodles and dumplings, and as you walked toward the entrance you had noticed his car parked not far away. 

You had taken the elevator with your heart in your throat, looking forward to seeing his happy face as he enjoyed a hot meal. The elevator had opened on the floor and you had started down the hallway leading to his office. There was no one there, everything was quiet and still, but the closer you got to his office the more you heard strange noises. Bellowing, hushed voices. 

The door was pulled over, you had pushed it slightly, and the scene that unfolded before your eyes was unsettling. 

Veronica, a married colleague of him whom you had met at the firm's Christmas party a few months earlier, was bent over John's desk, her skirt up, her panties down, her long legs covered by black hold-ups, her stilettos sinking into the Persian carpet under John's desk. And your husband holding her hips and sinking into her from behind. 

His shirt was hanging off his shoulders, his hair was disheveled, his neck tense and sweaty, as he stood there with his cool wool pants down, fucking his colleague. 

He grunted some words that you had never heard him say when you were having sex “Yeah, bitch, you like that huh? You like getting pounded by my cock huh? You're such a dirty slut, do you feel how wet you are for me?" 

You couldn't believe your eyes. Your sweet husband, the one who had stood by you so devotedly…where had that man gone? 

You dropped the bag with the Chinese dinner on the floor, the boxes had opened, and the noodles had spread all over the hardwood floor. “What the fuck?!”

John had turned around shocked, still with his cock inside his coworker “Oh shit. No, wait, honey I-” he had stepped out of her and tried to pull up his pants awkwardly ”please-fuck-I can explain.” 

“There's nothing to explain, you piece of shit!” you had yelled at him as he approached trying to stammer out some stupid excuse and had slapped him open-handed across the face as soon as he got in front of you ‘don't bother coming home’ you had added contemptuously.

“But love I-” he had pranced rubbing his cheek ”please-” 

“NO!” You had yelled “No, I don't want to hear your bullshit excuses, I don't want anything more to do with you, you disgust me!”

Veronica was standing in the corner buttoning her blouse and pulling down her skirt without meeting your gaze, her face hot and guilty.

Everything that you had sacrificed for that relationship, how you had followed him and reinvented your life for him, adapting to his needs, trying to build a happy nest for the two of you in Washington, all had been swept away. He had stomped on your marriage, your trust, your heart. 

You had driven home crying, risking missing a red light, had nailed down at the last moment with your heart bouncing inside your chest like a jackhammer. You had walked into the house throwing your purse and coat on the floor, throwing your shoes in the middle of the hallway and throwing yourself on the bed, hiding your face in the pillow with your head bursting, a sense of helplessness and defeat enveloping your temples, your chest, your stomach. 

It was over.

John had never come home, you had learned through his lawyer that he had rented an apartment near his office, and a week later he sent three big guys from a moving company to pick up his things.

You couldn't stay in that house anymore. Everything reminded you of him, the lies he had been telling you for months and what was even worse, all the happy moments you had lived in there in spite of yourself. 

You were dragging yourself from room to room without strength, you hadn't written anything anymore, you had told the editor of the newspaper that you were sick to have an excuse to delay the deadlines for your articles. 

You were tired, you were angry, you lacked the will to do anything, after three days without seeing you leave the house your friend Denise, who lived across the street had called you alarmed to see if you were all right, and hearing your dejected, fading voice had decided to use the keys you had given her in case of an emergency to come and check on you in person. 

You had not been able to lie to her; you had burst into tears and told her everything as soon as she asked you where John was. 

From that day she had been by every day bringing you dinner, making sure you ate, forcing you to shower, tidying up. You didn't know what you had done to deserve Denise in your life but you were incredibly grateful that she was there. 

Gradually you had forced yourself to take charge of your life again, started going out again pushed by your friends and even moved house, encouraged by them. You couldn't turn over a new leaf without getting out of there. 

And you had especially realized that you could walk with your head held high; you were not the one who had to be ashamed. 

And looking back on it, you had really overcome a lot in the last few years. The loss of your father, Marcus, your husband. All the men who had meant something to you in your life. 

You could have been proud that you did your best to stay on your feet. 

________________________________________________________

2011 

It had been a year since you had discovered John screwing his colleague.

You had tried dating men, without success, but things were going very well professionally. You had finally managed to finish your second book, and the publisher had been extremely pleased, so much so that he had arranged a series of meetings for you at bookstores around the country.  You had just returned from Ohio when you got a call from your mother inviting you for Christmas.

You had no desire to return to Sacramento, but how could you say no to your mom? She was left alone and it had not been easy for her. Your aunt and uncle lived nearby and took care of her but she had said she missed you a lot.

And she was so proud of you, she had asked you for copies of your books to give to all her friends, she was your biggest fan. You were happy to see her and spend time with her. 

And so, there you were at the airport, with a big suitcase, ready to get on yet another plane and fly across the country. 

You had just gotten an upgrade to business class and were in the private lounge of the area airline ordering yourself a martini when you heard a familiar voice behind you calling your name. 

Marcus. Again. 

“I swear I'm not following you,” he had raised his hands in surrender. 

“I know. I haven't seen you in three years, and we live in the same town.”

You had smiled; it wasn't bad to see his face again after all. 

“Martini?” He had asked pointing to your glass 

“Yeah. Can you please make another one?” You had said turning toward the bartender. 

You had sat at a small table with your cocktails “Are you going to see your mother?”

You had nodded, “You too?” 

“Yes, my parents were very insistent. Where is John?” 

“I have no idea,” you had squeezed into your shoulders taking a sip of your martini. 

“Oh, did you break up? I'm sorry, he seemed like a good man,” he had said.

“Apparently he wasn't since he was cheating on me with one of his colleagues.” 

“You should have better judgment anyway, aren't you a detective?” you had asked, raising an eyebrow and looking at him wryly 

Marcus had burst out laughing, “You're right, I should.”

And he had told you about the time he had fallen in love with someone named Teresa, a colleague of his, and had been left like a poor idiot the previous year, without realizing that she was in love with someone else. 

“It wasn't your fault, you know,” you told him sweetly, ”I know how you get when you have a crush.” 

“How do I become?” he had asked you with a sigh.

And you had replied with a smirk “Well, if you must know...naive, head in the clouds, like you live in a world of unicorns and fairies” 

“Really? A ridiculous clown? Is that what I become?” he had chuckled and then turned serious again ”Not with you, I hope”

You had laughed, you could have laughed at that point. Or maybe it was just the martini clouding your mind. 

“Whatever,” you had rolled your eyes. 

“Well, I'm sorry,” he had muttered.

“It's okay” you had smiled ”Really.”

At that moment they had announced boarding for your flight, so you had hurried to the gate together. 

You were both in business, so eventually you had sat next to each other and continued chatting. 

And it was nice, really nice. You were both single, more aware, you had reached an age where you could be honest with yourselves and you could joke about your dramas. 

“So you had noticed that I had hugged you that night huh?” 

“Sure. You pounced on me in my sleep and woke me up. I didn't want to embarrass you so I played it cool” she had smiled ”I thought you were sleepwalking and dreaming of hugging Keanu Reeves or whatever.” 

You had burst out in the loudest laugh you had had in years and then covered your mouth embarrassed that you had disturbed the other passengers. Fortunately those in your vicinity all had headphones on and were watching a movie. 

“Oh, come on” you had tapped his shoulder and then taken by you don't know what courage-probably the second martini you were downing-you had said ”the only one I dreamed of hugging was you.” 

“I didn't realize this until later...Now is there anyone you would like to hug by any chance?” he had whispered in your ear.

“Actually...yes” 

And there, in that plane, you kissed. For the first time without hindrance, without remorse, without drama, without fear. “I love you” he had whispered on your lips, and you had responded, finally free to say it ”I love you too.”

“So we'll try this time?” he had caressed your cheek, sliding his hand down your neck. 

“Yes” You had said ”definitely yes.”

“Your mother will be delighted” he had smiled, kissing you again “it's going to be a great Christmas.”

“Well, Merry Christman then” you whispered as your mouth moved down his neck.

“Merry Christmas, baby”

[saiyanprincessswanie]

Blue Bonnets

Pairing: Brock Rumlow x Female Reader

Word Count: 1720

Summary: What if Brock left Hydra and retired on a Ranch?

Warnings: Smut & Fluff

A/N: This idea came from @americasass81 and my muse was happy to write it.

A/N 2: Thank you to @lfnr-blog-blog-blog for beta reading this. All mistakes are still my own.

The header was made by me.

Reblogs & Comments are welcomed and encouraged. 😊💜

I do NOT give my consent to have my work translated or reposted on any social media platform, apps, or third-party sites. If you see my work anywhere besides my personal Tumblr & AO3 accounts, it has been stolen. I will NEVER give written or verbal permission to repost or translate any of my fanfics as they’re MY intellectual property. 🚫🚫

The sun was slowly setting over the horizon as Brock sat on his porch and took in the beauty of it all. The bluebonnets were coming in nicely this spring and he wondered how long they would stay. If you had asked him years ago if he would leave Hydra for a simpler life, he would have laughed in your face. Hydra at one point was the only thing keeping him together and gave him what he thought was family. Time presented its moment and he learned of all the things Hydra was capable of doing and all the lives they would take. That was when he was done with them and took off on the run. Brock watched as you rode your horse back to the house you both shared. As you start putting the horse up for the evening Brock can’t help but reminisce on how he got here.

After months of being on the run, he was able to finally make it to a small town in Texas. He was expecting to pass through just like every other town he drifted through but instead, he found you. He remembers the first time he saw you. You were at a local bar with your friends dancing in your dress, cowgirl boots, and hat. He was at the bar in the corner watching as you swayed your hips to the country music that was playing. In his eyes, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen and by the end of the night, he would have your number. 

When you were done dancing you made your way over to the bar. You ordered a beer as you tried catching your breath from all the dancing. Your eyes glanced around the bar and you spotted Brock sitting alone, nursing a beer. He was handsome in his plaid black shirt that was rolled up to his elbows, hat sitting low on his head, and jeans that were hugging him in all the right places. You grabbed your beer and slowly walked over to him.

Brock’s eyes never left yours as you slowly walked over to him. He took a swig of his beer just as you approached him. He placed his beer on the table and gave you a smirk. You then introduced yourself and sat down in the chair next to him. Brock tilted his hat your way and introduced himself. “I’m Brock, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You instantly know the accent is not from around these parts but you are intrigued with him. As you both drink your beers slowly you make small talk. He gives you a little background that he’s from New York and had a job that just went in the wrong direction with his values. He is currently just enjoying life as a drifter but he may want to see what this town has to offer. The answer was good enough for you and you explain to him you have a ranch just on the edge of town. You were looking for a ranch hand and if he needed some work he could come by in the morning. With a grin on his face, he agrees that he will stop by. 

The rest of the night goes by in a blur and before you both know it the bar is shutting down. Brock paid both your tabs and offered to walk you to your truck. He holds the door open for you as you head outside into the cool night. When you reach your truck you turn to him and say, “I had a wonderful night Brock. I can’t wait to see you tomorrow.” You lean in and give a soft kiss on his cheek. 

Brock was taken aback by how gently you kissed him and lord knew he would love to pull you in for a passionate one. But for now, he’ll wait as he knows this is the beginning of something special. You both part ways for the evening leaving him to think about what the future could bring if he stayed.

The next day Brock showed up on your ranch and watched you exit a house. Today you are wearing a lightweight plaid shirt over a tank top, jeans, your boots, and a hat. You looked ready to start your day. You walked over to him, looped your arm in his, and instantly started giving him a tour of your property. You showed him the house you came from which was for the ranch hands for them to stay if they didn’t have a place. Then you showed him the rest of the buildings on the property. The tour took an hour and by the time you were done, Brock was agreeing to be your new ranch hand. 

From then on you two became inseparable, working hand in hand on the ranch. Brock worked hard to prove this was something he could do. No longer was he a Hydra soldier now he was Brock the rancher. He even got to eventually call you his woman after a few months of working together. Life was going in a direction he never imagined and he was in love with you. One night you were both getting the barn settled for the night. When he cornered you near the hay bales. His touch was light and desperate. You jumped up into his arms and wrapped your legs around his waist. He kissed you passionately and deepened the kiss when your mouth parted. It seemed he kissed you forever but he pulled back so you both could take a breath.

“I want you sweetheart so badly. Let me make love to you.” Brock whispered against your lips.

Your head was nodding before you could answer. “Please I need to feel you inside me. I-I have waited so long for you to ask.” You begged him to take you and Brock smiled at you. 

Brock carried you to your house as you placed kisses on his neck while occasionally nibbling on him. Brock couldn’t help the low groans that left his mouth from what you were doing. Finally reaching your bedroom Brock lowered you to your feet and stood there staring at you. “You’re the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I can’t wait to make love to you.”

You slowly start to undress along with him and before you know it you’re both naked. You can’t help but admire his muscles on display along with his large cock. Gently Brock pushes you to the bed and you inch your way up the bed while he follows you. As you fully lay down Brock spreads your legs and lays in between them. Seeing your glistening pussy on display for him he can’t help but go in for a taste. 

The first pass with his tongue had you begging for more. Your fingers slipped through his hair as he skillfully took you apart with his tongue. Every pass of his tongue, every suckle of your clit had you arching into him, moaning his name to the heavens. Brock then pushed two fingers into you, thrusting them in and out while he played with your clit with his mouth. His fingers sped up as he sucked on your clit and that’s all you needed to cum for him. Brock finally stopped when you started to shake in his hold from overstimulation.

Slowly he crawled up your body until he was face to face with you. “How do you feel sweetheart?”

You smiled big at him. “Like I’m on cloud nine. I need more. Please make love to me.”

“Anything you want sweetheart you can have.” Brock wrapped his hand around his hard cock giving it a few strokes before he lined himself up to your wet pussy and started to push into you. Inch by inch he slowly sank into your tight cunt and leaned over you with his arms on either side of you to hold him up. His strokes were soft but firm at times. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he rolled his hips into you. Both of you let out groans and moans with every thrust into you. Brock leaned down to kiss you on your lips, capturing your whimper of how good he was feeling inside you. His thrusts started to pick up and the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room along with your moans. Within moments you were crying out your release as he started to chase his end. A few hard thrusts into you and he was cumming inside you, painting your womb in his release. Both of you were panting from the exhaustion of your lovemaking. You pulled his face towards yours and started to kiss him. Never have you felt this way with another man before. 

A few minutes later Brock pulled out of you and walked to the bathroom to clean himself up. When he walked back he had a towel with him and he sat on the bed cleaning up the mess you both made between your legs. After he was done he threw the towel in your dirty laundry bin. Brock crawled into bed with you and pulled you close to his chest. He kissed your face and settled in. 

“I’m in love with you sweetheart. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. Say you will be mine forever. Say it and I promise that you will never want for anything. I will love you until my last breath.”

Your eyes welled up with tears as you answered him, “I’m in love with you too Brock. I promise to stay with you forever. You’re my everything.”

Brock’s arms wrapped around you and you both drifted off to sleep.

This seemed like an eternity ago as Brock watched you pick some bluebonnets with your little girl who was now three years old. Again if you would have asked him if he thought this was his future he would have called you crazy. Today he is happily married and has a daughter that looks just like you. The ranch, no you have saved his life. You gave him a home, a new family, and a future.

Taglist:

@americasass81

@caffiend-queen

@charmed-asylum

@denisemarieangelina

@fictional-affairs

@georgiapeach30513

@get0verit

@hollybee8917

@joannie95

@jobean12-blog

@jvanilly

@labella420

@lfnr-blog-blog-blog

@madscape

@mdemontespan1667

@mrsmischief209

@mycrazyasslikestoread

@nekoannie-chan

@notyourtypicalrose

@patzammit

@princessofdarkwinter

@rayofdawnworld

@sweater-daddiesdumbdork

@wolfsmom1

@what-is-your-plan-today

@wiypt-writes

@missvelvetsstuff

@jtargaryen18

@thefallenbibliophilequote

@awesomerextyphoon

@caplanbuckybarnes

@km-ffluv

@astheskycries

@spectre-posts

@talia-rumlow

[thefirstcourtesan]

My Favourite “Break Your Heart” Songs

I replied to a post of @jerzwriter ‘s about love songs and admitted that while I know a few, my writing taste leans towards songs about bittersweet or lost love. So I decided to make a list of my favorites. I’m sorry in advance.

1. I Would Have Loved You Anyway by Trisha Yearwood. This has been number one in my writing playlist for almost two decades now much to my husband’s chagrin. I think he could happily never heart it again 😂 but to me there is no better bittersweet song about love gone wrong. “… If I'da known the way that this would end/ If I'da read the last page first/ If I'da had the strength to walk away/ If I'da known how this would hurt/ … I would've loved you anyway”. There is just something so powerful about that. Not every love story lasts forever, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t worth it.

2. Dynasty by Miia. This song is my unofficial theme song for “Portia: A Roman Tragedy”. The idea of we could have had it all but then we didn’t. “Thought we built a dynasty that heaven couldn't shake/ Thought we built a dynasty like nothing ever made/ Thought we built a dynasty forever couldn't break up”. The first time I heard the song (in a fan video), I went “ohh, that’s the tragedyverse”, it just sums it all up for me.

3. What Might Have Been by Little Texas. I have always been haunted by the possibilities of “what might have been” and this song just sums it up in such a beautiful way. “We could sit and talk about this all night long/ And wonder why we didn't last/ Yes, they might be the best days we will ever know/ But we'll have to leave them in the past./ I try not to think about what might have been/ Cause that was then and we have taken diff'rent roads/ we can't go back again there's no use giving in/ And there's no way to know/ What might have been”. You can’t go back, you can’t ever know what could have been.

4. Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac. Of course this song is on the list. The lyrics, the haunted way she sings, the video of her signing it in 1997. This song is heartbreak perfection. “Time cast a spell on you, but you won't forget me/ I know I could have loved you/ But you would not let me”.

5. Wildest Dreams by Taylor Swift. This is just a beautiful song (and a great video). “Nothing lasts forever/ But this is getting good now/ He's so tall and handsome as hell/ He's so bad, but he does it so well/ And when we've had our very last kiss/ My last request is/ Say you'll remember me/ Standing in a nice dress/ Staring at the sunset, babe/ Red lips and rosy cheeks”.

6. Strawberry Wine by Deana Carter. I have loved this song since I was a teenager (and the “when 30 was old” line hits particularly hard at 40) and as I have grown the song’s impact on me has changed and now I really appreciate the bittersweet look back on first love and how that kind of love only comes along once. “There's nothing time hasn't touched/ Is it really him or the loss of my innocence?/ I've been missing so much”

7. Already Gone by Sleeping At Last (it is a Kelly Clarkson song, but the version I love is a cover). “Started with a perfect kiss/ Then we could feel the poison set in/ Perfect couldn't keep this love alive/ You know that I love you so/ Ilove you enough to let you go” but also “Remember all the things we wanted/ Now all our memories, they're haunted/ We were always meant to say goodbye”. This song just hits so hard and sums up the idea that some things are always meant to end (are you sensing a theme 😂?)

8. Didn’t We Almost Have It All by Whitney Houston. Another one that I have played over and over until my husband never wants to hear it again. “Didn't we almost have it all/ When love was all we had worth giving?/ The ride with you was worth the fall my friend/ Loving you makes life worth living”.

9. Don’t Speak by No Doubt. Another one that goes back to teenage Misha. I think this one got me a few break-ups once upon a time. “Don't speak/ I know what you're thinkin'/ I don't need your reasons/ Don't tell me 'cause it hurts”.

10. Beautifully Unfiniished by Ella Henderson. “But maybe all that we are meant to be/ Is beautifully unfinished/ And I hate you, and I love you/ And I wish you'd go away/ And I hate you, and I love you/ And I wish that you would stay”. I love the pain of this song, the love and the hate, the idea that something is ending when you don’t want it to but you know it has too.

Narrowing it down to 10 was hard and there are lots of other regular songs on my writing playlist, but these are my favorites (although honourable mention to “Last Kiss” by Pearl Jam). If you feel like writing some angst, I highly recommend putting on some of these songs. I definitely have a “type” when it comes to my favorite music, there is something about the end of a love story and looking back that really hits hard for me.

[bestcampfirecookingkits]

Best Camping Spots for Stargazing

I still remember the first time I truly saw the night sky, far away from the city lights. It was during a camping trip in the high desert, where the air was crisp and the horizon seemed to stretch on forever. As the sun dipped below the mountains, the sky slowly turned from a deep blue to an inky black, and then—almost as if on cue—the stars began to appear. At first, just a few twinkling lights, and then, all of a sudden, the entire sky was ablaze with countless stars, constellations, and even the faint glow of the Milky Way. I had never seen anything like it. That night, I lay on my back for hours, completely mesmerized by the vastness above me, feeling both incredibly small and profoundly connected to the universe. From that moment on, stargazing became one of my favorite parts of camping, and I started seeking out the best spots where the night sky could really show off its wonders.

If you’re a lover of the stars like I am, finding the perfect camping spot where the night sky truly comes alive is a must. The best camping spots for stargazing share a few key characteristics: they’re far from city lights, have clear, dry skies, and often sit at higher elevations. These factors combine to create conditions where you can see more stars than you ever thought possible. So, where should you go if you want to experience the night sky in all its glory?

One of the most iconic stargazing spots in the United States is Joshua Tree National Park in California. This desert park is famous for its surreal landscapes filled with twisted Joshua trees and giant boulders, but it’s equally renowned for its dark skies. Thanks to its remote location and low light pollution, Joshua Tree offers some of the clearest skies in Southern California. I remember setting up camp there one spring night, and as soon as the sun set, the stars seemed to pop out of the sky. The Milky Way was so bright it almost cast a shadow. It’s no wonder Joshua Tree is a popular destination for both amateur and professional astronomers.

Another fantastic spot for stargazing is Big Bend National Park in Texas. Located in one of the most remote corners of the state, Big Bend is far from any major cities, which means the skies here are some of the darkest in the country. The park even has a certification from the International Dark-Sky Association, a testament to its exceptional stargazing conditions. When I camped there, I was struck by how the desert landscape seemed to blend seamlessly with the sky, creating a sense of vastness that was almost overwhelming. The stillness of the desert, combined with the sheer number of stars overhead, made for a truly unforgettable experience.

For those who prefer higher elevations, Bryce Canyon National Park in Utah is a must-visit. The park is known for its unique rock formations called hoodoos, but it’s also a stargazer’s paradise. Because Bryce Canyon sits at an elevation of over 8,000 feet, the air is thin and clear, allowing for incredibly sharp views of the night sky. On my first visit, I camped right near the rim of the canyon, and as I looked out over the vast expanse below, the stars above seemed close enough to touch. The high elevation and dry air make Bryce Canyon one of the best places in the country to see the Milky Way in all its glory.

If you’re looking for a more off-the-beaten-path destination, Cherry Springs State Park in Pennsylvania is worth checking out. While it may not have the dramatic landscapes of some of the western parks, Cherry Springs is famous for its exceptionally dark skies. It’s considered one of the best places for stargazing on the East Coast, thanks to its strict light pollution controls and its location atop a 2,300-foot plateau. When I camped there, I was amazed by how vividly I could see the constellations, even without a telescope. The park even has designated astronomy observation fields, where you can set up your gear and settle in for a night of stargazing.

For a truly unique stargazing experience, consider camping in Great Basin National Park in Nevada. This park is home to some of the darkest skies in the continental United States, and it’s one of the few places where you can see the Milky Way from horizon to horizon. The park’s high elevation and dry climate make for ideal stargazing conditions, and the lack of light pollution means you can see celestial objects that are invisible from more populated areas. I remember camping at the Wheeler Peak Campground, where the elevation is over 10,000 feet. The air was so clear and the sky so dark that I felt like I was floating in space, surrounded by stars on all sides.

Glacier National Park in Montana is another top destination for stargazers. Known for its rugged mountains and pristine lakes, Glacier also offers some of the best stargazing opportunities in the northern United States. The park is far from any major cities, and its high elevation and northern latitude provide spectacular views of the night sky. On a clear night, you can see everything from the Milky Way to distant galaxies, and if you’re lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of the Northern Lights. When I camped there, I was struck by the clarity of the sky and the sheer number of stars visible, even to the naked eye. It was one of those nights where you just sit in awe, feeling like a tiny speck in the vastness of the universe.

For those who don’t mind traveling a bit further, Mauna Kea on the Big Island of Hawaii offers unparalleled stargazing opportunities. The summit of Mauna Kea is one of the best places on Earth for astronomy, and while camping isn’t allowed at the summit itself, you can camp at nearby locations and then drive up for an evening of stargazing. The combination of high altitude, clear skies, and minimal light pollution makes Mauna Kea a stargazer’s dream. I had the chance to visit the summit once, and the view was like nothing I’d ever seen. The stars were so bright and numerous that it felt like the sky was alive. It’s a bit of a trek to get there, but for serious stargazers, it’s worth every effort.

Another excellent stargazing destination is Death Valley National Park in California. Known for its extreme heat and vast, barren landscapes, Death Valley also boasts some of the darkest skies in the world. The park is so remote and free of light pollution that on a clear night, you can see thousands of stars, along with the Milky Way stretching across the sky. I once camped there in late fall, when the temperatures were cooler, and spent hours lying on my back, watching shooting stars streak across the sky. The stillness of the desert, combined with the brilliance of the night sky, created an almost otherworldly experience.

Acadia National Park in Maine offers a different kind of stargazing experience. While it’s not as dark as some of the more remote western parks, Acadia’s coastal location provides a stunning backdrop for stargazing. The cool, crisp air and the sound of the ocean waves create a peaceful atmosphere, perfect for lying back and watching the stars. I remember one particularly clear night when I camped at Acadia, and the sky was so bright that I could easily spot several constellations I’d only ever seen in books. The combination of the stars and the serene coastal environment made for a magical experience.

Finally, if you’re looking for a stargazing spot that’s closer to the Midwest, Yellowstone National Park offers some incredible opportunities. While Yellowstone is famous for its geysers, hot springs, and wildlife, its night skies are equally impressive. The park’s remote location and high elevation make for excellent stargazing conditions, especially in the areas farthest from the park’s developed zones. I once camped at a site near Yellowstone Lake, and after the sun went down, the sky lit up with stars. The reflection of the stars on the calm water was something I’ll never forget.

Stargazing while camping adds a whole new dimension to the outdoor experience. It’s a chance to disconnect from the hustle and bustle of daily life and reconnect with the universe in a way that’s both humbling and awe-inspiring. Whether you’re lying on a blanket in the desert, sitting by a mountain lake, or perched on a coastal cliff, there’s something truly magical about watching the stars come out one by one. So next time you’re planning a camping trip, why not choose a spot where the night sky can be the main attraction? The stars are waiting.

[matthenslee]

Why an M.Div. Helped Me Become a Better Pastor

My journey into the ministry came at age 16 when I helped start a contemporary worship service at another church near my home church in Grand Prairie, Texas. For a variety of reasons, it was an eye-opening experience.

At 18, I moved out and began pursuing my Bachelor of Arts at Dallas Baptist University while serving as the pastor of students and worship at a church plant that met in a funeral home.

I lost count of how many times I heard, “People are just dying to come to church!”

At 20, I was midway through getting my bachelor’s degree and serving at an established church in my hometown when I met a young lady who’d soon become my wife. While I’d gone to a Christian college, I was still largely unprepared for the challenges that would follow.

By 22, I’d graduated, gotten married, and was in between churches in towns where there were far more cows than people. One church had a mostly absent pastor, and the other had a pastor whose illness required I take on a largely interim pastor role.

I Was Treading Water.

I faced counseling sessions well above my pay grade, church conflicts threatening to split the congregation, and struggled to know how to preach longer than five minutes or so. (Though, to be sure, I don’t think any members complained about the last one.)

In a sense, I had no idea what I was doing. Each day, I just kinda “winged it” and went with the flow. I had to trust God to work perhaps more in spite of me than through me.

So I enrolled in Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary’s extension campus program in the hopes it’d give me some practical help in navigating day-to-day ministry.

It did.

Each day, it seemed I could put something I learned in class immediately into practice. I ended up managing to get through two semesters before the Lord called me away from the great republic of Texas to God’s country in Arkansas to be a student pastor.

I thought I’d taken my last seminary courses and was able to convince myself that was okay.

“I had a ministry degree,” after all, and simply believed I was done and could on without further education. However, the degree I had hardly prepared me for the day-to-day grind of ministry.

That church put me through the wringer, to be sure. The pastor was rarely around, I got chewed out for not being willing to take a young lady around town without my wife or another staff member, and we faced threats for aiming to racially integrate our youth group. For real, you read that right.

It was tough, but it was about to get tougher.

I accepted an opportunity, somewhat against my will, to return to bi-vocational ministry. I taught adults with special needs at a non-profit and became the worship pastor at a church about an hour away.

It was one of the most wonderful seasons of ministry, until the following spring. A tornado swept through the town and wiped out most of our church’s education buildings and sanctuary. We were a fairly large established church that suddenly had no place to meet on Sundays.

It was the best of times; it was the worst of times.

Fast-forwarding a bit, I found myself in my office as a full-time student and education pastor. A member stopped by the office with an offer I was reluctant to accept.

“You have Southwestern in your backyard,” she said. “Criswell is in your front yard. If you pick one, I’ll pay for the first two classes.”

“But, but, but,” I thought, “I have a degree and don’t have time for that. I’ve learned more in these churches than some professor could ever teach me. Plus, we’re about to be parents, and…”

All of these excuses spun through my prideful head like the tornado that swept through our previous church.

I registered.

“What harm could two free classes do,” I thought? A course in student ministry? A class in evangelism? That’s all I’d need for a while. I’d be golden. But then I made it onto campus.

There were conversations in the cafeteria with professors. I was connecting with fellow ministers from all types of contexts. I enjoyed deep-dive discussions on some of the most practical facets (in this case) of student ministry and sharing the gospel.

I was hooked.

And I did two things as that semester continued: I kicked myself several times for not doing this sooner and registered for my next semester.

And Finally

After completing the last few classes of a 90-something hour degree of a wide range of topics that were all immediately practical, adopting four daughters, and accepting the call to pastor a fantastic church in New Mexico, I walked across the stage as an M.Div. graduate of Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary.

I might’ve been older than most of my fellow Master’s graduates, but I sure was grateful. My only regret was quitting in the first place.

Would finishing my degree earlier have kept me from dealing with some of the ups and downs I shared previously? Of course not. But it would’ve helped me navigate them more faithfully.

Not only that, it would’ve given me far more people “in my corner” than I ever had.

“It’s the gold standard”

Sure, when someone says that about an M.Div., the defense mechanisms immediately turn on for some, but please know what I’m not saying.

I’m not saying you have to have an M.Div. to be a faithful or qualified pastor. Maybe you’ve been mentored by a seasoned pastor and been given the chances to hone your skills in the pulpit and the hospital room. Maybe you have a solid Bible degree and masters that have been immensely helpful in your ministry.

But, I’m willing to assert there are good reasons to pursue an advanced degree like the M.Div. for practical pastoral training and future ministry opportunities.

Is money tight? Many seminaries offer payment plans and financial aid. Are you too far from a seminary? No worries, many offer excellent online programs.

Full-time at your church and a ton of young kids in the home? Been there, done that—just take your time. Commit to a class or two a semester and chip away at the degree, bit by bit.

Tools for your toolbox

I’m a better follower of Christ from classes like Spiritual Formation.

I’m a better husband and father from classes like The Christian Home.

I’m a better evangelist from classes like, well, Evangelism.

I’m a better disciple-maker from classes on mentoring and disciple-making.

I’m a better preacher from classes in biblical languages and expository preaching.

I’m a better pastor from classes like Pastoral Ministry and Foundations for Christian Ministry.

I’m a better theologian from Systematic Theology and several levels of classes on the Old and New Testament.

I can navigate tricky topics in the pulpit and counseling from classes like the Bible and Moral Issues.

What’s more, I have the privilege of having a few professors that are still teaching me two years later as friends and mentors. I’ve also maintained close friendships with fellow pastors who I met in the trenches in class who continue to help me navigate difficult waters in ministry.

And all of the above are reasons I want more of the same—to continue sharpening those tools by pursuing my doctorate in May.

Totally worth it

Getting my M.Div was one of the most difficult things I’ve done. I was a full-time pastor, a father of four young daughters, and eight hours away from my school at times. However, it was worth it.

I can’t stress how helpful my degree has been in the day-to-day shepherding of the church to which God has called me and in “as you go” evangelism Jesus commands in the Great Commission.

You can be a qualified pastor without an M.Div., as I said before. In fact, I know many faithful Christians who barely finished high school and tons of ministers whose bachelor’s and master’s degrees in ministry gave them the same tools I received at SWBTS.

But in my context and for my ministry, the value in pursuing more refining and sharpening for ministry has been priceless.

[jihyoruri]

”🎏 anon IS a new stan trying to pass as an og” I never said I was an og 😭😭I sent my first ask march 6.. i just showed up like it was the cat distribution system

second. aurelia clearly ur fanbase is mostly mentally stable than I am because I saw [“I don’t smoke” -richgirlyn] and promptly had a whole breakdown

for those of you who are not in the trenches..

“I don’t smoke” was a song released on September 29th, 2014, part of Mitski’s third studio album, Bury Me at Makeout Creek. It is (in my opinion) one of the best songs on that album, only beat by Texas Reznikoff and Carry Me Out

(although others may argue that Francis Forever and First Love/Late spring were the most impactful songs on that album, and they are also technically the most popular. fun fact! Francis Forever was in adventure time!)

the album contains many other AMAZING songs, such as : Townie, Jobless Monday, Drunk Walk Home (very popular!) I will, and Last Words of a Shooting Star (one of my personal favorites).

did I just list the entire track list? yes! Go listen to mitski’s albums.. they’re so worth it

i digress.. let’s get into what this spells out for richgirlyn.

everything that follows will be my interpretation..

i don’t smoke is about being in a toxic relationship that you can’t let go of— I see it as letting someone destroy and hurt you because you love them so much, or they’re all you’ve ever known— or maybe you’re just self destructive! The song is about letting someone hurt you, so that they can feel better even if it ruins you— it’s to make the person feel better, no matter how much it destroys you— you are there to make [them] feel better.

tldr: the song is about letting someone hurt you so they can feel better

now.. let me just guess here. let me just put these lyrics out and let them marinate. lemme do a lyric analysis real quick.

“I don’t smoke, except for when I’m missing you/to remember your mouth, how it tasted true/And I don’t smoke, except for after I’ve held you, baby/Being with you makes the flame burn good”

Smoking is clearly a destructive habit— it ruins your lungs and your health. The singer (who I’m gonna assume is richgirlyn, metaphorically) smokes to remember their partner (CHAEWONS STUPID ASS) who hurts them (emotionally or physically. we’re not sure. I believe in the context of the song, it’s emotionally)

the singer misses their partner that hurts desperately, so you can already tell this is a toxic codependent relationship. (maybe onesided codependency)

They smoke after they’ve “had” their partner so they will forever correlate smoking with the partner.. I wonder what this means..

“So if you need to be mean, be mean to me/I can take it and put it inside of me/If your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room/you can lean on my arm as you break my heart”

if this is what’s in store I am ruined. like, what do you MEAN this is what my #1 forever is going through… richgirlyn IS GONNA BREAK DOWN (internally).

anyway, this speaks for itself. The singer is offering themselves up to be a punching bag so their partner feels better, because they don’t want their partner in pain and want them to love them.

“I’m what’s left of when we swam under the moon/Now the rest of my days are just waiting for when/You’ve calmed down and tell me, ‘I was meant for you’/Baby, being with you makes the flame burn good”

based on the verse ‘I’m what’s left of when we swam under the moon’, we can guess that the partner was once kind to the singer

the line ‘Now the rest of my days are just waiting for when you’ve calmed down and tell me I was meant for you’ is.. obviously saying that the singer is waiting for their partner to come back to them, or revert to their previously kind self— this is why the singer most likely lets their partner hurt them, offering themself up to placate them in the hopes that ‘this’ll be the last time, and then they’ll go back to loving me’ or something in that vein.

The chorus repeats, and then the bridge:

“Just don’t leave me alone wondering where you are/I am stronger than you give me credit for”

Based on this line, I interpret it as the partner trying to distance themselves/leave the singer, so they can stop hurting them, and the singer clinging on desperately, saying they can’t take it, and to not leave them— they want the partner to stay so bad even if it kills them.

“If your hands need to break more than trinkets in your room/you can lean on my arm as you break my heart”

i always interpret this line as the final plea of the singer for the partner to stay— do I think the partner stays? No, not at all. This song feels like the progression of a toxic relationship, up until the very end.

it’s safe to say if this is what we have in store for richgirlyn, I will genuinely have to be put on some kind of watch.

like.. does she let Chaewon say hurtful things to her and just take it because she likes her.. like we know she gets defensive and fights back but she was like. vulnerable with chaewon.. does the things the members say (maybe not out loud, but she sees their looks..) does it all pile up before she just cracks? does she let them break her heart again and again because she loves them, and.. deep down does she think it’s true sometimes? IM GONNA ACTUALLY LOSE IT😭😭it’s so over for me. i love richgirlyn I’m so glad everyone’s giving her the attention she deserves I KNEW SHE WAS COMPLEX GUYS SHES LITERALLY SO ME😭😭

I’m gonna do a lyric analysis on how richgirlyn’s song is real men (by mitski) good luck I’m gonna go CRAZY😭

sorry for ranting it’s just that I am the #1 mitski fan ever I love her music so much I have her albums on vinyl and have an analysis for every song she’s created, written, or been featured in that’s not on an album (like this is a life, susie save your love, cop car, ego, and broken necks) ps. when I say the singer I am not specifically referring to mitski but what she is embodying. I don’t know anything about her and this is all my interpretation of the song 🙏

-🎏

WOAHHHHHHH THATS A LONG ONE (but I read it) some things ur saying are so correct about what’s going to go down but not all and it’s the way this isn’t even the chapter where she cracks that just proves that it’s gonna be so bad for her

[thirdactkerfuffle]

Here is the text of the article!

PFLUGERVILLE, Texas (KXAN) — A sizable social media response may allow local bookstore The Book Burrow to reach its goal of selling 1,000 books by July 12, which would let the business find a new home.

The Book Burrow currently occupies a space in the Three Legged Goat, a wine and craft beer bar located at 200 E Pecan St. in Pflugerville. It moved into that space in Spring 2023, but the business has been in operation since 2021. During 2021-2023, the business sold books from pop-up locations.

Kelsey Black, the store’s owner, said that they still need to sell 100-200 more books to meet the goal.

But options and time are limited for the queer-owned indie bookstore; a renovation at the Three Legged Goat will require them to move by July 14.

“There is no new location at the moment as there is no available commercial space in Pflugerville. So we are improvising and hopefully getting a skoolie,” said Black, using a slang term for a renovated school bus.

According to Black, a July 2 Facebook post calling for support triggered a rush of support for the store, resulting in 20 times the store’s average daily revenue. She said that she “remains hopeful but anxious about the store’s future.”

“I thought we were gonna sell maybe 200 books…it’s been a crazy week,” Black said. “I am just blessed that the book world community came out to support us, and all of our wonderful, beautiful customers have come in to support us. And in our time of need, which is just the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Support also spread on TikTok, where author RK Ashwick shared a call for followers to support the independent bookstore. As of Friday evening, that video had over 32,700 views.

No matter where the store ends up, Black said that she wants everyone to “embrace your weird” at Book Burrow.

“We believe that everybody should be able to see themselves in the books that they read, and we believe in offering a safe space to read the books we want to read,” Black said. “In a society in which books are being banned, in public schools and in libraries, we are here giving people an option to to pick out books that they probably wouldn’t be able to get elsewhere…we want to give everybody a safe space where they can embrace what makes them unique and special.”

A queer indie bookstore in TX needs your help!!

The Book Burrow needs to raise enough funds by July 12 to find a new home. This is the bookstore that invited me to be on their Pride Event panel last month. It’s such a special place and I need to see it succeed!!

If you’re in the Austin TX area: please visit The Book Burrow this week if you can!

If you’re not in the area: they also have an online store (thebookburrowbookstore.com/shop) where you can buy:

T-shirts

Stickers

Blind date books!

Books from local authors

You can also email them directly to custom order a book not represented on their site.

As an added bonus: if you’re able to support the store, please DM me and I’ll send you free artwork, a bookmark, and a sticker as a thank-you!

If you can’t support at this time, please reblog!

As the Supreme Court continues to blast the nation, stick it to the man and save a queer indie bookstore this July 4th. 🇺🇸

[slasherlouvre]

hiii i was wondering if you could pretty please write something nsfw for Thomas Hewitt. I was thinking something where the reader focuses on taking care of him because he deserves all of the love and attention in the world (and i’m more of a giver myself tbh) Thank youuu❤️

My first request and it’s for some loving, nsfw/t Thomas content?? 🥺

Know that I am giving you an appreciative smooch on the forehead, anon 🤧. Sorry this took so long to put out! I've been super busy, but I really enjoyed spoiling our selfless Tommy in this 💝!! Wasn’t sure if you wanted an x fem reader, so I kept it gender neutral! I hope this gets to you!

Worthy

Thomas Hewitt x gn! Reader

Warnings: size kink, cockwarming, shower sex, overstimulation, creampie, light angst, some language, living in T*xas

Summary: Sometimes even hefty, 6’5, chainsaw-wielding slashers need to be reminded of their value <3

The sun is setting in Fuller Texas, and ironically, your heart begins to feel brighter now than it had the entire blistering day. There’s a slightly noticeable spring in your step that you idly try to quell as you step outside the Hewitt home to bring in the clean sheets you’d hung on the washing line earlier.

You take a moment to admire the yellow-golds that dance across the dry plain, teasing your vision until they inevitably both darken and start to fade. Days at the Hewitt household could be rough- ever a demanding list of tasks needing to be done as soon as the first rays of sunrise touched down on the earth.

Hoyt is difficult on everyone about 'pulling their weight' around the house, but he's especially exacting when it comes to Thomas. For the most part, you tend to stay out of Hoyt’s way to avoid worrying Thomas about your well-being any further; often keeping your head down when completing chores and keeping your mouth shut when he remarks something callous so as not to ‘provoke him’. On the days you manage to finish your chores early- and Hoyt doesn't have a particularly large stick up his ass, you slip away unnoticed to be with your Tommy.

He doesn’t really like having you come down to him when he’s in the basement- there are plenty of ways you could hurt yourself, and he’s afraid your good-natured impression of him will change if you see him in such a brutal setting, but there are few things he can deny you (especially when you come on to him so sweetly). It's mostly within the privacy of your shared bedroom, long after the sun has set, that you're finally able to put the entire day behind you and spend some quality time with the man you love.

Your nights with Thomas are usually quiet, save for a chorus of crickets outside and the noises that normally come with an old house; all other sounds are normally entirely accounted to the words of affirmation you devote to Thomas and the kisses shared between one another. On some nights, your quality time doesn’t evolve much farther than cuddling each other until you both fall asleep in a matter of minutes- too tired from the day's responsibilities for much else, but more than happy to be in each other’s arms.

Solid calloused hands rouse you from your thoughts as they comfortingly settle at your hips, causing you to smile.

"All finished, handsome?", you knowingly remark.

You can feel Thomas' grip tighten just a fraction as he leans in to nod against your neck, essentially hugging you from behind. You're both aware of your warm dampened skin clinging to each other, a tell-tale sign of a hard day's work, but neither of you feel particularly bothered by it enough to keep away from one another despite the heat.

"We still have some time before dinner...", you whisper while leaning into his chest a bit more now, "we can wash up together.."

--------

You undress allowing your used clothing to haphazardly meet the floor while Tommy gets the water running. There’s a comfortable silence between the both of you as he begins to pull off his apron and set it aside, but you walk over and prevent his hands from working any further.

“Let me?”, you ask kindly.

Thomas stares at you for a moment; a thoughtful, soft-hearted expression behind blue. He nods silently, and your hands gingerly run up his chest to grip his tie and begin undressing him. Thomas is more than capable of undressing himself of course, but you always relish in doting on him- especially when the act requires a special kind of trust on his part to allow himself to be vulnerable for you.

He’s tired even if he won’t admit it. You enjoy feeling his tense muscles begin to relax under your touch as you peel away the layers separating the both of you, kissing his scars as you go.

It's impossible for you not to admire his body; you're especially fond of the way the fat of his stomach and thighs are irresistibly complimented by his obvious strength. Thomas is always careful when topping you, but you make it quite clear that you more than take pleasure in feeling his size and weight overwhelm you.

You leave his mask for last as you tenderly lead him to the tub and straddle his lap once he’s settled. Thomas readjusts slightly to help you get comfortable, resting his large hands on your hips again as though second nature, while you reach up to gently undo the straps of his mask. You set it aside and sigh at his lovely features you don’t get to see very often; you can’t help but take a moment to allow your eyes to roam his face, not wanting to forget even a single detail about him.

“I love you, Thomas Brown Hewitt”, you whisper while pressing featherlight kisses to his visage, paying special attention to the places you know he hates most.

There’s a deep resonating sound that begins in his chest, and travels past his lips at that. Even when the guttural noises he makes to communicate with you never fully develop into words, they always reach your heart.

For the most part, Thomas is a quiet man; often suppressing what’s left of his voice in favor of labored breathing even in your most intimate moments. However, he’d realized rather quickly into your relationship that hearing him vocalize flustered you tremendously; always sending a thrilling sensation through your brain and spine somehow akin to excitement, elation, and pleasure all at once. So as he always does, Thomas indulges you when it has to do with your happiness and sexual gratification.

Unsurprisingly, Thomas’ primary love language is ‘acts of service’. It’s a devotional love; one that people often take for granted because of its consistency and altruistic nature. You could never take it for granted- you’re constantly aware and moved by Thomas' love for you even when his methods can be unconventional; grateful for any capacity of affection he has to offer despite his deep-rooted psychological scars.

And while his intentions are pure, Thomas unfortunately has a warped perception when it comes to justifying his selflessness- he sees himself as unworthy of all things good and caring. It's the reason why he normally resists being on the receiving end of such sentiments and actions; a trait you always find yourself fighting against with even more words of affirmation and displays of affection in hopes he'll one day finally understand how much he means to you.

The lukewarm water agitates in a comfortable way around your bodies as Thomas moves to press himself closer against you, returning your adoration with devout kisses of his own. You moan when he sucks at a particularly sensitive spot on your neck, causing you to shamelessly keen into him. His breathing hitches when your hips unintentionally roll against his groin, and he gives you an apologetic look when he begins to harden.

“You don’t have to feel bad, sweetheart, I’m yours”, you reassure him kindly, “I don’t think we have much time before the family starts calling us down for dinner, but…”

You lift yourself off of Tommy’s lap slightly in order to reach down and wrap a hand around his now twitching cock and align him with your entrance.

“-I need you just as badly", you whisper, playfully nipping the shell of his ear, “relax, and let me wash you first?"

Thomas is fully hard now, and you can see he’s struggling to keep his heart rate calm as he intensely keeps contact with your eyes; shakily nodding despite already wanting to give in to his increasingly consuming need for you.

You take it slow, returning to kiss his features softly as you begin to lower, teasing just his tip at first. And while you often enjoy flustering your sweet Tommy, you mostly take it slow for your own sake in this case.

Thomas is a very big man; both in height and heft, so it comes as no surprise that he’s also very well-endowed. It had taken quite a lot of reassurance on your part to convince him this wasn’t a bad thing when you’d first reached the point in your relationship; that you very much enjoyed feeling so full with him even when there had initially been a bit of pain adjusting to him.

Thomas grunts deeply, unconsciously squeezing his hands down and around your smaller form in order to steady himself; an action that has you gasping as you're pushed further on his cock.

He lets his head drop against your shoulder and neck when he finally feels you languidly bottom out around him. He's balls deep in you, and you fell so tight and hot that for a moment he almost loses his composure and begins desperately humping up into you.

You can tell Tommy is trying his very best to remain patient for you, but you can’t resist teasingly rolling your hips to get another shaky moan out of him; feigning innocence as you teasingly reach behind him to grab a bar of soap and a wash cloth.

His face is heated, and you’re sure yours is too, but you very much like seeing him that way. It’s when you start to lather soap over his skin and gently begin scrubbing that he begins to stir; wanting to care for you instead before he’d deal with himself on his own, but you insist, kissing his strong jaw.

“You’re always so selfless, Tommy”, you murmur against his neck.

You meet his eyes now with a fond expression, “I want to take care of you too, it’s important to me- you’re important to me”

You can see it in his eyes, the burden he bears from having to be a constant source of strength for everyone around him. It hurts you to see him be so hard on himself all the time, to see him genuinely think he doesn't deserve the same care he constantly provides. You don't want him to feel that way with you, you always want to be the one he can come to for love and comfort.

“Even if it’s just with me, in private moments like this, it’s okay. You deserve to be loved and cared for, Thomas- I'd never see you as less of a man because of your emotional needs and wants"

At first, he’s not sure if it’s the water making your bodies so slick and soft against one another, your heart beating so securely against his, or the words you’re giving him now that he's always wanted to hear, that finally push him over the edge. He decides it must be everything all at once as tears he no longer thought himself capable of producing appear in his weary blue eyes and his posture inevitably weakens.

You're hugging his head against your shoulder in an instant, running your fingers through his unkempt hair as he lets you comfort him. You know this won't entirely fix things- you'll have to help him again when the emotional pressure inevitably builds inside him once more, and becomes too great. Thomas will continue to be strong and selfless to a fault, but you will continue to love him to a fault as well.

Eventually, he settles as you continue to wash his skin, relishing in the way your hands and chest press against him in the process. It's impossible for him to ignore your walls shifting and squeezing around him as you move to reach across his much bigger body, but he tries to focus more on the tenderness of the act in order to last for you.

After you're satisfied with scrubbing away all traces of the day’s blood, sweat, and grime from his skin, you move to his hair; gently massaging soap into his scalp and working your fingers through any knots that formed during the day. Thomas gives you a relaxed groan at this, he adores the feeling of your gentle hands in any setting, but especially running through his scalp.

Looking after his hair is an affectionate act that just comes naturally to you; often idly moving your fingers through it at night with his head on your chest before you sleep, and in between good morning kisses when he wakes up with a bit of bedhead.

Before you came along, Thomas had never payed any special attention to himself for a good reason. In his eyes he was just some defective, disgusting, freak and everyone in town had certainly made sure he was aware of it. So when you first entered his life, he had withdrawn from you; too afraid of you turning out to be just like the rest, and unwilling to blame you for it if you did. It took a very long time for Thomas to get used to your touch, to trust you really meant what you said you felt for him despite what he had heartlessly been made to think of his appearace.

"Okay, handsome, all ready to rinse", you say giving him a peck on his lips.

It's your turn to scrub your skin and scalp, but you do so with less consideration than you had with Thomas, certain you were both pressed for time now. He has half a mind to insist on washing you too, but his cock is aching at this point and there's a powerful urgency in him to cum in you at least once before you have to separate.

You move to lift yourself off of him and get the shower head running, but Thomas’ hands unintentionally fly down on your hips to instinctively keep you seated on him causing you both to groan. He's letting go a second later, red-faced to have reacted so frenzied with you; gently pulling out now while pressing grateful kisses to your neck.

Your head feels light in a very good way as you now stand under the water with Thomas, wanting nothing more than to get the soap off as quickly as possible to give into your burning need for each other. As soon as this is achieved, you're being ardently kissed on the lips again; an action that has you automatically opening your mouth for him and wrapping your legs over his thickset thighs. He has no trouble lifting you up against the shower wall, and there's certainly no risk of slipping in the heat of the moment with how strong he is.

Thomas normally prefers slow, sensual love making, but you've riled him up quite a bit tonight, and there isn’t much time at the moment either. Regardless, he needs to release the rest of his pent up energy, and you're more than willing to help him with that. But even with how desperate he is to be inside you once more, Thomas searches your eyes for consent before going any further, just as he always does.

"I'm yours", you affirm in between heated pants, "I'm yours, and I want you too-”

It's all the confirmation he needs before he has your back arching, marking your neck with the only claim to be had over you while aligning himself with your entrance once more. You almost laugh when you think about how Tommy always reacts to seeing your neck after a rougher night; worry and guilt being his only emotions as he examines your bruised skin with featherlight fingers thinking he hurt you. You constantly reassure him that isn’t the case, but you definitely don’t complain when it has him kissing and coddling you even more for the next few days.

You’re broken out of your thoughts with a gasp when you suddenly feel Thomas sink into you with one vehement stroke; attentively letting you adjust to the sudden stretch while he worships your body under intense hands and lips- eternally thankful for your presence in his life, your choice in him, and your consent to let him cherish you so physically and so intimately despite his blood-stained hands and the repulsive image he has of himself.

You're shamelessly mewling for him to move now, a sound that arouses Thomas even more if possible. You’re unable to stop yourself from fluttering in his hold with the way he overwhelms you with his size alone. Thomas has always had an ability to drive you crazy with just how full he makes you feel. You're not ashamed of showing him how much his heaviness, both inside and around you, stimulates you either. He has a habit of treating you like you'll break; Luda May raised a gentleman after all, and the last thing he ever wants to do is hurt you- but you always tell him how much you adore feeling his imposing figure completely engulf you and that certainly makes him feel better about it.

“Tommy, please”, you beg beautifully.

Oh, he could never deny you.

He’s snapping his hips up as far as they’ll go in your current position; steady meaningful thrusts that have you squeezing around him and tears forming at the corners of your eyes with how good he’s making you feel now that he’s giving you both the relief you needed, and igniting an even stronger desire all at once. You can’t help pulling yourself into him even further by wrapping your arms around his neck, your head lolling against his every time he penetrates you.

Thomas moves a large hand to delicately have you face him once more in order to kiss you, his other still firmly against your waist to keep you steady on the wet shower wall as he continues to pound into you. You take the opportunity to run your hands down from around his neck to grope at his lovely chest and stomach, keeping up with the desperate liplock in order to distract him when you delicately run your fingers over his happy trail and cup his balls to give them a gentle squeeze.

Thomas gives you a strangled moan at that, biting down on your shoulder just enough to quiet himself, and not actually hurt you as you feel his hips stutter before beginning to fuck you even more fervently. The pleasure Thomas gives you nearly renders you dumb as you feel it electrify your nerves with every time the tip of his cock kisses as far as your walls will allow.

“Tommy! I-”

He responds with an almost animalistic growl; nodding in understanding as he lets his head fall to your chest with his eyes tightly shut, feeling his own high approach. In an instant your breath is hitching; fingernails and legs gripping Thomas impossibly close as you orgasm with a long, broken whine, and quiver around him with an intensity you never want to end. Thomas is heatedly panting against your skin at the feeling, but his cock continues to hammer into your tight, wet hole. It isn’t until he feels you spasming in his firm hold that he looks up to see your blissed out expression; half-lidded eyes with overstimulated tears at their edges, face hot, and pretty swollen lips openly panting. It’s all it takes for him to fervidly rut into you one final time; cock pressed as deeply as it will go, and your hips being pulled down onto him at the same time before he’s spurting and painting your walls white.

The water continues to run while you take a much needed moment to regulate your labored breathing. In your shared stupor, you had both weakly allowed the wet shower wall to ease you down into a half seated position; Thomas still between your legs, only this time on his knees and with his hands steadying himself above you. You give him a lethargic smile as you affectionately wrap your arms around his neck once again and motion for him to lay on you. It’s impossible for you to move him physically, but he gladly obliges you, only he remains careful about actually resting his full weight on you.

For a moment, it’s just comfortable silence; both of you taking pleasure in one another’s existence. Your hands are running through Thomas’ wet hair again and you can feel the shower’s water rhythmically thrum against his broad back, reverberating under your fingertips. His heart is still beating powerfully against you, and you take a moment to lazily press your lips against his cheek as you feel his warm seed seep out of you despite him still being fully sheathed within you.

“I love you, Tommy”

Thomas leans up to give you a heartfelt expression and a short throaty groan you know to be his way of saying, ‘I love you too’.

You were sure Hoyt would be hollering for the two of you to come down to the dinner table any second now, but with Tommy’s forehead lovingly pressed against yours, and having him so comfortingly in your arms, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care.

--------

“Dance with me, love?”

There’s a soft melody playing from the living room’s record player when he comes to tell you the rest of the family has gone to sleep for the night. You’re gazing at him so endearingly with your hand outstretched that he would have instantly agreed even if you had asked him to walk on fire. And his heart never fails to swell when he hears you address him with such sweet names he considers so uncharacteristic for his appearance.

Thomas’ steps are clear and comforting against the hardwood floor before he’s securely wrapping his thickset arms around you and tenderly pressing his forehead down against your own once more. The night is cool; allowing for an appreciated breeze to flow through a nearby open window while the two of you peacefully sway at a slow-moving pace with your eyes closed and your hearts full.

“I hope you never doubt how much you mean to me”, you whisper genuinely, “You don’t have have to hurt yourself trying to ‘deserve’ my love for you, Thomas. You’re more than worthy of it just as you are”

His blue eyes look tearful again, but he’s embracing you warmly before you can really be sure.

God, he loves you.

You can’t imagine anything on earth feeling safer, or more soothing than being in Tommy’s arms. And it’s in those same arms that Thomas carries you up the stairs to your shared bedroom once the lovely melody ends.

[mariacallous]

This week, President Biden signed the Respect for Marriage Act into law—an important step toward advancing protections for same-sex marriages. But the legislation comes near the end of a year in which hundreds of anti-L.G.B.T.Q. bills were proposed across the country, queer literature was the target of bans in schools, protests and violence against drag shows rose, a queer night club in Colorado Springs was attacked, and at least thirty-four trans people were killed. As Bryan Washington writes in a new essay, in this “ghoulish year for queer folks,” spaces for gathering have become more essential than ever, serving as “focal points of connection and as portals for sharing information.” Reflecting on his time at gay bars everywhere from Houston to Bangkok throughout 2022, Washington offers snapshots of the connection, support, sadness, joy, and visibility he found in them. “And perhaps this is one function of queer spaces,” Washington writes. “To give what is deemed unworthy—by white supremacy, by stigma, by capitalism—its brightness, even if only for a few hours.” The essay is a wonderful reminder of the gift of having companions to help you process a year’s worth of heartbreaking lows and euphoric highs.

In January, near the queer bars lining Houston’s Montrose Boulevard, some white guy stood with a bullhorn. Wearing a button-down shirt under a tidy jacket, he screamed at foot traffic for hours. Sodomites wrought the end of civilization! We were all going to hell! Vaping on a patio across the street, I asked a buddy whether this was strange, and he confirmed that it was, before we flopped into Crocker to the tune of Toni Braxton.

A week later, around the same spot, a gaggle of folks stood with more microphones. They wore matching T-shirts, blasting fire-and-damnation into the humidity. From time to time, they’d flag down passersby to remind us of our pending eternity in flames. A handful of folks engaged with the homophobes while walking along the busted concrete, but few offered more than a brief, tired Girl.

At Ripcord, a bartender—a bearish ginger draped in leather—told me that the agitators had been more visible lately.

They’re feeling themselves, he said. But it’s fucking gross out there? They should drink some water instead.

Some porn played on the screen behind us. Patti LaBelle sang from the speakers. This was a perfect space, and I ordered more drinks to take to my friends on the patio.

All in all, 2022 has been a ghoulish year for queer folks in the United States. Lawmakers have proposed more than two hundred and fifty anti-L.G.B.T.Q. bills, more than a hundred and eighty of them directed at trans folks. Nearly half of book bannings this year have focussed on queer content. There have been more than a hundred and twenty threats, protests, and attacks against drag shows. At least thirty-four trans folks have been killed, and states across the country have revelled in targeting trans kids.

But queer spaces have been more essential than ever. They’ve served as focal points of connection and as portals for sharing information. Yet another year into the pandemic, they’ve been places to just enjoy others for a fucking minute. Or maybe play bingo. Or catch a drag show, or catch up with friends, or spin the wheel on a date. They’ve offered a way to spend time with people whom you can wear a little less armor around, who might actually be invested in your feeling O.K.

In February, I flew to Los Angeles to pretend to finish a novel, but mostly I ended up drowning myself in seolleongtang. The majority of the queer bars I haunted stood in Silver Lake, sporting a little less sheen than the WeHo circuit farther down Santa Monica Boulevard. One night, I passed through the Eagle, where a Latinx guy working at the hotel I’d been staying in flagged me down by the pool table.

He, too, was from Texas, but he’d recently relocated. He asked how things were back home, and I told him that they were suboptimal.

It’s sad, he said. Because there’s so much potential, you know? The numbers are there. My people are there. But what can you even do? Kids can’t even pull up the fucking Trevor Project at school, he added, referring to a district policy that prevents queer students from accessing resources including the suicide-prevention hotline.

We ordered another round of vodka sodas. A group of gays across the bar began to cheer for their friend, who had either just gotten married or divorced. Eventually, we joined in, too.

I thought of my new friend, in September, when a church just outside Houston hosted a drag bingo night as a fund-raiser for young trans folks, only to be descended upon by a group of neo-Nazis and Proud Boys. Protesters and counter-protesters clashed along a road leading to the house of worship. Local police formed a line on the median. Afterward, despite everything, a pastor at the church deemed the event a success.

At a queer bar that weekend, about thirty miles away, my boyfriend, L, and I watched the usual assortment of karaoke singers cross a stage. Spectating was our tiny ritual. (I can confidently sing only songs by BLACKPINK.) Some familiar faces were perched in their corners. We smiled and nodded and touched one another’s elbows and shoulders. Eventually, a straight couple took the stage. They announced that they’d just gotten engaged, and dedicated their performance to the queer folks in attendance, swearing that “it gets better” before immediately launching into Selena’s mournful “No Me Queda Más.”

Behind us, someone asked, What the fuck?

Back in L.A. a few weeks later, I was sitting with two friends on the curb of Akbar, a gay cocktail bar, when a car swerved toward our intersection. A white guy leaned out of his window, yelling, Go get fucked, faggots.

The car honked as it passed us, nearly running the light. The three of us continued to tap at our phones. Then one friend looked up, sighed, and said, Babe, I wish.

The next month, after the fabulous collapse of a years-long project, I was feeling a little frantic, and L suggested that we take advantage of remote work. We ended up in Bangkok for a month. Our hotel, in the Silom area, sat a short walk from the subway line. A slightly longer walk brought us to a strip of queer bars tucked down an alleyway, beside an all-night American-style diner whose tuna salad made me see God.

On our first night out, we met a bespectacled guy at a drag bar. He was a local engineer, and he’d recently come out. A month beforehand, Bangkok had celebrated its first Pride march in years—which was also his first Pride march ever. So we bought him a drink to celebrate, and when I asked how he liked the city’s queer scene he grinned. If you were just looking to cruise, he said, waving at some older white guys ogling a pair of twinks wrapped in Gucci, then the bars were great. But the pandemic hadn’t been kind to many of the city’s queer establishments.

A lot of folks just hang out at home, he said. Tourist life and local queerness are different.

Another club I frequented underlined this dynamic. Tucked away on the upper floor of a nearby shopping mall, it was basically a local bear bar. The vibe felt worlds away from the evening strip’s sheen. Its clientele lounged in beach chairs. The occasional expat sipped beer from a straw. A dubbed version of the third “Transformers” movie played on a tiny television by a Jacuzzi.

One guy I met came from Indonesia. He asked whether I was Thai-Muslim (I’m not), and, when I told him I lived in the States, he asked how many of them I’d visited. He’d spent the last two years in Jakarta by himself. But he wasn’t out to his family. Indonesia was a tough place to be queer, and Bangkok was a reprieve.

I can let my guard down, he said. I can’t even tell you what that’s like.

By the time we returned to Houston, mpox—the disease often called by the harmful name “monkeypox”—had been declared a global health emergency. The epidemic had spread throughout the country, while testing remained virtually impossible. One buddy picked it up from a hookup. Another’s partner had a brush with it after an orgy. The vaccine requirements were constantly shifting: you could possibly, maybe receive one, but only if you were deemed sufficiently high-risk, and then only if you were “a man who had sex with men,” a wildly inadequate qualifier. The most accurate information I received came not from the government but by way of gay bars, sex clubs, and other queer-forward spaces hastily fortifying informal networks.

L and I spent a long Tuesday on the phone, flailing for an available shot. Two weeks later, pulling up for our appointments, we found that we were the only non-white folks in line at a predominantly Black neighborhood’s community center in South Houston. As it turned out, the government had sat on hundreds of thousands of doses. In the following month, supply strains would exacerbate racial disparities in vaccine access and medical disenfranchisement among queer folks of color.

But, at the end of July, Beyoncé released “Renaissance.” I started the album in my car the morning after its release and simply never stopped playing it. That same weekend, ducking through Houston’s queer circuit, I heard a d.j. in a packed bar start one song from the record (“Heated”) before slipping into another (“Virgo’s Groove”) and then a third (“Pure/Honey”) as the room worked itself into a pulsing huff of steam. When I finally stepped outside for air, I was enfolded into a group of folks still running through the lyrics, clapping each other on our shoulders and backs, nearly tearful, deeply euphoric.

In August, realizing that I’d either have to finish my novel or simply walk into the Gulf of Mexico, I holed up in a Vancouver studio overlooking the downtown skyline. Most mornings, I ambled down to the Vietnamese diner stationed by the building’s garage, until the matron started heading instinctively toward the coffee machine whenever I squeezed through the door. One evening, I passed through a restaurant for katsu curry and noticed that an Indian guy was the only other person eating alone. We exchanged polite smiles. A few hours later, nursing a drink at a queer bar, I spotted the same guy.

He was visiting with his family. He’d been hoping for a fun vacation, but mpox had him wary. He said that he’d just graduated university. I congratulated him, and he asked whether he could have a hug. When I gave him one, I could feel his entire body relax. He said that he’d only recently started going to the bars by himself, because he wasn’t entirely out. I told him it wasn’t a race, and he laughed.

That’s what everyone keeps saying, he added. But first there was COVID? It feels like a raw deal, like it’s all one risk after another.

A few weeks later, back in the Bay Area, I stood vaping with some folks outside a queer bar when a gray S.U.V. settled beside us. Its driver unrolled the window, unstrapped himself from a seatbelt, and yelled that he was fine with a queer bar in his neighborhood, but that we needed to keep our fag shit in the building.

He asked whether we understood. Four other smokers and I blinked at one another. None of us said anything. There were too many uncertain variables. Finally, the oldest person standing among us, a bearded Filipino guy, said, Sure, honey, and the car rolled away.

We stood in silence for another beat, puffing away, a little rattled. Then another person, a Black individual in overalls, the smallest one among us, said, He looked like his breath fucking stank.

In November, sleepwalking toward a manuscript deadline, I visited Amsterdam. The city unfurled in a moody way, guided by canals and folks meandering on bikes along brick-laden roads. Every few streets, a rain-worn building sported the Progress Pride flag.

As far as I know there’s only one gay sauna in Amsterdam. On a weekday, it was hardly populated. I ended up sitting in a hot tub between two guys, one of whom said that he was from Spain, and in the way of queers everywhere we started in on our recent grievances. The Spanish guy said that he was living in London for work. This was the first trip he’d taken since relocating. He grew up in a small town, and adolescence had been tough on him. London had been an education, and now he was furthering it.

The other guy was white and younger than both of us. We’d taken him for a local. But when we asked where he was from, he said Kyiv, and the reality of his situation—the war across the continent—sent a chill through the water.

Holy fuck, we said.

It’s all right, the guy replied. I’d never been to a gay bar. I’ve never been to a place like this, he said. I’m trying new things— hoping for the best, you know?

We nodded. But how could we possibly know?

The week before Thanksgiving, L and I lounged on the patio of our local leather spot, because I’d just finished copy edits on my novel and it was time to celebrate. Then, starting at one end of Montrose, we careened from bar to bar. I managed to stay afloat until two in the morning. A crisp chill hung over the patios. Folks huddled together as they passed, cheering on strangers, imploring them to stay safe. A few hours later, we woke up to news of the Club Q shooting in Colorado Springs. A shooter had killed five people in the queer nightclub and wounded at least nineteen more.

It all felt like—and it all is—entirely too much. A country that prides itself on queer progressiveness on an international stage refuses to provide safety and human rights for its residents. This month, the Respect for Marriage Act has become law, but what is the privilege of marriage to communities without the baseline necessities, who face regular violence in their attempts to secure them?

On Thanksgiving evening, after making the rounds of our assorted found families, we made our way back to the queer bars, settling into JR.’s. The atmosphere was muted. Looks of recognition passed from patron to patron. But, as the evening progressed, the room turned more crowded—never packed, but lively—until it felt like being present for each other was a gift in itself.

On the karaoke stage, a drag queen lamented the shootings. She said that things were taking a turn for the worse. But then she asked whether anyone in the room had something for us to champion. One woman noted that she’d just left a ten-year marriage. Another guy spoke about his new gig. A couple announced that they’d opened up their relationship, drawing a scattering of cheers, because this, too, was touching: to see things normally rendered invisible allowed visibility within this shared space.

And perhaps this is one function of queer spaces: to give what is deemed unworthy—by white supremacy, by stigma, by capitalism—its brightness, even if only for a few hours. Flirting at the bar is holy. Biding time on a hookup app by the pool table is holy. A sleepy evening sipping lukewarm beer with found family is holy. Chatting with the muscle-cub bartender is holy. A midnight drag show on a week night is holy. Sucking dick in a dark room is holy, and so is waiting until you’ve gotten home, and so is opting out of the meat market entirely for a lazy pecan waffle with eggs at the all-you-can-eat diner once the bars have closed. Coming out incessantly is holy. Coming together is holy. A hastily organized orgy is holy. And mundanity is holy—perhaps even the holiest, because it is worth everything to insure that the most disenfranchised among us receive the same ordinary benefit of the doubt.

With the queen’s interlude over, karaoke began again. An older Black dude sang Luther Vandross. Some Latinx folks followed with Selena Gomez. A Black woman sang Jill Scott with her white friend. And then an Asian guy took the stage for an astoundingly beautiful rendition of “Rocket Man,” which felt like the appropriate note to depart on. We finished our beers and slipped out into the rain, taking care not to trip on the concrete.  ♦

[chironshorseass]

I just read your post about Percy’s claiming and it made me want to know your thoughts on Percy’s fight with Hyperion. Like, he not only summoned a hurricane and kicked Hyperion’s ass, but he summoned the hurricane on accident.

anon thank you for reminding me of this moment because yes, i have things to say lmao. 

what’s so interesting to me is how percy reacts to his powers in that scene. as i've said in my earlier post, percy seems to easily get the hang of his abilities. but even in the first book, he doesn’t question why he could control the toilet water or rly anything. he just went with it and didn’t hesitate. which, to be fair, isn’t unexpected at all. because come on, who doesn’t want to have hydrokinesis and use it to their advantage? 

my point is that i feel like percy has always had this instinct, that the sea is within him. why else would it be so easy to have that much control without proper training? that’s why percy just kinda shrugged when grover was like, “hey you’re making a hurricane. how the fuck are you doing that?” 

because again, it feels so natural to him. and i mean it when i say that he has the sea inside of him, because a hurricane can only be created in the ocean. not me double checking how a hurricane is created. but basically, percy would not only have to have manipulated another state of water, which is gas, but he also played around with temperatures of the lake, or whatever body of water him and hyperion were in. i'm too lazy to check sorry. for a hurricane to form, it has to come from warm, tropical waters and then mix with cool air, so like...what i'm going with this is that he’s kind of like, a personal ocean. he can just spring out whatever fucking ability the sea has to offer just. like. that. 

again, he has his father’s nature. he canonically has anger issues but is also a sweet boy—until you mess with him, that is. he is unpredictable to most, but if you really study him, you’ll know exactly what he’s going to do, and others say that he smells like salty air. the water restores him, it can heal him and protect him. in tlo, he channeled the sea when he was on the princess andromeda while fighting kronos to be able to unfreeze himself. 

it’s no wonder he doesn’t want to be controlled. it’s no wonder every time he witnesses something new about himself, he just wants more, like when he was cleaning the stables. (i've already mentioned this in my first post but) he just wants more freedom, more destruction. and he doesn’t mean for it to be that way, but it’s in his nature. that’s why i think that his name is so fitting. destroyer. like damn.

idk, but it seems to me that there’s more that’s going on than just: “he has ocean powers because of his dad” kinda take. like okay, yes...he does possess them because of poseidon, but it just feels like he literally shares a connection to the ocean. his essence, if you discount his mortality, is the ocean. 

so it’s honestly no surprise that hyperion didn’t stand a chance against him. hyperion is the titan of “heavenly light,” and like i said, percy represents the ocean. if he could create a hurricane, he is immediately blocking out the titan’s source of power. the ocean is destructive, the ocean has been feared since the beginning of time, though it has also been heavily admired. it destroys cities, has sunk millions of ships, has created the most powerful storms. and still people get mislead, underestimating it, time and time again. the ocean has more power than we could ever comprehend—again, no surprise there as to why percy has been considered one of the most, if not the most powerful demigod, if he himself is linked to the sea. and we know that water lets him manipulate it, even if poseidon himself has mentioned that the sea doesn’t like to be restrained. but if percy’s technically the sea itself, then...making anything that’s liquid do his bidding is generally a piece of cake for him. at least for some period of time. 

apart from some exceptions with other immortals, his most epic fights were with hyperion and ares, and it’s good to note that he defeated them both in his element. but he’s also learned to summon the sea in the middle of texas, so...it just makes me batshit crazy how he doesn’t get it. at all. he just goes with the flow, ignorant to how much potential he has. how much raw, primitive power he’s got inside of him, ready to be unleashed. i just know that he could easily defeat other deities now, seeing that his abilities have grown drastically during pjo and hoo. if he can summon hurricanes and control temperatures, if he can make a bridge split in half, if he can bloodbend, control poisons, blow up a volcano...dude DUDE. imagine him willing the ocean to part for him like moses I—

[wiypt-writes]

Sunny Side Up

Summary: Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, right? And for Mike, there’s no better way to start it than by eating his favourite thing, ever.

Pairing: Mike Weiss x Reader

Warnings: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Brief mentions of drug addiction- nothing graphic. Language!

A/N: So this was what popped into my head after seeing @imanuglywombat​ post that damned latest Sex Position as part of her downright filthy and wonderful “Is That Even A Sex Position” weekly challenge. This position is called “The Special Breakfast”. See here for more information. And you can totally blame @sweater-daddiesdumbdork​ for this one. I wasn’t gonna write it but…yeah, I did. Sorry not sorry.  I’ve tried to make the reader as non-descript and as inclusive as I can but I don’t usually do reader x fics so I apologise if it hasn’t quite hit the mark.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar the reader.  By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Tagged my permanent tag list.

Main Masterlist

********

“No, that’s not the same, at all.” Mike’s voice drifted up the hallway of you house as you closed the door behind you, shutting out the bitter January wind that has descended over Dover. “Yeah, well they signed up to the terms so....”

You glanced at your watch, it wasn’t even seven-AM yet and he was already on to someone about the current case he was working. But then, that was Mike all over. An addict, only now you were glad to say the only thing flooding his system was adrenaline and passion for his work.

You hung your jacket up on the pegs by the door, unwrapped your woollen scarf from round your neck and placed that over the hook above your jacket and then reached down to unzip you boots, before toeing them off. Your sock clad feet padded down the wooden floor of the hall towards the kitchen and you walked in to see Mike was bent over a file on the island in the middle, already dressed for the office.

“Clause ninety-one, paragraph twenty, sub-bullet two. Yup. We’ll present that to them today, give them chance to respond.” He paused for a moment, his head turning to you, a warm smile spreading across his face as you leaned over for a quick peck before you headed to the fridge for a soda. “Yeah. Okay, no problem, see you about half eight.”

With that he placed the cordless phone down and turned to face you.

“Morning, Baby.” He grinned, before he nodded to the Diet Coke in your hand. “Interesting choice of drink for breakfast.”

“Technically it’s not my breakfast time.” You shrugged back. “More like dinner, I suppose.”

Mike chuckled as he crossed to space towards you, his hands falling to your hips before he bent down and brushed his lips against yours in a hardly there kiss. “Good shift?”

“A heart attack, car accident, two broken legs, couple of flu cases and a shit tonne of idiotic drunks, the finest Delaware has to offer.” You shrugged. “Usual shit.”

“I don’t know how you do it, Dr Y/L/N”

“Lucky for you I do, or we’d have never met.”

“And I’d be dead.”

“Don’t.” You shook your head, swallowing a little. The memory of that night almost eighteen months ago was still raw. If you hadn’t stopped by at Mike’s that evening following an argument the pair of you had earlier in the day, you’d never have found him almost dead from an overdose. It had been a long road to recovery, and whilst nothing was ever proven, Mike and Paul were convinced that it was something to do with the safety needle case they had been working. Despite the fact that there was enough heroin in his system to stop his heart, Mike swore blind to you he hadn’t taken anything but a few lines that night, and there was something about the way he said it that made you believe him. And so did Paul.

The authorities never managed to prove anything, but there was one good thing to come out of it. When you had broken down and told Mike how scared you’d been that he was going to die and that you couldn’t cope anymore with the constant fear that one day he would kill himself for real, it gave Mike the final kick he needed because he didn’t want to lose you.

So he got clean. And this time he did it for good.

It wasn’t easy, for either of you. Once he was medically fit enough, Mike had been placed on a programme at a Rehab Centre, whereby he saw no one bar trained medical specialists and councillors for six weeks. It felt like the longest six weeks of your life but he did it. And when you went to pick him up, you instantly burst into tears at how different he looked, how better he looked, how healthy he looked.

The road to recovery is a long one, paved with temptations, you knew that being a Doctor. And whilst Mike knew and understood his triggers thanks to his programme, those temptations met him everywhere, especially because he knew exactly where and how to get his fix. So the pair of you agreed to take a fresh start. You traded Texas for Delaware, the State you were originally from, and you were beyond proud to be able to honestly state that Mike Weiss had been clean now for eighteen months. Well, apart from alcohol that is. But even that was enjoyed in moderation, and to be honest, you’d rather him sit at home with a glass or two of bourbon each night that sticking fuck knows what into his veins.

You cocked your head to one side as his hands flexed on your hip and he gave you a little side smile. “Sorry. Oh, hey guess who I got a call from?”

“Who?” You asked as he stepped back, grinning.

“The Alligator Farm. Snappy’s got himself a lady friend. They’re gonna send me some photos and stuff.”

You smiled, giving up that beloved alligator had been a hard sell to Mike. “That’s great.”

“Yeah. Oh and Paul was thinking of coming over with the family in the spring. I said they could stay here, I know it’ll be a squeeze but is that okay?”

“Course it is.” You reached up to cup his cheek. “It’ll be lovely to see them again.”

Mike smiled and dropped another kiss to your lips, this one slightly stronger before you pat his chest as he rest his forehead against yours.

“I need to go shower.”

“Want me to come join you?” He asked, eyebrow raised and you smiled.

“As good as that sounds there’s something else I want more.”

“Oh yeah?” He grinned, his eyes flickering down to the buttons on your blouse and you laughed.

“Calm down, Stud. I want pancakes and bacon, I don’t give a shit what time it’s supposed to be for me.”

Mike groaned as you moved away from where you’d been stood with your back to the large, stainless steel fridge and headed out of the room. He watched you go, the gently sway of your hips in your well fitted black pants made his groin twitch. He was half tempted to fuck your demands and go and jump you in the shower whether you wanted him to or not, but he’d seen the flicker your face had given when you’d described how your twelve-hour shift had gone down. Despite your blasé tone, he knew you too well and understood exactly how tired and stressed you were feeling. So, instead, he turned his attention to making breakfast.

Something he prided himself on was his cooking ability. He’d picked it up pretty fast since you’d moved here, he found it was a welcome distraction, so much so you very rarely made meals now, bar when you insisted on doing a roast which he never argued against.  Within fifteen minutes he had a stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs- sunny side up, as you preferred- all laid out on the island and ready for you to help yourself to. He’d just poured you an orange juice when you walked back into the kitchen, hair piled on your head in a messy bun, wrapped in a dressing gown and he was pleased to see you looked relaxed.

“Oh, Mikey, this looks great!” You smiled as he wrapped an arm round you, kissing your head. He watched as you helped yourself to a huge plateful before making your way over to the table and sitting down with a sigh. Mike tucked his tie into his shirt to avoid it dropping into his food and plated himself a helping up before he sat down at the place next to you, cracking his neck slightly. The pair of you chatted about the day ahead, which for you consisted of sleeping until it was time to get up for your next shift, Mike’s contained a meeting with a company who he was currently in the process of negotiating a settlement with on behalf of a client. When you’d finished, Mike made to clear away the dishes but you gently placed your hand on his arm and stood up, insisting on doing it as he’d cooked.

When you returned to the table, Mike pushed his chair back slightly and patted his knee.

“Come ‘ere.” He smiled softly and you grinned, settling yourself on his lap sideways, your arm looping round his shoulder, fingers gently playing with his suspenders. He gave a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you and pressed a kiss to your head, happy to simply be close to you for a moment.

“You doing okay?” You asked and he smiled, your words carrying that hidden meaning- ‘Do you want a fix, today?’

“I’m good, Babes.” He pulled back to look at you. “I promise.”

Smiling you gently placed your lips on his in a soft kiss, which soon became heated as Mike’s hand slid up to the back of your neck, holding you in place as his tongue slid along your bottom lip. He was pleased when you reciprocated, opening your mouth slightly to allow him in. He could taste the sweetness of the syrup on you from your pancakes and, as your tongue gently swirled against his, he let out a little groan from the back of his throat and he felt you smile.

“How long till you have to be in the office?” Your voice was lower than you’d intended, betraying exactly what you had in mind and Mike grinned at you, pulling back a little, as he glanced up at the clock.

“Just over forty-five minutes, why?”

You bit your lip, fingers toying once more with his suspenders which were clipped to the waistband of his light, grey trousers and sat over a maroon shirt, set off with a black tie. “Do I gotta spell it out to you, Weiss?”

“No, I just like hearing you beg.” A cheeky glint flashed in his eyes and you gave a snort.

“I do not beg.”

“Really?” He arched an eyebrow and in a swift moment he stood up, causing you to give a shriek of a giggle as he sat you on the table in front of him. “I bet,” he pushed on your shoulders causing you to rest your weight on your elbows as he loomed over you, gently reaching for the tie on your robe, “that I can have you singing my name and begging for more,” his hands made quick work of the knot and pulled it open, before his fingers slid up the front, opening it to leave you bare in front of him, “in less than five minutes flat.”

“Less than five minutes?” You looked up at him, his eyes blown with lust and you smirked. “You’re so full of shit.”

He wasn’t though, you knew full well that you were the one full of shit. Mike had on many an occasion had you crying his name in less time than it took you to sing a verse of the National Anthem, and he knew it as the cocky expression on his face showed.

“Oh, Baby Girl.” He chuckled, bending over, his mouth brushing against that spot on your neck, the bristles of his short beard scratching your skin. “Have you learnt nothing, yet?”

“Only that you’re a cocky little bastard.” You tried to keep your voice level but it didn’t work. Your words came out a shaky whisper as one of his hands gently splayed on your stomach and brushed up your body to your sternum as he peppered hot, opened mouthed kisses across your collar bone, before his lips ghosted up your neck, over your chin and his mouth claimed yours in a searing kiss as his hand palmed at your breast. As he rolled your nipple between his finger and thumb you gave a moan and he smirked against your mouth.

Suddenly, he was gone from over you and you frowned, missing his sudden presence and you propped yourself up on your elbows to see him settling back in the chair by the table.

“Mike, what the-“

You were cut off as he reached over, grabbing your ass and hoisting your pelvis up, pulling you towards him. Before you could register what was going on, your legs were over his shoulders and you just caught a glimpse of his face, as he quirked an eyebrow at you, lips curled upwards in that maddeningly smug bastard grin, before his mouth was trailing up the inside of your thigh.

“Oh, Jesus.” You let out a little groan as he neared the place you now desperately wanted him and he chuckled.

“No, just me.”

“Fuck off you-“ But whatever it was you were going to call him flew from your mind as his tongue licked up your sex, and grazed against your clit, teasing it with quick, hardly there flicks which, you were ashamed to say, had you riled up something feral. His hands palmed at your ass, his fingers curling round the outside of your thighs as he quickened his movements, his mouth expertly devouring you, tongue flicking into your entrance as his lips circled that sensitive nub, giving a suck that made you cry out, your back arching off the table, pushing yourself further onto his face.

Mike let out a chuckle which vibrated exquisitely against you and you gasped again, your hands slapping onto the cool surface of the table, fingernails feeling the grain of the wood as he upped his efforts dramatically, lips and tongue teasing you in a way that was so delectable it was teetering along that fine line between pain and pleasure. His mouth expertly devoured every inch of you, from your inner and outer pussy lips to the depths of your walls, tongue fucking you like you he was starving, despite the breakfast the pair of you had eaten moments ago.

“Fuck, Mike, I need…” Your voice was croaky, the words sounded far off as they bounced around your lust addled brain and once again he chuckled.

“I told you.”

“Yeah, yeah you arrogant sh-oooh fuck!” You cried as he gently nipped your clit. “Shit!”

You were willing yourself to remain grounded, wanting to prove him wrong but you couldn’t. You couldn’t fight the urge you felt to ride over the edge which was building like a fire inside you. When his mouth was over you completely once more, tongue deep, you felt him move one of his hands and his thumb pressed against your clit, before the pressure eased off and his tongue slipped away.

"Okay, okay you win, Mike, please for the love of God!” You groaned and with a final, maddeningly smug chuckle he dove back in, only this time when you felt your orgasm brewing he didn’t stop. One of your hands flew to his hair, pulling lightly on his soft, spiky strands and he gave a growl as you tugged, his efforts doubling once more as his beard scratched against your sensitive pussy and inner thighs. The coil in your belly was tightening, your entire body quivered and with a final flick of his tongue you gave a cry as your orgasm crashed over you. Your toes curled into his back just below his shoulders, your own back arched as your walls clamped down over nothing, the room fading out as everything went silent and the lights erupted in front of your eyes, your entire body feeling like you were floating.

Mike grinned, guiding you through your release before he stood up, pulling you further to the end of the table as he undid the flies on his trousers, freeing his painfully hard erection. The swollen head of his dick gently swirled around your folds before he buried himself inside you, groaning as he felt you fluttering around him in the after throes of your orgasm. You let out a low groan and finally opened your eyes, looking up at him as he pounded into you, fully clothed, those fucking suspenders that drove you wild still looped over his shoulders.  

He slid one, large hand under your back and pulled you up causing you to cry out as he drove deeper into you, his hand on the base of your back pulling you up and towards him as he dipped his head to give you a dirty, sloppy kiss whilst he rolled and thrust into you. Then His lips moved down, nipping at your neck, his breath hot on your ear as your head fell back, a low moan rumbling in his throat.

“God, I love seeing you like this, fucking wrecked all because of me.” His panted words made you groan even more as the heat in your groin was beginning to mount again. “Makes me higher than any fucking drug ever could.”

His thrusts continued, hard, deep, and you felt his dick throbbing inside you as he drove up against your spot, his lips back on yours as he kissed you hard, swallowing the pants and whimpers you were making as you began to teeter on that cliff edge again. With a deep roll of his hips you let out a low wail and came, once more, your core spasmed around him as your entire body tingled, and that was enough for him to follow you. With a powerful thrust he stiffened, a low grunt stuttering from his lips as he pulsed inside of you, his hips growing sloppy before they stopped completely. His chest heaving, he pressed his forehead to yours, the pair of you gasping for breath as you came down from your high.

“Shit, Mike.” You managed to stutter as he grinned, his lips meeting yours in a soft peck. “That was…”

“Yeah, I was pretty good.” He chuckled and you slapped his arm as he moved and pulled out of you. You straightened your robe and stood up, wincing as you felt his release trickled down your inner thigh.

“I need another shower.” You grumbled, before you glanced at his crotch, the damp patch where he’d pressed against you was clear as day. “And you should probably change your trousers.”

Mike glanced down before his eyes met you, and he shrugged. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll go into the office like this and then every time I see it I’ll be reminded exactly what a damned good breakfast I had this morning.”

You blinked before you shook your head, scoffing. “You’re gross.”

He laughed. “You love it, Sweetheart.”

“I love you.” You corrected, your hands sliding up over his shoulders and he smiled, a pure, innocent smile that made him look like a schoolboy before he took your face in his hands and kissed you deeply, pulling away, his nose bumping against yours.

“I love you too.” He whispered, his eyes locking onto yours. “Now go, before I decide to play hooky for the day.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Weiss.” You smirked, before with one final quick peck you left the room.

Mike watched you go, before he ran his hands through his hair and turned to glance around the kitchen, his eyes falling to the table he’d just fucked you senseless on.

He should probably clean that before he went to work…

[idreamofplaid]

Moonlight Whiskey

Square Filled: Whiskey for @walker-bingo & Established Relationship for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

Summary: Cordell plans a romantic night for the reader that brings back memories from decades ago.

Rating: Explicit

Characters: Cordell x Reader; Emily mentioned

Word Count: 4040

Created for @walker-bingo & @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

“We’re almost there.” Cordell’s voice held a hint of excitement. Whatever this was he had planned for you, he was happy with himself about it; and that made you happy. It was past time Cordell let himself feel happy again.

You lifted your fingers to the bandana covering your eyes. It had slipped a little, and you pushed it back into place. If it fell much lower, you might be tempted to peek, and you didn’t want to ruin Cordell’s surprise. He knew your inclinations, and when he saw what you were doing; he issued you a playful warning. “Keep the blindfold on.”

This entire night already had you feeling good, and you played along. “Is this something kinky, Cord?”

You felt his hand settle on your thigh. “Not that I don’t want to get kinky with you, baby, but not tonight.”

You put your hand over his and moved your fingers lightly over his long, thick ones.  That was part of the beauty of Cordell. His hands were strong. You’d seen those fingers wrapped around a rope while he rode a bull. His hands were strong enough to keep him on the back of that massive animal. 

They were also gentle. When he touched you, he made you feel like something precious, and his gentle touch could set you on fire. You shifted slightly in your seat at the thought.

The truck came to a stop, and Cordell cut the engine. “Sit tight, baby. I’ll be right around to get you.”

It was only a few seconds before your door opened, and Cordell’s hand was on your arm to help you out of the truck. “Watch your step, darlin’.”

The ground was a little uneven beneath your feet. It made you wonder where you were. After a few steps, Cordell stopped you and put his hands on your shoulders, turning you to face the direction he wanted.

You could feel him untying the bandana at the back of your head, and it slipped from your eyes. When you saw the landscape in front of you, your mouth fell open; and you put your hand over it. “Cord, you didn’t.”

His smile was so big it brought his dimples out to play. “Happy Anniversary, baby.” His arms circled around your waist, and he pushed your hair to the side so he could kiss the back of your neck. 

You closed your eyes, enjoying the feel of his soft lips on your skin. “Cordell, that’s really romantic, but it isn’t our anniversary. He opened his mouth a little to suck on your neck.

“Yes, it is. It’s the anniversary of when we almost had sex on prom night. Right here.” You opened your eyes to take a good look at the lake. This was the exact spot he’d brought you after the prom when you had just turned sixteen and he was the dashing older boy who was way too cute and adorable. You hadn’t had a chance and had fallen for him hard.

You smiled at his attempt to be sentimental. He never had been good with dates. “Cord, this isn’t the right day.”

He turned you in his arms and pulled you up against him. “Well, it was April,” he said, “and you looked beautiful that night.” He smiled when he said it, and it made him more handsome and more charming than any man had a right to be.

You laughed. This man had always had the talent to make you happy, even when he was a boy. “Yes, it was April.”

He kissed you slowly with a touch of tease, promising something more to come. Cordell lifted his lips from yours, and he smiled at you again. “I thought we could have a do over. Maybe I’ll be luckier tonight than I was then.” He grinned at you with a particular gleam in his eye.

You licked your lips. “As I recall, you were the one who put the brakes on that night.”

He chuckled. “I did, but I had a very good reason for that.”

You slid your hand down to grip his ass. “And what reason was that?”

He lowered his head, and you could have sworn you saw him blush behind the beard. “I had no idea what I was doin’ because... I was a virgin.”

You’d never known that. Girls were all over Cordell in high school. You’d just assumed.

He nodded toward the bed of his truck. “Would you let me try to make things a little better for you than they were that night?”

For a second you forgot to respond because the moonlight was shining in his gray blue eyes. “You left me aching for you, Cord.” You said it with a touch of lightheartedness, but it was the absolute truth.

His smile was hypnotizing, his eyes serious.“You weren’t the only one who was aching.”

You put your hand on his cheek. “Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen tonight.”

He nuzzled that sweet spot beneath your ear. “I’m not going to leave you wantin’ for anything tonight, babygirl.”

Then Cordell took your hand and led you over to the back of the truck. He lowered the tailgate and climbed inside. There was a rolled up sleeping bag that he unfurled and laid out across the bed. Then he reached for your hand and helped you up.

He sat down, leaned his back against the cab, stretched his legs out in front of him and extended his hand in invitation to you. You took his offered hand in yours and sat down next to him, tucking your legs beneath you.

Cordell put his arm around you, pulling you close, and you put your head on his shoulder. It seemed that all the stars were out tonight, and it was even more romantic than that night all those years ago had been. If that was even possible, because you had been head over heels in your first love then.

That first love had never left you. He’d moved on, and you had tried. You’d even moved away from Austin for a while. It had just been too painful to see him with Emily, but moving to another state or anything else you’d tried had never erased him from your memory. No other man had ever measured up to him.

You let yourself just feel this moment. Cordell’s arm was around you. He was choosing you, and you wouldn’t ponder too much on if his decision would be the same if Emily were still alive. He was with you now.

You buried your nose into his neck and inhaled his scent, wanting nothing more than to lose yourself in him. He kissed the top of your head and asked, “Hey, you okay.”

His instincts were good. What else could you expect from a Texas Ranger? “I’m fine, Cord. I was just thinking.”

He combed his fingers through your hair. “What ARE you thinking?”

You turned your head to kiss his neck. It wasn’t possible to say it out loud. You couldn’t tell him how much he actually meant to you, how you really felt about him. In your mind, you were still second choice to Emily. If she were still alive, you wouldn’t even be here. That knowledge didn’t encourage a complete reveal of your feelings for him.

Instead, you told him “I was just thinking about that night.” 

Cordell laced his fingers through yours. “Will you tell me what you were thinking?”

You chewed on your bottom lip for a minute, contemplating how much you should share with him at this point in your relationship. Part of you knew how he felt about you, even if he hadn’t said it. Another part of you knew he was focused on his kids right now, and you supported him in that. They had lost their mother, and Cordell was doing his best to help them through that. You loved him even more BECAUSE he was a good father.

It was that third part of you that was causing you so much trouble. Emily might be gone, but the specter of her loomed large in your mind. You’d been Cordell’s girlfriend first, sort of, but then Emily had come sweeping into his life and just like a spring storm that was fast and furious; she popped up out of nowhere. It wasn’t entirely unexpected. It was bound to happen; some girl was going to capture his heart, and in so doing she had destroyed all your dreams of a future with him.

That wasn’t really fair. She hadn’t meant you any harm. Chances were she barely even knew of your existence. Cordell had followed her around like a puppy. It was clear he was enamored with her, and the friendship you had with him that might have blossomed into something else was all but forgotten. He was busy with someone else, and that still stung. You were a grown woman, and it still hurt. There was a young girl inside you who had never stopped loving him, and she was a part of the woman you had become.

You’re being ridiculous, Y/N. He’s here with you now. Are you going to let your teenage broken heart get in the way of that?

It was time to expose yourself to him a little more, let him know what you had felt for him, maybe even what you were feeling now, trust him. You squeezed his hand to reassure yourself he truly was there. This wasn’t a dream you would wake up from and feel the other side of the bed, only to discover it was empty. 

You took a breath and told him one of the secrets you had been holding inside. “That was one of the best nights of my life. I had a huge crush on you.” Crush. That word would do for now, until your relationship was in a place that you could reveal the entire truth.

He shifted to look at you. The grin on his face was adorable and oblivious. “A crush? Really?”

“Yes, Cord. I thought you were the cutest boy I’d ever seen, and that night you were so handsome. A tux is a good look on you.” You put your head down on his shoulder because what you’d told him made you feel a little vulnerable and because you could. After so long, you could be close with him like this again.

“I thought you were so pretty. I couldn’t believe you were with me.” Hearing him say that made you get all soft inside. “I meant what I said about a do over. I wish I’d done things differently that night.”

Butterflies started to flutter in your stomach just like you were sixteen again. “What would you have done differently?”

He tilted your chin up with fingers. His eyes, that always kept you guessing about what color they would be, had turned the deepest of grays without a trace of blue. “Why don’t I show you?” 

He dipped his head down to touch his mouth to yours. His lips parted slightly, and you opened yours in response. Cordell’s tongue glided around yours, and you felt yourself falling even more deeply into him. 

When he pulled away from you, the expression on his face was as soft as the warm April breeze caressing your skin. You looked at each other for several long seconds before he turned and lifted the blanket that was piled in the corner of the truck bed to reveal a picnic basket. He lifted the top and pulled out a bottle of whiskey. 

He held it up so you could read the label. “Remember this?” he asked. 

You smiled and shook your head, but not because you didn’t remember. Every detail of that night was etched in your mind. You were amazed he remembered so much. The shaking of your head turned into a nod. “I do remember. That was the first time I ever tasted whiskey. It felt like my throat was on fire.” You laughed softly at yourself and the memory.

Cordell reached into the basket to retrieve something else. He’d brought glasses. It was the same kind of whiskey, but he’d upped his game. That night you passed the bottle back and forth, drinking straight out of it. He opened the bottle, poured some into a glass and handed it to you. Then he poured a glass for himself. 

He held up his glass before taking a drink. “To second chances.”

You clinked your glass against his and took a sip. “What do you remember about that night, Cord?”

He took a big drink from his glass and got a faraway look in his eyes. “I remember how nervous I was. I thought we were gonna...you know.”

Your voice dropped to a whisper. “Why didn’t we? I would have. Why did you stop?”

Cordell’s eyes searched yours, like maybe he was weighing how much he should tell you too. “Because I...uh...I was afraid of hurting you, in more ways than one.” He dropped his eyes. “I had a condom in my wallet, and it just felt too calculated. Prom night. This place, a lake and the stars overhead. It was like I set you up. I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

You put your hand over his where it was resting on his thigh. “Cordell, just because you were prepared doesn’t mean you were taking advantage of me; you were taking care of me. Neither one of us was ready for a baby then.” 

He raised his eyes to meet yours again. You wanted to ask him why it had never happened, not even after that night, but you didn’t. You knew. Emily. She was the one who’d had his babies. It was barely a month after that night that she’d entered his life.

Cordell’s voice snatched you out of your troubling thoughts, back to the here and now. “It wasn’t because I didn’t want you, Y/N. I did. I went home and...took care of the raging hard on I had while I thought about you.” You saw him swallow hard. 

You ran your fingertip around the rim of your glass, suddenly feeling bold. “Tell me, Cord, exactly what did you think about?”

He finished his whiskey in a gulp, put his glass down, and settled his hands on your hips. “I thought about you, your mouth, how it felt kissing you, and... what else you could do with your mouth.”

You dipped your finger into your glass, then dragged it across Cordell’s lips, leaving them wet. He tasted of bourbon when you kissed him and whispered against his mouth “Tell me more.”

Cordell’s breathing was noticeably heavier. “I imagined what it would feel like to be inside you, how warm and tight you’d be, and I pretended it was your hand on me.”

You tossed your glass and the remainder of its contents past Cordell’s shoulder and over the side of the truck. It hit the ground with a thud. With both of your hands now free, you unzipped Cordell’s fly and reached inside to cradle his cock in your hand.

He hissed in a breath as you worked his cock out of his boxers and through the opening in his jeans. When it was free, you stuck three of your fingers into your mouth to get them wet. Then you wrapped them around his dick that was beginning to harden and started to stroke. “Is this what you imagined?”

Cordell dropped his head back. “Fuck, baby. This is so...much...better.”

His cock grew hard under the soft velvety smoothness of his skin. “You feel so damn good, babygirl.”

Your strokes got slower. “It can feel even better. Why don’t you do what you wanted to do that night?”

Cordell opened his eyes. He held your cheek in his hand then brushed your hair from your face. “You’ve even more beautiful now than you were then, Y/N.”

You’d been dating Cordell for months now. This certainly wasn’t the first time you’d been together, but in many ways it felt like it. Maybe it was the place; maybe it was the way he was looking at you, like you were the only woman for him. You believed that. He’d made you believe it during this time you’d reconnected, with moments and gestures just like the one he was making tonight.

He lifted your shirt off over your head, and you felt a chill run through you; but it wasn’t because it was cold. It was because you were filled with excitement and anticipation, as though the clock truly had turned back. 

You’d bought a matching bra and panty set for tonight, and you were glad of it. When Cordell saw your blue satin and lace bra, he inhaled sharply. You had never forgotten it was his favorite color. He ran his thumb along the top edge of your bra cup, then lowered his head to kiss the swell of your breast rising over the top of the bra.

“You are so soft, baby.” He raised his head to nuzzle that spot below your ear while he reached around to unhook your bra. “You smell good too.”

He slipped the bra straps from your shoulders, and your breasts spilled free. Cordell cupped them in his hands, kneading them in his calloused fingers. You moaned when he flicked his thumbs over your nipples. “God, Cordell.” Your moan got deeper when he sucked one into your mouth. 

His warm mouth closed over your nub, and the way his tongue was circling over it, caused you to clench. Your walls were fluttering around the emptiness, and you were close to begging him. 

Cordell’s mouth left your breast, and you felt the loss, but you were distracted by watching him take off his shirt. His body had changed since he was younger, and was it ever breathtaking. His shoulders were even more broad, his waist still trim. The muscles in his arms, shoulders, chest, and stomach were more defined. Your mouth literally watered looking at him.

His cock was fully hard now, protruding through the opening in his jeans and underwear. It was magnificent. No matter how many times you saw it, you would never get used to just how big it was, and you couldn’t see it without thinking about the way it felt inside you when it was stretching you open. 

You wanted him out of the rest of his clothes so you could see that cock, standing hard and thick against his stomach. Once you’d gotten his clothes down around his hips, Cordell took them the rest of the way off, including his boots and socks.

His naked body drew you to it like a magnet. The hair on his chest was soft on your breasts, and your fingers tangled in his hair while he kissed you passionately, further stoking the fire in your core. You shimmied out of your jeans and panties, wanting all of his bare skin next to yours.

Cordell’s hands traveled down your back while his mouth continued to claim yours. You dropped your mouth from his to kiss his neck. “Cord, are we going to get caught doing this?”

There was a smile on his lips as he guided your mouth to his again. “Are you afraid you’ll get arrested? I’ve got some handcuffs if you want to practice.”

He’d made you laugh again and put you completely at ease. “I thought you said no kinky stuff tonight.”

He nibbled at your neck where it met your shoulder. “Right. Later then.” 

Cordell guided you down to the sleeping bag. You were on your back, and his eyes were traveling up and down the length of your body. “You are so fucking gorgeous naked in the moonlight like this.”

You bit your bottom lip like the shy schoolgirl you used to be. “So are you.”

Cordell lowered himself over you and whispered in your ear. “Tell me how you want it.”

You played with the curls at the nape of his neck. “Slow at first, but I want everything you have, Cord. Don’t hold anything back from me.”

At first, all you felt was the blunt head of his cock at your entrance. Then he pushed into you slowly, just like you’d asked. He kissed your neck and your ear, told you how much he wanted you, and looked into your eyes while he moved inside you. 

When his thrusts speeded up, you felt your orgasm getting closer, and you closed your eyes. You felt him raise your hand over your head and thread his fingers through yours. “Open your eyes, baby. Look at me. I want to see you when you come around me.”

You slowly lifted your eyelids. Your breath was escaping your mouth in small little gasps.  Cord’s eyes had changed to the color of a honey kissed chocolate. He was so gorgeous, perfect in so many ways, and everything you had ever wanted. 

His eyes were locked on yours, and they held a soft intensity in them that you knew you would remember and see when you closed your own eyes. The sound of his voice nearly sent you over the edge. “I’m so close, baby. I want you to come with me. Will you be a good girl and do that?”

“Yes, Cord.” You held onto him tightly. His next thrust scraped across your g-spot, and your body began to spasm and squeeze his dick buried so deep inside you. Cordell released his hot come into you with a grunt followed by a deep groan.

He collapsed onto his forearms, keeping his full weight off you. You could feel the light sheen of sweat on his back, and it was satisfying knowing you had put it there. Cordell nuzzled his nose on your cheek. “You okay, darlin’?”

“Mmmmm. Hmmmmm.” You wanted to stay here like this with him forever, just the two of you under the stars. 

When he rolled off you, you followed and settled your head on his chest. Cordell reached for the blanket and covered you both with it. You kissed his chest and whispered, “That was perfect.”

He was running his fingers lightly up and down your back. “Yeah. It was.”

You lay that way for a few minutes, enjoying the feel of his touch on your skin. He was unusually quiet. Finally you asked, “Cord, what is it?”

He shifted and propped himself up on his side. You sat up a little so you could see him better. Cordell reached for you and traced his fingertip down the edge of your cheek. “Y/N, I…” You waited, your breathing speeding up again. “I...love you.”

Before this moment the concept of forgetting to breathe had seemed like an exaggeration to you, but now you understood it. He put his fingers over your lips. “You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

You leaned in to kiss him, not trusting yourself to say anything just yet. For twenty years, you had waited to hear him say just that. Now that he had, it was overwhelming. It was like a dream. What followed was the sweetest and most meaningful kiss of your life so far. Cordell loved you. You were being kissed by a man who loved you, the man you had always wanted to love you.

While you were kissing, he lay you back down. When you opened your eyes, you were facing each other, heads on the pillows he had brought. He played with the hair at the side of your face, twisting it around his finger. “I wanted to be your first, Y/N. I wish I had been.”

“I wish you had been too, Cord.” You sighed, still trying to believe what had just happened. What did it mean? But you refused to let your head intrude on this moment. This one was for your heart, the heart that had been longing for him since you were a girl. Now, he was yours. That was enough. You’d figure out the rest later. 

Everything: @gambitwinchester @princessmisery666 @onethirstyunicorn @peridottea91 @logical-princey @emilyshurley @beenlovingromansincedayoneish @fangirlxwritesx67 @waywardbaby @atc74 @shaniquacynthia @mariekoukie6661 @tumbler-tidbits @67-chevy-baby @fandom-princess-forevermore @terrarium-jpeg @emoryhemsworth @crashdevlin @jules-1999 @cosicas-cuquis @sammyimpala-67 @queenoftheunderdark @dean-winchesters-bacon @timelordy-fangirl2 @sweetness47 @hobby27 @awesomesusiebstuff @kickingitwithkirk @becs-bunker @sandlee44 @supernaturalgrandma @dawnie1988 @volleyballer519 @kdfrqqg @lizette50 @daisymoder72 @sorenmarie87 @lovealways-j @mrswhozeewhatsis @spnbaby-67 @wayward-and-worn @asthesunwentdown @vulgar-library​ @petitgateau911​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ 

Walker: @spnwoman​ @sammysnaughtygirl​ @putowtin​

Sam/Jared: @girl-next-door-writes​ @stunudo​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @idabbleincrazy​ @evansrogerskitten​ @focusonspn​ @autumninavonlea​ @durinsbride​ @deansyahtzee​ @wendibird​ @waywardnerd67​ @fullmooner​ @julesthequirky​ @sams-sass​ @beskaradberoya​ @fromsamwtocordellw​

[brattyfics]

— until we meet again, preciosa

PAIRING || bishop losa x black!ofc, miguel galindo x black!ofc (mentioned)

SUMMARY || She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

TAGS || angst, unresolved feelings, not a hea, mentions of toxic relationships, sex (referenced).

WORD COUNT || 1.6k

Shadowy clouds hang overhead, blocking out the warming glow of the Sun. Raindrops pelt the roof above, drumming a beat of their own before pooling down to the concrete paved streets below. Isis watches stray droplets gather on the tall windows for several moments before stepping out onto the covered balcony. It felt colder than usual inside the three-story, Spanish-style shophouse, but outside it’s the opposite-- balmy, earthy. The air is heavy with humidity, so she has to take deep breaths, but she doesn’t enjoy it any less. Invigoration comes with the rain, brings hope for new beginnings, renews faith for the hopeless.

Down below, people dart between vendors to continue their shopping as the rain lightens. Colorful rays spring from puddles up towards the sky. A pair of young siblings splash each other while their mother sells delicious smelling tamales wrapped in banana leaves. Another young woman peddles gold necklaces, praying candles, and other little knick-knacks to the tourists of Sonora. Everybody has to make a living, including Isis.

She spends her days stroking the strings of a guitar or the keys of her piano, helping patrons of the music shop in between. The ground floor of the shophouse boasts string instruments and an extensive collection of vinyl records. After hours, she makes money hosting private piano lessons. She performs at the Discoteca down the street on weekends, fueling her passion for music almost 24/7 except when Preciosa is closed for ‘maintenance’.

Overstock merchandise and whatever else the Mayans’ Motorcycle Clubs needs to store clutters the second floor. Don’t ask, don’t tell is her motto, so whenever they come to the shop, she simply flips the sign to closed. There’s no point in fighting it. Besides, El Presidente always makes it a bearable, if not pleasant, experience. Bishop had called ahead to warn her that he was bringing Hank, Angel, and the new prospect, Angel’s baby brother, along. She could hear them bumping around, a noisy reminder that her shop only thrived because of the illegal deals happening in the back.

“Why don’t you put all that time and energy into something that’ll get you somewhere?” Being a musician wasn’t an acceptable career in her mother’s eyes, so the woman took every chance she could to crush her daughter’s dreams. “Nobody wants to hear all that noise!” Staring out into the street, she can’t help but wonder where she would’ve ended up if her mother had been supportive. Maybe she could have been a star rising to the top of Billboard charts or someone who worked behind the scenes, writing songs, singing demos. She had the skill set. Yes, her path would have been much different.

Isis had stood front and center, crooning out an old school blues song at a hole-in-the-wall spot when Miguel Galindo first laid eyes on her. It was a chance meeting, one that felt like fate at the time because dive bars weren’t his scene. The owner was a business associate who decided to try his hand at being a restaurateur; Miguel had been kind enough to come out and support. When he caught sight of her shapely frame in a slinky, satin number, he insisted on being introduced.

Miguel stood out in a crowd, wearing a tailored button-down, dark dress pants, and an expensive pair of Italian leather shoes. His salt and pepper beard groomed to perfection, hair gelled so that no strand was out of place. The moment she’d looked into his eyes, she was caught in his web. His masculine scent drew her in like honey to a bee. His charisma held her attention. Miguel sweet-talked her all night, insisting Isis sit next to him, eat h’orderves, and drink overpriced champagne. She obliged. Who could say no to that face? He used their close proximity to reel her in like a fish on a hook, leaning down to whisper in her ear. You’re beautiful. He told her. You have such a smooth, seductive tone. You should be performing for bigger crowds. Have you ever thought about branching out? He told her everything her mother never had, so she was a lamb to the slaughter.

For months, Miguel had treated her like his very own LifeSize doll to play with. He took her on shopping sprees, kept her draped in silk and lace. Isis didn’t think of herself as materialistic, but she couldn’t deny being showered in gifts felt splendid. He was always so tender, handling her delicately as his newest prized possession. As time went on, she became more like an ornament. Something for him to marvel at when he felt like it and then hide away the rest of the time. But nothing was worse than him leaving her to harden after he was finished molding her like clay. She asked for more—time, commitment, only for him to do the opposite.

Thus, Preciosa was born. A way for him to placate her and later make it easier for the M.C. to make him money.

“Just a few more minutes, and we’ll be out your way.” Isis jumped at the sound, turning away from the street to see Bishop. She hadn’t heard him come outside; didn’t expect him to venture up into her personal space.

Isis’ smile rarely reached her eyes, Bishop noticed. He stepped forward, holding a velvet box that felt heavier than it was. Her fingertips tickled him as he passed it over. Diamonds surrounded in white gold gleamed as the clouds cleared away for the Sun. Even Bishop could admit the set was gorgeous, but she didn’t look impressed. He hated being Galindo’s delivery boy, watching the way her face fell when the gifts she received became increasingly impersonal with each week. Not long ago, he’d also been tasked with passing along handwritten love notes or antique music sheets that she caressed like she would a lover’s skin.

“Thank you.”

She couldn’t hide her disappointment from him. Not for lack of trying-- Miguel always reminded her, appearances were everything. Smile. Don’t make me look bad. But Bishop watched her closely, knew her tells. Despite every nerve in his brain urging him to walk away, he steps forward to stand next to her. His calloused hands rest on the balcony’s edge next to her delicate pair, brown in varying tones of sepia and mahogany contrasting against the white paint.

Bishop feels the heat of her eyes on his frame, but he doesn’t let himself respond. Sharing this moment, a quick breath of fresh air will have to be enough. But she’s all around him, smelling of florals and sweet spices. He can’t think. He fumbles with his pockets in search of a cigarette. “You mind?” She shakes her head but is otherwise silent. Still watching him as he smokes; the way he takes long, steady pulls, cradling the stick between his full lips and then between his strong, veined fingers. She would bet her last dollar that he was an expert at other things involving his fingers and mouth.

When his hand drops again, she links her pinky with his, hesitant but exploratory.

Bishop looks at her, really looks at her like he sees her. It’s nice to be seen, especially when you’re the princess locked up far, far away from everyone you’ve ever known. She’s a black girl from Texas living in Sonora for goodness’ sake. This is no life, and she knows it. Several moments pass where neither can look away, both weighing their desires with the potential consequences.

With a deep breath in, she musters up the courage to ask Bishop what she’s been wanting to for months.

“Stay?”

Her heart feels like it might just explode while she waits for a response.

Bishop drops his head to his chest, cursing under his breath. “Fuck.” If Miguel ever found out… But he already knew what his answer would be. He’d been waiting for the invitation. The heated looks they exchanged, the way her fingers lingered on his when he passed her something. That damned pout she wore when Miguel forgot to send a flower arrangement-- she had no idea Bishop had been the one buying the flowers for some time now. No matter what mood she was in, fresh flowers always brightened her day. He loved watching that lonely look transform into something more lively, curious as she marveled over his choice for the week. He went for variety, slowly learning what she loved and what she just liked; her favorite color, favorite scent.

The subtle tension between them, he wasn’t even certain she noticed. The cash and the bling could’ve blinded her to all other men. But it didn’t.

When the Sun had gone down several hours later, and the guys were gone, Bishop redressed. Belt buckling with a clink, leather sliding over his shoulders easily. He let himself take one last look at her wrapped up in a poofy comforter set. The mustard-yellow velvet complimented her skin in the best way, bringing out a gold undertone. Her eyes seem to have brightened as well. He couldn’t resist leaning over to stroke her sweaty skin. Dark coils stuck to her beautiful face, frizzy in some parts from when she rode him, sweat escaping from her pores, flat in the others from when he laid her on her back and hooked her legs over her shoulders.

He wants to stay, to prop himself up against the intricately carved wood headboard and hold her in his lap while they whisper sweet nothing to each other, but he can’t.

She’s not his, and she won’t ever be, so he leaves her with words whispered like a promise. “Until we meet again, preciosa.”

NOTES || This fic and the collage above was inspired by @isisafrofairy’s gorgeous moodboard! Also, the wonderful “Until we meet again, preciosa” line is hers as well. This is my thank you for the moodboard you made for me. I really leaned on the pictures you used for inspiration and I think I managed to capture/include each element. It was so hard not to ruin the surprise, but I was able to shut tf up for once 😂 I’m really proud of how this turned out, and hopefully you enjoy it just as much! Also, I realize the moodboard had nothing to do with Miguel but he lives in my head rent-free apparently 🥴

GENERAL TAGLIST || @woahitslucyylu @briannab1234 @sheeshgivemeabreak @breakingnewsin-no-oneasked @angelreyesgirl @blessedboo @glimmerglittergirl @apantherinmypastlife @brownsugarcoffy @marvelmaree @starrynite7114 @scuzmunkie @thewarriorprincessxo @sadeyesgf @pearlkitten33 @imanerdychubbyqueen @literaturefeen @ourlittlesecretsoveragain @everyhowlmarksthedead @yourwonkywriter @trulysuccubus @sparklemichele @luckyharley1903 @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @amorestevens​

MAYANS M.C. TAGLIST || @cant-decide-at-this-moment

[jaceyneedsabetterusername]

Broken Down (Pt.1)

Pairing: Arvin Russell x F!Reader

Summary: When your car breaks down on the side of the highway, you’re picked up by a kind couple who apparently have a thing for picking up hitchhikers, judging by the boy in the back seat. What started as a ride turns into a horror story. 

Warnings: NONCON ELEMENTS (it’s Carl and Sandy and if you are reading this, you’re damn well aware of what they do - no full on rape though! Just noncon touching), murder/ serial killers, being held at gun point, description of blood and violence, typical Carl and Sandy stuff

Word Count: 7.2k

A/N: There are parts of this that are from the movie directly and I do not claim to own those parts. All other original parts are mine though!

Part 2 out now!

____________________________________

It was no secret that Sandy was unhappy with her life with Carl anymore. She wasn't quiet about it- not even to him. Any logical person would think that she'd be scared to tell her serial killer partner that she was tired of killing people but she wasn't sure if she cared about the outcome anymore. She already felt dead inside. 

"Carl, I'm done." 

"C'mon, Sandy. It's not that bad." Carl tried to convince his partner, looking over at her from behind the wheel. 

Sandy scoffed sadly, "I don't like when they cry." 

"But they take the best pictures," Carl responded insensitively. They drove on in silence for a while down the highway, ever consciously looking for their next victim. "You know what? How about we try something new, huh? We can try to make this next one a little more interesting." 

Sandy rolled her eyes and stared out at the landscape as it blurred past on their trek along the highway. That wasn’t what she meant and Carl knew it. She didn’t want to make things more interesting. She wanted out. She knew it was no use arguing, though. Carl always got his way. 

**

You stood at the edge of the road, thumb extended as the occasional car passed by, to no avail. Your car sat dead in the turn out behind you. Your duffel bag was laid down on the ground by your feet, your dark blue floral skirt blowing against the material when the breeze blew. Of all the roads to break down on, it just had to be the one in the middle of nowhere Ohio - West Virginia border where almost no cars drove past. It was beginning to get dark and your nerves were starting to fray at the thought of being stuck in the woods alone at night. 

Finally, a car drove up to you and you waved your hands to get their attention, put on your nicest smile, and stuck your thumb out. The vehicle slowed to a halt beside you and you saw three people in there, a woman driving, a man rolling his window down to talk to you, and a young man in the backseat. "What's a sweet girl like you doing out here stuck on the side of the road?" The man questioned with a smile. 

"My car broke down and I just need to get into town to call a mechanic." You gestured back to your old yellow Ford that had started acting up a little ways back. When you pulled over to take a look at it, it just wouldn't start up again. 

He looked over at the pretty blonde lady driving, giving her a look you couldn't see but she returned one that you couldn't quite read. The man turned back to you with a smile, “Well we’re dropping this fella off in Meade but I’m sure we could drop you in the next closest town. Shouldn’t be too far if you’d like a ride.” 

A smile spread across your face, “Thank you so much.” You picked up your duffel bag and hustled over to the side of the car that was bordering the road, sliding into the seat when you threw the door open. 

“What a good day for makin’ new friends, huh, honey?” The man said chipperly before turning around to look at the two of you in the back seat. “What were your names?” 

“Y/N.” You answered warmly, glancing over at the boy beside you who sat stiffly, his jaw clenched tightly. You’d assumed he was with the couple but it seemed you may have been wrong. 

He swallowed after a brief pause, his eyes widening in fear for a moment, “Arvin, sir.” 

“Well, Arvin and Y/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you two. I’m Carl and this is my wife Sandy.” He patted Sandy on the shoulder and she gave him a small forced smile. Trouble in paradise, you thought. “Where you from Y/N?” 

Your hands laid prim and proper in your lap, holding your skirt down from the breeze from Carl’s rolled down window, “Just a small town not too far from here actually. Barren Springs? Not many people have heard of it.” 

“Can’t say I have,” Carl shook his head. 

Arvin chimed in for the first time since you’d gotten in the car, “I've been through there for work before.” 

“Yeah? You live nearby?” You asked, looking over at him. A blush heated your cheeks at the site of the handsome young man. His curly brown locks were messily pressed down against his head from the baseball cap that he had curled up in his lap. 

Arvin just nodded a little when he made eye contact, “Coal Creek.” He swallowed hard, before his eyes darted away from yours and bounced off every moving object he could see.

“Oh, nice! I’ve only ever driven through it on the way to my grandparent’s house but it’s a cute little town.” You chipped, waiting for a response from Arvin but he only gave you a curt nod and fidgeted his hands along his legs. A thick silence settled over the car for a moment and you cast your gaze away from the attractive boy down to the mechanism that allowed the driver’s seat to adjust on the ground of the car, suddenly feeling like you overstepped with Arvin with your seemingly innocent comment. 

“Looks like you’re set for a trip. You leaving or coming home?” Sandy asked, looking at you through the rear view mirror. 

“Comin’ home,” You responded, replacing that polite smile and slightly higher voice you did when speaking to strangers, “A friend of mine from high school moved to Blacksburg with her sweetheart. I just went out there for their wedding.” You smiled at the memory of their ceremony. It was one of those marriages that you just knew was meant to be. 

“Awe, I just love weddings.” She said dreamily, gazing nostalgically out across the road. 

You smiled and made a small noise of agreement. At the thought of weddings, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander to the idea of marrying the man sitting beside you. It was silly, you knew, fantasizing about marrying a complete and total stranger. Barren Springs didn’t have many good suitors to pick from and you had yet to make it out on your own into the world. It had been a long time since you’d been physically attracted to anyone as strongly as you were attracted to Arvin. Besides, you weren’t fantasizing about marrying him, per se, but more so just having a wedding with him. The thought of seeing him so handsome and dressed up and the way his eyes would sparkle with adoration when he saw you walk down the aisle in your dress. It was ridiculous! You could have laughed at yourself. You just wanted to think that maybe there was some possibility that he thought you were half as beautiful as you thought he was. 

After some time driving in silence, with you sneaking many glances at the man sitting beside you, Carl spoke up, “Oh shit, my old billy don’t work like it used to. I’m gonna have to pull over and take a leak.” He trailed off, looking over at Sandy with a smile. She gave him a sharp look but slowed down. You wondered just how often of an inconvenience this must have been if she seemed so annoyed by the request. “Is that alright by you two?” He asked a little louder, directing the question at you and Arvin. 

You and Arvin both got strange looks on your face, finding it strange that he felt the need to ask if he could use the restroom. “Sure,” Arvin muttered. 

“Yeah, of course.” You added, eyes flicking between the man and woman up front. 

“There should be a road up here on the right,” Carl directed Sandy, “Little further. Little further. Slow down. Right here.” The car slowed and rolled to a stop, rocks crunching beneath the tires. “This is good.” 

You craned your head to watch the main road disappear a few dozen feet behind you and your nerves perked up. Arvin must have noticed the way you sucked a deep breath in, louder than usual, because he glanced over at you with a look in his eyes that told you that your sudden uneasiness was not unfounded. You watched as his eyes shot back and forth between the couple and then around at your surroundings. 

You began to pick at the hem of your dress. Hitchhiking was something you tried to avoid at all costs and managed to do so successfully until this very day because the idea of getting in a car with a stranger made you nervous. You knew that in all likeliness, Carl probably was just going to use the restroom and then return and you’d be on your merry way. The little indecipherable looks he and Sandy kept shooting each other didn’t escape your notice though. 

“I won’t be long.” Carl reassured, opening the door and stepping out. As he did, his jacket lifted and you saw the pistol tucked in the waistband of his pants clear as day and your eyes widened in silent panic. 

A lot of people own guns out here, you tried to rationalize but it still didn’t sit right with you. None of this did. A rock the size of Texas sat heavy in your gut and you had an extreme urge to get as far from here as possible without raising suspicions. For one, it would be extremely awkward if you were wrong and you were freaking out over nothing. On the other hand, if they were planning to kill you, it could speed up the process before you could think up a way out of it. 

You glanced over at Arvin and it was clear that he had noticed the gun as well because his jaw clenched tightly and his eyes followed Carl like a hawk watching a rabbit. Your hand slid across the seat and you nudged his leg, nodding ever so slightly towards Carl with wide implying eyes. Arvin breathed deeply and nodded, having seen exactly what you had seen. It was validating to know that Arvin didn’t feel right either but it was also even more unnerving because it meant the likelihood of danger was more likely. 

Arvin rolled the window down to watch Carl more clearly and Sandy shifting up front drew your attention. You looked up to see her absentmindedly trying to light a match for the cigarette that hung between her lips. Finally, she got it lit and brought the flame to the tip of her cigarette. You watched her do this with intent, so much so that you jumped when Carl leaned through Arvin’s window and loudly announced, “Damn. That’s gonna be one fine sunset. You have to be patient with me while I get a few shots off. Hon, give me the key.” 

He must have noticed the uncomfortable looks on yours and Arvin’s faces because he reassured, “Don’t you worry none. We’ve got some hooch in the back and… well, you got two pretty ladies with ya.” Carl raised his eyebrows at you and his partner before looking back at Arvin with a wink, “And Sandy’s good company.” 

You fidgeted uncomfortably at the way Carl added that last part, not liking the way his tone implied certain things. Sandy turned around to shoot the pair of you a smile, one that both of you returned with a hard swallow in an attempt to not show that you were highly suspicious of whatever the hell this was. Your gaze went back to Carl, where the keys made a bulge in this back pocket and your heart fell at the sight. Those keys were your only chance of getting out of here. 

The back of the car opened and you turned around to watch Carl retrieve a camera and a blanket, the gun still firmly in his waistband, before walking up to the side of the car and opening the door. Arvin flinched and looked over at Carl who motioned outside, “How ‘bout we all share a drink over this beautiful sunset. What y’all think?” 

Your voice came out shaky, “Thank you but I don’t drink. It might be best if we get headin’ out sooner than later though. My ma’s expecting me home soon and I don’t wanna worry her.” Whether or not your words were lies was a moot point. Getting out of the car just felt like a bad move. 

Carl shrugged, “Well, then, you can just watch the rest of us share a drink then. And don’t you worry. We’ll be on the road soon enough- just as soon as the sun sets. Your mama shouldn’t be too worried. Now why don’t you two come join us.” This time, it didn’t sound like much of a question. 

Sandy had thrown her door open and stepped out onto the earth outside, slamming the door shut. You were surprised when she opened up your door and leaned against it, “C’mon, hon. You don’t have to drink any. Wouldn’t wanna miss such a pretty sunset, though, would you?” 

With a partner on either side of you, you and Arvin looked at each other, knowing neither of you had a choice but to get out of the car. Reluctantly, you stepped out and walked around the back of the car towards the clearing that Carl was now leading Arvin too as well. He laid out the blanket on the ground and gestured for you and Arvin to sit down. Sandy followed shortly after with a mason jar full of a light peach liquid. She unscrewed the cap and took a swig straight from the jar, “I made it myself out o’ some strawberries I grew back home.” 

“The best stuff in Ohio. My girl’s got a real gift.” Carl winked at his wife, who handed him the jar. He too took a sip before passing it to Arvin. Arvin just shook his head before murmuring a polite decline. Carl tsked, “C’mon boy. Don’t wanna hurt my wife’s feelings.” Arvin’s jaw tensed before he slowly took the strawberry hooch from your host and tilted it till the liquid touched his lips, though you couldn’t quite tell if he actually let any of the liquid enter his mouth or not. 

He handed the jar back to Carl, not offering you any and you wondered if he was trying to respect your comment about not indulging in alcohol or if he was trying to keep you safe. Regardless, you were grateful. Carl raised the jar towards you, offering it silently, but you put your hand up, “Thank you but I’ll have to pass. I’m sure it’s delicious though.” 

“Alright, suit yourself.” He said with a shrug, taking a sip himself before screwing the lid back on and setting it on the blanket. 

Sandy came to sit just beside you and Arvin on the blanket, looking up at her husband who was still standing. “Wouldn’t they make a cute couple, Carl?” She pondered out loud and you couldn’t help the blush in your cheeks at the thought. Arvin shifted beside you, most likely feeling just as weird about the comment as you did. 

“Now, Sandy, no need to make the poor kids uncomfortable,” He chided lightly, turning around, “But, y’know, this is a real nice picture. Do y’all mind if I take a few shots for posterity’s sake? I mean, seein’ as we probably won’t see each other again after today.” 

Before you could answer, Sandy was already scooting in close to Arvin and forcefully initiating a pose, “Alright, now you,” Carl pointed at you, “Scootch in just a little closer.” Your arms shook as they lifted your body enough to move a few inches closer to Arvin. “Perfect. Now everyone smile.” You tried your hardest to force a smile but you couldn’t get one out that was worth any photo. 

Carl stood up, as if he was in thought, “I’m a photographer and I would love to get some posed shots if y’all wouldn’t mind. Now, Sandy, why don’t you step back for just a moment while we get these two together. Good. Now, Arvin, you put your arm around her- good! Just like that.” 

Arvin awkwardly placed his arm on the ground behind your back, just close enough to look like the two of you were leaning into each other. Carl pulled away from the camera with a smile, “Sandy is right. You two would make a cute couple. Now, Sandy, why you don’t hop back in there. Perfect.” 

Carl paused for a moment to ponder his next pose, “Now, Arvin, why don’t you lean back and touch my wife. Y/N, I want you to kiss him while he does it.” 

The instructions slipped from his lips with such little reservation that you were convinced you misheard him for a moment. The man had been fairly polite thus far, if not a bit odd with his quips and pryingly friendly remarks, so the bluntness with which he just told you and Arvin to perform semi-sexual acts on each other and his wife took you off guard. “Excuse me?” You shrank back, ripping your body away from Arvin and Sandy with a velocity that almost jolted you.  

When you did, your hand grazed a large patch of skin that had previously been covered with her fuzzy cheetah print coat. You whipped around to see her sitting behind you in nothing but her underwear and you quickly realized that you had grazed just beneath her bare breast. “What the fuck!” You jumped, moving away from the nearly nude woman. 

Arvin jumped when her hand rested on his shoulder and moved away as well, looking between the man and woman who clearly saw nothing wrong with what they were doing. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on here but we’re leaving.” Arvin pressed with a firm voice, standing up and offering his hand to you, pulling you up to almost be tucked into his side, his hand staying on your arm protectively.

Carl looked at him like he was some naive boy. “Boy, I’m giving you the opportunity to fuck my wife and that beautiful girl over there while I take pictures. You’re a damned fool if you turn this down.” 

“You guys are sick. I will not be having sex with anyone here today!” You exclaimed indignantly at Carl’s implication that you were going to be just fine with this. 

The older man looked over to you and waved his hand with a cocky knowing smirk. “I’ve seen you lookin’ at ‘im the whole drive. You’re tellin’ me you don’t want to make love to this boy right here? And what about my wife? You ever been with a woman?” Carl asked, eyes flicking back to Sandy, who wiggled her breasts and gave you a comforting look that told you she would help you through whatever experience you may have lacked.

You found yourself stepping backwards, away from Arvin even. Your head shook, a boiling mixture of terror, rage, and embarrassment burning inside you, “I-I-I already told you. I ain’t doing no-”

Words failed when Carl reached behind him and pulled out the gun you’d noticed earlier, pointing it right at your chest, “Now look, I hate pointin’ a gun at a pretty young thing like yourself but I’m gonna shoot you if you don’t start doin’ what I say. You and my wife are gonna give this boy the best time of his life and I’m gonna take pictures while you do it. That’s it. You understand?” 

The world around you seemed to freeze while you stared down the barrel of his pistol. You couldn’t move, couldn’t think, couldn’t talk. Sandy moved closer to you, her lips coming to your neck in a gentle kiss that made your skin crawl. A single tear rolled down your cheek while you stared at the gun that was still pointed at you, Sandy’s hand moving to brush your hair off your neck so she had more access. There was nothing you could do. If you made any move to shove her off, he’d shoot you. If you made a move to run, he’d shoot you. If you tried to knock the gun out of his hand, he’d shoot you. All you could do for the time being was let Sandy do what she would until you could find the right moment to disarm Carl and get the hell out of here. 

She looked up at Arvin with sultry eyes over your shoulder, “C’mon, Arvin. You ever thought about being with two women at once before?” 

Arvin swallowed hard as he watched how you sat with tears welling in your eyes, trying your hardest not to break in this impossible situation. He stood in seething anger and fear, his heart breaking a little when your hands snapped up to grab her wrists as her hands crept around your front and unpopped the top two buttons of your blouse. 

There was a click from Carl cocking the pistol and he took a step closer to you, “I told you I would shoot you if you don’t start playin’ along. This is your last warning. You’re testing my patience, girl.” Your legs were nearly giving out on you when Sandy popped open another two buttons, your bra clearly exposed for everyone to see. Your shirt was unbuttoned as far as it could go before disappearing into the waistband of your skirt where it was tucked in. 

 Arvin looked away from your exposed upper body, not wanting to make you any more uncomfortable and violated than you already were. Suddenly, there was a small flash and the click of a camera and Arvin snapped his focus over to Carl to see him snapping pictures of you, half nude and trying not to fall apart. A coil of pure hatred had been building in Arvin since the first direction of sexual acts but now he was on the verge of tackling and killing Carl right now with his bare hands. 

When he looked at you, eyes clenched shut now and silent tears pouring out the corners, he could see Lenora. Both of you were just fearful girls being taken advantage of by someone with too much power. He couldn’t save his sister but maybe he could save you. Arvin could feel his father’s Luger in his pocket but he wasn’t sure if he could draw it and shoot Carl before he could pull the trigger on you. His father’s words came back to him. Wait for the right moment. 

Carl whipped his head over to look at Arvin and snapped at him, “I ain’t askin’ again, son. Get in there and start touchin’ those girls!” Carl took the gun off you for just a moment to point it at Arvin and encourage him to approach you and Sandy. 

Now, it wasn’t that Arvin had no regard for his own life. The last thing he wanted to do was die, especially after how hard he’d had to fight his whole life, but he was more willing to risk getting himself shot than you. His hand had been gripped around his pistol in the pocket of his denim jacket, just waiting for the right moment to get the two of you away safely. In a second, he cocked the gun and drew it quickly, firing sloppily in Carl’s direction. 

Two gunshots rang out. 

You screamed, thinking that Carl had just murdered Arvin before your eyes and that you were next. Your eyes were clenched shut until you noticed Carl seethe in anger and pain, “Fuck! Fuck you boy!” And then multiple more gunshots. 

This time, there were no more groans of pain, only the heavy thud of Carl’s body on the ground. His gun fell to the ground when his hand loosened and you dove for it, snapping out of Sandy’s grip. You landed hard, your bare chest and abdomen scraping painfully against the sticks and rocks when your body slid against the rough ground. You grabbed the gun and turned to point it at Sandy, who had also procured a gun from God knows where and had it aimed right at you. You didn’t hesitate.

Again, there were two bangs. 

You fell back after you fired off your shot and in your panicked state, you couldn’t tell if you’d been hit, your arms had given up supporting your weight on the ground, or if the recoil from the gun was that intense. 

There was the sound of another body hitting the ground. 

Arving rushed to your side, falling to his knees and inspecting you for immediate signs of physical distress. “Are you okay? Were you shot?” 

Your hands ran all over your body, trying to feel for any signs of being shot. You couldn’t feel any part of your body right now, the adrenaline distorting your perception of pain. Even the large bloody scratches on your chest, breasts, stomach, arms, and knees weren’t causing any discomfort at the moment. You shook your head, “I- I don’t think so. Were you?” 

He shook his head, helping lift you to sitting, “No-no, I’m alright. We need to get out of here though.” 

Your knees were shaky as you tried to stand up but they almost gave out on you when you saw the dead bodies on the forest floor. Carl had been shot three times, twice in the chest and once in the arm. Sandy was already pale with a bloody entrance wound in her throat. 

“Oh my God… we killed them.” You were nearly hyperventilating, stumbling backwards. Arvin walked with you, holding you up until you stopped moving. 

“They were gonna kill us. We had no choice.” He held you tightly by the shoulders, looking straight into your teary and panicked eyes. 

“The police ain't gonna believe that.” Your entire life just crumbled to pieces before your eyes, all because you hitched a ride with some strangers. 

Arvin shook his head, “That’s why we gotta get outta here. Leave ‘em. Don’t tell anybody about what happened.” 

His words sunk in and you nodded in agreement. The honest part of you wanted to tell the police. Maybe they could help you but you knew that there was an equal chance they’d lock you up for murder as well. You couldn’t risk it. Running was the only option. 

Carl’s gun was still in your hand and once you realized it, you wiped it down on your skirt before placing it back in Carl’s hand. “What’re you doin’?” Arvin asked, watching you meticulously place it as if it had just fallen in place. 

“Makin’ it look like a murder-suicide. They can’t pin it to us if it don’t look like they were just murdered.” You explained, leaving the gun in his hand and taking a few shaky steps back as you stared at the corpse. You couldn’t believe you were doing this. You had never imagined yourself shooting anyone let alone fixing a crime scene to get away with murder. This was an extreme situation though. You had to shoot Sandy and Arvin had to shoot Carl. They were going to kill you two if you didn’t kill them first.  

Arvin noticed the way your face had noticeably paled and how your eyes were glued to Carl’s body and the splatters of crimson liquid that pooled on his shirt and dripped onto the earth beneath his body. He stepped between you and Carl’s body and put his hand on your shoulder, the other gently on your face. His beautiful face blocked your view but you still struggled to fight the tunnel vision. “Hey, look at me. Look at me!” He urged, his grip on your face getting ever so slightly more firm when he noticed your eyes try to dart around his frame to see the body again. Arvin wasn’t hurting you by any means, just trying to keep you focused on him. “You did what you had to do, ya hear me? They was gonna kill both of us. You ain’t done nothin’ wrong. Now we just gotta get outta here, okay?” 

You swallowed hard and nodded, your eyes squeezing shut tightly for just a moment to ground yourself. In your brief moment of meditation, you tried to focus on anything to ground you but the only calming thing you could process was Arvin’s comforting hands on your shoulder and face and the way you could feel his gaze still on you with so much concern and determination, even with your eyes closed. 

When you opened them again, you breathed out, “Okay.” 

Arvin glanced down and noticed the thin trails of blood that were starting to dribble down your torso from the deeper scrapes and at first reached out to button your shirt for you but hesitated, his hands shrinking back when he realized he wasn’t sure whether that was the appropriate response. You flinched back a little when he reached for your top out of pure instinct but quickly relaxed. You glanced down, just now noticing that your shirt was still unbuttoned. “‘M sorry, I just…” You trailed off, unsure of how to explain your new reaction in light of the trauma you’d just gone through. Your fingers nimbly began to button up your shirt but you hissed when the fabric tightened around the copious lesions. 

“No, it’s alright. Here, take my jacket.” He was already shrugging off the denim jacket before he finished speaking. 

You put your hand up, clutching the opened fabric of your shirt together in your hand in front of your chest instead of buttoning it properly, finding this way you could keep the fabric from sticking to your wounds. “I can’t take your jacket. I don’t wanna get blood on it.” Arvin’s eyes followed yours until they landed on the small spots of blood already seeping through your thin blouse. 

Without allowing you to protest, he slung in over your shoulders, engulfing you arms and all. “It’s fine, really. I insist. You can’t go walkin’ ‘round all exposed like that. I can try to help you clean up if we find any rags.” 

You sighed when the fabric covered your arms and his scent engulfed your senses. Yet again, you found yourself numb to the world, if only for a second, but this time because all you could experience was Arvin Russel. Tunnel vision made him your only view and all you inhaled was the scent of clean musk, wet earth, and the faint scent of car grease. “Thank you.” You whispered, gripping onto the open sides just enough to keep the garment from slipping off your shoulders. 

Arvin just nodded reassuringly before wordlessly taking off towards Carl and Sandy’s car. You followed curiously. He searched around frantically and, while you were unsure of what he was looking for, you were curious to see what he’d find. For the most part, there was nothing out of the usual, until he came across a roll of film in the glove compartment. With trembling hands, he unrolled the small canister and looked at the negatives. “Oh my God-” He trailed off in horror. 

“What is it?” You asked, reaching for the film. The images nearly made you throw up. Even though they were difficult to see because they were only negatives, it was still fairly clear what they were. Pictures of men and Sandy filled the roll but they got progressively more violent and graphic, sexually and gorily. At first, they were just sitting together but then Sandy was topless in the next one and then they were kissing in the one after that and then the man would be naked in the following. Eventually, there’d only be a pool of what you assumed to be blood where his genitals should have been before finally just shots of a motionless bloody corpse that used to be whoever that poor man was.  

“Shit… we were next, weren’t we?” You asked, images of you and Arvin facing this same kind of torture flooding your mind and making your stomach churn. The guilt you had felt for shooting Sandy was melting away and you actually felt almost glad you and Arvin had ended this pair of monsters. They couldn’t hurt anyone else the way they had brutally slaughtered these other men. 

“I think so. Fuck, there’s a bunch of ‘em.” Arvin pulled out at least four other canisters, too scared to open them. It was safe to assume what they were photos of and you really didn’t want to see anymore. 

Your hands shook so much you could barely keep your grip on the negatives, “We need to give these to the police. If we prove they were serial killers, maybe they won’t send us to jail. It was self-defense.” 

Arvin really did appreciate the fact that you so badly wanted to be good and honest. Killing people wasn’t easy and he was pretty damn sure you’d never done it before. Hell, before today, neither had he. Maybe it would be easy for you to get off without any charges if you came clean but he was sure the police would be looking for him for killing Preston Teagarden any moment now. The note he’d left for his uncle and grandma back home was pretty much sure evidence that he was the murderer. If the two of you went to the police, he’d be practically turning himself in. He couldn’t do it. 

“I-I can’t go to the police. I can’t tell you why but I can’t. If you want to go to the police, you can’t tell ‘em I was here. Tell ‘em you was by yourself.” Arvin looked up at you from where he sat in the passenger seat. 

You looked down at him, realization dawning on your face. “You did somethin’, didn’t you? That’s why you were hitchhiking. You were runnin’ away.” 

Arvin got quiet and looked down at the ground where your white shoes, now scuffed up from the encounter, made contact with the soil and leaves that covered the ground. He shouldn’t tell you the truth but for some reason he really wanted to. There was an energy radiating off of you that felt safe and understanding and maybe he shouldn’t trust you but gosh did he want to. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he answered, still avoiding your gaze, “I- I didn’t want to but… he hurt my sister real bad.” 

Your silence scared Arvin. He shouldn’t have opened up, especially to a girl that was practically a stranger. Being nearly killed by a pair of serial killers creates a strange bond between two people though. Arvin’s heart stopped beating until you finally spoke again. “I believe you. It’s okay.” 

The surprise was clear in Arvin’s scared eyes when he finally looked back up to you. You didn’t look scared of him like he had feared. You actually looked almost sad for him. 

Inside, you were. Arvin Russell was a good man - you could just feel it. From your brief but intense experience with him today, you could tell that he was a kind, polite soul but there was clearly a fire that burned inside him, an urge to protect those he cared about. You had seen first hand that he was more than capable of protecting himself and others, even at high stakes… and now so were you. You were no different than him now so you were in no position to judge for what he may have done. 

“If you don’t want to go to the police, we won’t. We can get as far from here as possible and keep this our secret.” You assured, uncomfortable by how comfortable you were with the idea of running from the law.

Arvin took a moment to try and figure out the next step. Whatever it was, it needed to happen fast so you two had enough time to put space between you and the crime scene. He thought to the next closest town and groaned, “What’s wrong with your car?” 

“I don’t know. It just started actin’ up while I was drivin’ and when I pulled over, it wouldn’t start up again.” You thought back to the vehicle, which still sat on the side of the road no more than three miles back.

Arvin stood up from the passenger seat and you stepped aside so he could have some room. “I know a little ‘bout cars. It might not be too bad a fix. Walkin’ back and fixing up the car wouldn’t take as long as walking the next ten or fifteen miles to Falksville.” Arvin was right. You were right between Coal Creek, where apparently Arvin was on the run from, and Falksville, the next town over. It would take hours to walk there. 

“Alright,” you agreed. You walked to the backdoor and opened it to grab your duffel bag, handing Arvin his bag as well. Before the two of you started your trek back to your car, you couldn’t help but look back at the crime scene - the two dead bodies lying motionless, knowing you did that, the way that you had manipulated the scene, the way that you were running away with Arvin to literally flee the police. The weight of the situation weighed on you with a heavy sigh. 

A hand rested on your shoulder, “We did what we had to.” You tore your gaze from the scene, the image burned into your memory for the rest of your life. It was difficult to argue with those beautiful brown eyes that looked at you like you were someone he genuinely cared for, not like you were the stranger to him that you actually were.

You stood up a little straighter, cast one more look over at the scene before turning around to face the road. “I know.” 

**

The walk took almost an hour and neither of you tried to hitchhike your way there. Once you arrived, you attempted to clean your wounds with a pile of napkins you had hidden in your glove compartment and a water bottle while Arvin tinkered under the hood of your car. it didn’t take long for him to figure out the problem and with the help of the tool set your father insisted on you keeping in your trunk in case of an emergency (like this), he was able to get the car up and running. 

“Alright, try it now.” He instructed from under the hood. You sat in the driver’s seat, turning the key in the ignition whenever Arvin instructed to see if the car would turn over. You twisted the key again and the car struggled at first, the pulsing mechanical sound of the car trying to turn over tearing through the quiet woods. Just as you were about to admit defeat this round, the roar of the engine came to life and just like that, your car ran again. 

A big smile spread across your face and you jumped out of the driver’s seat to stand beside Arvin, both of you looking down at the engine beneath the hood. “I can’t believe that worked! Thank you so much!” 

Arvin reached up and shut the hood. “It’s no problem. We should get goin’ though.” 

You nodded in agreement, “Where do you need a ride to?” 

He thought for a moment. Arvin wasn’t quite sure. He had been hitching rides to Meade so he could see his old home but you weren’t going anywhere near that way. He didn’t want to ask you to go so far out of your way but then it occurred to him…. “Where are you goin’?” 

“Back home. My parents are expectin’ me home tonight but I can give you a ride where you need.” You answered as if it were obvious. The best way to act normal was to do exactly that: act normal. 

Arvin chewed his tongue, “You don’t live too far from here. It might be easy to link you to the crime if they catch you.” He didn’t want to scare you but he also didn’t want to see you get locked up. 

You rolled your eyes, “If that were true, they’d have to suspect every person in a thirty mile radius. It’s illogical for the police to single us out. You can stay at my house for a few days, if you need.” 

Arvin just shook his head, “I got some things I gotta do. Look, I really think you should get away for a little while so they can’t connect you to the crime but I understand if not. If it’s not too much to ask, though, would you mind possibly given’ me a lift to Falksville so I can hitch a ride there? I ain’t got much money for gas but-” 

“I ain’t lettin’ you hitchhike your way to Meade. Not after what just happened. I can give you a ride there.” You leaned against the hood of your car and looked up at him sincerely. 

“You sure? What ‘bout your parents? Ain’t they expectin’ you?” 

You just shrugged, “I’ll call ‘em in Fawksville and tell ‘em I decided to head up to Meade for a few days. Shouldn’t be a problem at all. That way I can give you a ride up to Meade and then you can take the bus there to wherever you wanna go.” 

“That’s real kind of you. Thank you.” His hands twitched in his pocket, wanting to reach out and hug you but physical affection had made Arvin nervous ever since his mother got sick. 

You nodded your head back to the car, “Hop in. We can head out and get as far as we can tonight. Either find a hotel or we can switch off when we get too tired.” Arvin listened and wordlessly slid into the passenger seat. 

The two of you drove off into the night, the stars beginning to shine brightly in the lightless woods. You weren’t quite sure what your life would be like now and neither was Arvin. There was blood on your hands and there would be a constant paranoia that one day the cops would catch up with you and throw you in prison, even if you ran away like Arvin had suggested.

And then there was Arvin. Handsome, altruistic, and brave, you were bonded to this stranger by the horrors you had endured and the blood you had shed. Though the two of you were strangers, there was a closeness that you felt to him that seemed impossible to feel with anyone else- a bond between survivors that would always be there, even if you never saw each other again. Something told you that this man would be a salient figure in your life, though. 

As you drove off down the highway, the only sound being the faint crackling radio, you tried to leave the horrors of the road behind you but there was a feeling in your gut that this was far from the end.  

[reidswritings]

even after all these years

word count; 7.2k

warnings; mentions of death, stalker stuff, mentions of guns, curse words, and angst angst angst

authors note; so this was like 3 days in the making, so i hope yall enjoy!! please let me know what yall think!! ignore any typos im doing my best 😁😁

two years ago;

“I’m done.” She had said after the door closed, once they were alone. Once there was no one to stop what was going to happen. Once there was no one to talk some sense into The Young Girl. 

The Pretty Boy, who she had come to love more that she ever thought possible, was no longer standing pretty in front of her. His once love filled eyes—the hazel beauties that used to look at her with so much admiration now were void, cold— were holding back the tears she knew he so desperately wanted to let flow (but wouldn’t with her standing there). She knew that once she left him, he’d break down. She knew that he would spend all of his nights on the couch rather than the bed they shared for so long. She knew that he would rather die than look at the happy pictures on the walls sans the few that she had stuffed into her getaway bag. She knew him too well— she knew how he would react once she was no longer the love interest in his story. 

She knew and yet she was still doing this to him. She was doing this to him— she was causing him so much destruction and pain, barely batting an eye at him. For being a profiler, he was shitty at reading people���s body language and emotions. Because to him, she seemed fine; she seemed like it was just another day. To Spencer, it seemed like she was bored. To him, it didn’t seem like she was also breaking. It didn’t seem like she was hurting just as much. Maybe if he was better, he would’ve seen. Maybe if he was better, he could’ve stopped it. Maybe, maybe, maybe. 

The eyes that she had fallen in love with—that she was still hopelessly in love with— were dark, almost black. He had a white piece of gauze taped against his neck, covering a once life threatening bullet hole. There was a red spot, small bits of blood seeping through the stitches holding his skin together. If she wasn’t so preoccupied she would’ve thrown up from how much the injury bothered her. She would’ve gotten so worked up that she would’ve passed out. 

Her eyes burned with tears, looking at the goddamn wound that started this all. The wound that ended their relationship. She blinked and it was over for her. Her façade dropped and her tears rolled over her eyelashes and onto her cheeks. Spencer’s arm twitched before he jerked it back to his side, fingers clenched. He wanted to wipe her tears away so desperately. Despite the words that had just passed her perfect lips, he still wanted to hold her like his life depended on it— because honestly, it really did. 

She was his life preserver in the wild sea that was his life. 

The Boy was holding his keys in his hands, jingling the metal with his fingers in attempt to calm his heart, his mind, his emotions. They had just gotten home. He was in Texas when it happened— he was in Texas working a case when he almost got himself killed. Thankfully, The Team had flew His Girl out and she had been the first face he saw when he finally woke up. 

Alex, being the wonderful human she is, had just dropped the two off, leaving only after she admitted to Spencer that she was leaving, too. They had just gotten home and she was springing this on him, out of nowhere. She was doing this to him even after all the people that had already left him. She was doing this to him the same night one of his best friends had just left him. She was doing this at the most inconvenient time— not that any time would be better, he would still be loosing the love of his life either way. 

He was sure he hadn’t heard her right. He was sure that he hadn’t just heard His Pretty Girl say the words he thought she’d never say. The words she promised him that she’d never use. She was doing the one thing he was most afraid of; she was abandoning him. . . just like everyone did. 

His heart was beating so fast. It was so loud, he was sure she could hear him. He was on the brink of a panic attack. His breath was hitching and he couldn’t stop it. As big as his brain was, he couldn’t wrap his mind around what was happening. His mind was running a mile a minute, carrying a thousand thoughts with it— yet, none of the thoughts were helpful ones. There were no thoughts walking him through his breathing exercises, no thoughts telling him to calm down, no thoughts telling him to speak up. 

The only thing on his genius mind was one sentence; She’s leaving me. She’s leaving me. She’s leaving me. She’s leaving—

So, he said, “W-What?” Breathless and choppy. He was having trouble focusing. He needed to sit down. He needed the world to pause for just one second. He needed to get his thoughts in order. He needed to sit, but his legs refused to move. He was stuck. He was stuck in this terrible, awful moment that his eidetic memory would never let him live down. He knew that he would think of this moment for the rest of his life with so much regret in all the things he didn’t say. But still, he was stuck, frozen. 

Unable to fix things— unable to make her stay. 

“Spence,” She paused, looked down and sighed. She couldn’t look at him. She couldn’t, because if she did she would wrap him up in her arms and never let him go again. She knew if he caught her eye that she would apologize until she was blue in the face. The girl refused to meet his eyes because she knew if she did that she wouldn’t be doing what she was doing. She needed to do this, she couldn’t back down now. “I. . . I can’t do this anymore.”

His voice was low, raspy and broken, “Do what. . .?” He knew what. He wasn’t dumb, he knew what she meant, but he needed to hear her say it. She had to say it or he wouldn’t ever let go. He would be stuck with her for the rest of time. He needed to hear her say it, even if that meant he would be more broken than he had ever been before. He needed this. He needed it even if it killed him. 

Now she met his hazel eyes— her favorite part of him, she was committing it to memory because after this, she would never see him again. She knew that. She counted on that. “This, us. Spence, I almost lost you today. . . I can’t do that again. You’re— You’re everything, I-I— you’re my everything. I can’t ask you to quit your job, I won’t be that person. . . So, I’m removing myself. I can’t watch you get killed— I won’t do it, Spencer.”

Everything, all at once, became sharp. It was like his mind could finally form full sentences. He was full of ideas, he was full of air. He knew what he had to do. He knew how to keep her with him. 

Before either adult knew what was happening, he was moving, quick on his feet, to the couch. He was throwing open his messenger bag, hands messily pulling things out. He was searching for his phone, he was searching for the one thing he could think of that would save him— save them. 

“What are you doing?” Y/N asked him, moving behind him, reaching for his arm, trying to see what had him so worked up. He jerked away from her, grunting in the process. And again, with no words spoken, he was moving again. He was going too fast, he was going to tear his stitches, he was going to hurt his still healing wound. He was now moving into the kitchen, still looking, hope flooding his veins. This was his last chance, he knew that. 

“Spencer!” She followed him, just as frantic as the newly hope-filled boy, “Did you hear me?”

She heard him let out a chocked sob, a broken laugh following— though, no humor was tied to it. She stopped in front of him, heart wild, anxiety flowing through her body. He was typing on his phone, chest raising and falling faster than she liked. The girl asked again, “What are you doing?”

He looked up now. His eyes were wild, more so than she had ever seen. He was so worked up that his body was literally twitching with each breath that passed his lips. It scared her, she had never seen him like this. She had never seen him so manic. It hurt knowing she was the cause. 

The thought of him like this did nothing for her, though. She still continued on her path of destruction. 

“I’m calling Hotch. Telling him I’m done.” He was bringing his phone up to his ear while his mind planned out the words he needed to say to get off The Team. His free hand was holding onto the counter, keeping himself straight up. His knuckles were turning white; Y/N was worried he would break his hand— or the old table. Either way was inadequate. Without it, he was afraid he’d fall to the floor in a mess of tears and anger.

He was doing it, he was doing it. He had figured a way to make her stay, he was going to do it. He would do anything to keep her with him. 

The phone was ringing. It was ringing and Spencer could feel his panic draining away with each passing second, his boss was going to answer and everything was going to be alright. His boss, who doubled as his friend, was seconds away from answering the phone, he just knew it. 

Everything was working itself out, this would be okay— that is until she intervened. 

She was ripping the phone from his hands, hanging up in the process. Spencer felt his breath catch again, his voice was wild as he asked— screeched, “What are you doing?!”

The boy reached for the phone but she whipped it away from his reach, “Stop! Give— Give it back, Y/N!” 

“No! I-I’m not letting you throw your life away for something so fucking stupid, Spencer!” Spencer watched her as she began to turn around, walk from the kitchen and probably his life. He couldn’t move again. His phone started to ring in her hands. They both froze, listening to the phone until it turned itself off. 

He was following her now, like a lost puppy. He would follow her anywhere. She was the one. She was it for him. There was no one else. 

“Y/N. . . please. Please, don’t do this.” He was broken, voice thick with tears. Her back was to him, he stepped closer, hand falling to her shoulder. 

He heard her sigh, “Spencer, don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He begged. He was more broken than she had ever seen him. More than when he lost Maeve. More than when he lost Emily. More than when Elle left him. More than when Alex told him about her son that was so similar to himself. More than when she walked out right after. More than when he talked about his mom. This was it— this was the worst for him. This was his rock bottom. He wasn’t sure he’d ever recover. 

This was it for him— there was only darkness after Y/N. He couldn’t see a future without His Girl by his side. 

There was no Spencer Reid without Y/F/N Y/L/N. 

“Please don’t leave me. You—You promised.”

She turned to face him, face absent of all emotion. A complete 180 from only a few moments ago. She handed him back the outdated phone, along with his crushed up heart. “I lied.”

now; 

It wasn’t very often Y/N crossed Spencer’s mind, but when she did it felt like his heart was being ripped from his chest all over again. Spencer’s had his fair share of trauma in his life, but by far Y/N was the one that hurt the most. After watching her walk out of his life—for ever, he’d assumed— he was sure that he wouldn’t ever recover. He did, of course. 

It just took longer than he cared to admit. 

It took a lot of shedding tears at the most inappropriate times (and things), more support from his friends than he ever thought he’d get, too many late nights playing that last night over and over again in his mind, and way too many calls to his sponsor. 

If he was being honest, he was terrified that he would relapse. He was afraid that he would become his old self. He never wanted that; he hated that guy more than he hated anything in his life. He didn’t though— he made her a promise all those years ago and he didn’t break promises. She may have broken all hers but that didn’t mean he broke his. 

He had gone those two years without ever seeing The Pretty Girl. He was grateful for that— he knew if he ever did see her again, he’d probably die. Well, not actually, but it would hurt like hell. He was more than positive that if he saw The Beaut that it would feel like he was dying. He knew this because that’s how he felt when she left all those years ago. 

He tried not to dwell on that fact— he tried not to think about her. 

He really did. He even tried to move on. He tried to love other girls, he tried to let himself go, he tried to find solace in women that weren’t her. It just never came— he never got the peace he so desperately craved. 

She was just too unforgettable. She was everything— she was the air that he breathed, the ground he walked on, the smile that he got every time something wonderful happened. 

She was everything and it was near impossible to let go of everything.

By now, he had convinced himself, with the help of his BAU family, that he’d never see her again. He had been convinced that it was really over. He was trying to convince himself to let her go. He was trying to lose that tiny piece of hope he carried in his heart with him with every day. He knew he had to let her go— he’d never get what he wanted again. It was time. 

Too many years had passed, she wasn’t his anymore. 

She was a pretty girl; she had probably settled down by now. She had probably settled for someone. She probably lived in some small town with a dog and a perfect boy that wasn’t him. Her life was probably everything she ever dreamed of. 

He liked to think that. He liked to think that she had gotten everything she’d ever wanted. He liked to think that she was happy now. It kept him going, fantasizing about her and her perfect life— the one she created without him. 

He never thought he’d see her again. And you know what? He was coming to terms with that. 

That was, until the day he did. The day his heart stopped beating again. The day that his breath was knocked from his lungs. The day that he only dreamed about. 

Until His Pretty Girl walked through those big glass BAU doors. 

The Stunned Boy felt his body betray him. He was suddenly standing, mouth agape and eyes wide, unblinking. She had stopped too, arms clutching a ominous folder to her chest. Spencer drank her appearance in; she hadn’t changed very much. She was still as beautiful as he remembered. She looked absolutely gorgeous. 

She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt— Spencer was more than positive that it was his— and frame fitting jeans. She had paired the comfortable outfit with the running shoes she had bought so many years ago. It was ironic because she had bought them to start working out, but never actually got around to doing so. 

Spencer met her eyes. They hadn’t changed, they were still the eyes he had fallen in love with. He took a moment to notice that her face was void of any makeup— that was different. She looked tired too; her hair was thrown up into a messy bun, another thing that he noticed was different. She looked absolutely exhausted— he wanted to know why. He wanted to know what had happened to make her look the way she did; what had brought her back— back to him. 

Both Spencer and Y/N were still unmoving, despite the world moving around them. His voice came out soft, and he was sure that she couldn’t hear him from across the bullpen. He wasn’t completely sure that he wasn’t dreaming. He spoke anyways, “Y/N?”

She blinked and then her world started again. Her breath was knocked back into her body; she was here for a reason. She needed help. 

JJ walked through the doors, coffee in hand, tired eyes heavy on her face. She stopped in her tracks, suddenly awake, upon seeing Y/N. A gasp came from her lips, causing the spell between Spencer and Y/N to end. The unchanged girl turned to her old friend, the smallest smile he had ever seen on her face, “Hi.”

JJ smiled too, arms wrapping around the smaller girl before she could stop them. “Hi! Oh my god, hi! W-What are you doing here?”

Y/N’s eyes met Spencer’s again—he still hadn’t moved— then back to the blonde’s. “Um, I— Um, I need your help.”

Ever so curious, JJ nodded and led her old pal to her desk— the desk that was directly in front of SSA Spencer Reid’s. As they approached, Spencer felt his body lower itself back into his chair. Jennifer pulled an empty chair by her desk, motioning her friend to sit. Now with all three adults sitting, The Beautiful Blonde asked, “What’s happening?”

Spencer pretended to be busy, opening a case folder and staring. Y/N knew he was listening— it never took The Genius Boy more than, like, 10 seconds to read one page. Despite the listening ears, Y/N cleared her throat and began to speak.

She placed the folder onto JJ’s desk. It landed with a soft thump. The blonde flipped it open, keeping eye contact with her friend— soon to be victim of their next case. Page after page of threats laid there for anyone to see, it made Y/N feel quite exposed. She hated this; she hated that this was happening to her.

“I think— I think,” she paused, eyes flicking to Spencer, who was now watching the two girls with no shame, brows furrowed and bottom lip tucked under his teeth, “someone has been following me.”

Y/N felt her leg start to bounce in anxiety, she wished she could rewind the clock and convince herself not to come to the office. She wished she could’ve just pretended that she was safe and that nothing was happening to her. Spencer launched himself to his feet. His heart was anxiety-ridden “What?” 

Both girl’s attention moved to The Frantic Boy. His mind was as wild as his curls; there was no way this was happening to him again. It wasn’t fair— why couldn’t his girls just be left alone? 

“Um, yeah— I don’t know,” The Young Girl nodded, hands dismissing her thoughts. She felt dumb for coming back, and it showed. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t know where else to go. I know you guys are good at this stuff.”

JJ placed a sympathetic hand on Y/N’s arm, calling her attention back. “It’s good you did.”

The Blonde nodded along with her friend, “Okay, I’ll be right back. I’m gonna show this to The Team, see what we can do. Okay?” She was waving the blank folder in her hands as Y/N nodded. JJ stood, eyeing Spencer, a secret conversation happening between the two. 

As soon as the girl left, Spencer claimed her seat. The boy leaned back, one leg crossing over the other— the iconic Spencer stance. Y/N’s hands were folded in her lap, eyes trained on her faded jeans, her mind willing her to be anywhere other than in front of The Boy she broke.

Spencer cleared his throat, His Pretty Girl looked up. “It’s good to see you. . . You, uh, you look good.”

He noticed the slight blush that appeared on her cheeks and nose. His cold heart softened ever so slightly. It was like a window had opened and his anger bit by bit flew out. Even after all these years he was still head over heals for her. She scoffed, tucking a piece of hair back into her bun, “. . . Shut up.”

“No, seriously. You haven’t changed at all.” More blush on her cheeks. More anger out the window. 

Y/N licked her lips— a nervous tick, Spencer noticed, “Spencer, I—” 

His heart sped up at her words, mind wondering what she was going to say. He hoped it was the apology he’d wanted for the past two years. He wished it was her asking for him to take her back. He wished, he wished, he wished. 

“—Y/N, we’re ready for you now.” JJ’s voice interrupted the girl. Both Y/N and Spencer turned to The Blonde who was standing in the door of the round table room. Her hand was clutching the door as she leaned out. Y/N could see in the room, thanks to the floor to ceiling window directly next to Jennifer. The entire Team was inside, Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t seen any of them since she did what she did to Spencer. She wondered if they held any anger towards her. If they did, she deserved it. After what she did to Spencer she deserved everything unwelcoming and bad.

The Boy Wonder sensed her anxiety. He stood up, encouraged her to as well. Once she did so, he led her into the room, all their eyes landing to her. Spencer and His Pretty Girl came to a stop in the room, standing side by side. Y/N could feel the warmth radiating of the boy next to her, it calmed her nerves. She missed that— The Spencer Effect.

“It’s so good to see you again, Y/N,” that was Emily. Emily Prentiss; best friend of Spencer Reid. Her eyes, Y/N noticed held a bittersweet tone, “Wish it was under different circumstances, though.” 

Her eyes looked at each and every member of The Team— none of them held any judgement or anger. Sure, some held sadness, others held understanding, but mostly, she saw compassion. She should’ve known; she used to spend every weekend with these people— she should’ve known they wouldn’t hold anything against her. She should’ve known.

Holding the pages that Y/N had printed out, JJ spoke first. “Well, it looks like its all been online?”

The victim nodded then coughed, “Well. . . actually, last night, I found this outside my apartment.” Out of her purse, she pulled yet another folder. Handing it to Spencer, she rocked on her feet. Inside the folder was picture after picture of Y/N. Many were captured when she was in the public eye, doing errands, hanging with friends, walking her pup. The part that caused Spencer’s blood to run cold were the few at the end. 

Whoever was terrorizing Y/N, had managed to get into her apartment and capture pictures while she was sleeping, showering and even lounging on her couch— though the last bunch were from outside a window, most likely on her patio. 

The boy tossed the pictures on the table in anger, the rest of The Team all began to sort through them. Surprising Y/N, and The Team, he did a full 180 and stormed from the room. Against her better judgement, she watched him go. Her eyes followed his every movement. Even after all these years, her eyes still watched every move her boy executed. 

Before she could protest, her feet were carrying her to Spencer. He was pacing in front of his desk, hands nervously rubbing over one another. A tick that she remembered Spencer often doing. 

“Spencer?” She asked. It was soft and innocent. It was everything Spencer had missed and that pissed him off. 

“Y/N?” The tone surprised her. It was harsh, different from how he was treating her only a few  minutes prior. 

“Are you okay?” He laughed but didn’t answer her question, so she tried once more. “What’s wrong? . . . Spence?”

“No—!” He turned to face her now. His outburst surprised her (and apparently The Team too, as they had all stopped what they were doing to watch the horrific scene unfold. Yet none of the six moved to help The Broken Girl. She deserved that— she deserved the harsh words that were leaving the boy she loved so much), he continued, “You— you don’t get to call me that anymore. You lost that privilege when you left.”

That hurt, but she let him get it out. She knew it was years in the making— she knew it was healthy for him to express himself, even if it was all the anger he accumulated the past two years. He wasn’t yelling anymore, but his tone held all the anger he had been holding for the past two years. The boy’s hands made their way into his curls, pulling at the root. Y/N’s eyes were wide, mouth stuck open. 

“Spencer, I-I’m sorry!” Tears were stinging her eyes, causing The Beautiful Boy to go blurry. She was absolutely positive that Spencer could see her unshed tears and she hated herself for it. She felt so fucking stupid. She shouldn’t have come— it was stupid to think he would ever help her. 

“Yeah? Well, it’s too late now, Y/N.” He stepped towards her, she took a step back. His heart took the bullet, but he didn’t let it show. And before he could stop the word vomit, he brushed past her, knocking shoulders and said, “You shouldn’t have come back.”

She watched, blurry eyed, as the boy who she still loved ran up the BAU steps and back to the round table. She felt her breath hitch and then she felt her body lower itself into the chair that just so happened to be Spencer’s. She needed to get a control on her emotions. She couldn’t break down— she needed to help The Team help her. 

Finding a stalker was hard work, apparently, because it was nearing the late hours of the night and there was still no face to the tyrant who so badly wanted Y/N’s attention. The Team was beginning to burn out, frustrated with the lack of answers. With the lack of safety for their old friend. With the lack of anything that wasn’t naked pictures of Spencer’s Old Girl and threats directed from some deranged place of love. 

After Spencer’s meltdown, the two hadn’t talked— let alone made eye contact. It wasn’t without effort though, Y/N had been doing her best to get The Boy Wonder to look her way. Unfortunately though, he seemed to have his own thoughts on the matter. He had kept his back to her for the last three hours. Instead, focusing on the white board in front of him. 

Taped to one side of the board were pictures of Y/N as well as the threats she had received in the past few months. Spencer could barely look at that side— he had been focusing his efforts on the left bit. His eyes had been locked on the few leads they did have. Which, to be summed up, was nothing. The Team had The Victim look at the men on the wall— none of which she knew, to their disappointment. This discovery drove them no farther than they were when the girl first walked in. 

It was when Y/N was growing antsy again when Hotch’s rough voice spoke up. “We’re not getting anything done here. I think we take the night and come back with fresh eyes. Yes?”

A moment passed, then two. No one moved to disagree with the boss. Y/N stayed put in her seat, watching as her old friends began to pack up their belongings and file out— not without a few comforting words in passing. The Young Girl sighed, standing too, until she noticed a certain genius still staring at the wall, arms crossed. 

He had abandoned the sweater that he once wore and was now sporting his well-fitting button down. And damn, it looked good. It was this deep maroon color that he wore so well (Her eyes committed the image to memory, not wanting to forget what a handsome hunk he was. Because, honestly, she knew after all this was done, she’d never be seeing him again). He had rolled the sleeves up to his bicep and unbuttoned the top two buttons, as well as losing the tie that once brought the whole look together. His beautiful curls were aggressively frizzy, sticking up in all the wrong places. It took everything in her not to reach up and fit it, like she used to. 

She wanted to speak, she wanted to reach out to the boy. She knew that he hated her— she knew that he was beyond angry with her. She had so many things she needed him to know— needed him to understand. But, now wasn’t the time. Now definitely wasn’t the time to get into the nasty bits that was their past. No, now was the time to save her from the impending doom of this goddamn stalker. 

“Spencer?” She asked, before she could stop herself. The boy turned, aggravated— with her, with the situation, with everything. His arms dropped, hands stuffing themselves in his pockets. He bounced on his feet, eyes tired. She continued, “I-I know that you hate me—”

“— I don’t hate you,” It was a lie. She knew that. She knew he was lying, she knew that he was just saying things to make her feel better.

So, she said, “Look, I, um— do you think— could you—”

The angry boy, who’s anger was once again draining with every breath— she had that effect on him—sighed and let the tension leave his body, “Do you want me to take you home?”

Sheepishly keeping the eye contact she had longed for, for so long, she nodded. The girl pulled her arms into her chest, “That would be really great. . . only if you can, though. I don’t want to put you out.”

Another sigh and another bullet to the heart— only this time to Y/N’s and not her ex lover’s. Spencer collected his few things and placed a soft hand on her back, leading her out. And just for a moment, for a moment, it felt like old times. It felt like everything was okay and that they were going back to their place and that everything was perfect. 

Sadly though, life was no fairy-tale for the two and there was no perfect ending. The two once lovers sat in the boy’s car, silent and awkward. They were only a few streets from Spencer’s—their old place— place, stopped at a red light. The light was finding it’s way into the car, flashing a beautiful hue on the boy next to her. One of his hands was holding tight to the wheel, the other was laying on the arm rest between them. It took every bone in the girl’s body to not reach out to feel him— it had been so long. She missed his touch. 

Maybe it was that feeling that made her do it. Maybe it was just how beautiful he looked that made her say it. Maybe it was the love that she still carried for him (even after all these years) that made her tell him. 

“I’m afraid to be alone.” It was quiet and it held all the emotion she had been hiding all day. Spencer’s heart, though ever angry, broke a little for her. 

The boy looked over, his mouth opening to ease her in whatever way he could. Before a word left his mouth, the light turned green and the spell was broken between the two. He pushed through, foot pressing on the gas, “You, uh, you can stay with me, if you want.”

“Really?”

“Well, i-it’s just until after we catch this guy.” He paused, blinker on, car passing, turning left, “Then, you go back to whatever life you created.”

“—I didn’t—”

“And then, I’ll go back to pretending you didn’t break me.” Yet another bullet to the heart. She deserved that though, she knew it too. 

“I’m sorry, Spencer.”

Another pause of conversation, another blinker and another turn. Then they were home— they were back to Spencer’s. The walk to the small apartment wasn’t a long one. Especially with her body leading the way— muscle memory. What surprised her most was that he hadn’t changed much. Books still cluttered the tables and floors, globes and maps still sporadically placed around each room. The only thing that caught her eye was the lack of photos on the walls— what used to be a map of their relationship was replaced with a white wall. 

“Looks the same.” she nodded, unmoving from her awkward stance by the door. “Looks like you.”

He snorted— though, there was no actual humor bedded within. Y/N watched as he stripped his bag from his body, then slipped off his shoes and off with his jacket. They stood together, wishing it was different. Wishing they could go back. Wishing there was no anger. Wishing, wishing, wishing. They’d be wishing for the rest of time. 

Like before, like the last night, he was moving fast, breath hitching, “How long?”

“How long?” She echoed him, moving too. Still under the spell, she’d follow him anywhere. 

“How long have you—” The boy cut himself off, hands in his curls, pulling them apart—unmarrying the best ones. “How long have you had this problem and not done anything?”

Before she had a chance to tell him, he was whirling on the poor girl, eyes wild, “You should’ve came to us— came to me.” His voice broke at the end, and Y/N could’ve kicked herself for causing him all this pain.

The heartbreaker sighed, “Spencer—”

“Y/N, I’m not playing around. How long?”

A sigh, a look to the floor, then back at him, “I don’t know, really. Maybe six months?”

Another sigh, this time from Spencer. He was sitting on the couch now, defeated, head in hands. “Maybe?”

“I’ve kind of had other things on my mind, Spencer!” It was bitter, angry, but not at him. It was directed at the jackass that had been stalking her. She joined him on the old seat, leaning back and pulling her legs off the floor. 

A moment passed between the two— it wasn’t angry or awkward and didn’t hold any resentment, it was just comfortable and that surprised the two considering they hadn’t seen each other in over two years. It was just so easy to fall back into what they used to be. 

She looked over at her boy. The window’s curtains were pushed open, the street lights making their way in. Spencer had turned on a lamp in the corner, as well. It was mixing with the lights from outside and casting a beautiful glow on her boy. He was looking down at his hands that were folded in his lap. A pensive look had made its home on his face. 

“What’s goin’ on in that big brain of yours?” Y/N laughed, quiet and everything he had missed. The girl bumped shoulders with the boy next to her. He managed a smile, small, but still it was there. Y/N counted that as a victory. 

The smile was gone as quickly as it appeared. Spencer cleared his throat and said, “Did you know that sixty-eight percent of stalking victims reported that their stalker physically harmed them?”

Another beat passed. Spencer had turned to look at her now, eyes heavy. Y/N was looking at her knees now, trying to ignore the fear that wanted to bubble up. “And?”

“A-And?” His whole body turned now, one leg folded between the two. His arm closet to the couch had made home on the top of the sofa back, fingers tapping— nervous tick. He had placed other hand on Y/N’s knee, trying to be comforting. She accepted his attempt, thankful for him. “Y/N, I’m saying that could’ve been you. You should’ve come to me when this first started.”

Y/N finally let her eyes meet his. And god, she could’ve cried right then and there. He was so beautiful. She missed him so much. Breaking her spell, she shook her head, “Spencer. . . I didn’t want to ruin anything you might’ve had going on.”

“Ruin any— Y/N/N, you’re not ruining anything by asking for help.” The boy sighed, looking away. His hand tightened once on her leg and her stomach erupted in the same way it always did with him around. Quieter, so quiet she almost missed it, he said, “The only way you’d ruin anything would be by leaving.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer.” The girl caught his eye again, shaking her head. Tears blurred her eyes again. Her hair, now out of it’s bun, fell into her face. With a shaky hand, Spencer batted it back behind her ear. A blush rose on her cheeks, as Spencer’s hand moved to wipe the few tears that had managed to fall. Her voice was thick with tears and it broke him. “I really am, you know?”

A sigh, then a nod from her boy. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always, Spence.” The name struck a cord in his heart, but he let it slide. He had no more energy to fight with her, no more energy to stay angry with his girl. He had nothing left. He was giving up his angry phase— he was letting it flow from his body like sand through sieve. He was giving in to her and the small bits of love that he still held for the beauty in front of him. 

“Why’d you do it? Leave, I mean.”

Yet another bullet to her heart. “. . . I don’t know.”

He was moving again. His hands pulled away from her body as if she had burned him— because honestly, she might as well have. With that bullshit response, she might as well have slapped him— to him, there would’ve been no difference and the outcome would’ve been the same. He stood up, back to her. His hands came back up to his hair and she willed him not to pull apart the remaining curls. “That’s bullshit, Y/N! And you know it. . . I-I’m sorry. Just, just don’t lie to me anymore.” 

Y/N stood too, arms up in surrender. Arms open like he had a gun pointed at her— because to her, there was no difference between the weapon he wore on his hip everyday and the weapon that spilled from his lips. His back was still to her, so she reached out to touch his shoulder. Careful, not to startle the boy. She wanted to see him, she needed to see him. For a second, her breath was gone, her mind taking her back to that night. She could’ve laughed at how similar the situation was, only reversed. Only now, she was the one begging to be touched, to be listened to. Only now, she was the one who was broken. 

Instead of jerking away like he did all those years ago, he turned, sadness present on his face. Y/N’s heart broke for him. Y/N’s heart broke for herself. Her heart broke for the both of them. “I was scared, okay? I was just so scared.”

He turned fully, hands mindlessly finding their way to her hair. They tangled themselves in, tilting her head up. His voice was lower than she had ever heard. It was just barely above a whisper and she fucking loved it. If they were in a different situation, she would’ve been weak in the knees. “Scared? What, Y/N/N?”

She sighed, “I don’t know. . . Scared I’d lose you, scared you’d get hurt and I wouldn’t be there in time. I was just scared, Spence.”

Maybe it was her words that caused his reaction. Maybe the truth he could see behind them. Or maybe it was the emotion that felt so genuine. Whatever it was, he felt himself loosen. He felt the remaining anger dissipate, he was suddenly forgiving her for everything. Because he finally understood. He, for once, wasn’t having to jump to conclusions. For once, he felt they were equals. And because of this, he was pulling her closer, never wanting to let her go. And she was holding him just as tight. 

“I’m sorry.” The words were spoken, truthful. Only this time, they weren’t coming from her. No, this time, they were coming from The Tall Genius. And she was pulling back. 

“Sorry? Why are you sorry?”

The boy laughed, true and genuine. For once, she could see it reach his eyes. She’s always loved that about him— the fact that he was always able to smile through it all. Through all his pain, he was still able to find the happiness. “I’m at fault too, you know. One person can’t cause all of the destruction.”

“No, you’re perfect.” She believed it too. 

“Trust me, I’m not perfect.” He paused, then added. “At all.”

Her hands made their way home— to the sides of his face. She noticed the way he leaned into her touch— he had missed her just as much. Maybe even more. “You’re perfect to me, Spence.”

He laughed again— music to her ears. She wished she could listen to it for the rest of her life. So, she said, “Don’t ever let me go, okay?”

He nodded, suddenly serious, “We’ll get this guy, and then I’ll never let you go again. Not until the day I die.”

And like she had wanted to since she had seen him earlier in the day, she pulled him to her. A kiss shared between them wouldn’t fix everything, but it sure was a start (and that’s all that mattered). “Not even then.”

A dazed look in his eyes. The same one he had after every shared kiss and every time she said she loved him. Though mind far off, he nodded and agreed, “Not even then.” 

Then he kissed his girl again— like his life depended on it.

Because, even after all these years, it probably did.