#there is nothing like texan pride

[edith-is-a-cat]

ITOLD TOU THAT YOUD LIKE WILL THOUGH I WAS RIGHT ignore than you’ve already finished toa and had already been talking about him

texans stick together 😝

i see a texan character and latch onto them... cause me too... texas.... me too.....

[virginreprise]

J U N K Y ' P R I D E

joel miller x reader

" I KNOW I CAUGHT YOU AT A NOT SO HAPPY TIME OF YOUR LIFE " ✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

WARNINGS: age difference (big one), pervy joel, trailer park joel, joel miller has a vintage porn collection, joel's a sad old man, video game joel was in mind when writing, joel is six foot because i say so, multi-part, smut in the next chapter because i can't write anything if it isn't slowburn

WORD COUNT: 7.7k

CHAPTER TWO

AO3LINK

CHAPTER ONE—BAD DISEASE

Static from the television set tucked in a corner, a beaten leather armchair parked in front of it and a stack of vintage, VHS porn tapes on the unit. One half of “Agent 69” stuck in the VCR, balancing on its side due to the lack of care from its owner who’d jacked off in the very chair that towered over it—cum stained fist and a name on his lips, slipped out between plush flesh. Hand frantic, jerking in tandem with the buck of his hips as he flit his eyes between the TV and the wood-panelled ceiling, profanities spilling from his filthy mouth. Muttering to himself as pornstar moans graced his ears, words whispered into the night, stolen by the archangels and flown up to God: conspiring, scheming, uttering under their breath that he should not be allowed through the holy gates on judgement day. That the defiled Bible on his bookshelf and the cross that had been left for him by the previous owners, pinned to the trailer wall, was not enough for them to ignore the strained sentences that he spewed in a desperate bid for the Trailer Park Princess on her knees—red nails and red lips wrapped around his cock. A ring of colour staining the base. 

Utter filth. And Joel knew it. 

The perversions he didn’t keep to himself, laughed about bending over the pretty thing next door whilst nursing a beer on Pete’s porch—puffing away on the cheap cigars he’d stolen from the liquor store. They tasted like shit, smelt like shit and Joel would’ve been better without it, but it added to the image: kept Susan from asking him stupid questions like why he didn’t have a woman. It was her way of flirting, bikini top displaying her sagging tits, bending over the kitchen counter whilst his buddies watched baseball. 

“You got your eye on anyone, Joel?” 

“Not really, Susan.” 

Then Pete interjecting. 

“Come off it, Susan. Just cause he ain’t committed don’t mean that he ain’t got women.”

That kept her quiet, made her slink away into the hallway, slipping into their bedroom and pulling a cover-up on—suddenly insecure. 

Joel wasn’t a pervert. He didn’t have some strange penchant for young women. They were just…nice to look at. Pretty and sun-kissed in the Texan heat, ass hanging out their shorts, bikini top doing much more to entice than Susan’s did. There was no harm in looking—they never knew. He prided himself on being discreet, nursing a beer in the late afternoon whilst Kenny Rogers lulled from the radio, flicking ash from his cigarette onto the porch floor—eyes trained on your open window, cracked just a tad to let the air through. Drapes open. 

At times, he thinks you do it on purpose, a gentle taunt, a silent jeer: “You can only look, perv.” 

If the invitation was there, he’d take you up on it. Because out of all the women he’d fucked, headboard bashing against the wall, a chip in the wood of the trailer evidence of his trysts, you were the only one who’d worked him up to the point of no return. The only one who’d grabbed him completely by the collar and forced him to lick your boots. 

Like Joel said, he wasn’t a pervert. You were just a fucking whore who needed to be put in her place. 

So he’d sit there, in the white garden chair he’d snatched up from the pile of scrap that accumulated just east of his trailer, and watch. Most days, you’d be doing nothing in particular, unfortunately already dressed, dirty clothes in hand and wet hair dripping down your back. Other days, the days where Joel thought he was really lucky, where he’d stumble inside with a hard-on, sit on his recliner and hastily shove whatever he got his hands on, into the VCR, skipping over the poorly acted introductions, and pretend that the moans reverberating the trailer, were yours. Images of you slipping your shorts over your hips, swaying slightly to whatever tune you were listening to, peeling your shirt off your body. No bra. Slyly stepping towards your window, catching his eye once, a look so slight that he wouldn’t be surprised if he imagined it, and pulled your drapes shut. 

He’d spilt all over his hand, white on his knuckles and a smile on his lips. 

Joel would never feel guilty for wanting you, not when he had already made peace with the fact he was a deadbeat, bound to the white trash lifestyle, unemployed and living off the pills he paid for and sold for a ridiculously high price, still grieving his losses and wondering what the fuck he could’ve done differently. If he would’ve done anything differently given the chance. 

No, Joel was not a bad person. He just looked for her in every person, desperately seeking a will. And so far, you had succeeded in helping him remove the gun from his mouth—evenings spent in different, dangerous ways. 

Texan summers were unlike anything you’d experienced before, the heat so incredibly stifling that your love for the sun disappeared completely. Mornings spent on the porch, soaking in the last bits of breeze before cycling your ass to work, sweating and heaving by the time you got there, in the same condition when you rode back home and locked yourself away with every window flung open before nightfall fell and you felt you could breathe again. 

The cicadas were loud, the snakes huddled up in the shade, waiting for you to trample on them, and the beast next door, Joel Miller: terrifying, gorgeous and a fucking pervert. 

The day you’d moved into the trailer, despairing the loss of stability, ruminating upon your desperate escape from a home now dead and lost to the prairies of your mind, he’d been there. Wifebeater stretched across his wide torso, a cigarette placed on his lips, unused as it hung there, smoking away, the grey wisps begging with each dissipation into the atmosphere: breathe me in. He’d stared. Unable to be subtle no matter how slick he thinks he is, eyes flitting between your tits and your ass. Tits. Ass. Tits. Ass. A calculated dance that left a funny feeling brewing in the pit of your stomach, a lurch in your bowels that made nausea claw its way up your throat. 

Tits. Ass. Then, he suddenly looked at your face, standing there on his porch, the sunrise building its way up the horizon, too early for anybody to see him looking you over like you were a dead deer he’d just shot, smirking at the notion of sawing your head off and displaying it on the wall above his mantle. Heaving boxes into the empty trailer, lot number seventeen, whilst the owner of lot eighteen wouldn’t take his fucking eyes off you, was a terrible feat. 

Once you’d shoved the last box into your bedroom, you’d shut the door, locked it tight and peeked through the window to see that he had gone back inside, retreating to the haven of steel and veneer. 

Over time, Joel became easier to manage. After the initial, awkward introductions where he’d called you princess, babydoll, sugar (almost adding a “tits” to the end of the nickname before realising where he was) your stomach reeling at the monikers, time settled your unmistakable disgust for him, the universe replaced the sickness you felt when you spoke to him with another stomach-turning anxiety that you pushed down far into every crevasse and high onto every mountain. 

You grew to enjoy the nicknames, skipping a few paces up his porch steps and ask him ever so kindly if he could come and fix the cupboard door that was swinging off its hinges, change the lightbulb because you couldn’t reach the ceiling yourself, stop the leaky tap that seemed to start drip drip dripping every month—just to bully you. 

Although you knew that Joel was a dirtbag, hearing him talking about the filthiest things, laughing as Pete clapped him on the back in praise and acknowledgement, knowing that he wanted nothing more than to treat you like a whore, he gave you nothing except a sly smile, a sleazy nickname and the occasional help around the house. Fixing things. 

So, naturally, you began asking around about Joel. Susan liked to gossip. So did Lillian, a woman who had spent her entire life in the park and, at sixty-two, had no interest in leaving. 

“I remember when he moved here,” she’d told you one fine summer evening, when the heat wasn’t as menacing and you felt content being away from the air conditioning, sipping sweet tea in Lillian’s wooden garden chairs, feet placed on the seat—chin resting on your knees. “All stoic, wouldn’t speak ‘ta anyone. I could tell he’d gone through something bad, you know me and my sixth sense.” 

She’d paused for a moment, taking a drag, a sip, a sigh before looking at you solemnly. 

“He was a catch with the ladies,” she’d muttered. “They were all after him, even this one over here,” she’d pointed to Susan who’d smacked her arm, complaining about her disrespect. She was a married, loyal woman after all. “Well, it’s true. If I were twenty years younger, I would’ve gone for him too, but it wouldn’t have done much anyway cause he didn’t touch anyone. There ain’t many pretty young ladies round here, you know you’re the only one,” she’d said plainly, addressing you with a hint of affection. 

Waving her cigarette around as she relayed every single detail she knew about Joel’s love life, telling you how after a few years of moping, he’d bring back girls in the middle of the night, fuck them, and then throw them out the next day. 

“He’s not a romantic,” Lillian had prefaced, Susan interjecting with:

“Ya think so? I think he is…if he just found the right woman-”

“Oh don’t listen to her Darlin’, he’s a man who likes to play. He ain’t lookin’ to settle, I tell you that much.” 

Listening to them both, their anecdotes, their stories, and their opinions, you concluded one thing about Joel Miller. He was an asshole. A man who had done nothing to better his life since he stepped foot in the trailer park ten years ago, a sag in his shoulders and an anger in his eyes. 

You weren’t sure if he’d mellowed since then, or if he’d just managed to conceal it better. Joel hadn’t been angry around you, not when you knocked on his door at three in the morning, asking him if he could come get the spider out of your bedroom, not when you’d accidentally run into his truck with your bike or told him that he was an asshole when you’d caught him talking about you one day in springtime. 

“She’s as dumb as fucking rocks,” he’d chuckled. “Bet she gets cockdrunk so easy.” 

He’d grumbled out the last sentence, an afterthought that was more for him than the men he was talking to, but you, stumbling around, half-asleep after your shift, were not willing to take the degradation. You’d berated him in front of his peers, slammed the door behind you, and regretted it immediately. Because, even though it shouldn’t matter, even though you thought he was pervy and angry and wouldn’t treat you how you’d been told you deserved, the last thing you wanted was for him to hate you. 

Every time he praised you, told you that you looked good as you stepped out of your home, on your way to Lillian’s for a catch-up and the cigarettes she bought you every three weeks, just for being good and keeping her company, you felt that tingle, the synaptic transmissions running down your spine every time he stepped through your door, asking what the issue with your tap was. You should’ve been disgusted when he’d left and you’d gone to the bathroom only to find the panties you’d left on the floor were gone, but you’d felt that same spark instead. A deep, sliding ache that consumed every part of you. 

Luckily for you, your sink decided to start leaking again on a gorgeous Sunday afternoon. Perfect time to lure him into your trailer, grab him by the neck and ask him as nicely as you could if he could cease the pain. 

Sip of beer, drag of cigarette, click of the remote to change the channel, repeat. 

A usual Sunday afternoon pastime. 

Joel would’ve rifled through his VHS’s, find something he could jack off to whilst he deliberated whether today would be the day he’d say “fuck it” and saunter on over to next door, hoping to god he’d get his dick wet by someone other than a whore, but he couldn’t be bothered to move from his seat. It was effort enough trying to change the channel, arm aching as he pressed the button, rolling his eyes as the same boring drab illuminated his TV screen. 

It was another one of those days. Glancing at the watch on his wrist, the broken glass, the notion that he would never fix it no matter how easy it would’ve been to go over to Shane’s and ask him to get it working again, all for the low price of a few pills. 

She’d left him with it and he would die with it. 

A reminder of her every time he glanced at his watch, swallowing hard as he remembered the way he’d pressed cool metal to the side of his head, a tear slipping down his cheek before realising that he never could. Because Joel was an asshole, he knew that. He was selfish and cruel and spoke about people as if they could get any lower than he already was. But more so than anything, Joel was a sad old man.

Tommy, the damn bastard, who’d left Joel to fend for himself while he went off with his new-found “true love” to have kids and a decent life, had sent a few thousand dollars and a pitiful “I’m sorry, Joel,” over the phone after his big brother had fucked up and lost his job. When Joel had been left penniless and broken. Nothing to fight for. No one to hold him or tell him that he was loved. He’d spent all his money raiding gas stations for cases of beer, bottles of whisky, anything that could numb the pain—choosing the alcohol over food, over his mortgage. When he’d lost the house, he hadn’t taken anything of hers. Even after she’d died, he’d insisted that everything needed getting rid of. Her clothes, her posters, even her damn phone. He’d slammed Tommy against the wall after realising that he was taking everything with him, that he was not doing as he was told. After that, Joel had closed the door on her bedroom and never stepped foot in it again. 

All he had of her was a damn watch, a photo that his little brother had shoved into his hands, a harsh, “Take it, you damn bastard. You’ll regret it when you stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” on his lips, and the memory of her in his arms when he’d felt that huge heart of hers stop beating. 

There had been many low points in Joel’s life, wandering through his existence on a tightrope that was ready to snap with every step, but none had been lower than that. 

Not even when he’d called Tommy in the middle of the night, sobbing, struggling to breathe with a clean bottle of Jim Beam in his hands, begging him to help. He’d lost his house, he’d lost his job, he’d lost his daughter. Where to next? 

Tommy, all the way in Wyoming had scraped together some money, told Joel to get himself down to the mobile park and a steady job. Start from the bottom again. 

Sometimes, Joel resented his brother for not giving him that money for a flight to the West, smiling down the phone as he informed that they had a spare room for him, his nephew cooing in his bassinet and waiting for his old uncle. 

He understood though. When he wasn’t drunk it made more sense why he hadn’t invited him to his home. 

They hadn’t spoken in sixteen years. To his nephew whom he did not know the name of, he was just the deadbeat uncle who hadn’t made it out of Texas—still alive but lost. 

Tommy would’ve probably hated him more if he was sitting on Joel’s couch, staring at the porn and the beer, the cigarettes that his little brother knew he had only smoked when he was a rebellious teenager—the occasional pull never becoming a habit, especially when his daughter came along. 

Almost certainly would’ve despised him if he knew how he felt about the girl next door, the perverse catharsis he experienced when he took himself in hand and imagined taking care of her, shushing her whimpers, making her whine with the way he stretched her open. 

Oh, and he was a bad man. A bad fucking man and he was the last thing you needed. Some poor, young girl who was doing her best to make it. Pay the rent on time, make sure she was kept fed, all whilst juggling the inescapable feeling that once you were in the trailer park there was no getting out. 

Joel didn’t see an end. He’d been here for over a decade; his drug money was not for a new house or a new life, it was for whores and booze, a carton of Marlboro reds that he got for cheap from Bill, and porn. He’d collected all the goddamn vices—became a person so unlike who he was, so far from the quietly loveable single dad he’d been hailed as years ago. 

As far as Joel now was concerned, that guy was a fucking pussy. 

That guy would think he needed professional help for the way he thought about you, would expel every single image of you naked and writhing, tits bouncing in time with his thrusts as you lay boneless and crying in his grasp. 

You were legal. What was the big fucking deal? 

Joel needed this. You were not just some throwaway material good that would leave him in debt for the next ten years—you were full and gorgeous, smart, quick-witted and made him harder than the oak tree that stood centuries-old just a little down the road from the old Palmer farmhouse. 

That day you’d heard him talking about you to his friends, the way he’d lied and said that you were dumb, when you’d come storming up his porch steps—all rage and heat—and cussed him out, he’d laughed. It didn’t matter about the taunts and the sniggers he got from his buddies who he would have no issue never speaking to again. They could go fuck themselves for all he cared because you hadn’t willingly thrown yourself at his feet and licked his boots. 

Whores were easy. No challenge with a whore, no longing, no desire, just a mutual understanding that this was transactional and she was going to moan as loud as you wanted her to whether it felt good or not. 

But you had given Joel something worth chasing. And fuck he was going to catch you, even if it meant he’d die in the chair he sat in, with nothing to show for his life except a case of Bud, an empty fridge, and a stain on his bedsheets where you’d reached for him—begging for everything he could not give.

Something about him had you checking your appearance before you walked out the door, making your hair presentable, touching up your lipgloss, blotting the oil from your face. All for a man who saw you as nothing but jailbait

You wanted to be wanted. To be looked at with a fire, an urge to grasp you and take you fully, pull you close when you cried and kiss you when you shook with the need to run far away. You wanted to be kept, to be reminded every day that you were needed, loved and desired.

You wanted Joel. 

Joel: the sad old man next door, the dangerously handsome figure in your life that stood six feet tall, jaw sharp and strong, muscles straining with his arms crossed—built big and firm. A chest you’d very much like to lay your head on. A bulge in his pants you’d very much like to see stripped bare. 

So when the opportunity came, you seized it, with an iron first, intent on capturing what had been yours since the day you’d moved to the free prison—since the day he’d stared at you, an unadulterated and irremovable, perverse desire that shook the very beings of your existence. That determined exactly who you are and how you would fall for the watchful eyes and glinting gaze that befell you every time you stepped down the rotten wood steps at the foot of the trailer entrance. 

You stepped onto them then, Chuck Taylors strapped to your feet, laces loose and lazily tied, skin smoothed from the razor you’d pressed against it in the shower that morning—all for him. The appearance every bit of expectation you had for his fantasies and ideals, hoping that the attire would thrust him further into abandoning a morality he did not have. 

The sun set rapidly behind you, the grass long and dry around your ankles, unmowed—as you nor Joel had ever discussed who would get mowing duty—and a clear head. A set destination, unstifled by a long day at work, the sweat curling along your back too harsh to be ignored and the sometimes discourteous demeanour of Joel’s so powerful that you often wondered why you liked him. Why you gave so much attention to a man years ahead of you, unable to look at you without laughing at the prospect you thought you were more to him than a pretty thing to look at whilst he wallowed in his castle of self-pity he’d built for himself all these years spent trapped and lonely. 

It all seemed insignificant that day you’d crossed the boundary between lot seventeen and lot eighteen. When you’d shakily advanced up his steps, onto the porch you grew so fond of, and knocked once, twice, thrice on the white door—stepping back to await his welcome. Hoping to god that he’d see you and take you there. 

The shuffling on the other side of the door raised your heart rate, a sweat forming on the back of your neck which you brushed away with a hasty hand, intimidated by what awaited you when the white disappeared and transformed into bulking arms and a firm chest—a tall body that you gazed up at with ardour. 

When the sight appeared, you gulped away the desire to run away, to pretend that you’d just come here for the leaky tap and that there was no other reason you had bothered him on his peaceful Sunday afternoon. No ulterior motive. Not that you just wanted to see him because he had hardly been around the past couple of days and in truth you were worried about him; you wanted to make him feel better. 

“Hi.” He struggled to conceal the surprise in his voice, seemingly struggling further to keep the thickness in his throat at bay, the redness of his eyes that displayed days of restlessness and insomnia. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” you murmured impassively, licking your lips, swallowing away the dryness in your throat at the state of him: burning cigarette in hand, flannel shirt unbuttoned and displaying the white wifebeater that lay underneath. The shape of his belly was visible underneath it, his belt purposefully unbuckled and hanging from the loops of his jeans. “I’m alright.” 

There was a twitch of his lips as he stared down at you, eyes flitting from head to toe—shameless in the way he always was. In the way you liked. 

“You sure?” 

It seemed stupid suddenly: the entire situation. The call you felt towards him, the want you had to curl up against his chest, let him hold you and tell you he was proud of you for opening up to him—telling him how fucking much you wanted him, despite knowing exactly how it would end if you were to venture further into a relationship that surpassed just neighbours. 

So instead of inviting yourself in, seducing him until he fell to his knees, tugged you by the waist and begged you for just the smallest piece of yourself, you succumbed to your insecurity, and retreated from the palace walls. 

“Yeah…yeah, it’s just that my taps leaking again.” For a split second, he almost looked irritated, eyes honing in on you, narrowing with a look of aggravation—confirmed by the clench of his jaw. You appeased him, saying, “You don’t have to come over now. I just thought I’d tell you,” and the expression slowly slipped away into something much more sinister: mirth. 

“Sure thing, pretty girl,” he said as he slinked away from the doorframe, inviting you into his home, coaxing you past the threshold as he fumbled about in the fridge and pulled out two beers. 

Contemplating, you stared at him, the flex of his muscles as he uncapped each bottle, the stature and size of him as he hunched over the counters, turning around to hold out a drink to you. An invitation. One that you had expected you’d have to give yourself—that you’d have to kick and cry before he ever let himself find you. 

“Just have a drink,” he soothed in that southern lull of his, the words rolling from his tongue with ease. As if he had practised the scenario before he knew it would befall him. “No point in worrying over your tap, I can’t do anything until I buy new washers. I’m out 'cause of you.” 

The irritation he’d shown earlier seemed palpable now—as if he was inviting you into his home simply to make you as uncomfortable as possible, hold you down by the hips until you promised to leave him alone. A taunt, a ploy to make sure you would never get what you wanted. 

However, you had never stepped foot in his trailer, had only ever been on his porch and ran your hand over the chair he frequented, wondering what it looked like beyond the four walls, and curiosity prevailed as it always did. 

Uncertainly, you stepped onto the carpet, gently closing the door behind you, and mumbled a thank you as you took the beer from his hand. 

Almost immediately, you felt like apologising for his irrational emotions. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I didn’t mean to put you out. I’ll pay for whatever you need-”

“You pay in ways you don’t know. I don’t need your money.” 

The cryptic way in which he spoke, the casualness as he gave you a look that hinted at something you couldn’t decipher and the slow saunter to his armchair left you in a state of uncertainty. Standing there, with a beer wetting your hand, a frown on your face and a furrowed brow, you had no idea where to go next. What would await you if you questioned him—the things you would discover that were best left in the hands of God and no one else. 

Again, curiosity thrust its violent hand into your stomach and forced your feet to start moving towards him, hoping that he’d appreciate your bravery—your denial of your urges to run far away. It was noted, however, that Joel Miller could care less about bravery. That the quality itself was right down at the bottom of the ladder and that he could and would not give a shit if you welcomed his advances in spite of your lack of courage. 

Hesitantly, you planted yourself on his couch, the furniture built into the wall, curving into an L shape where you imagined he’d kick his feet up after a long day, palm the bulge in his jeans and pick from the litany of porn that you took one glance at and thought better than to stare at it too long in case he felt offended by your interest. 

The discovery admittedly took away a little of his allure. 

“Make yourself at home,” he insisted, taking a sip of his beer and urging you to do the same with a single nod of his head. The slight twitch of his lips when you did so caused your body to go squirming, shifting uncomfortably in your seat as the fire raged within you—unable to be sated with the way he looked at you then. 

Just a scoff, a sip, and a glance at your lips before he turned away completely and focused his attention on the blank TV screen— his reflection the only entertainment. 

Silence grew uncomfortable, the bitter taste of alcohol coating the back of your throat, dripping down your oesophagus and choking any words that you wished to say. The heat emanating from him was overpowering even from the distance you sat apart, the scent of cigarettes overwhelming, so much so that you needed a distraction, anything to dull the rest of your senses from shutting down—all because of his powerful presence; the effect he had on you even when he sat still and awaited your call. 

“What did you mean?” The words came tumbling from your mouth, driven by an insatiable desire and lacklustre confidence you had somewhere deep in the pits of your stomach, bubbling with the acid that nestled there until it rose to the surface—bile transforming into questions that could leave you in a shell of humiliation. At his furrowed brow, you expanded. “About me paying in ways I don’t know.” 

He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his knees. Sombre, all of a sudden. Staring into the barrel of his bottle, the brown glass reflecting like constellations on his face—accentuating the sharp angle of his jawline, the sunken hollows of his cheekbones. 

When his eyes nestled on yours, burrowing right into your skull, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even fathom the thought of taking a lungful of air, waiting with your breath held tight inside, for his answer. 

“You shouldn’t go asking questions like that.” He sipped quietly, wetting his lips by flicking his tongue in and out, averting his gaze back to the shadow of himself in the television. “You’ll get yourself in trouble.” 

It was not the answer you wished for, eyes downcast, focused on your shaking knee as you tried to gauge some form of clarity beneath the mystery that clouded the gates to his head—what lay beneath his skull; what you wished to find. 

Against your better judgment, you pressed further, keeping the beer bottle clutched between your hands and hoping it would stay cold forever. 

“I can handle myself.” It came out more confident than you had expected, your bobbing knee ceasing its movement, your dry throat provided with moisture. A break from the anxious sweat you had broken out in. “If you don’t tell me I’ll just leave a hundred dollars on your doorstep and leave you alone.” 

You hoped quietly, in that stifling room, that he would make sure it didn’t come to that. That he would let you pay in any way he saw fit. You hoped that the sad hulk of a man sitting in the lone chair with porn in every drawer and money set aside for whores, would let you have him—bring back a semblance of light to his eyes. Find out what kept the despondency trapped so tight around him, the crown of thorns on his head expanding until it reached his feet and kept him locked in nature's prison—skin scratched, bloody and unable to be healed unless he found someone willing to cut through the overgrowth. 

He seemed to bristle at your words, shoulders tightening, jaw clenching in the manner he did when he was irritated. You’d seen it before when Dale had been drunk and had followed you home. When you’d stumbled uncomfortably to your trailer and pleaded Joel who sat on his porch, almost looking like he was waiting for you, to get him off your back. That tick, the downturn of his brow, the twitch of his lip, the look so intimidating you had rushed inside and watched through the window as Joel clapped a hand on Dale’s back and ushered him away from you.

You had no idea what he’d done after they’d left your sight but Dale barely looked at you after. The last interaction you’d had with him was the morning after when he’d knocked on your door, timid for a fifty-year-old man, and apologised. Joel had been there, like he almost always was—always dancing in your peripheral, waiting for you, taunting you—with a cup of coffee clasped between two hands and a smug look on his face when he watched the interaction. 

“You ain’t as smart as you think you are,” he uttered, slipping you away from the vignette and shattering the memory with his simple words. 

They stung. More than you cared to admit. 

Men were never this difficult, never this hard to get through to, never this confusing. He had given you every possible sign, every protection, every knowing look that confessed: you are everything I wish to have. 

It seemed every day he was further from you, every day he looked at you and thought that he was blinded by loneliness and that you were the last thing he needed to dote on. 

With the rejection, came vexation, a rumbling little thing that forced its way into your mouth—lips parting to let it out. 

“You’re not as discreet as you think you are.” As soon as they fell, the rest came following like a herd of bulls, a huge red flag flying through the air, right where Joel sat. They came for him, and you didn’t care enough to stop them. “I’m not stupid, no matter what you say.” 

The tick, tick, tick of his jaw. That subtle way his eyes narrowed, honing in on everything but the thing causing his problems, trying desperately to stop the truths from betraying his conceptions. 

“I see you, Joel. I see you through my bedroom window, using me as your personal stripper because you’re too fucking cheap to go down to the strip club and give a tip.” The push and pull was becoming apparent, the sympathy and disgust you held for him all at once growing and growing until all that prevailed was rage. That after everything, he still refused. That he was still a fucking coward no matter how many faces he pulled at anyone who looked at him wrong. You would not be deterred by the look he gave you then: one that should’ve made you shrink away in fear he would do something rash. “I see the way you looked at me from day fucking one. Just a pair of tits to stare at, a new young girl that you can prey on-”

“Stop.” 

“I’m not stupid.” Your voice was rising rapidly, your lips downturned in a scowl, unable to see the danger that befell you if you continued. “I know how you talk about me to your friends, I know that you make a show of being this immovable thing that no one can ever get to because you’re so wrapped up in your own self-pity that you can’t even admit to yourself that the only thing you are is a fucking pervert. And an asshole.” 

“You are crossing a line, little girl.” 

His words fell on deaf ears, a scoff coming from the back of your throat—so many things that you wanted to say but couldn’t voice. You settled for a final, blow. One that might kick him off his feet. 

“I know you stole my panties.” Jaw ticking, teeth grinding so hard they were liable to turn to dust in his mouth. “Took them right off my bathroom floor. Could you not help yourself? Are you that sad, Joel? Are you that much of a fucking perve-” 

Silenced by the way he towered, standing upright, bottle discarded by the leg of his chair and fury dancing in his eyes—so apparent and profound you finally stopped and cowered. 

“You don’t know a thing about me.” 

You were stunned into submission, finally on the end of his intimidation—a feat that was sure to happen sooner rather than later. You were just another Dale, just another one of his victims that he shot down with narrowed eyes and a nasty tone of voice that forced you to swallow down the confidence—sending it right back to your stomach, and burning the false assurance away. 

“I have been cordial with you for as long as possible.” There was danger in the way he spoke so calmly, a tremor in your hands as he stepped forward, facing you completely, and kneeled before you—eyes boring into yours, forcing you to look at him with the hand he placed on the couch beside you. “I’ve tried my hardest to be respectable but you make it so damn difficult.” 

“I’m sorry,” you began, wishing you could take it all back, wishing that you could’ve used your boldness for better: crawled into his lap and let him hold you, sank to your knees like he and worshipped him with every bit of yourself you had.

“Sh, sh, sh,” he shook his head, the hand on the couch, moving, the weight of it resting there dissipating and falling even heavier on the side of your face. “You can’t take it back now.” 

Nerves slipped like rapids through your stomach, the damn thing churning so much you began to feel sick with the anticipation and fear you felt being closer to him than you ever had been before. Your mouth opened as if to speak, then closed again when you realised that your throat had closed, the inside of your mouth dry and unable to lubricate your words with credibility as they fell from your lips.

“You think I’m a pervert?” he asked, eyes expecting an answer, eyebrows raising to help you find a response. “Hm?” 

“Yes.” The monosyllable fell shakily, unable to lie when he was looking at you so harshly, all whilst stroking your cheekbone with his thumb and engulfing the right side of your face with one, big, warm hand. 

He nodded with knowing, his other hand falling to your bare knee. You were crowded by him, completely consumed by his presence and with a harsh swallow, you hoped that he would slip away and allow you to breathe—if only for a moment. 

“I know,” he said with finality, your cheek whacked with cold air as he removed his hand, quickly providing you with warmth again as he pressed his thumb to your chin, holding it delicately. Making sure you couldn’t look away from him. “But you like it, don’t you?” he brushed the bottom of your lip with his nail, an uncontrollable shiver running through you that he revelled in.

He’d called your bluff entirely. He’d locked you up in his cage, gave you the upper hand for just a second, made you believe that you could get away from him if you kicked and screamed enough, only to leave you hopeless as he twisted the key to the right, and threw the metal that granted you freedom, into the fire. 

“If you had an issue with me looking, you’d close the drapes. You’re a smart girl, I’m sure it ain’t too hard for you.” 

His patronisation, his demeanour that consisted of arousal and determination, had a small breath puffing from your lungs, a sudden and overwhelming heat crawling from each of his hands and into your head—breaking your rationale and leaving you pliable and willing in his grasp. He’d got you. Right there. And if he wanted you, you would let him have you. 

“And if you didn’t want me to steal your panties, then you shouldn’t have left them there.” 

It was unbelievable, the way he twisted the blame onto you, the way he made you believe in everything he was saying with a simple swipe of his thumb over your bottom lip and a look in his eyes that stopped you from questioning him. 

“Yes, Joel, I’m sorry, Joel,” were the only words swimming through your head: words that you would’ve spoken aloud had he not stunned you into silence, the hand on your knee sliding along your skin, up towards the hem of your shorts where he slipped his fingers under and skimmed the skin concealed by the denim. 

“You understand me, little girl?” 

“I’m not a little girl,” you managed, voice shaky as the warmth of him engulfed you entirely, wrapped up in the scent of him, the feel of the callouses along your smooth skin and the eyes piercing you. If looks could kill…if those pretty eyes could rip you apart with the viciousness of their stare. 

“No you ain’t,” he murmured, gripping your chin, thumb rubbing along the flesh of your bottom lip, the skin bouncing as he peeled it back and let go. “I know you ain’t.” 

There seemed a flood came over his being, a white wave of purity dowsing him, ridding him of every adulteration and forcing sense back into his head as the hand fell from your face, the one on your inner thigh taking longer to slip away before the cloud of insensibility faded and he arrived to a semblance of morality. 

You watched as he stumbled over to the kitchen, hand working over the scruff he called a beard and forced his eyes away from you. 

“Joel,” you called softly, finally gaining back a little strength now he wasn’t crowding you; forcing you to look at him and make the first move so his conscience could be clean. 

“Just go.” The words were uttered much softer than before, the delicacy of his voice surprising you but the strain that coated his throat a reminder that this was still Joel Miller. Dangerously beautiful Joel Miller with a lifetime of terror stashed somewhere in the backrooms of his mind, a darkness in the depths of his eyes you couldn’t help but be frightened by, and a story you wished he would tell. A story that stretched years back to the life before he crept past the opening gates of Shady Springs Mobile Park and left a life that you had no clue wether  had been better or worse than his life now. “I’ll come over tomorrow afternoon and have a look at that tap. You might have to get maintenance round soon though if it keeps up.” 

“I don’t like strangers…in my house.” Your words trailed off at the end of your sentence, caught up in the possibilities of your words and how he would reply. If he would see right through you and clock how you’d only spoken because the tap was one of the biggest ties you had to Joel. If he would realise that you’d thought about getting maintenance months ago when it first started dripping but didn’t want a permanent fix, no matter how annoying. All because of Joel Miller and the way he’d perversely captured you in the plot of some barely legal porno that you would’ve turned your nose up at if it was anyone but him and you. 

You and Joel. 

The thought sounded nice—the reality a little less nicer. 

“Yeah, well…” he leant back on the countertops, arms crossed over his chest, eyes bloodshot and bordered by black—an undeniable piece of evidence that Joel perhaps wasn’t doing as well as he made everyone believe; that there was something deeper tugging at his mind and causing such aggravation. 

After a moments silence, when he looked at you and you looked right back at him, your head clear and working properly again, you diverted the conversation elsewhere—a ploy to hack deeper at his head and find what lay underneath his skull. 

“Are you okay?” Simple, easy. Not difficult to ascertain the concern laced deep in your tone because you were concerned for him. The moment he’d opened the door after days of barely seeing him, time spent cursing the fact he could peer through your windows but you could not peer through his, you knew something was wrong. That there was something happening to him. Something dangerous. Your sympathy began to overtake everything else, memory shed of all the times he had wronged you and replaced with the very little he had done right. “You look…tired. Exhausted, really.” 

“I’m fine,” he said with finality, the rage in his eyes returning but with less power this time. The fatigue was setting in, the constant running from himself finally catching up to him. 

“Are you sure?”

“I said I’m fine.” It shut you up well enough, so much so that you began to lose the commiserations. You could always say you tried. “Now get out of my house.” 

It was the final thing he said to you before he slipped away, striding down the hallway, footsteps echoing until he reached the bedroom; the click of the door resounding throughout the trailer. 

You stared at the spot where he’d kneeled, a finger brushing softly over your lip before shaking away the self-pity and gently placing the beer bottle on the table that sat next to his chair. 

Looking one last time at the door at the end of the hallway, shadowed and guarded by snapping dogs, you opened the door, the damn thing creaking as if to shout to everyone within a mile radius that you had made no progress with the man you desperately wanted, and stepped out. Leaving your pride on the doorstep. 

© virginreprise

thanks for reading !

[starlightsreigns]

hold up | a lemonade story

summary ⇢ mellie's hanging on by a thread. how much longer can she hang on when one question coils deep in her? is roman... cheating on her? word count ⇢ 1.4k tags ⇢ minors, do not interact. implied cheating | two ; denial “What a wicked way to treat the girl that loves you”

i don’t wanna lose my pride, but imma fuck me up a bitch.

“Melody, you’re going to drive yourself insane,” My friend Alyssa sighs. “Don’t you trust him?” 

That’s a great question. However, I’m past the point of giving a damn.  I’m literally driving myself to insanity with all of this and I’m not sure how to bring it up. How do you confront the love of your life about something like this without him immediately going on the defense?

“I don’t trust him, that’s the problem, and I don’t know how to get back to that point anymore.” 

Alyssa is my moral compass, she tries to keep me levelheaded when I feel myself slipping. She’s my best friend, but she’s a big fan of Roman and I’s relationship — Alyssa refuses to believe that he’s this person, that he can be a cheater when he’s been so caring. She sees the best in him. 

“Mellie, what has he done to make you feel this way?”

My eyes meet hers, “Don’t make me feel crazy, Aly, I’m already losin’ it here.”

“I’m not sayin’ that, I promise, I’m just tryna understand how you go to this point.” Alyssa sits up. “Just help me understand and I promise we can fuck his shit up tonight.” She offers a smile. 

While she’s the more levelheaded one of us, the thing I love the most about her is her willingness to support any and every decision I make — even if it’s the craziest shit she’s ever heard.

That’ll be helpful later. 

Somethin’ don’t feel right because it ain’t right.. Comin’ up after midnight

The house is the coldest it’s ever been in a long time. I’m pretty sure the only source of heat is coming from the anger seeping out of my pores when I hear his keys in the lock as I sit on the couch. A book sits in my lap untouched as he comes in through the door. 

“Hey, Mellie,” Roman throws my way lazily. He comes over to kiss my cheek and I can’t help but smell the perfume that radiates off his body. Chanel. At least the bitch has taste. “You up late.” 

My brain wants to cuss him out, but thankfully restraint still exists when I finally reply. “I’d say the same for you, baby, where you been at?”  

Roman glances in my direction while heading to the kitchen, “I went to the PC then had dinner with the twins.” 

“Oh, the twins are in town?” My eyes train on his back. 

There’s no way they can be in town. During a call with Trinity earlier in the day, she told me that her husband and his brother were doing house shows during the week, so, it’s impossible for them to be at dinner. Yet, he seems to think I’m the biggest idiot on planet earth. 

“Yeah, we went to that steakhouse on 85th.” Roman shuts the fridge and turns to look at me. “Then we got drinks at Tini’s and watched the game.” 

Of course, he has an answer for everything. A tinge of rage strikes me in my chest while watching how calm he is. 

“What game did you watch?” 

That stops him for a moment. 

But I continue, “I watched a couple on split screen.” 

Roman runs his hand over his beard then takes a long swig of beer. 

“Cowboys versus the Texans was good.” I bait with a small smile. 

“Yeah, that’s the one, we ain’t seen the results though.” 

Well, of course, he didn’t, maybe because those two teams didn’t have a game tonight. 

To not lose my cool, I let the conversation go. I can see him watching me from the corner of my eyes as I pretend to read my book. There’s nothing else I can say. I’ve caught him in more lies than I can count — and there’s a feeling in my gut that tells me he knows. 

Can’t you see there’s no other man above you?

Most people would judge me and I don’t blame them. Even with my suspicion, I can’t deny the love and affection I have. So, here I am under him. I can’t help it. 

“Look at me, baby,” Roman’s rough voice sharpens my attention. “you look so beautiful.” He runs his hand down my cheek. 

His eyes on me, for the first in a while, feels like how it used to be. It makes me forget all the pain that I’ve felt for so long. This is what I want back. 

My hand grips his wrist, pulling him down onto the bed, maneuvering so I’m on top. 

The gems on my acrylic nails catch some of the light from the moon. My hands are pressed against his chest, holding me steady, keeping the rhythm of our skin slapping together. I throw my head back with a moan, feeling the way he raises his hips to reach deeper into me. 

“Do you know how much I love you?” I breathe out, leaning down to kiss his neck. “I’ve never loved anyone like I love you.” 

It was the truest thing I’ve ever said. It is the truest thing I’ll ever say. 

How did it come down to this?  scrolling through your call list

His phone is empty. She’s not on here, but I know she exists. How can I keep living in the paranoia where I know the ghost exists but there’s no proof of it? I toss his phone back onto his side of the bed with a huff just as he walks out of the bathroom. 

“what’s wrong?” He takes a look at my exasperated expression.

“You know how much I love you, right?” My voice is harsher than I wanted, but it catches his attention. “And we made our vows to be loyal to one another, i’m keeping my end.” 

Roman knits his eyebrows together, “I love you, too, Mellie.” He sits at the edge of the bed. “I’ll always be here.” 

The reassurance I was hoping to feel never comes. Instead, I’m slowly feeling rage. But, I don’t respond but nod. I can’t look jealous or crazy, that’ll only drive him away or make him sneakier. If anything, I need him to slip up. That’s the only way I can make sense of this — Lord, give me a sign. 

What’s worse? Lookin’ jealous or crazy?... I’d rather be crazy. 

Sleep was the last thing on my mind. Instead, my eyes fixated on the TV screen that flickered in the darkness. Roman was sound asleep beside me and my nerves had finally calmed enough for me to wonder if I was going insane. 

I’ve found no tangible proof. Maybe, just maybe, I’m convincing myself of something that isn’t true –possibly self-sabotaging and self-destructing. If I don’t stop now, all my hair will fall out from the stress. Three months of thinking these thoughts are slowly killing me. Not that he’s noticed, but I’ve lost 25 pounds in my mission to find out the nonexistent truth. 

My eyes are slowly closing when his screen catches my attention. It’s three in the morning, who could possibly be texting him? I’ve just come to an agreement with myself and now I’m plunged back into the uncertainty. I should just turn over and fall asleep, but I just need to look at the message and I’ll be over it. 

J: are you really not coming over tonight, baby? i miss you. mellie sees you more than enough. just come over and be back before she wakes up.

My eyes scan the message over and over again. I’m not sure what else I’m looking for, but I’m hoping that at some point the message would read something different — something that doesn’t confirm all my suspicions. I cover my mouth when the tears start to fall, not wanting to wake him up and find me in this position. My chest feels heavy and my feet are a ton of bricks when I make it out of bed. 

Out in the hallway, I slide down the wall with my hands still firmly covering my mouth to swallow the sobs. This isn’t what I wanted nor was it what I needed. My brain feels scrambled with incoherent thoughts. What do I do now? Should I leave? Should I take a baseball bat to his head? Yet, the only thing I’m sure of right now is that I might throw up.

It’s difficult for me to get back up to my feet. My body shakes uncontrollably in the darkness and my breathing is shallow until I’m taking deep breaths. I turn to glance into the room, feeling my skin heat up. This feeling isn’t sadness, it isn’t hurt, or disappointment. I’m past denial – what I’m feeling is scorn and hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. 

“But still inside me coiled deep was the need to know. Are you cheating? Are you cheating on me?”

please excuse the errors, classes are kicking my ass. hope you’ve enjoyed it 🫶🏽 very excited to post “don’t hurt yourself” x

[sehnsuchts-trunken]

if tgm smutty thought are still allowed - giving Jake a handjob in bed in the early hours of the morning

tgm smutty thoughts are most definitely still allowed!!! all the way! more, more, more!

as always, feel free to keep requesting (here)!

top gun masterlist | top gun blurbs

The smell of tea lingers in the air, the light filters softly through the windows and Jake's groans sound so lovely that you barely hear the conversations from the tv anymore.

It's just background noise anyway.

Jake had lovingly turned on a fairytale from your childhood about twenty minutes ago, right after he'd put a cup of steaming hot tea onto your bedside table and cuddled up to you underneath the covers again.

All of it was so domestic - the warmth, the comfort, the beautiful curve of his jaw, his tousled, messy bedhead - that you had, almost innocently, begun drawing invisible circles on the bare skin of his thigh, the same way his thumb was brushing against your shoulder. Just that Jake had quickly realised it wasn't innocent in the slightest, not as you'd palmed him through his boxer briefs and then slipped your hand inside.

Your eyes are on the tv, yes, but your attention is on him. On him and those groans, those grunts. On him and the way he's grabbing your shoulder so firmly. On him and the feeling of pride swelling in your chest, pride at how you - you! - have this effect on him.

Your eyes aren't on the tv anymore then.

You can't not watch him, not when he's tilting his head back like this, not when he's swallowing hard, throat bobbing, not when he's turning to look at you and his lips tug into a grin.

He brushes his fingers up the side of your neck.

Softly, you lean into him and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, all easy and tentative, hardly a kiss at all. It fits the occasion, the slow morning of waking up next to the man you love with no alarm looming in the distance - there's no need to be at work or at brunch or at the beach with the squad or anything of the sort. You can't remember the last time this has happened, just you and him and a whole day of nothing ahead. It has to have been a month or two ago, at least.

So you work your hand slowly up and down him, not even to get him to finish, but just to enjoy feeling him, touching him. Just so he can enjoy you feeling him, touching him. So you can enjoy each other.

Being here, being close, being in love.

His lips linger on yours. You feel his breath against your mouth, fanning over your cheeks. Then he lets his arm drop down, pushes his hand under the covers and wraps his fingers around your wrist.

"Jake", you mutter, eyebrows furrowing as you pull back an inch or so. "What're you doing?"

But Jake ignores your question entirely, pushes your hand away from him and grabs for your waist instead, to guide you firmly onto his lap with a low 'C'mere' that you don't think you've heard from him before. There's that Texan drawl that only comes out in moments like this.

You wrap your legs around him, one on either side of his, and put your palms against his bare chest to steady yourself.

The shirt you've stolen from him hangs loosely from your body, pools around your thighs. A moan drops from your lips as you settle on his lap- yes, you're wearing his shirt, but that's also it.

"Fuck, d'you want to kill me, baby?", he asks, a little breathless, a little rough.

You shake your head no, even as you rock back and forth against him, almost instinctively, just to get some friction, any friction.

"No", you whimper. "Just want to make you feel good."

He lets out a groan at that, digs his fingers into your hips and forces you to keep still for a second. He waits until you meet his eyes, your skin already warming to his touch, prickling with the sweet anticipation of what's about to follow.

"But will you let me make you feel good, too, baby?"

[lulunothulu]

“A Bullseye to the Heart” (Ch. 4)

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Latina Reader

Blurb: Jake drives you to his house, and you're surprised by his gentlemanly-ness. You end your first night at his home (kinda) embarrassing yourself.

Contents: the fluffiest fluff, just Jake and Reader being flirty and kinda fighting, bad writing lol

Word Count: 1,330

I'm sorry this one is short, I'll make it up to you guys in the next chapter!

Chapter 4

Jake drove you to his house in silence, your words echoed in his mind.

“Don’t fall for me and don’t deny you aren’t because I feel it. Trust me, you don’t want to be with me.”

All he could think of was how hard and fast he was falling for you. He didn’t mean to, he’d never fallen for someone. Sure there have been a few women he could’ve fallen for but they never felt right. From the moment you walked up to the group with those eyes, he knew he was a lost cause. From the time he held you in his arms, stopping you from getting close to Nick and the commotion he knew. Not only was he instantly struck by you, but you were the first woman to intrigue him in such a way that he had to research you; to see what made you upset, what made you happy.

Every time he glances over at you, you’d quickly turn your head away from him and look out the window of his truck. Jake smiles to himself, the knowledge that you keep looking over at him makes his chest fill with pride. 

When he finally pulls into his driveway in his gated community, you send Phoenix and Rooster a text that you’ve made it before undoing your seat belt and moving to hop out of Jake’s car. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Getting out of the car,” you respond.

“I’ll get the door,” he says, quickly climbing out of the truck and jogging to your side. When he opens the door, he flashes you a cheeky grin and extends his hand toward you. “My lady.”

“I am not your lady,” you spit but take his hand anyway because why not?

Instant flickers of lust run through your fingertips and up your arm, sending them down your spine. You flick your eyes toward Jake to see him already staring down at you, green eyes searching your own in longing. 

You pull away and clear your throat before saying, “I’ll just grab my bag.”

“No need,” Jake drawls, opening the back door and tossing your bag over his shoulder with expert precision. “I’ve got it too.”

“Didn’t think you’d be such a gentleman,” you half tease. 

“Sweetheart, I was raised to treat women with respect. My man-whore ways won’t change that.”

“So you’re a man-whore?” you ask.

Jake’s cheeks turn a light shade of red before he shakes his head with a smile on his lips. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

Gesturing to follow him, Jake adds, “Come on, let’s get you to bed. You must be emotionally exhausted.”

You hated to admit it, but you were exhausted. You reluctantly follow him toward the house and smile up at the Texas flag hanging outside. “You must be a very proud Texan.”

Jake flashes you a cocky grin over his shoulder before drawling, “Of course I am. I’m Texas born and raised.”

“So your family is still there?”

“Yes, why are you asking so many questions?” he asks, opening the front door and allowing you in first. 

“Just trying to get to know the person I’ll be living with for a bit,” you shrug. As you look around, you can’t help but notice how bare the walls in the house are. Nothing but white paint and an occasional window. “That’s a lot of white walls.”

“I like my house to be simple,” he shrugs. “Plus I probably won’t be here too long so I don’t want to deal with having to paint and fill holes.”

He walks you to the kitchen before putting your bag on the island. “So this is the kitchen. Over that way,” he points to the room on your left, “is the living room and dinning room. Our rooms are over on this side, they both have their own bathroom so you won’t have to share with me.”

You look over his shoulder where he was pointing and nod your head. 

“I know you left your car at Hard deck, so I’m having Coyote and Bob bring it tomorrow morning before we have to head in for PT,” he tells you, grabbing a glass of water and filling it with water from the fridge. He takes a sip, watching as you look around the kitchen and then land on the fridge behind him. “If you’re hungry, you can help yourself to anything. There’s no cow milk but there is almond milk.”

“Are you lactose intolerant?” you ask, biting down a smirk. 

“I am,” Jake smiles. He sets his glass down before grabbing your bag again and walking toward the rooms. “Follow me, I’ll show you where you’re staying.”

You follow him into the hall and notice there’s actually three bedrooms. 

“Door on your left is my room and you’re right across from me,” he says. “The door at the end of the hall is an office.”

Office, that makes sense.

“Um, thank you,” you mutter. You make a move to grab your bag from his hands but he instead walks into your room and sets it down on the queen bed. There’s a night stand by the bed and a drawer across from the bed. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” he says. “Holler if you need anything.”

Before he leaves the room, you grab his hand, surprising not only yourself, but Jake as well. “Thank you, Jake. I really do appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

Jake shrugs before smiling down at you and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’d do it for anyone.”

Later that night, you’re tossing and turning. You’ve been up for hours and have been trying to fall sleep. Every time you’d feel yourself fall asleep, you’d start thinking of Nick finding you at Jake’s house and then get paranoid. Then, when you finally did fall asleep, you were riddled with memories of when you were missing. 

The dream was always the same. The man who took you standing over your bloodied body and smiling from ear to ear, a bloodied knife in his hand. Then, it would cut to you hanging from your hands being whipped and finally, when you were left for dead in the patch of grass.

You look at the time on your phone and read, 4:33 AM. So instead of just staying in bed, you get up and begin to walk into the kitchen to get a glass of milk. 

Maybe some warm milk would help.

You walk into the kitchen begin warming the milk when you start to look through the cupboards for some Nesquik. 

“Surely this guy has to have some coco powder,” you whisper to yourself. 

Opening the pantry in the corner of the kitchen, you find a huge tub of chocolate powder and almost laugh at the absurdity. 

It was almost the size of a box of cereal. 

The microwave goes off, making you turn in time to see Jake standing in the doorway with a little smirk on his face. 

“What’re you doing?” he asks.

“Making myself chocolate milk,” you say, hugging the tub close to your chest. “Why are you up so early?”

“Bob and Coyote came to drop off your car,” he tells you. “And I have PT.”

When you step out into the, now lit, kitchen, you see he’s wearing the navy blue PT shorts and jacket. He looked really good in them, which was weird because every always looks dorky. But for some reason, Jake looked good.

“Well, I’ll probably see you in an hour or so,” he says, looking you up and down. He’s halfway out the kitchen when he calls out, “Nice pjs, you should wear that out!”

You look down and nearly slap your forehead. 

You were wearing nothing but a pair of bright pink panties and an oversized Star Wars shirt that may or may not have been see-through. 

What a great first day of living with Jake.

Next part here!!

tags: @lonelysoul50 @akilatwt @russopalette @emma8895eb @djs8891

[1-800-papaya]

Southern Charm

Jay Halstead x Baker!Reader Warnings: None

Two weeks had passed since Jay’s first visit to Lemon Drops. Since then, it had become a regular stop in his morning routine. Volunteering for coffee runs when the one in the break room was conveniently broken, even finding himself out front of the cozy little shop on his day off. The more he visited, the more he saw his time in Y/N’s company as the highlight of his day, a ray of sunshine in the clouded sky of his mind. The warm environment of the cafe had quickly become his sanctuary, a place where he could unwind and enjoy a sense of normalcy away from the pressures of cases.

So when Adam sulked out of the break room and mumbled that the coffee machine was on the fritz, Jay practically jumped out of his chair. The case that had occupied the unit’s time for the past few hours was tricky and complicated; to say it was stressful was an understatement. After the others shouted their order, Jay bounced the three blocks to Lemon Drops. His phone buzzed in his hand as the familiar twinkle of the bell announced his arrival.

‘Don’t forget the Caramel Raspberry Kolache.’ Hailey.

The bakery’s cozy interior felt like a warm hug, welcoming him in from the Chicago winter. Jay’s eyes surveyed the crowded cafe, a habit he developed from being a ranger and cop. The mid-afternoon crowd was thin but still filled most of the room. A few students were huddled in the corner, blank screens probably filling a few with dread. The rest of the cafe was filled with elderly couples sharing tea and cakes. Jay waved slightly to Chelsea, who was standing at the register. Chelsea was one of the few college students that Y/N hired; Jay had become so much of a regular that he’d learnt their names. Chelsea and the other employees who helped with mid-day crowds learnt quickly that Y/N would handle Jay’s order.

After finishing a customer’s order, Chelsea poked her head through the kitchen door and called out to Y/N. With a bright smile, Y/N returned with a tray full of strawberry and cream cupcakes.

“Good morning, Jay! The usual?” she asked, her southern drawl as charming as ever.

“Morning, Y/N. Yeah, the usual. And Hailey is insistent on trying your Caramel Raspberry Pazcki’s,” Jay replied, leaning against the counter. Y/N chuckled as she moved behind the counter, seamlessly interacting with Chelsea. Y/N’s cabinets were consistently filled with brownies, cupcakes and her favorite treats from home. Recently, Jay noticed that more Chicago favorite treats with her own twist had found their way into the mix. Over the last few weeks, Jay had also become aware of just how close Hailey and the young Texan baker were, practically being badgered by Hailey for a treat from Y/N that he’d never seen in her cabinets.

“So, how’s your week been?” Y/N asked, her eyes locked on Jay but her hands working away, making the coffees. Jay smiled; his favorite part of his visit was the causal conversation that flowed between them.

“Busy, but nothing out of the ordinary. You? Business seems to be good”

“Yeah, it’s been good. Lots of new faces coming in,” Y/N said, a hint of pride in her voice. Jay chuckled.

“Well, you make the best coffee and treats in town.” Y/N blushed slightly and handed over the coffee and the usual box of treats, with Hailey’s in a separate bag.

“You’re too kind, Jay. But I’m glad you think so.”

“I’ll let you get back to work. Thanks for the coffee and Pazcki’s.”

“Anytime, Jay. Stay safe out there,” Y/N said, giving him a warm smile. Jay nodded and headed out, the tray balanced carefully in his hands, opening the door for an elderly couple as he left. As he dragged his feet the three blocks, He couldn’t shake the feeling that these brief moments with Y/N were becoming more than just a part of his routine.

***

Back at the precinct, Jay distributed the coffees to his teammates. Hailey gleefully took hers and the strawberry and cream Pazcki’s. A teasing smirk played on her lips as Jay sat at his desk.

“You’re in a good mood,” she remarked.

“Just needed the fresh air,” Jay said with a shrug, trying to play it cool.

“Uh-huh,” Hailey said, clearly not buying it. “So, how’s Y/N?”

“She’s good,” Jay replied, unable to hide his smile. “The bakery is doing well, though I regret telling Will and Kelly about it. ”

Hailey smirked. “You know, you should ask her out sometime. It’s clear you like her.” Jay felt his face heat up.

“It’s not like that. We’re just friends.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Hailey said, sipping her coffee. “But you should think about it. Life’s too short not to take chances.”

“What’s this about taking chances?” Kevin spoke up from his place,e leaning on Hailey’s desk.

“Jay’s got a crush on the bakery owner,” Hailey said with a grin.

Atwater raised an eyebrow. “Oh? The one that makes all these delicious treats you’ve brought in every day this week.”

“To Jay and his bakery lady. May your pastries be sweet and your dates sweeter.” Kevin toasted, a devious smile directed at her partner.

“Knock it off,” Jay spoke, stifling a laugh, “It’s just coffee.”

“What’s going on?” Kim questioned as she and Adam trudged up the steps.

“Jay’s got a thing for the girl at Lemon Drops,” Kevin explained.

Kim’s eyes lit up. “Y/N? She’s so nice! You should ask her out, Jay.” Jay sighed, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the attention.

“Alright, alright. I’ll think about it.”

***

The sun had long since set by the time Jay found his feet carrying him to his truck. He had spent most of the afternoon lost in his thoughts. His co-worker’s words whirled around. Perhaps he should bite the metaphorical bullet or take that leap of faith. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear Kevin’s invite for drinks at Molly’s; instead, he found himself parked in front of Lemon Drops Cafe and Bakery. The neon sign glaring mockingly at him. He’d helped her install it a week ago. A chuckle filled the cab of his truck. Hailey would tease him relentlessly if she found out this was his second time visiting the unit’s new favorite establishment.

By now, the evening regulars had long since gone home, leaving Y/N with the first responders trickling in and out. Chelsea had gone home, something that Jay never quite felt okay with. The neighborhood surrounding where the cafe was situated was safe, but the thought of Y/N closing on her own late at night never felt right.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” Y/N’s voice called from the kitchen. Jay felt a slight sense of Deja-vu. When she finally appeared, she looked just the same as the first time Jay had stepped foot into her business. Chocolate brown curly hair was haphazardly thrown into a bun. Her white shirt was a stark white compared to the pale yellow apron she always wore; it must be new, thought Jay. Her apron was once again covered in white dashes of flour and smudges of frosting and chocolate. A flash of pleasant surprise crossed her soft features when she looked up to greet him.

“Oh Jay, Back so soon? Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

Jay chuckled. “I guess so. Got any more of those Pazcki’s.”

“Always,” Y/N said, already reaching for one. “Here you go.”

“Thanks,” Jay said, taking the sweat treat. As always, Jay stayed chatting with Y/N as she cleaned and prepped cookies and cupcake batter for the next day. The pair discussed many things as usual, from the recent chilly weather to Y/N’s two tabby cats. Before long, he found himself standing in between his truck and Y/N’s vintage yellow Bronco, watching as she locked the door.

“Well, I guess this is goodnight then, Detective.” He hesitated for a moment, then decided to take Hailey’s advice.

“Hey, Y/N, I was wondering… would you like to grab dinner sometime? Maybe this weekend?” Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise, and then her face broke into a bright smile.

“I’d love to, Jay. That sounds great.”

“Great,” Jay said, feeling relief and excitement. “Saturday at seven?”

“It’s a date,” Y/N said, her smile warm and inviting.

Tag list

@smoothdogsgirl

[ur-mom-did-69]

Hey y’all! This is my first time writing so please bear with me. Let me know what y’all think though!

Bull rider x Nika Mühl

(Yes ik a bull rider is weird I was just thought about it today💀)

Nothing kills you slower than letting someone go

In the heart of a small Texas town, the lights of the local bar flickered like fireflies, inviting weary travelers and spirited locals. It was a raucous celebration, the air thick with laughter, camaraderie, and the scent of barbeque. The night was alive with the sound of clinking glasses and country music wailing from the jukebox. Among the crowd, Alex, a vibrant bull rider, stood out—not just for her victorious grin, but for her unmistakable Texan charm.

With a cowboy hat perched atop her sun-kissed curls and a worn pearl-snap button-up shirt clinging to her muscular frame, Alex was a walking Southern stereotype. Her jeans were perfectly fitted, revealing her strong legs honed from years in the saddle, and her boots were scuffed from countless rodeos. As she settled onto a barstool, she couldn't help but beam at the crowd, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of a successful ride.

Today, however, was special; it wasn’t just her victory that fueled her energy; it was the celebration itself. Spying a group of tall women nestled in the corner, Alex recognized them immediately—the UConn women's basketball team, in town for a break. Without hesitating, she flagged down the bartender and ordered them a round of drinks. Her deep Southern drawl broke through the chatter as she introduced herself, her smile infectious.

With a confident stride, Alex approached the lively table. “Howdy, y’all! Is this a winning celebration I’m intruding on?” she grinned, her Southern drawl wrapping around every word like a comforting embrace.

“Not at all! I’m Nika,” one of the players replied, her dark eyes sparkling as she extended a hand. “Thanks for the drinks, by the way.”

“Alex!” she said, shaking Nika’s hand firmly. “Glad to meet some champions! I’ve been tellin’ everyone in this town that the only sport that matters is bull riding, but maybe y’all could convince me otherwise,” she chuckled, her accent lending an extra layer of warmth to her charm.

Nika felt a quickening in her heart as she studied Alex: strong but gentle, a prominent presence yet grounded. “I’ve always wanted to ride a bull. What’s it like?”

“Like dancing with a tornado. You either get twirled around or sent flyin’. Makes you feel alive!” Alex said with a twinkle in her eye. They continued to talk, the energy around them buzzing as the night wore on, laughter mingling with stories of triumph and trials.

The two women lost themselves in conversation, sharing stories of their lives—Alex’s wild west adventures and Nika’s basketball powerhouse experiences. Each laugh and exchange sent little sparks between them. With every word, they discovered more that connected them despite their different worlds. That evening, under the dim lights, Alex worked up the courage to ask for Nika's number, and when Nika easily obliged, a thrill shot through her.

“Let’s make this a date then,” Alex suggested, her Southern charm radiating. Nika nodded, excitement bubbling up within her.

Their first outing was unexpected. Alex took Nika to a nearby rodeo, and as they settled into the bleachers, Alex turned to her, a mischievous grin plastered on her face. “So, how’d you feel about seeing me get thrown off a bull tonight?”

“You’re competing?” Nika asked, her eyes wide with surprise and a hint of nervousness.

“Sure am! Just a little amateur rodeo,” Alex shrugged, trying to play it cool, but Nika could see the pride in her eyes. As the night wore on, Nika cheered louder than any of the rowdy spectators, her heart pounding in rhythm with the pulse of the event.

When she watched Alex flawlessly ride a bull, she couldn’t help but admire the tenacity and skill of this spirited Texan. Afterward, the connection deepened, and for the next two weeks, they spent every moment they could together, especially at night, tangled between the sheets, whispering sweet nothings and sharing dreams.

But a looming reality soon hit. The time came for Nika to return to Connecticut, and the distance stretched before them like an insurmountable wall. Their message exchanges grew sparse as they struggled to maintain their connection. The longing turned to frustration, culminating in an argument that lingered over their heads like a thundercloud before it finally burst. Days passed without a word, leaving Alex feeling empty and alone, and Nika wrestling with a sense of loss.

Then came the day when fate intervened, and Alex found herself on the wrong side of a bull's fury. The ride ended in calamity, and the pain was sharp and immediate. When Nika received the call about Alex’s accident, panic and worry surged through her. Without a second thought, she hopped on the next flight to Texas, her heart racing with fear and determination.

Arriving at the hospital, Nika rushed to Alex’s side, the sight of her bruised and bandaged partner shattering her heart. Tears spilled over as they locked eyes; finally, the dam broke, and both began to cry. They had fought so hard to stay connected, but it took this moment of vulnerability for them to truly understand the depth of their love.

“You scared the shit out of me, Alex I thought I almost lost you,” Nika whispered, holding Alex's hand tightly as the tears streamed down.

Upon her arrival, she found Alex bandaged and bruised but still strong. “Hey, don’t look so worried. I’m tougher than I look,” Alex joked, but Nika saw through the mask of bravado. Alex’s face turned from a small smile, into a pained expression. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I don’t want to lose you either though,” Alex replied, her voice shaky. They poured their hearts out, sharing their fears and desires, vowing to fight for what they had built together.

As Alex healed, she began to reevaluate her future. The idea of riding bulls, once a thrill, felt more like shackles. She realized that the life she longed for was not rooted in the arena but in moments shared with Nika. The decision came swiftly. With each passing day, recovery transformed into purpose, and soon after, Alex packed her bags and moved to Connecticut, embracing a new chapter with Nika.

But life in Connecticut felt overwhelming. Alex struggled against the quietness of country life compared to the excitement she had left behind. As days turned into weeks, an unshakeable tension hung in the air. Nika’s once-warm smile grew cold and distant, and Alex’s pleas felt like whispers lost in the wind.

Alex recognized that things weren’t changing with Nika and finally had a sit-down conversation with her. “I feel like we’re in the same exact place that we were in a couple of months ago. I mean I’ve tried talking to you about it, which is rare these days because I feel like I don’t even see you anymore when we live in the same damn place for Christ’s sake!” Alex said, trying her hardest not to raise her voice.

Nika scoffed, “I never asked you to drop everything and come up here, Alex! You say that we don’t see each other, but one of us is actually doing something important with their lives. I mean, how far did you seriously think bullriding was going to get you? I’m working my ass off during practice and studying for my classes. What have you been doing the entire time you’ve been here?”

Alex’s face fell as she heard Nika talk about her career. “Wow. So that’s how you feel about everything? You didn’t have to ask me to drop everything for you because I would’ve done it regardless, Nika. Say what you want, but I was doing just fine with my career because I had enough to buy me a farm up here in Connecticut that I was going to surprise you with on our anniversary. That’s what I’ve been busy with the entire time that I’ve been here, but even then I still made time to try to spend with you, but you just kept brushing me off,” Alex said with a lump in her throat.

Nika’s expression suddenly changed from frustrated to regretful. “Alex, I’m so sorry. Please, I didn’t mean it.”, she said teary-eyed.

A moment of silence passed between them. “I don’t think we thought things out enough for us,” Alex spoke softly.

Alex stood up, putting on her boots and hat. “I think I should go. It’s clear that we want different things. I want you, and you want your career and studies, which I understand. Maybe I’ll see you around, Nika. I love you.”

Nika shot up from her seat. “No, Alex, please don’t go. Please, I’m sorry. I love you, I don’t want you to go.”, she said sobbing.

It was too late though, Alex had already gotten into her truck and drove off as Nika watched her from the window. Maybe they were too different to be compatible, or maybe this only made them realize just how deeply they impacted each other’s lives.

So… what do we think…? Part 2? Thank yall for reading hope you enjoyed it!

[sincerelylancelot]

6. things you said under the stars and in the grass - strollstappen

snippets from the if you could see 'em now verse

“Your dad’s gonna be pissed if he finds you up here.”

Lance just shrugs, the sound of Max’s familiar footfalls and slight foreign lisp giving him away before his face even pops into view.

“Mom says he needs to start walking more anyway, so if he can’t make it up here, it’s not my fault,” Lance replies nonchalantly, staring up at the sky but losing count of the stars. 

He’s lying back on the grassy hill overlooking the bustling chaos of the Cowtown Coliseum, the air buzzing with excitement as the Bull Riders World Finals approach their climax. Max stands there for a moment, arms crossed, before plonking himself down in the grass beside Lance. His hands instantly go to the laces of his shoes. 

They’re scuffed, stained, and falling apart; the kind of thing Lance knows Michael would hate. Remnants of a past life Max can’t let go of. 

“You always do this,” Max accuses, yanking at a loose thread on his shoe. “And then Michael has a go at me because Lawrence is pissed at you.”

Lance huffs, pushing himself up on his elbows to meet Max’s gaze. “Then don’t come up here, genius. Go play with Mick or something.”

“Mick’s a baby,” Max snaps, wrinkling his nose. “He cries about the bulls too much. Michael says he’s too soft. You know how he gets when someone says that.”

Mick didn’t like the idea of hurting the bulls. Lance remembers hearing their dads complain about Mick months ago, saying he didn’t have a stomach for the sport.

Lance had bitten his tongue back then, knowing his opinion wouldn’t matter. Max doesn’t bother hiding his own disgust, though—his face twisted with all the righteous indignation an eleven-year-old could muster.

It doesn’t last long. Max’s chest puffs out suddenly, pride lighting up his face. “Michael says I’d make a better bull rider anyway. They’re gonna get me lessons when I turn twelve.”

Lance’s frown deepens, an odd chill prickling down his spine like the winter winds back home in Montreal.

“Yeah, well, good for you,” he mutters, lying back down and staring at the sky again, his jaw tight.

Max continues to chatter, but Lance tunes it out into white noise. It feels like an assault, the press of Max’s ambitions sitting squarely on Lance’s chest and suffocating him.

That strange feeling lingers long after Max climbs back down the hill. It sticks with Lance for years, settling on him like frost on a January morning. Persisting through every whispered conversation about Max’s natural talent, every wide-eyed story of another milestone he’s crushed. 

He struggles to name it but it grows, twisting in his chest like a bull knot pulled too tight. 

It’s not until almost a decade later, when he’s staring into Max’s sharp blue eyes across the bullpen, that Lance finally recognises it for what it always was: resentment.

—

“I thought I’d find you up here.”

The lisp is still there, though the tone is deeper now. It holds a fondness that Lance thought he’d long lost. He turns his head slightly, enough to glance at Max standing a few feet away.

“Needed some space to think,” Lance mutters.

The hill hasn’t changed much over the years. It’s the same patch of grass overlooking the chaos of the coliseum below.

It’s not the first time he’s retreated here to sit in the dark, nurturing the ghost of Max by his side; speaking words that met nothing but the cool Texan night. Now, with Max beside him in the flesh, it feels both grounding and unsettling, like a ship finally docking after years adrift.

But loneliness has carved itself into him and Lance feels the edge of instinct itching for him to push Max away again. Urging him to keep the hillside and all its countless stars to himself, the same way Max had forced him to exist for over a decade.

He doesn’t give in to his wants. Instead, he pats the grass by his hip, his hand so much more encompassing in the space than when they were children.

Max hesitates for only a moment before sitting down, close enough that their shoulders almost brush. “What’s so important that you had to leave Liam to fend for himself with the other wives?” he asks, trying for mirth

It works, just enough to quirk up Lance’s smile for a moment before the storm clouds win out and coat his tongue.

“I’m… I’m thinking of telling Dad,” he admits.

Max doesn’t react immediately but Lance hears the sharp intake of breath. It’s tiny, barely audible, but then Max’s hand is there, covering Lance’s where it’s tearing grass out of the ground.

“He wants us over for the holidays this year,” Lance continues, voice quieter now. “Hanukkah falls on the same day as Christmas. And he, uh… He knows we’re friends again, at least he thinks he does. He invited Michael and Mick, too.”

Max shifts closer, his shoulder brushing against Lance’s arm, the warmth of him tangible. “Are you worried he won’t take it well?”

Lance hesitates, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “I don’t know. I mean… part of me thinks it will all be fine, but another part of me…” He trails off, his voice cracking. “What if it changes everything? What if—”

“Lance,” Max interrupts gently, his tone steady. “Whatever happens, I’m here. We’re here. You don’t have to go through it alone.”

Lance swallows hard, the words he wants to say getting caught somewhere between his thoughts and his throat. 

Down the hill, he hears a familiar voice calling, and both men turn to see Liam, red-faced, half-stumbling to make his way up the incline, his face lit with determination.

“Anyway, Liam can charm anyone, even ol’ Lawrence Stroll,” Max adds with a small smile.

[atomicwinnerdreamland]

do you have any headcanons on texahoma or NY/NJ/CA? (or opinions on them?)

also here's two headcanons of my own: Oklahoma sometimes lets Texas brush his hair since he knows how much Texas loves it. Texas likes to run his hands through it, play with it, and style it when Oklahoma lets him. His hands are pretty roughed up (scars, burns, etc) from wars/Mexico/farm work so Oklahoma's soft hair feels nice on his rough hands. New York, California, and New Jersey go skateboarding together a lot. New Jersey and California saw New York eyeing a rat stuffed animal at a store and instead of being smart and just paying for it, they stole it for him. New York yelled at them for being stupid (he treasures it and keeps it next to his bed)

Hii! I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to answer this, life just hit me with everything these past few days and I just saw your ask. I hope you know that I appreciate you and your request so much & I'll answer it the best way I can :D

Texahoma

OPINION: I love this ship so much! I love how they have an enemies dynamic that has the potential to turn into a love story (some enemy dynamics can be toxic to the point a potential romance is out the window, but that's not the case here). To me, they have a married couple vibe where they bicker over the smallest stuff but wouldn't hesitate to comfort each other when needed. "Must be exhausting thinkin' about me all day, huh?" is a banger line, and it defines their romantic tension to me. They're so awesome :D

(also I reside in Texas, and I can confirm that many of my Texan fellas dislike Oklahoma bc there's nothing much to do there as opposed to Texas & Oklahomans hate Texans bc they think Texans are mean, but honestly I wouldn't call it full hate. Just a rivalry)

YOUR HEADCANON: I love your hc for them! Oklahoma definitely has soft long hair that he maintains in the best way he can (even if the hair products can be expensive) and Texas definitely knows how to treat hair :D That's such a sweet hc and definitely one of my favorites I've heard.

-Texas has taken Oklahoma to an HEB before and has raced with him to get every single item on their grocery list. Texas knew that Okie would lose bc Texas knows this HEB like the back of his hand, but to his own surprise, he let himself walk through the aisles slower than he usually does so he could see Okie be proud of himself when he gets all the items first. It worked. Okie bragged like there was no tomorrow but Texas wouldn't dare change the happiness Okie felt.

-They go to HEB every weekend. They don't even shop there sometimes, they just roam around the store and somehow entertain each other as they do so. "Remember that time you tried to microwave this cake mix?" "I did that so I could poison you, idiot." "Mhmm.."

-Oklahoma and Texas go tornado watching in Okie's state. They're not scared though since Okie's used to it and Texas practically goes hurricane watching with Loui and Florida. One time they blacked out from hitting their head in their shaky car when it caught into the tornado, and Texas was the one who managed to wake up first and get them home safe.

-Texas cooks for Oklahoma & Oklahoma chooses the outfits that Texas wears. Big dude can't dress himself in something other than a button-up, old jeans, and cowboy boots, so Okie changes it up. Okie also validates Texas when Texas wants to wear something that's considered more feminine (dresses, skirts, crop tops, etc).

-Oklahoma humbles Texas. Big dude is super prideful and can sometimes forget to be humble, so Oklahoma never hesitates to humble him. Kind of like how Washington called Texas out ("Texas, you're killing jobs!" from Table News: Ida goes North, Texas goes Backward)

-Oklahoma and Texas both have scars, and occasionally, they caress each others' scars to tell each other that they'll love their scars just as much as they love every other part of each other. <3

-Louisiana and Arkansas have been their go-to when it comes to Okie & Texas' at-home dates. Louisiana cooks the food for the dinner and Arkansas sets the mood up with decorations and music.

-Loui and Pirate Kansas have also been one of the main reasons the 2 got together in the first place. Loui and Texas are best friends & Okie and Arkansas get along somewhat, and once Loui and Arkansas found out their best friends like each other, they got to planning. Florida has also joined in, and while neither Texas or Oklahoma wanna admit it, Flo's goofy wingmaning is another reason they got together.

-They had a heavy, angsty confession over in Texarkana (a city that's in TX, OK, and AR) that led to crying and a short trip to Buc-ees to feel better :D

-[this one is kind of suggestive] Before they got together (a.k.a when they were still rivals), Oklahoma dragged Texas out of Texas' little hut in the countryside and took him to see his state, saying, "Who said there's nothing to do here?" and Texas lowkey thought, I'd do you here if only you'd let me. Texas left Oklahoma still thinking that the state is far inferior than his though. Of course, Texas couldn't get the dirty remark out of his head, and that's when he realized that shoot, he likes Oklahoma.

-They like to listen to country music and ballads together and even sing on occasion. Since Texas knows so many languages, he knows ballads from all around the world and sings them to Oklahoma to put him to sleep (preferrably Spanish & Filipino love songs). Oklahoma also puts Texas to sleep except with folk songs or old stories.

California/New York/New Jersey

OPINION: Honestly, I'm not sure if I love it or if I'm neutral about it, but I know I don't hate it. I usually ship CaliYork or California/New Jersey separately and never really thought about putting the three into a poly relationship, but I've seen your take on the three and it's actually growing on me. My fav's still CaliYork, but I like these three goofballs together too. I need to read more stories on them though 😅

YOUR HEADCANON: Oh they definitely skateboard a lot together and are competitive when doing so. I betcha their clumsy selves have gotten injured before too :3 And the stuffed animal theft is beautiful, they'd do anything to see their bf York happy. Aww :3 (you have such a creative mind omg)

I don't have many headcanons on them, but here are a few that I have:

-They all ride motorcycles together. Sometimes New Jersey's the one that drives and Cal & York ride with him, and other times they each have their own bike and race each other in whatever road they please (they all agree that I-4 is a no)

-Jersey and York cook for California to make sure he is well-fed. They've tried to teach Cal how to cook, but they've all decided that it's better that he doesn't 😅

-They're all fashionable goofballs and have been mistaken as models once when they were walking through the streets of Hollywood. New York's fashion is either business-casual or punk, New Jersey's usually in shorts and a casual tee but the accessories make it stand out, and Cal changes his style a lot but usually is in a crop top w/ shorts or a designer fit. Despite all of them having different fashion tastes, they like to match outfits.

-They maintain a garden filled with their state flowers. When they all got together, New Jersey showed the other two his personal garden filled with violets and sunflowers (in courtesy of Kansas, whom I think Jersey likes to talk to sometimes), but as their relationship progressed, it slowly turned into a garden of violets, California poppies, and red roses.

-They all like to go to beaches in California to de-stress. Sometimes they go there at 3am just to avoid crowds and hear the waves, other times they go at noon to feel the sun as they swim in the waters. They always go home with a smile on their faces.

-They've driven in each of their states to see which state is the worst to drive in. California has traffic, New York's kinda disorganized, and Jersey has roads where you're doomed if you take a wrong exit. All of these roads trips have ended in arguments, but nothing violent because they all learned to communicate w/o violence.

That's all I have for now 😅 Thank you sm again for your ask, and happy new year to you!

[sageandred]

posting my thoughts from the night of the episode

THAT. WAS. A. PREMIERE.

My Overall Idea: The tone felt really appropriate for everything going on within the different storylines.

The tonal shift for different scenes doesn't feel jarring & LS really knows how to lean in, when they should, to things that are just ridiculous (in the best way)! Marjan vs Paul shenanigans are comedic and the music was 1 of the best choices for these montages. Every time Carlos stepped onto the scene was amazing & (again) that Ranger music was the best pick & precursor to his arc.

This felt like a pitch for a Ranger spin-off in a lot of ways and the pacing/development was very good-Don't know what to make of the new partner, but he felt very Texan immediately, so that's fitting for the entire Gabriel storyline they're going for (he's very wishy-washy atm; he's insulting and very quickly complimentary to Carlos AND THEN THERE'S THE FACT THAT HE WORKED WITH GABRIEL!

Mateo/Nancy was perfect-(that little jealous moment about Marjan & Mateo over-clarifying immediately) (other thing(s): Paul/Nancy "The Big Tortoise" "not sure if I like "The Big Tortoise")

Judd feels lost (in a good way)-My biggest concern with Grace being gone was that Judd would be okay (haha); it wouldn't be believable for him to be. He feels completely disconnected from the other characters except Wyatt and it is wonderful. The monologue and long explanation on Grace was nice and I was kind of concerned it would be extremely brushed over. (other thing(s): his look when Owen is talking abt Marjan vs Paul has a hint of dreaming it could be HIM or thinking how he wishes he could just ask to come back (and NOT start at beginner level)

Wyatt felt like he's found his place-The scene was cute when Judd revealed his new home to him. That Carlos-Wyatt scene (and a callback to TK) was a nice touch. The advice to Judd even felt appropriate and he said exactly what I was thinking (Judd, it's your pride and nothing else).

Owen is afraid of even more change and he is in a grey-state-It is very appropriate and he almost feels submissive as a character, very detached from his leadership abilities.

TK...poor bby TK-He is eager to be in this husbands era, but there is a stark difference to him from before; obviously in the last scene, the excitement is offset by the lonliness, but there's an undertone in every scene leading up to it. In LS paralleling fashion, he's departed from his true self (like Owen...), though he's not in that grey-state; he's making active decisions, unlike his dad and he's displayed in the leadership role of refereeing his friends. But there's a passivity in the same breath. (idk if this will make sense but,) from the refereeing without having to bet on either side to excitedly watching the outcome of Carlos' case on tv before making no protest to his work habits, there's a resignation to the main role he's been put in t/o the show, and he's lost his purpose a bit (ahem carlos), while still maintaining key aspects to how we know him in seasons prior. Right now, he's passive and yet is actively taking charge; he's ready for them to be husbands, but is also supportive and is BEING a husband by being the rock for Carlos to ease him into peace while he's grieving.

I did not expect Carlos' storyline to hurt so much-You could feel it in every scene he was in, leading up to the last. It being a year in the future really puts it in perspective (because how long he's been in this state and still having no answers). TK assuring him his dad believed in him felt like a natural response for any point after losing someone, but made me think TK has witnessed A LOT before we got to that last scene.

[beedlemania]

In the episode when Davy’s grandfather comes to visit, Davy is referred to as a minor.  The guy who said this could have just been saying this because of Davy’s size and he looked young.  But imagine Davy being in America and living with the guys and also being required to go to high school because he’s under 18.

Poor Davy, I could see him getting picked on because of his height and maybe getting shoved into/against lockers.  At first, he’d act like he’s a really cool guy and likes school whenever the guys ask him but eventually, he would reach his breaking point.  He would slowly get less enthusiastic about school and stops talking about it to the guys.  Whenever Mike or one of the others asks how school was Davy will just say “fine” or say nothing exciting happened. 

One day he might even come home with bruises and a black eye and when asked, Davy just says he’s not good at sports and got hurt in gym. 

Then he might try to avoid school by saying he doesn’t feel well and even pulls a few tricks to make Mike believe he’s sick (like tamper with the thermometer so it reads higher than it really is or making himself get really hot so it feels like he has a temperature).  Mike knows Davy though and it doesn’t take long to catch on to his plan of faking sick.  At first Davy denies he’s faking but he eventually confesses to Mike and says he hates school and the other kids are mean to him and bully him and push him into lockers and make fun of him for his height and accent.  Of course, Mama Mike will not tolerate this and demands to know who all these kids are.  Davy says he doesn’t want to make things worse and begs Mike to not make him go to school.  Mike is angry but doesn’t want to make Davy more upset and instead just gives him cuddles and says they’ll figure something out.

They somehow work something out and Davy can do his work from home.

Yes!! They tried to get away with Davy not attending school since he technically didnt have the right paperwork to be in the country but through a series of events that probably involved Mr Babbitt and the rent, the cops showed up and enrolled poor Davy in high school. So not only was he picked on for his height and accent but he also joined the school halfway through the year and gets picked up in a bright red car with some weird ass guys some days.

Davy breezes by at first because he takes a lot of insults as good natured teasing/sarcasm. Until he makes a sarcastic remark back and gets beaten up and then he cops on to the fact he was getting made fun of the entire time. He sees the inside of a lot of lockers and toilet bowls after that but manages to keep it all from the guys for a good few months. When asked about his day he’ll either make stuff up or just give one worded answers because he has too much pride to admit he can’t hold his own against these guys.

Davy never ever has his homework done due to the Monkees get into so many shenanigans and general lack of interest, so the teachers start picking on him too. He had to take history since he had to take whatever classes were left and so he’s very lost because England and American history is different so he only knows the bare basics of american history. Because of this he’s failing history which he also refuses to admit to the guys.

On a similar note, Davy’s close to failing all his classes because he didnt realise American grades are continuous assessment and not an end of year exam so he put in no effort. He’s failing everything but wont tell anyone but is also panicking about having to do the year all over again. Hes so worked up emotionally and paired with the physical bullying he just breaks down completely one day. He walks though the door, Micky asks him how school was, and Davy just falls to his knees sobbing.

When the guys eventually get told about how much Davy’s struggling, Mike goes into the school himself and the staff have no idea what to do with the random 21 year old Texan guy that’s ranting and raving about some English kid. They dont know how to deal with him so they just accept what he has to say and they work something out for Davy.

Peters not the brightest in most situations but he was actually very clever in school and he’s a very patient teacher so Davy finally works up the courage to ask for help and Peter starts tutoring him. Davy just makes it by and graduates high school with the help of his friends :3

[anerdyfeminist]

I’ve traveled Europe twice in my life, both times very very lucky my sadly monolingual ass was with people who spoke the local languages.

The first time according to the dude who always spoke about me, I was “an American.”

The second time, my friend always said I was “a Texan***”

…..and I want to highly highly recommend the second one as far preferable and fun an experience 😂😂 Being “an American” was a nothing statement, polite hellos and smiles. But be a TEXAN and the spark of joy of recognition and “OHHH!” and the amount of stuff yelled back at me like

HOWDY!!!!!

COWBOYS!!!!!

And literal acting out Wild West style shoot off/duel stuff and acting like throwing a lasso that older men in particular loved to do was endearing as hell.

***Some “Real Texans” would be mad I stole and claimed this experience but like come on I’ve lived here 14 years now 😂 I’m gonna forevermore no matter where I may land, say I’m a Texan when I travel abroad. Back when I lived in Indiana, I hated how big the Texas brand was bc in 90% of the other states there isn’t even 1/30th the state pride and obsession Texans have but whatever I’m one of them now.

Also, if you asked me “what state do you think you’d never live in?” any time prior to being like 24, I’d have guessed Texas (or Ohio or Florida 😅)

[pickledpascal]

Bewitched

Chapter Five: Collar Full

Warnings: SMUT !!! beau is the bottom (obvi)

Word Count: 3.8k

Bewitched Masterlist

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

It was right after Winter Break and Kiera was up early to try and make Dalia some breakfast before she went back to school. One of her safe foods was toast with peanut butter so Kiera could always rely on that if she didn't want to make anything overly complicated. 

So she made two perfectly toasted pieces of bread and slathered them in a layer of peanut butter. Kiera took a bite of hers once Dalia’s was finished. 

“Did you know that, in Texas, if you take a cowboy hat off a cowboy and put it on your head, it means you're basically married?” Dalia appeared out of nowhere. Kiera got used to it. It had been a phenomenon since she could walk. 

Kiera set Dalia’s plate in front of her on the counter. “No, kiddo. I didn't.” She smiled softly. 

Ever since meeting Beau, Dalia had been obsessed with finding out everything she could about him and Texan traditions. Kiera was convinced Dalia was teetering on breaking her rule of not eating ethically sourced meat just to try the barbecue. That was until she realized they'd likely never travel to Texas. Dalia didn't like planes and she hated being in a car for more than a few hours. Kiera was glad Dalia was younger when they moved to Montana or else it would've been an even worse nightmare. 

Dalia dug into her toast, pursing her lips as she chewed. “You should do it to Beau.” She said before taking another bite. 

Kiera rubbed her forehead. Dalia had also been intentionally trying to get her with Beau. Not that she needed any help. In fact, it was a little funny. 

She took a sip of coffee and sighed. It wasn't her favorite cafés coffee but it'd do. Kiera wasn't going since she was able to work from home today. There was no need to leave the house just for coffee unless she was going into the office.

“Maybe I will.” Kiera smiled into her mug. 

Dalia didn't smile but her eyes held a sparkle of mischief and pride. Maybe one of her plans would work. For once. Her mother was so keen about what went on in her head that Dalia thought she had some sort of mind-reading power sometimes. 

Kiera took Dalia's plate and washed it along with her own. “Wanna get a ride to school or take the bus, sweetie?” She called over her shoulder.

“I'll take the bus.” Dalia responded. 

Kiera could hear her shifting, probably to get her backpack. Dalia was still very short. Especially compared to her mother. Kiera believed she'd be five-eight by her pre-teens. Now, though, Dalia stood at about four-five.

—----

Not knowing whatever possessed her, Kiera thought it would be nice to invite Beau over for lunch. For a surprise. She completed her work earlier than usual and she knew Beau had a lax day at work so his deputies wouldn’t mind if he had a particularly long lunch break. She hoped. Kiera wasn’t so sure about Jenny. 

She didn’t visit the precinct often. The very thought of being in a room full of cops made her skin crawl. But when Kiera did visit, the blonde was attached to Beau’s hip. Every room he was in, Jenny made sure to be in it with him. Kiera wasn’t jealous. She knew Beau loved her and her only. He was hopelessly in love and everyone could tell. That’s why Jenny tried to butt into every conversation Beau and Kiera had, sat at the edge of his desk a few times, and even offered to go out with him for drinks. Drinks were ultimately turned down to have dinner at Kiera’s house as he listened to Dalia talk about mythological creatures or whatever kind of lore she was obsessed with that week. 

“Hey, darlin’! I got sandwiches from that diner you—” Beau’s words were cut off at the sight of Kiera sitting with her legs crossed on the couch. He nearly dropped the two boxes of food he had in his hands.

Kiera herself looked normal. Oh, except for she was in nothing except for black, lacy lingerie. Her hair was in its naturally straightened state but it looked so different against her exposed skin. Beau had barely even seen her exposed shoulder. Seeing all this new skin made him feel like a Victorian man who caught a glimpse of a woman’s ankle. He noticed the small silver piercing on her belly button. So his suspicion was right. Kiera did have piercings elsewhere beside her face and ears. The new question became if she had one in a lower spot.

Kiera had to suppress a laugh at Beau’s reaction. He was like a deer in headlights. She took the food from his hands and set it on a nearby table before she tapped on Beau’s cowboy hat. He had a few he rotated through. This one was a deep brown color that had a black sash wrapped around the base of the crown. She smirked at Beau as she took it off his head and put it on hers. Beau swallowed thickly, wide-eyed as he watched the movement. 

“Hey, cowboy,” She smirked as she wrapped her arms around Beau’s waist and pulled him close. Kiera pressed her lips to his. That was all it took to unfreeze him. His arms found their way to her neck as he leaned into her lips. “Missed me?” She pulled away with a breath.

Beau chased after her lips. “You have no idea,” He breathed as he tipped the hat back for better access. As if he had a moment of clarity, he stopped himself while Kiera got her lips acquainted with his neck. “Darlin’—fuck—I still have work.” He reminded softly. The reminder was for himself. He knew if he ended up in bed with Kiera he wouldn’t want to leave.

���I know,” Kiera whispered into his ear. “But I think the sheriff is entitled to have a little break every once in a while.” She pushed Beau’s jacket off his shoulders as she sucked a few bruises onto his neck. Ones that he wouldn’t be able to hide with any kind of shirt or jacket unless he wanted to invest in a scarf. 

Kiera might be a territorial lover. She wanted Jenny to see them and hopefully get the message Beau wasn’t hers for the taking. 

Beau let out a low whine, only spurring Kiera on more. “Darlin’, we need—” He drew in a sharp breath as Kiera bit underneath his jaw. “Your bedroom?” 

It had been so long since he had sex. He wasn’t the type to have one-night stands or friends-with-benefits kind of relationships. He wanted to do it right with Kiera. Not on her couch, which was comfortable, but not nearly as comfortable as he imagined they would feel on her bed. 

She must’ve forgotten about that part, a little too lost in desire. Kiera pursed her lips as she took Beau’s hand and guided him up to her room. It was the first time Beau had seen her room even after the countless times he’d been to her house.

The room wasn’t too different from the rest of the house except for the black walls, a few handmade dreamcatchers above her bed, and the velvet drapes over her windows. Without the lights on, Beau imagined it would look a little horrifying and hard to navigate. However, with a few nicely placed lamps that emitted warm light, Beau knew he’d love to get his brain melted by Kiera. If that’s what she wanted. 

Beau would do anything as long as Kiera wanted it. 

Pulling Beau back into reality, he could feel her fingertips underneath his shirt. He helped her take it off, pulling it from his head as Kiera’s hands spread across his stomach. He didn’t realize just how big her hands were until that moment. Her hand lifted to his shoulder as he turned in her arms.

“Your whole body is freckled.” Kiera breathed, admiring the dots on his shoulders as if they were stars in the night sky. Among the freckles, she noticed a few tattoos she had never seen before on his bicep and chest. She honestly didn't expect Beau to be inked. She'd ask about those later. 

Her hands lowered to Beau’s belt. Her dark eyes flicked up to his. “Little help?” She didn’t have much experience unbuckling the kinds of belts Beau wore—he nearly always had a hefty silver with a Texas Longhorn engraved on it. 

Beau chuckled softly as he unbuckled it with ease and slipped it from his jeans with one hand. He dropped it as Kiera dove in for another kiss, cupping his face as she stepped forward. He stepped backward. The back of his knees met the mattress, causing him to fall with her on top. 

“Shit.” Beau breathed while Kiera wasted no time to work his jeans open. The cowboy hat hung onto the edge of the bed once it fell from her head.

Kiera let out a small laugh, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you swear, cowboy,” She slid his jeans off his legs with ease before she crawled back up his body. “You should do it more often.” She whispered into his ear.

Beau couldn’t respond, afraid of what would come out of his mouth if he did. So he opted for another, deeper kiss. Kiera let out a small noise of satisfaction against his lips and Beau tried his best to memorize it. He didn’t know when this would be able to happen again. 

He had quite a few dreams of what it would be like to have sex with Kiera. Some of them ended up with him in the shower with his dick in his fist as he imagined fucking Kiera. Or sometimes, the other way around. She was fairly open about her genitalia with him. Likely because she thought he’d care and end their relationship. He didn’t care. Not in the way Kiera thought he would.

Kiera rolled over so she was on the bed and pulled Beau over her lap so he straddled her waist. He let out a surprised noise at the movement. “Now this is the position I want you in, cowboy.” She hummed. Her bra was discarded and Beau didn't have enough time to admire the new skin as a hand slipped under the fabric of his boxers on his thigh. 

Beau sucked in his bottom lip as he lifted his hips to take off his boxers. He was so desperate for Kiera that it almost made her laugh—if only she wasn't just as desperate for him. Her hands immediately went to his hips once he was fully naked. He devoured Kiera's lips in a hot kiss as his hands roamed all over her body. 

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Kiera sighed against Beau's lips, pulling away. “I know you need me but,” His lips almost stuck out into a pout. He didn't feel like waiting. “You need to be prepped okay? Especially cause this is your first time.” She reasoned softly.

Beau watched as Kiera opened the drawer to her nightstand to grab some lube. “What makes you think this is my first time?”

The face Kiera made at the comment needed to go in a museum. She quickly collected herself and replaced her expression with a smirk. “Well, you haven't had me yet? Now have you?” 

Beau swallowed thickly as he shook his head. In the back of his mind, he was aware of the bulge he was sitting on. It was hidden underneath the lace of her underwear. He ground his hips down on it to get a better feel. Beau’s legs tensed slightly. Even covered, albeit thinly covered, he could feel how big she was.

“Rethinking your choices?” Kiera asked softly.

Beau shook his head. “No. I want you inside me. More than I did before,” He admitted. “Please. I—” He was cut off by a lubed finger pressing inside him. He didn't curse but he was surprised, the wind knocked out of him for a second. 

“Continue. You were on the verge of begging,” Kiera smirked, pressing a kiss to a newly formed hickey. “I liked it.”

Spurred on by her words, Beau let out a soft whine as Kiera added a second finger to stretch him properly. “I need your cock, darlin’, so fucking much.” He wanted to move his hips against her fingers but her spare hand kept him in place. She was strong and he wouldn't be surprised if she could press him up against a wall and have her way with him. “God, fuck!” Her fingers curled in just the right way. “Fuck, I've dreamed about this.” Beau sighed. The words left his mouth before he could think about them. 

Kiera cocked a pierced eyebrow. She added a third finger that made Beau let out a soft whimper. “What did you dream about? Can't just leave a girl hanging, sweetheart.” She teased.

“I-I imagined,” Beau took a deep breath as Kiera moved her hand so her fingers could thrust in and out of him. “Your cock inside me. M-Making me feel amazing,” Trying to remember his dream was getting hazy, too caught up in what he was feeling. “You were deep. You bent me over my desk. Pulling on my hair. You tried to keep me quiet. You–fuck!–even gagged me with a scarf for good measure. I—ah—had a long shower thinking about it.”

Kiera hummed softly and leaned upward to kiss Beau. He had a feeling she would keep that in the back of her mind for later. “I like that idea too,” She removed her fingers but before Beau could whine about the loss, she cut him off. “Take off my underwear, sweetheart.”

Eagerly, Beau did as asked. Like he expected, Kiera was large but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. And the piercing on her tip—that made his mind reel with anticipation. He wanted to know how it would feel. Thankfully, he was about to know. He licked his lips at the sight of her completely bare. Completely bare and underneath him. The rise and fall of her chest, her parted lips, her dark eyes that somehow looked darker, her hair that somehow still looked immaculate and not tousled. She looked perfect. 

Kiera lifted Beau's hips and let him slowly sit down, her cock slipping inside him. He screwed his eyes shut for a moment as she bottomed out. Yeah, that piercing was a welcome addition. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, reveling in this feeling. Beau couldn't remember the last time he had done something like this. He just knew it had been a while. A long while.

“That's a good boy.” Kiera murmured, caressing his hip bone with her thumb. She still couldn't believe the miles and miles of freckled skin Beau had. Every single inch of him donned the little dots. Some were more apparent than others, bigger, and darker while others were more faint. 

Beau’s thighs clenched underneath Kiera's touch at her words. “Fuck.” He breathed softly.

Kiera looked up at Beau, a bit surprised he liked her comment. She wasn't sure he'd like that. In fact, she didn't think he'd like to be the bottom in the equation. That wasn't to say she would always top but from the way Beau was looking at her, she had a feeling he enjoyed this a lot. 

“You wanna ride, cowboy?” Kiera’s hands moved to capture Beau's so he could balance correctly. And so he had something to hold onto. 

Beau licked his bottom lip as he looked down at Kiera. “I think the song goes: save a horse, ride a cowboy. Not save a horse, get a cowboy to ride you,” He teased softly, only making her smile wider. “But I think,” He rolled his hips and her lips dropped open. “I can make an exception.” 

Kiera's jaw tightened as she looked up at Beau, squeezing his hands as he started to move properly. He couldn't believe his eyes. Her dark stare. It looked like she would eat him if she could. And the small blemishes across her skin. Her strong hands. The muscle in her arms and abs and her light, feathery noises just—God. It was all so perfect for him. She was amazing. Everything he could have ever asked for. 

“That's it,” Kiera breathed, eyes scanning Beau's body until they fixated on his blissed out face. “So good, sweetheart.” She wanted to feel up his thighs more but she knew Beau would prefer holding onto her hands like a lifeline instead. Maybe next time. 

Beau couldn't help the noises coming from his lips. His brain felt like it was on fire and his body felt wonderful. The aches in his muscles didn't matter. Chasing his high did. Chasing his high on Kiera's dick was the best part of it. Her cock, her bed, her house. He wanted her to own him. He didn't voice it. His lips were too caught up with whimpering and moaning with each drop of his hips. 

He couldn't help but feel like this was everything he had ever wanted. And more. 

Kiera adjusted her hips slightly so her cock drove in a different angle. The angle was perfect to hit his prostate. Beau let out a sudden, loud moan at the change. Certainly more. 

“Fuck! Ah–Kiera—” Beau choked on his own words. He felt like he couldn't breathe. His lungs were screaming for air. “Fuck, baby, I—” He didn't register what he was saying. Words just jumbled out of him. 

“You wanna cum, sweetheart?” Kiera asked. She was more collected than Beau but he was still able to hear her harbored breaths and soft, pleasured noises. She was just intrinsically less vocal than he was. Beau let out a low whine, lips slightly ajar as he nodded. “Use your words.” 

He nearly choked on air. Beau had to collect himself while Kiera stared at him with a knowing look and a ghost of a smirk on her face. She knew how she affected him. “Yes,” He finally said, “Please, baby, fuck—” Kiera bucked her hips upward and forced a moan out of him. “Please! I-I need you. Need to. Fuck—so bad.” 

“Need to what?” Kiera challenged softly. She set Beau's hands on her stomach and moved hers to settle on his hips. Fuck next time. She wanted to hold his body.

“Need to—ah—cum on your cock!” Beau moaned, losing any restraint he had left. He turned into a common whore. He couldn't care less. He was focused on Kiera and the way she felt inside him. 

The delicious drag of in and out. The feel of her hands on his body, her fingers digging into his skin. He wished she would be able to leave a print there to remind him of her while he was by himself. A reminder of who he belonged to. Who he loved. 

Fuck, he loved Kiera. 

Kiera pulled Beau down until he was a few inches away from her face. “Then do it.” She pushed her lips against his in a fierce kiss. 

He moaned against her, leaning into her touch as he felt his orgasm build and build until he came. The tension in his body released and he had to do everything he could not to just collapse on top of Kiera. She pecked Beau's cheek and then peppered a few kisses on his jaw. 

After a few moments of painting, Beau looked up at her. “You, uh—You didn't cum.” He swallowed. Beau still felt dangerously hot. But he also is a courteous lover. He could still feel Kiera hard inside him. He also knew she was close. There was a look in her eyes, her bated breath, the way she held onto him like a lifeline. 

“I didn't,” Kiera confirmed. The edges of her lips threatened to form a smile. “Do you wanna change that?” She asked in a whisper. Her hands lowered to rest on Beau's thighs. And he wasn't sure that his brain could malfunction more, though it did. 

Beau nodded wordlessly, his bottom lip jutted out. He was sore, but not terribly, so he pushed himself up to straddle Kiera properly again. “C'mon, darlin’, I wanna feel it,” He breathed as he rolled his hips. She let out a sharp breath. “Please, darlin—” His voice was slipping more and more into his native Texas accent. He was plenty sensitive after he came. “I need a reminder of you, fuck!” He whimpered as she thrust her hips into his. 

“That's what you want?” Kiera asked lowly, licking her teeth. For the first time, Beau noticed a metal bulb on her tongue. 

His mind was too busy reveling in pleasure but the sight was tucked into the back of his mind for later. His throat pushed out an “Uh-huh” as he rode her, thighs tense and sore and he knew he wouldn't be able to sit comfortably for a while but he couldn't have cared less. 

“Ah—fuck!” Kiera hissed softly, head leaning back into her pillow as she came. She drew in a shaky breath as Beau relished in the feeling of her inside him. 

Beau breathed heavily, his mouth was dry as he looked down at Kiera's blissed-out and sweaty face. He knew he didn't look much different. He brushed a hand through her hair while her hands ran up and down his thighs. The touch was maddening. And almost made him want to go again. 

Almost.

“I'm hungry now… thanks for bringing food.” Kiera hummed softly, leaning up to bring Beau into a kiss. 

——

Beau stepped into the County Sheriff's department, hair a little messier than this morning but otherwise he looked the same. Minus the cowboy hat he wore earlier. 

Mo met him as he neared his office. “Have a good lunch?” He asked smugly before he got serious, “We got an update on the Neighborhood Killer.” He handed Beau a file as he followed him into his office. 

Going into work mode, Beau flipped open the file on his desk and sat down. He hissed and immediately stood back up to notice Jenny came into the room. She looked at him weirdly. He coughed as he glanced down at the file. 

Another murder. Near Kiera too. 

Beau pursed his lips. He really hoped Kiera was safe. He didn't want Kiera to be in danger. He tried his best to reassure himself that nothing would happen.

-------

taglist: @deans-spinster-witch

taglist open here !!!

[cluelessatthispoint]

Hello, I apologise if this is not written very well, English is not my first language :(

I was wondering if I could ask for some head canons(?) of the mercs with a reader on their only day off, while I don't usually like when people exclude Miss Pauling from their fics, it seems that is the only way this idea would work haha. Maybe Demo brings them to a Beer Garden or Soldier discretely feeding his raccons Reader's paperwork so they will actually use their break correctly, maybe Spy even takes them put to a fancy restaurant.

I have been working for so long that im pretty sure my entire body would be screaming haha, all my friends partying, and im writing more than 20 pages of school work, studying for 6 exams, and writing 2 essays. I will need a entire month break after this, ha ha ha!

I'm sorry again if this is long or written badly :(

Love your work!! :)

I'm so happy that you like my work! And no worries! Your English is perfect!

6 exams and 2 essays are way too many! I hope that you can get some time for some self-care in! Drink plenty of water and try to get at least 7 hours of sleep in.

Warnings: NONE

~~~~~~~~~~

Engineer:

Trying to hang out with you on your only day off was a challenge for the resident Texan. He tried everything. From helping you with some paperwork, to threatening your boss to give you more days off. Nothing seemed to work. You always ended up being either too busy or too tired to spend time together. Finally, when it was time for you to get your scheduled day off, he brought over some of his favorite western movies and some of your favorite snacks. He wants to make sure that you are as relaxed and as carefree as possible. After all, this is your only day off this year.

Scout:

Hearing that you finally get to have a day off was like hearing the news that Tom Jones was coming to town. Scout was ecstatic! So may ideas of what to do and what to eat flew through his mind almost as fast as he could run. Early that morning he knocked on your front door and waited. He waited a full two hours before you finally came to answer the door. Looking down with a sheepish slime he forgot about your desire to finally get a chance to sleep in. When you do get out to see the town Scout takes you to the races, buys any snacks you could ever possibly want, then once the races are over, he takes you to a nice dinner and a drive-in movie.

Heavy:

Hearing that you are finally allowed to have a day off he expects you to go to the beach or stay inside and sleep for as long as you want. He didn't really expect you to still show up at the base with your arms full of paperwork to fill out. Seeing you trying to get a head start with the next day's work makes him feel sorry for you. Without saying a word, he takes the paperwork out from your hold and gives them to Pyro. Hearing your enraged shouts and cries he drags you to the nearest spa and drops you off with three big rolls of hundred-dollar bills. To ensure that you don't find a way to somehow do work he stay with you the whole time. Afterwards, he treats you to nice restaurant with a cozy and relaxing atmosphere.

Demoman:

You both have been planning the perfect day off for weeks! Waking up at 7 in the morning, Demoman would pick you up and take you somewhere nice to eat breakfast. After that He would drive you to a nice spot in the mountains to fishing and hiking. Seeing you with a big smile on your face makes him swell with pride. It hurts him to see someone so young and full of life waste their life doing a job that doesn't do much for them. He teaches you how to handle a sword, and how to properly throw an axe. After a full day in the outdoors, he takes you home and makes you a nice homecooked meal. He already is planning what do the next time you get a day off.

Sniper:

Getting a day off is a pretty big deal for the both of you. But for you, he knows how rare it is for you to get some much needed me time. He knows you so well that the first thing he does is break into your house with as little damage as possible and makes you your favorite breakfast food. What kind of Sniper would he be if he didn't know your favorite foods? After sitting down to a nice and unexpected breakfast he offers to drive you anywhere you want as long as it's not work related. In between stops to your favorite places he takes you to little Ma and Pa shops and nice restaurants. Since it's your only day off for a long, long time he's paying for everything.

Pyro:

Pyro knows that your supposed to have the day off. So, why then are you still working? Seeing you hunched over your desk singing papers makes his heart break. Today you're supposed to be having fun! Or relaxing! Not playing with stupid papers. So, like any good friend, he does what he does best. He makes a fire. Right on your desk. Of course, he knows that you always keep copies of your work, but he wants to feel free in this moment. The sound of the fire alarm sprinkle system blaring to life and the feeling of water droplets hitting your skin really evokes the wilder side of your personality. After getting the fire managed, and getting a stern talking to from Engineer, you both go to town and get some ice-cream and enjoy the feeling of no having to worry about any responsibility.

Soldier:

Despite it being your day off he cuts you no slack when it comes to getting up early and following a rigorous schedule of working out/training. After the grueling workout he commandeers the company truck and takes you on a joyride through the town and gives you a tour of "all the famous battlefields that he's fought in". His storytelling leaves you laughing till your sides are aching. Seeing as that you are having a good time, he drives you both to a good restaurant and lets you pick out anything you want. Once you're finished eating, he tells you to get into the car while he strikes up a conversation with the restaurant manager. By striking up a conversation with the manager he actually means that he's going to cause a distraction so that you both can leave without paying. You both have the time of your lives.

Medic:

He knows how much damage can be cause by not getting a single day of in a prolonged period of time can cause. He makes you a cup of coffee or tea in the morning and then accompanies you throughout the day. If you want to spend time tending to your humble garden, then he will be right there with you pruning the leaves of any plants that you might have. If you want to spend some time reading, then he will make you both a comfortable space to sit down and read. When dinner time rolls around, he will take you to a fancy restaurant, followed afterwards by a drive to the nearest and darkest hill so that you both can stargaze.

Spy:

This man spares no expense when it comes to spending the day off with you in style and luxury. If you want to relax in bed all day wearing the silk pajamas that he gifted you last week, then by all means relax. If you want to go out to see a movie followed by a nice dinner at the newest upscale restaurant in the Country, then he will book a flight there with no problem. Spy knows what it's like to be constantly working, he is a spy after all. He takes his self-care time very seriously. After a nice night out with good food and drinks, he will draw you a nice bubble bath with any of your favorite fragrances and let you soak for however long you desire. Spy is a man who knows how to pamper properly.

Miss Pauling:

This poor woman still does work even on her day(s) off. Hearing that you both share the same day off she rushes to your side and asks if she can do her paperwork with you. Sitting together doing work makes the day go by faster and the work more enjoyable. You both managed to convince the other to take regular breaks every hour or so. So, during your breaks you both would walk over to the vending machine to get a drink or walk up and down a flight of stairs just to get the blood pumping through your legs. She may not know exactly how to relax, but you both manage to get some work done before you both end up napping together on the couch.

~~~~~

Ta-Da!~

All of this fic was inspired by what I would desire for my day off if I worked 27/7 all year long. :)

[mistahgrundy]

back from a little mini vacation

I've never been on a vacation with just my husband before! Yeah, we never had a honeymoon. we were dirt poor when we got married, soooo. Well after 11 years of marriage we finally went somewhere (it's not our anniversary that's in August)

We went to San Antonio for a couple days. Yeah ok it's only like a 2 hour drive from here whatever. I hadn't really been since I was like ten or something. I mean I've been there a bunch of times but that was to drop a friend off at his mom's or whatever, not for fun. And I took my niece there to go to the zoo uhhhh oh jeeze a decade ago. oh god she can drink now. oh god. oh god I'm dying I'm so old

anyway we did the big tourist thing of going to the alamo

Check out this 150 year old oak tree. I like it. you have to duck under part of it because it hangs over the sidewalk :D

and visiting the Phil Collins collection

lmfao. did you know he's an honorary Texan? I didn't. He had Santa Anna's sword! It's in the museum now.

and we walked around the riverwalk

We tried to walk the whole loop of the riverwalk area but we started developing blisters on our feet (this was day two of walkin' around) so we only made it maybe half way. A shame, it was early in the morning so nothing was open so nobody was around so it was very nice down there. You could smell breakfast wafting out of the places that were open. delightful. A guy riding his bike around the walk way too fast almost killed a squirrel in front of us. that would have kinda ruined the trip I think. The squirrel's ok.

We also went to Ripley's Believe It Or Not before the Alamo. The way the Alamo works is it's free to enter but you need to have a ticket to go inside so you're basically in there on a reserved time. I don't know when that started. Maybe it's some kind of covid thing? They also take your photo before you go in and you can buy that at the gift shop like it's a ride lol

Anyway Ripley's is Crass As Hell so if you've never been to one before (I hadn't) be prepared for That. Some of the stuff in there is very Oh No. Uses the word "oriental" waaaaaay too much. I had fun but whew. It is from a time. I got a sweet glow in the dark t-shirt that's covered in cryptids.

The SA Ripley's has Lee Harvey Oswald's toe tag D: also a photo of him at the morgue that was very gross.

Lots of human bone jewelry in there.

anyway that was fun.

I'm home now and I'm tired but Round Rock Pride is today! What to do!

[reallca-blog]

Unwrapping the Wonka Bar: The Leftovers Vol.1 - The “Woman in Shop” Theory (and a Birthday Celebration!)

Greetings readers,

This side series builds off my work from the main Unwrapping the Wonka Bar series, basically, whenever something gets cut from a post of the main series but I still feel it has some value, I post it here as a Leftover for you all to enjoy. And to commemorate an important date for us in the CATCF fandom, I give you all this Leftover!

Now, this post has nothing to do with the original question of where Charlie’s town could be located, but while conducting the last analysis, I resurfaced this thought that I have had rattling around in the back of my mind for a couple of years now and I thought I would finally share this with all of you. While the actress who plays the “Woman in Shop” is named and has amassed a small list of credits over the years, I am here to propose that “Deborah Weston” is not a real person. In fact, I am here to propose that the “Woman in Shop” is being played by none other than our very own Dr. Julia Winter, because don’t you tell me that they don’t have the same creepy, high-cheekboned smile.

Bear with me here, my theory of the case goes that at some point in the 2040s, Doctor Winter grows tired of giving prostate exams and having to check if a patient’s particular bodily fluid should be that color and one day just says eff this and begins to regret forgoing acting to become a doctor. Her midlife crisis drives her to purchase one of the new Tesla Time Machine that Elon Musk just released, you know, right after he finished reducing Twitter to nothing but ashes for the seventh time just that month, and she time travels back to 2004 where she manages to sneak back onto the set of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory at Pinewood Studios in order to relive her glory days as an actor. It is then that one of the crewmembers confuses her for one of the extras needed for an upcoming scene, the one where Charlie finds his Golden Ticket and gets harassed by adults into selling it to them. While this might have been the moment where others might have cracked under pressure for getting caught and admitted to being an imposter, Doctor Winter, always quick on her feet, quickly unpacked her acting skills she kept stored away in the corner of her mind since she was a teenager and quickly commits to her new role with pride. Even going so far as to play the role with a North American Accent, while also not doing the totally smug European thing where their North American Accent is just an impersonation of a Texan or a southern hillbilly, but instead made her character sound like a normal person one might find somewhere in Anglo-North America.

She of course plays her part well, overwhelming poor little Charlie into staying frozen in between two vultures until Bill the Shopkeeper has to shame the adults and tell the lucky winner to run straight home with his prize and is praised by her fellow scene members as soon as the camera stops rolling. Now, while this praise was a great change of pace from the thankless infected scab treatment and other duties a doctor must attend to, acting did not offer Doctor Winter the sense of purpose that she hoped to find once again. But that was until she looked off to the corner and spotted a young girl practicing her lines yet struggling to remember them. And so she approached the young girl in order to help her and in the spirit of an afterschool special, it turns out young girl was her eleven-year-old self. It all came back to her now, performing on screen for the first time as stressful for her, but Doctor Winter bucked up and imparted some cliché wisdom about perseverance onto her younger self. It was only until she saw the confidence in her younger as she quickly scurried off to the stylist's trailers so that they could doll her up to play the little brute that Doctor Winter remembered why she became a doctor, her true calling is to help people. And with that sense of purpose restored, Doctor Winter returns to the 2040s where she can continue to offer the good people of Sweden some of that good, old-fashioned socialist healthcare.

Well...that's enough shitposting for one day.

But in all seriousness, I believe I speak for the entire CATCF fandom when I wish Dr. Julia Winter a Happy Thirtieth Birthday!

Happy.

Thirtieth.

Birthday.

Veruca Salt is thirty years old. (P.S.: Veruca Salt is actually 28 because her character is nine years old in the film. But still!)

I don't know how I feel about this. Is this what it's like to feel old?

That’s it for the first installment of Unwrapping the Wonka Bar: The Leftovers. Join us next time we post a quick little insight into Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. Also, make sure to check out the original Unwrapping the Wonka Bar series and follow us to keep up to date for when we post updates and other content.

Also, if you have better quality images of the scenes from the film I included in this post, feel free to share them with me so that I may replace the ones I used to improve the experience for the reader.

See you all next time!