#they’re putting him out to pasture

[alarici]

I BET ON LOSING DOGS

[woundedheartwithin]

There’s an influx of city folk out here in the fuckin boonies where I live, and occasionally one of them will think it’s funny to rev their engines to try and scare my goats and/or horses. And just based on principle, I frown on that type of behavior and don’t appreciate it, because hey you’re harassing my animals, but I do concede that it is funny to see them run, because my goats have floppy ears and they fly around everywhere. The funniest part of all of this, tho, is that they’re inevitably disappointed because my goats and horses do not give a single shit about the cars/motorcycles/what have you or their silly little engines, so they just flat ignore them and keep grazing and I sit here on the porch laughing as they just putter off real slow in defeat

They do end up making my dogs start howling but I guess that’s just not as entertaining

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

can you see the stars in your dreams (and do they have a lot to say about me) - Part 15

Or: a secret Admirer AU

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5 || PART 6 || PART 7 || PART 8 || PART 9 || PART 10 || PART 11 || PART 1 || PART 13 || PART 14

Steve wishes it was raining. Instead, it’s a crisply cold day, but the sun’s shining brightly, illuminating Steve’s dour mood as he walks, unsure of where he’s even going.

The quarry’s miles away, holding his car and house keys hostage. So, he walks, and walks, and walks, aimless.

Chrissy’s probably still at Eddie’s, reading him the riot act, Jeff at her side, so she’s out. He doesn’t have anyone else—Tommy and Carol long since moving on to greener pastures, and no one on the basketball team would go out of their way to spit on him if he was on fire.

There’s always Nancy, but they’re ghosts in each other’s stories now, ships passing in the night.

He should walk to the quarry to pick up his car, and go home to his quiet, lonely house.

He calls Robin at the first pay phone he passes, digging around in his pocket for loose coins as he dials a number he hopes is hers. She picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?”

“Where do you live?” he asks.

“Shit, Steve?” her tired voice turns frantic. “Are you oka—”

“Robin,” he cuts in, voice cracking just enough to shut her up. “Can I come over?”

The other line’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of her muffled breathing assuring Steve she hadn’t hung up. “Robin?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry!” she cries, then rattles off her address. “When will you be here?”

It’s a small town, so it only takes Steve a second to reorient himself, figure out the quickest path from where he is to Robin. “About fifteen minutes?” he guesses, not used to accounting for walking time.

Robin sighs, “oh, good,” that frantic edge finally bleeding out of her voice. “Hurry up, dingus, okay?”

He runs out of time before he can reply, phone kicking the dial tone back at him until he hangs it back up, the barrel of the phone rattling as he puts it back on the dirty receiver.

The sun’s low in the sky when he finally stands in front of an unassuming house with a dingy white door. He’s numb, tired to his bones as he knocks quietly on the front door.

Robin flies out, arms wrapping around Steve in a tight hug before he even realizes she’s there. Steve shudders and buries his face in her hair, hands shaking as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her further into his chest.

She pats his back awkwardly but doesn’t let go as she asks, “you okay, dingus?”

“No,” Steve murmurs, afraid of how his voice will come out if he talks any louder. “Can I come in?”

Robin lets go immediately, but Steve holds on a second longer, not wanting to lose her warmth. “You can hug me again in my room, Steve,” she says, arms awkwardly held down at her sides.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he replies with one final squeeze to her middle.

When he finally lets go, fingers flexing in the cold air, Robin leads him into her house. She pulls him through the living room and up a set of stairs too quickly for Steve to get much of an impression past lived in and homey.

“I’ll be in my room!” Robin calls just before she shuts the door behind them, muffling what must be her mom’s response.

Robin’s bed’s messy, and there’s clothes all over her floor. The walls are covered in posters of bands he’s never heard of, pictures cut out of magazines, and little post-it note reminders.

While he gawks at his surroundings, Robin pulls him to her bed and pushes on his shoulders until he sits down on it. She then proceeds to wrestle her quilt away from her other blankets and drape it over his shoulders. Only then does Steve realize he’s shivering as the cold of the outside world slowly seeps out of his bones.

In here, as Robin sits down across from him, he feels safe, finally—safe and warm.

“Okay, spill,” she demands, taking any sting out of the order by reaching out and taking his hand.

Steve takes a breath, ready to heed her orders, before letting it all out. Where does he start? What does he say? Does he start with Jason? With the note to Chrissy? There’s just too much and it’s all tangled together.

But then she squeezes his hand and he says, “I told Eddie.”

He looks down at their linked hands, unwilling to meet her eyes as she prompts, “You told him…” in a hesitant voice.

“That I was the one writing the letters,” he replies. “That I like him, that it was never Chrissy.”

“Oh,” Robin says, scooting closer so their knees bump. He wishes, absurdly, that they were in that same boy’s bathroom stall for this conversation. “Oh, shit. Is he going to tell everyone? Oh my god, are you okay? What did he say?”

“Robin,” Steve cuts her off, knowing from experience that she’ll just keep on spiraling if he lets her. “He’s not going to talk to me anymore.”

And that, for the first time since everything started spiraling out of control, is what makes tears pool in his eyes. Eddie might tell everyone, and he might be run out of town, but that feels unimportant right now.

How can that matter when he’ll never go to another band practice or Dorks & Dragons session? How can that matter when Eddie will never smirk at something Steve says when he thinks Steve’s no longer looking? When he’ll never write another letter, or receive one back?

“I am so sorry, Steve,” she says, and she sounds it, even as she drops his hands to clutch at his face hard enough that his cheeks squish together. “But, are you stupid?”

“Hey!”

She loosens her hold long enough to wipe the few tears off his cheeks before clutching on tighter, nails digging into his cheeks. “I need you to listen to the words I’m saying,” she says, each word enunciated and slow like she thinks Steve’s stupid. “I know it hurts, but Eddie’s just some boy.”

She says the word “boy” like that in and of itself is some cardinal sin, mouth puckered up like it tastes bad on her tongue. Steve laughs, just a little, and she beams at him.

“He’s just a gross, icky boy, but you, Steve Harrington,” she says his name like it’s a revelation. “It has shocked me to my core, but I really, really like you, and I don’t want to have to kill Munson if he tells everyone in town about this, okay? Blood makes me squeamish.”

Steve laughs again, all tears and snot and gross-sounding phlegm. Robin grimaces, but doesn’t let go of him.

“Eddie won’t tell anyone,” Steve replies, pretty sure he’s telling the truth. “He’s too nice.”

She pulls his face closer, eyes boring into his as she says, “he made you cry,” like there is no worse crime. Steve loves her so much.

“I lied to him, Rob.”

Robin sighs, slumping into him until they both tumble down onto her unmade bed, quilts and sheets and comforters lumpy beneath them. “Okay, but that doesn’t mean I don’t hate him, alright?” she asks, shoving a stuffed elephant into his arms. Steve squeezes it to his chest and stares up at the little glow-in-the-dark stars taped up on her ceiling. “I don’t give a fuck about Munson—I’m here for you.”

And no matter how much he wants to defend Eddie, it’s a comfort to hear. With Chrissy and Jeff, he’s not sure where their loyalties will shake out. Eddie’s their friend, even if they’re Steve’s too. When their newly-forming group fractures at the seams, he’s not sure where they’ll land.

But, he’s got Robin, and maybe that’ll be enough.

“Can I spend the night?” he whispers. “I sort of left my car at the quarry along with my house keys.”

Robin spins around, her hair tickling Steve’s nose as she makes herself comfortable nestled into Steve’s side. “You’re a disaster,” she sighs, “but, yeah. Let me go ask my mom.”

*** 

In the morning, while Steve’s still starfished out on her bedroom floor, Chrissy calls. Robin’s mom is the one that picks up, but when she yells up the stairs, Robin comes running.

Chrissy’s tinny voice sounds frantic as she asks, “have you seen Steve?” quickly enough that Robin barely catches it. “He was at Eddie’s yesterday, but his car’s not at his house, and he’s not picking up his phone, and I’m so wor—“

“He left his car at the quarry,” Robin cuts in, relieved when it shuts Chrissy up. A small part of her burns that it took Chrissy so long to call her when she’d asked her to, like without Robin in front of her, she’d fled the other girl’s mind entirely. “He’s with me.”

“Oh, good,” Chrissy sighs, sounding so relieved that Robin has a hard time holding onto her grudge. “Did he…tell you?”

Robin glances at her mom, standing in front of the stove and stirring eggs around in a pan, well within hearing range. So, all she says is, “he told me.”

“Is he okay?”

Robin runs her fingers through her hair, trying to smooth down her bedhead. “Would you be?” Chrissy doesn’t reply—she doesn’t need to, not when they both know there’s only one answer to that question. “Look, I’ve got him, okay?”

“Okay,” she sighs, sounding relieved. Before she can make her excuses to get off the phone, Chrissy asks. “Hey Robin?”

Robin hums in reply, out of words.

“Thank you.”

With that, the girl that Robin likes hangs up on her, probably to call her own boyfriend and update him on the situation. Robin’s gut clenches, but she tries to take her own advice—Chrissy’s just a girl, but Steve? He’s her friend.

“I’m trying not to be nosy,” her mom prompts, and Robin jumps, having entirely forgotten she was there, “but is your friend okay?”

Robin tries to think of a non-outing way to explain the situation before giving it up as a bad job and just saying, “he’s going through a break-up.” Emotion-wise, it feels close enough to the truth anyway.

Her mom spins, spatula in hand as she raises an eyebrow at Robin and asks, “moves on fast, doesn’t he?”

“Ew, Mom!” Robin cries, stalking out of the kitchen to the sound of her mom’s laughter.

Steve’s up when she goes back into her room, rubbing his eyes blearily as he looks around her room like this is the first time he’s seeing it. “You want breakfast?” she asks.

They eat eggs, hash browns and toast, her mom keeping the invasive questions to a minimum, and then they commandeer the TV in the living room to watch shitty romcoms and complain about their disastrous love lives.

It’s fun—Robin can’t remember the last time she’s had a friend over, much less one she can be honest with, so when Steve makes no move to leave as afternoon turns into evening, she doesn’t mention it either, just shoves a baggy clean shirt and a pair of her dad’s sweatpants at him and demands he change.

It’s in the dark of her room that night that Steve asks, “can I sit with you at lunch on Monday?”

Robin smiles, picturing King Steve Harrington strolling up to the band geek’s table like he belongs there. “Course, dingus,” she replies, and is rewarded by Steve reaching up to take her hand.

“Love you, Rob,” he murmurs.

She stares down into the darkness, gobsmacked as his breathing evens out and he falls asleep. Tomorrow morning, her mom will drive Steve to pick up his car, and he’ll go home.

But right now, tonight, Steve Harrington loves her, and he fell asleep holding her hand.

PART 16

[sodapopper]

do you have any favorite sodapop headcanons?

I’ve waited my entire life for this ask 🥹🫶

Whenever he drives past a field or pasture, Soda tries to spot Mickey Mouse. Sometimes when Darry is driving, he’ll notice Soda go quiet when they pass a stable. Instead of asking about it, he just drives slower so Soda can look, until Soda eventually breaks the tension with a forced joke. They never talk about it. But Darry knows.

Soda has freckles.

He doesn’t drink (canon), but the few times he was coerced into getting drunk, he fluctuated between sobbing uncontrollably, hugging anyone he could get his hands on, or both at the same time.

This became a problem when he tried hugging Dally and was almost gutted on the spot.

He loves cards. Any kind of card. Birthday cards. Get well soon cards. Thank you cards. He especially loves the ones with stupid pictures/jokes, and has been known to cry over birthday notes. (He keeps all of his cards and letters in a shoebox under the bed, and rereads them faithfully.)

Insane pain tolerance. This kid could break a bone and simply walk it off, smiling.

On the flip side, one time a bird flew into their living room window and died, and he cried for an hour.

Fandom claims Darry would be the dad-joke guy, but they’re wrong. It’s Soda. Stupid puns are his life. He learns them in batches so he can drop them on his friends at inappropriate moments and annoy the life out of them.

Apart from being a first class horse girl, he loves animals of all kind—but his favorite are the ugliest, most feral abominations known to mankind.

“Look Darry, I found a puppy!”

“SODAPOP CURTIS YOU PUT THAT RABID POSSUM BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT, OR SO HELP ME—”

Soda has panic attacks, but nobody knows because he’s a pro at hiding them.

When he cuddles, he’s usually the big spoon—a habit that started with Ponyboy and continues with his friends, mainly because he’s the one who always initiates physical affection. But he secretly craves being the little spoon.

That’s why he loves hugging Darry, because Darry is one of the few people who can make him feel small and safe.

[achilles-rage]

thinking about meeting buck when he was a ranch hand working on your father's ranch

MDNI- 18+ only

your father hired him as one of his many ranch hands, not that you knew at first; he usually doesn’t let you around any of them. your father is protective of you, and doesn’t want them trying anything with you, not that you think it would be a problem.

you’ve always been a little bigger than the other girls in your town, and while you’ve grown to like your curves, you know they’re not something a lot of guys gravitate towards. you have met some of the guys after they've worked with your dad for a few years, and even made friends with one or two, but for the most part, you think it’s easier to just stay away.

it was a complete accident the day you met evan buckley. you were walking into the barn, looking for one of the ranch hands you were close to, when he came up behind you.

he couldn’t help his wandering eyes as you greeted him with a sickly sweet voice, your short sundress blowing ever so slightly in the warm morning breeze. he was drawn to your figure immediately; he’d always loved a woman with thick thighs and a soft belly, but you also had the prettiest face he thought he'd ever seen.

he knew he was done for when you held out your small basket of blueberry maple muffins. he’d always wondered about the baked goods that were dropped off in the barn in the mornings, and now he was putting a face to the person who'd made the most delicious sweets he’d ever had. you loved to bake, and most mornings you’d whip up a large batch of muffins or scones to bring to the barn for one of the ranch hands you’d grown close to to hand out to the others.

from that day on, he couldn’t help but plan out his mornings around your drop offs, always making sure he was near the barn around 8am when you came by. he’d greet you with a smile, trying very hard to keep his eyes on your face rather than your tits, and then talk with you until your friend came into the barn.

that’s probably how you ended up here: your front pushed up against a large tree in the pasture, with your sundress up around your waist and your panties carelessly tossed onto the grassy hill. evan’s hips move in rough thrusts, his hands on your wide hips to help guide you back onto him.

you can’t help the soft whimpers and moans escaping your throat, still having a sliver of mind occupied on keeping quiet; not wanting to alert anyone that could be close. he haphazardly placed his cowboy hat on your head earlier when he was nipping and sucking on your neck, and he revels in the sight of you sinking onto him so perfectly with it still on your head, albeit the hat sitting a little crooked.

he can feel his release quickly approaching as he feels you clench around him, and he takes one hand off your hip and places it around your neck, pulling you back against him.

“you like that, sweetheart?” he whispers in your ear, his other hand moving from your hip to your clit, his fingers circling around the sensitive bud roughly. a loud whimper escapes your mouth as you nod, your legs starting to shake as you feel yourself getting closer to the edge.

he smirks as he feels your legs starting to get weak, and it makes him move his hips a little faster, trying to make you fall over the edge before anyone comes looking for either one of you.

“you wanna come, pretty girl? you wanna come on my cock?” he purrs. he lets out a low groan as you nod desperately, a string of pleas and whimpers falling from your lips as you beg for your fast approaching release.

“let go, sweetheart. come for me.” he tells you, and with a few more thrusts, you’re falling over the edge with a loud moan. your cries paired with the way you feel wrapped around him sends him over the edge as well. he squeezes his eyes shut, shooting hot ropes of cum into your pretty cunt, staying deep inside you until he’s sure you’ve taken every last drop.

he takes a few moments to slow his breathing, resting his head on your shoulder. he trails his fingertips down your neck and arm, while the other rubs absentminded circles on your hip.

“so good for me, honey. absolutely gorgeous.” he mumbles in your ear. you smile weakly, basking in the feeling of your orgasm and the way he still has you stretched out around him. he finally pulls out, and you whine softly as you feel yourself trying to get used to the emptiness you're left with.

he turns you around, fixes your dress and takes his hat back, then gives you a sweet kiss, which you happily return. his hands go to your cheeks, and your hands wrap softly around his wrists, and you think this is the happiest you’ve ever been.

it’s kind of fun to sneak around like this, you think, and he thinks the exact same. he loves the idea of having the rancher’s daughter in secret, knowing your father has forbidden you from even talking to any of the ranch hands. it’s not the entire reason he likes it so much though, most of it is because it's you. you’re gorgeous, sure, but you’re also smart, and funny, and a hell of a baker.

he picks up your panties from the grass and shoves them into his pocket, laughing softly at your protests. he gives you another quick kiss and tells you to leave first, knowing it would be suspicious if you both came back from the far pasture at the same time.

he smacks your ass as you walk away, biting his lip as he watches you go. he imagines his cum dripping down your soft thighs, imagines you running into another ranch hand, or worse, your father, on the way back to your house, and how you’d hope and pray that they don’t pick up on your weak legs and fucked out expression.

the days that start like this are especially enjoyable for evan, even though he feels a little guilty for wanting to fuck you until you’re round and swollen with his seed, but it’s what a pretty little thing like you deserves. even so, he wishes more than anything to finally be able to take you out for real, without fear of what your father may do or say.

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[bullet-prooflove]

I know that you hate her but it was never her fault, not really.

For Lee Dutton

Tagging: @kmc1989 @queenslandlover-93 @newyorkrican922 @bryandechartisasmolbean @lovethis-lovethat

Companion piece to:

A Boy from Bozeman - Lee says goodbye to the woman he loves.

The Worry Doll - Lee still keeps the worry doll you gave him.

Wild Fire - Lee tells you the truth about the wildfire.

Experiance (NSFW) - Lee's gained some experiance since the last time the two of you were together.

Blind Date - John puts the word out around town that Lee needs a wife.

Fire Wood - Lee always chops firewood when he's pissed.

Wedding Bells - You and Lee tie the knot in secret.

Until Your Dying Day - You make a promise to Lee.

References to:

The One That Got Away - In light of Lee's recent wedding, John reflects on the one that got away.

The Other Woman (NSFW) - John was never meant to be with Evelyn.

John is waiting for Lee on the porch of the farmhouse when he returns home from his honeymoon. He’d dropped you off at the end of the trail where Kayce had left the VW. You have to be at the conservation centre in Helena this afternoon to discuss the soil samples you took from Pasture 12. Lee intends to meet you afterwards to help you pack up your stuff for your move to the farmhouse.

It's the coffee cup in his father’s hand that pisses Lee off, it’s the chipped one from his kitchen. He can smell that special brand of coffee you like, the one you buy from the farmer’s market. This is John Dutton trying to send a message and Lee reads it loud and clear.

Nothing is yours, it all belongs to the ranch.

Lee doesn’t say anything as he sits down on the opposite side of the steps. If they’re going to talk about this, it’s going to be on equal terms because Lee, he will not stand before this man like a naughty child. He’s done bending to his father’s will.

“You left one hell of a mess for me to clean up.” John says taking a sip of his coffee as he stares out across the pasture.

Lee knows he’s talking about the angry phone calls he’s been receiving from ranchers since the news hit that Lee had gotten married, the ones that were trying to trade their daughters like cattle for a piece of the ranch.

“I never said I wanted a wife.” Lee reminds him as his gaze fixates on the cattle roaming in the distance.

“But you took one anyway.” John points out, his gaze coming to rest on Lee’s silver wedding band.

“I know you hate her…”

“I don’t hate her.” John tells Lee, setting his coffee cup down alongside him. “She’s just not right for the ranch.”

“But she’s right for me.” Lee says tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “She was back then and she is now.”

There’s silence between the two of them for a moment before John sighs.

“I had someone like that.” He says quietly. “A long time ago I had to make a decision between the woman I love and what was best for the ranch.”

“You mean Lou.” Lee says and John tilts his head towards him in surprise. “I saw the two of you together after mom died, I heard what you said about how you loved her, how you’d always loved her.”

Lee has known from a young age that his mother and father didn’t act like other parents. There was always a coldness between the two of them, a practicality. It wasn’t until the night of the wake when he saw his father interact with Lou that he realised why. John hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her during the event, he held onto her hands a little too long when she gave him her condolences and that night after everyone else had left, he’d undressed her in the room his wife hadn’t shared in years.

Lee doesn’t know what happened after that, only his father is now in a causal relationship with Governor Perry  and Lou sells honey at the farmer’s market with her twenty six year old son, Joesph.

“The men in our family, they don’t marry for love.” John says quietly. “We marry for duty and that’s what I need you to do.”

“What are you saying?” Lee asks him, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“When I get back to the house, I’ll have Jamie draw up an annulment, voiding the marriage.” John says clasping his hands together. “After that we’ll pick someone more appropriate, someone whose the right fit.”

Lee can’t speak, his eyes sting as he pulls the keys to the farmhouse out from his pocket and dumps them into his father’s lap.

“I’m not leaving Anna.” He says, his voice raw with emotion as he raises to his feet. “You took twenty years from the two of us, you don’t get to have the rest.”

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[joelscurls]

fallen into place

an epilogue to my feel it in your bones series (part i | part ii)

pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

words: 2.3k

summary: It's the one year anniversary of the day you & Joel met. Your plans to celebrate are soured by poor weather - but Joel doesn't let that ruin your day.

warnings: 18+, minors dni, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her late 20s, Joel is in his late 40s), fluff, smut (allusions to piv sex, but nothing explicit)

a/n: thank you a million times over to everyone who left nice comments on the first two parts of this series; every single one has made me smile like an idiot :') and ty as always to my beta & muse @caffeinated-validation <3 enjoy this lil epilogue!

The windows of the old farmhouse groan, rain pelting the glass and an angry wind jostling the frames. A draft slips in through a gap in the wood, the one Joel’s been meaning to fix, and you reflexively pull the blanket that’s wrapped around your body tighter, snugger. 

Through fogged panes, you can barely make out the sheep in the pasture where they’re huddled together, their bodies distorted by bulbous raindrops. You watch as a couple break off from the herd, blurs of white floating toward the fence line like grounded clouds.

The kettle on the stovetop squeals, quiet at first, then louder, and you pad out of the dining room, into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. The percolator on the nearby counter gurgles away, still working on Joel’s coffee.

The day has been all but thrown away, thanks to the weather.

You and Joel had planned to celebrate your anniversary: one year since meeting under the fluorescent white lights of the lecture hall, all fidgety hands and warm cheeks.

He’d wanted to take you out, back to the lounge you’d gone to that first night, to sip whiskeys again and reminisce.

You’d wanted to cuddle up together on one of the large, leather armchairs and kiss him the way you had then, just with a bit more purpose, this time.

But a tree had fallen at the entrance of Joel’s dead-end road early this morning, the fractured trunk stretching from one shoulder to another. 

The loud thud of it had jolted you from a sound sleep, causing you to seek refuge in Joel’s strong, impregnable arms as he’d continued snoring away.

It was only when he’d stirred a few hours later that he’d called the town and learned they wouldn’t be able to remove it until later today, at the earliest.

And so, you’re stuck at his house — at least for the time being. 

When the percolator seizes, you pour the contents into Joel’s favorite mug, the one Sarah had gotten him as a housewarming gift. The speckling on the dark green ceramic makes it look as if it’s been handmade and fired in a kiln. The front is appropriately adorned with the Vermont state seal. 

You leave the coffee black — his preference — and bring it, along with your tea, into the living room where Joel is splayed across the couch, reading some book about the history of homesteading. 

You’re quiet when you enter. It gives you the opportunity to marvel at his concentrated face, his brows furrowed and his bottom lip tucked between his teeth as he scans the pages. He traces under the words with his thumb, so as not to inadvertently lose his place.

He finally notices you when you sink into the cushion by his feet and place his mug down on the coffee table in front of him. He swings his legs around and sits upright to make more room for you. 

“Thanks, baby,” he says, dog-earing the page he’s on and setting the book down on the arm of the couch. 

He buries a gracious kiss in your hair and reaches for the coffee, not bothering to let it cool before he takes his first sip. He hisses. Curses under his breath. 

You shake your head in amusement as you settle into plush upholstery, your cup still steaming away on the table. 

Joel grunts. He puts the mug back down in defeat and resumes reading

You decide to sift through your emails. You grab your laptop from your nearby work bag and settle back into the couch with it propped atop your knees. 

You open your inbox. A new message from your well-intentioned, but neurotic colleague sits at the very top, received 20 minutes ago. She’s requesting any final advice for facilitating a fun and informative Open House, since you aren’t volunteering at Homecoming this year. 

You don’t have any fresh insight to provide, so you just copy and paste the last email you sent to her, which she’d never responded to, and add a see below to the top of the message.

Most of the remaining unread emails are from students, a few begging for an extension on their midterm that’s due Monday, another asking how to access their assigned reading for the nth time.

You check to make sure the link to said reading in the syllabus is still working. It is.

A garbled, frustrated sort of noise forms at the bottom of your throat. Joel looks up from his book. Cocks a brow at you in silent question: you okay?

You groan. “Sorry, I’m fine. Just stressed. Annoyed. I can’t believe I’m checking emails right now when we’re supposed to be celebrating.” 

He leans forward. Presses the laptop shut before you can protest. “Then stop,” he offers. 

Joel is a perceptive person, more so than most people give him credit for. His usual persona, the one everyone else sees, characterized by indifferent grumbles and petulant grimaces, is a facade. Because in truth, he’s observant. Caring. He can read you better than the book in his lap with just a scan of his eyes.

He knows just what you need at all times. And right now, he can tell you need to relax.

“Darlin’,” he starts. Waits until you look at him. Until your muscles slacken and he knows you’re listening. 

“I know this isn't ideal. But we’re gonna make the best of it, okay?” 

You nod. 

“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” You watch him think for a moment, gaze fixed absently on the far corner of the room. “You’re gonna go upstairs and take a bath. Put on one ‘a those cucumber things-” 

“A face mask?”

“Yeah, that. And you’re gonna stay upstairs until I tell you to come down. Alright?” 

You want to crack some wise remark about feeling like Rapunzel. But a bath sounds good right now. Great, actually. So you nod again. Say, “okay”. 

“Okay,” he repeats. “Go relax, babygirl.”

You bring your untouched cup of tea with you. It rests on the windowsill next to the clawfoot tub as you wait for the basin to fill with water. You undress, apply a few squeezes of the facemask you keep stashed at the back of Joel’s medicine cabinet just in case. Then you get into the bath, sighing immediately at the feel of warm water lapping at your skin. 

You sink into it, let your head rest against porcelain as your eyes fall shut. 

You stay there until your fingers prune and sweat begins to bead on your forehead. When you stand, the water draining at your feet, you glance out the window and notice that the rain has let up, at least enough that you can actually see the pasture below. 

Joel is there, you realize, his stocky figure leaning against the fence, observing the sheep as they graze. He remains there for a few minutes, and you watch, entranced by him even from a distance.  Water drip-drip-drips off of your body and circles the drain.

When he retreats back toward the house, you step out of the bath. The floor below you vibrates as you towel yourself off, the way it does whenever the front door shuts. You hear the clomp of Joel’s boots against the hardwood as he makes his way inside.

He doesn’t come up. Which means you can’t come down yet, according to his instructions. So you wash your facemask off before wrapping yourself up in Joel’s bathrobe, the bottom hem grazing the floor as you saunter into his room and flop down onto the bed. 

You spend the next hour scrolling mindlessly on your phone, bookmarking recipes that look appetizing slash easy, and cute cat videos to show Joel. You figure if you show him enough, he’ll break and get himself one. 

You need a barncat, you’d told him. You can’t have a barn without a barncat. 

He’d questioned your logic. But he hadn’t said no, not explicitly, anyway.

You refresh your feed for what must be the tenth time this afternoon. Another video of a cat. This one tries to jump onto the top of the fridge from its place on the floor and misses by a longshot. Your laughter fizzles quickly. You’re getting bored. 

You lug yourself off the bed with an exaggerated huff and tiptoe out of Joel’s room to the top of the stairs. He’s playing music, the faint notes of a Johnny Cash song filtering up the balustrade. The smell of garlic follows on its heels, wafting directly into your nostrils and your stomach growls. He’s cooking. 

Joel isn’t a chef by any means. But ever since moving to Vermont, he’s really embraced farm life, sourcing eggs from a neighbor and milk from another. You’d even gotten him a book full of farm-to-table recipes for his birthday, and he’s cracked into it more than once already.

The thought of him referencing it right now to prepare an anniversary dinner for you makes you swoon. Suddenly, you’re very impatient. 

“Can I come down yet?,” you call out. 

You’re not sure if Joel will hear you over the music. But he appears at the bottom of the stairs less than ten seconds later, a dish towel slung over his shoulder. It’s marked with an orange, splotchy stain.

“Nice robe,” he smirks. Leans against the railing. “Two minutes, okay?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, your heart rate quickening at the sight of him looking so domestic. “I’ll go get changed and come down.” 

“Or you could just keep that on,” he drawls. “Look good in my clothes.”

Warmth blooms at the base of your neck. 

“Wait,” you say. “Stay there.”

You feel his eyes on you as you turn and slink down the hall, back to his room. 

You change out of the robe, into one of his flannels and a pair of sleep shorts that you’d stuffed at the bottom of your overnight bag. Then you return to the top of the stairs. 

Joel groans when he sees you. “Get down here,” he growls. You feign innocence, toying with the buttons on his shirt. 

He tracks you like a wolf as you descend, his love for you in his clothes visible by the growing bulge in his pants. You move to grope him when you reach the bottom step and he stops you with a large hand wrapped loosely around your wrist. 

“Dinner,” he reminds you. His voice comes out pained, like if he hadn’t been slaving away in the kitchen for the past hour, he wouldn’t be so adamant. 

“Wait here for a sec,” he says. He adjusts himself and disappears into the kitchen. There’s a series of worrying clangs on the other side of the wall. You hear one of the burners on the stove click off. 

You stand patiently, soundtracked by the sounds of footsteps and clattering dishware. 

And then Joel reappears, outstretching a hand. You take it. Follow him.

It’s dark in the house, the sun having set by now. You try your best not to trip over your own feet and wonder why Joel hasn’t turned any lights on. 

Your question is answered sooner than you can voice it, when you round the corner to the dining room and see what he’s done.

He’s gone all out, two small candles lit at the center of the table next to a bouquet of wildflowers from the edge of his property, arranged in a clear glass vase. On either placemat are steaming plates of pasta, garnished with tomato sauce and fresh basil. You’re practically drooling as you sit down opposite him.

And then there’s the bottle of wine, red, label turned away from you. You twist it around. The name is illegible in the dim candlelight. 

Joel clears his throat. Takes your hand in his on the tabletop. 

“It’s uh – it’s the same one I brought to your apartment that time. The first time.” 

You blink hard. Your brain works to catch up with what he’s just said.

And then you’re all but leaping across the table, catching him in an earnest kiss. 

“Joel,” you say, gesturing to the plates, the wine, the candles. “This is amazing.”

You swear you catch him blush. It’s difficult to tell in the dark.

“‘Ts nothin’,” he retorts. “Less than you deserve. I know you were lookin’ forward to celebratin’ properly.” 

“Hey,” you squeeze his hand. “This is perfect. Better than perfect.” 

Now you know he’s blushing. He attempts to cover it up by bringing the bottle in front of his face, pouring you both a glass.

Joel’s pasta is delicious. You devour it, have to stop yourself from licking the plate clean when you’re done. After dinner, you retreat to the living room where Joel throws a few fresh logs on the hearth and lights it.

He tires quickly of his flannel cloaking your body, and plucks the buttons open one by one until you’re on display for him. Then he lays you down by the roaring fire and makes love to you, heat from the flames licking at your exposed chest as he takes you apart.

You’ve never felt so loved. 

It dawns on you in the afterglow, heart rabbiting in your chest and thighs soaked with arousal — Joel is everything —  your past year, your present, your forever. An immense contentedness settles in you, deep in your being. Unshakable; impenetrable.

As Joel lays next to you, stroking calloused fingers lazily along the length of your arm, forehead shiny with sweat, you sigh. 

“What is it, darlin?,” he asks. 

“Nothing,” you say. “Just feel really lucky.” 

“Nah,” he whispers. He caresses the curve of your jaw gently, like he thinks you’ll break if he’s any less tender. Like he’s forgetting the way his body just ravaged yours. “I’m the lucky one.”

You let him have this one — at least on the outside. Inside, you’re making a list of all the ways Joel has sweetened your life: his kind soul, his expert touch, his deep, unwavering love for you. You add to it until the slowing of his heart and his loosened grip on your face distract you.

And then you lose count.

end notes: ty for reading! please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment if you liked it <3 til next time!

series tag list:  @anoverwhelmingdin, @joelalorian, @lol-im-done, @bensonispunk, @sereindreams, @survivingandenduring, @stevie75, @vee-bees-blog, @brittmb115, @cassiopeia, @bbyanarchist, @janaispunk, @barbellpedro

[c0wb0yenthusiast]

Country Boy

Phillip Graves x f!reader

PART ONE!

Summary : it’s been 10 years since you packed up and left your small town for greener pastures, but after recklessly deciding to come back after so long you’re reunited with the former love of your life - Phillip Graves

Word count : 3.4k

A/N : as metroman would say, ‘my death was highly exaggerated’. Sorry for taking so long to put something out but hope that everyone enjoys! Yearning part 3 is also in the works <3

“One day, when we’re out of here - just you and me - I’m gonna ask you out real nice, darlin’.”

It’s August, 1994, nearing the end of high school. It’s a humid Friday evening and the both of you are sitting on the edge of the dock that only the town fisherman knows about. But he’s not here tonight.

You chuckle at him, “Thought you said you’d never consider leaving, Phil.”

He’s got that dorky grin plastered on his face, his dimples visible.

“If it were with you, I’d leave in a heartbeat.”

“I knew you’d say that!” You hit his shoulder playfully and he can only laugh.

It’s your usual thing; sitting together on the docks after school until late as possible. As late as it can get before your papa considers reaching for his rifle to find the troublemaker keeping his daughter out till ‘God knows when’ as he said. So you cherish these childish yet heartfelt moments, even if you’re both 17 and have big lives far ahead of you.

“What? It’s the truth, hon.” He smiles, wrapping an arm around you.

“I wouldn’t have guessed otherwise. I’m not the kind of girl you lie to, Phillip Graves.”

“So does that mean you would?”

“I would what exactly?” You cock an eyebrow at him, expecting a dirty joke of some sort.

“You know.. go out with me. Real fancy, too. I’ll dress up and everything, just for you.” He adds, his hand now reaching for your face.

Your breath hitches at the way his thumb brushes over your bottom lip. You stole your mother’s lipstick for moments like these. Leaving that little red stained mark on him.

He withdraws his thumb slowly, squinting in the dark. You could see the way his smile grew as he examined the smudged rouge on his fingertip.

“That’s pretty, darlin’. That for me?”

What comes out of your mouth is a whisper and you couldn’t explain why; maybe it was the glint in his eyes as he said it, the way his lips were parted slightly as he looked back up at you from his hand.

“Yes.. Yes.” You swallow thickly, your gaze fixated on him and what he could do next.

“Really? Well, I think that answers my other question then.” He’s beginning to get up now and your eyes widen as you frantically get on your feet to follow him.

“What does that mean?”

He stops in his tracks, turning to face you again. He’s still smiling but his arm is now concealed behind his back.

“It means that I know it’s the right time to give you this.”

It’s a small box.

You approach him slowly, your bare feet not making a sound on the wooden boards of the dock. Once you’re finally inches away from him, he flicks it open.

A ring. A beautiful ring is now before your eyes; a small, golden ring with a big, shining gem in the centre.

You could cry, and you almost do as you let out a choked sob but Phillip quickly wraps his arms around you.

“Don’t- don’t cry, sugar.. unless they’re happy tears, I hope.” He murmurs into your ear, hand caressing your back gently.

“They’re happy. They’re so… so happy, I swear.” You catch yourself between your gasps for air.

He waits a moment, taking the time to memorise the way your bodies align. How perfectly they fit into each other. But when he pulls away, a hand comes up again to wipe your tears.

“I just thought… even if- you know, you go to do the amazing things that you’re meant to and I end up staying here or there… That I’ll always be with you. Just a little part of me you can carry around forever. Now, why don’t you try it on and see if I got the measurements right, okay?” He prompts carefully, allowing you to hold out a shaky hand as he slots it into your finger.

“It fits like a glove, Phil. I can’t believe you did this..”, you take a deep breath, trying not to cry.

“Why wouldn’t I? You’re the only girl I’ve ever want to cherish like this.” As he brings his finger away from your cheek, he leans in.

You share a kiss that you could’ve never imagined happening with any boy in that wretched town.

Except, Phillip Graves was the only thing that made staying there worth it.

-

You must have been daydreaming again, playing with the ring still on your finger after all these years.

You run a completely different ship now; miles away in the city, married and thriving.

You would’ve never believed your future turned out like this. Not without Phillip.

A business all to yourself and your husband, and hopefully for your future kids too. A display of pride and joy that you’ve managed to work for and build with your own hands.

You attempt to direct your focus to the ring that your husband gave you instead. It’s silver and covered in small little gems, always sparkling in some way. A way to represent how your husband’s love seems to be only visible in objects. How they won’t stop pestering you at this rate.

Five years have gone by since this much flashier ring was presented to you on your summer vacation.

And now you’re here - surrounded by bustling trains, people and business that you can’t seem to escape.

The rush of the city never seems to alleviate, even if you’re a day away from your vacation that you’ve been planning for weeks now.

No husband. No business or constant phone calls. Just you and the countryside.

Obviously, you weren’t entirely sure on the idea of going back there. Not after that charming rascal Phillip Graves.

But your ma and pa kept calling which made you realise you just needed a break from the city. You needed the hot, dry days and cool, breezy evenings back at the family house. When your pa used to come back after work almost covered in sweat and you’d still run up to him and hug him like he’d just come back from war. The fresh pies you’d try to eat even when they were too hot and you still kept the piece in your mouth because you were so hungry. Those foolish nights when Phillip would knock on your window after hours and you’d sneak out to the wildest places imaginable - it was all such a daydream that you never would’ve wanted to leave.

But, this is where you are now.

You place your coffee cup down a little suddenly onto your desk, raking a hand through your hair.

“Louis? Louis, honey?” You get up and charge out of your office, looking both ways down the hall.

“Louis?” You repeat, calling out to him.

“Yes, baby?” He’s walking towards you at a leisurely pace, phone pressed up against his ear as he lowers his voice to talk to you.

“Do you uhm.. need me here right now?” You bite the inside of your cheek as you wait for an answer - a finger held up to your face.

Wait.

Your whole face seems to scrunch at the sight of it, frowning as he laughs and smiles at his phone.

“Right- yeah, I’ll call you back. No, it won’t be long.” He ends the call, putting his brick phone into his suit pocket.

“What’s up?”

“I said, do you need me to be here?”

“Well, it’s nice to have you around. Always helpful to have a spare hand.”

“Yeah, I understand. But-“

“Is it about your trip? You’re not going?”

You sigh.

“No, I am going still. I just want to get ready now since it’s going to be a long drive and I don’t want to waste time tomorrow.”

“If you say so. But what if I need you here right now? You’re going to be too busy packing for the hillbilly hellhole.”

Okay, your marriage isn’t the most functional. Or romantic.

Louis isn’t horrible - just a little less emotional than you would’ve hoped. Maybe even a little manipulative. But who’s psychoanalysing that, because it’s definitely not you.

It’s very obvious that you’re the only one that notices this behaviour.

You try not to dwell and take another deep breath.

“Well, my parents live in that ‘hillbilly hellhole’ and I’d like to pack all my extra things so I will be going now.”

“Alright, if you say so.” He waves a hand carelessly at you. Dismissing you.

You don’t say anything back, you can only bite your tongue and grip your suitcase handle like it’s about to fall off.

It was never this bad at the beginning, but that’s what they always say, isn’t it?

Recently, he’s just been so out of touch with you and your love life but you don’t even want to know why. It could probably break you, or worse.

So now, here you are, packing frantically for that ‘hillbilly hellhole’ that you call home. You don’t even know why you’re so excited, the items seem to fly into your suitcase as you run around the house to grab anything else you might need. Even if the majority of it is still in your old room, waiting for you expectantly.

That morning felt like the beginning of something big.

Getting up at the crack of dawn, brushing your teeth and getting ready for a holiday that you’ll never forget.

Jumping into that car felt like a breath of fresh air as you rolled down your window hastily, not bothering to bid goodbye since you’re too busy hitting the road.

It’s a nice feeling; being able to have your music turned up as loud as you like as you get to look out for all the wonderful sights to see on the journey. It’s a sense of accomplishment, that’s what you declare to yourself as you rifle through your CD album to choose the next one to play.

It’s even a shock when you find some hidden CDs you burnt when you were younger, the sound of nostalgia bringing back memories of your childhood.

The hum of the dingy, flickering bulbs in the gas station seem to be the only thing you can focus on as you slowly prowl the aisles, waiting for something to catch your eye. Colourful, fluorescent wrappers seem to jump out of their display and into your hands as you collect many sugary delights that would make your husband cock a brow at you. But he’s not here, so you pay no mind as you take them to the register and pour them all in the passenger seat before you get back on the road once more.

The roads seem to blend into each other as you continuously drive for what seems like days, when in reality is only a couple of hours. It’s much more tense when you consider what awaits you back home.

It’s been at least 10 years since you’ve left, and you never looked back.

Sure, family would come to visit the city and you’d enjoy that; it was easier being able to forget about what was left behind. Yet it still doesn’t seem completely buried, as if it’s dormant and waiting for you to release it once more.

It wasn’t long until you’d arrive soon. You were beginning to recognise the trails and overgrown trees arching over each other as you drove through what felt like a leafy tunnel, snippets of sunlight peeking through.

The breeze cleansed your skin, airing out the car along with the gentle way it soothed your skin as you drove at a leisurely pace.

As much as you were content right now, you knew it may not last for long once revisiting everything that was abandoned years ago. It’s definitely not ruining the atmosphere nor making you now more nervous than ever.

You’ve made it.

You almost want to stop your car in front of the town’s welcome sign, but decide against it and instead drive even slower to encapsulate the same old views that you used to.

As you look around, nothing has changed.

It’s still the same old town, with only minor adjustments to keep up with the times. It’s as if someone’s polished it ever so slightly, while keeping the same ‘look’.

You could turn back. Nobody has seen you yet, it could be your chance-

No. You’re here now, there’s just no point in cowering away.

Pulling up to the familiar drive of your family home, the fresh scent of washed linen and lavenders waft in the air. Your mother has clipped the washing up in the front yard, just like you remember, and your father has clearly been tending to the garden like he’d promised you.

Ten years ago.

It’s beginning to form a pit in the bottom of your stomach. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea from the start.

Just and you’re about to turn to your car, a voice suddenly shrieks.

“Honey!? Is that you?” Your mother’s hands tremble, the basket of sheets toppling to the floor as she brings a hand to her face.

You didn’t realise she would’ve had this sort of reaction, but you didn’t want to question it at all.

“Mom, don’t cry!” You walk over to her, wrapping an arm around her reassuringly.

“I’m- I’m not, baby..” she inhales shakily, “Oh, maybe I am. Look at me.. crying like this..” she murmurs, wiping her eyes gently.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.” You whisper.

“It’s okay, dear. Just wait until your father hears.”

Your father was absolutely enthralled seeing you, almost as emotional as your mother as he hugs you firmly.

It’s been too long. Why did you leave them behind like this? That’s the main question running through your head, even if you had the rightful reasons to leave you couldn’t help but still feel guilty for what you did.

After a heartfelt moment of hugging and exchanging ‘I missed you’s’, you finally get to come inside the house.

It’s barely changed, still your dreamy childhood home. The floorboards still creak in the exact spots they used to, reminding you of the way you practically jumped over them when it came to sneaking out at night.

The furniture stayed quite similar, even the new items still referencing to the old ones that used to be there. It felt as if you’d walked into a time capsule.

“Oh, honey, it’s so good to have you back. Maybe we should arrange a small get together. Just to celebrate.” Your mother chimes, smiling as she follows you, still entranced by the same childlike wonder that seemed to come back after all these years.

“We kept your room just the same.” Your father adds, smiling at your excited grin and haste to run up the stairs to what used to be your room.

You almost shriek at the sight of it when you push open the door hurriedly.

It’s just the way you’d left it. Feminine, soft pinks decorate the room as your antique vanity catches the corner of your eye.

“Wow. Wow. Wow- it’s just- so..”, you sniffle and take a deep breath. You can’t cry again, it’ll wear you out at this rate.

You practically topple onto your bed. Relishing in the threatening squeak of the mattress as you sink into your duvet. It’s the same duvet, but smells fresh.

Knowing your parents, they probably washed it while you were away in hopes that you’d come back.

Your mother stands by the doorway, watching with a warm smile as nostalgia floods both of your senses.

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll invite all the neighbours, even that Phillip boy-“

You whip your head around, eyes wide.

“Is- is that necessary, ma?”

“Why? Did something happen?” She frowns.

Your father calls from down the hallway, “Do I need to get my rifle back out?”

“No… it’s okay, pa.” You get up and walk over to your mother, who takes your hands in hers with concern.

“What is it then? I don’t have to invite him if you want.”

You shake your head slowly.

“It’s okay.”

“You sure?”

You nod.

-

The next day had began to eat at you with anxiety before it even began.

You woke up earlier than you were supposed to, waiting under the covers as you listened for any movement of some sort.

Clear.

You get up, open the curtains to meet a dreary ray of sunlight slowly enveloping your whole body as you push them open further. It’s warm, almost welcoming as you smile to yourself.

However, beneath all of this was a growing fear now seeping into you.

It had been years since you’d heard the name ‘Phillip Graves’ and you were hoping you wouldn’t have had to hear it again. But it was clearly inevitable.

You splash a little water onto your face and wrap one of your dainty silk robes around yourself, it’s too early to properly get ready for the day.

This prompts you to sneak downstairs, tiptoeing slowly as if you were in a mine field. You didn’t want to disrupt your parents right now.

It’s almost instinct when you turn towards the front door and unlock it, breathing in the fresh summer breeze. Your shoulders relax and somehow you feel at ease.

Now on the porch, you ease yourself into the familiar swinging bench that used to be your favourite spot as a teen. You vividly remember waiting in this seat when Phillip promised to pick you up for a date in his daddy’s worn out truck.

Memories.

You lean back, wistfully closing your eyes as you sink into the cushions and let the memories take over your mind.

That’s why you’re almost sure you’re hallucinating when an oddly familiar revving of an engine blares in your ears as this clearly imaginary car halts to a stop.

You snap up, blinking drearily as you immediately look in the direction of the noise.

“Sugar, what are you doing here?”

No way.

You don’t move, you can’t move.

It’s Phillip Graves, the former love of your life.

He’s hopping out of his truck, staring in disbelief as he saunters towards you. He’s chuckling, placing his hat firmly on his head as he steps cautiously onto your porch.

“Am I dreaming? Or is your dad reloading his shotgun at this very moment?” He smiles, now seemingly unfazed after a few seconds of processing the sight before him.

You, on the other hand, are not responding very well to this. You wrap your robe over your chest in sheer embarrassment while still looking up at him, slack jawed, from your seat.

It finally takes a second for you to shake your head and say something. It comes out a little quiet, shaky even.

“They’re… uhm- they’re sleeping. Right now.” You respond, swallowing thickly and watching his every move like a hawk.

“Hm.” He nods, pursing his lips.

“It’s just you and me then, huh?” Phillip leans against one of the wooden beams of the porch railing, eyes scanning up and down your body.

“Yes.” You whisper, tempted to get up and strangle the cocky smirk that spread across his lips.

“It’s been awhile, didn’t think you’d show up again.”

“No.. no- well, yes it has- but- but I mean no I didn’t really think so either… not so soon..”

“How come?” His responses are snappy, he doesn’t look at you anymore as his eyes dart over to the front door.

“Uhm, I was just going to visit when I got married but.. changed my mind.” A weak chuckle escaped your lips, which you mentally berate yourself for.

“Well, sugar, this has been nice. Tell your daddy that those parts for the fencing have arrived for me, okay?” He questions, cocking a brow at you.

You nod once more, still so shaken.

“I need words, honey.”

“Yes..”

“Good. I’ll see you later. At your little ‘get together’.”

And with that final farewell, he’s turned away and seems to already be starting up his truck when you’ve blinked.

You would’ve thought he’d changed, maybe even softened after your last night together. But it’s shocking how he managed to sober up a few seconds after seeing you.

You can only watch limply as his truck fades away in the distance.

Was he hiding something?

[pedroshotwifey]

To The Flame chapter eight

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x Fem!reader

Chapter w/c: 3k

Chapter tags/warnings: smutty smut, nasty dirty talk, slight angst, manipulation through isolation (hehe), piv sex, unprotected sex, stuff im forgetting

Chapter summary: Things were finally perfect; of course they never stay that way.

A/N: Hey babes! This chapter is really kind of setting things off, and I swear to you that we're going to get dark in the next few, and it's downhill from there. Just needed to get her in the perfect place first >:). This is yucky nasty, so I hope you heathens like it!!

****

You wake up alone for the first time in a week this morning, already missing your husband’s heat. 

It’s your second week living in your new house, but Javi was only able to take that one last off to help you get everything settled. He let you decorate for the most part, which was wonderful because you basically just ordered him around for muscle. 

He was so sweet and helpful the entire time, not giving you a single complaint at all. You want the couch to go against the opposite wall? He’s on it. Need that picture in the dining room hung higher? As good as done. 

You think there’s only a couple boxes left to unpack in the guest room, and then you’ll be done. It’s mostly small stuff, apart from a dresser that needs to be assembled, so you should be able to do it yourself before Javi gets home tonight. 

Mentally planning your day, you stretch and yawn before pulling the covers back and sliding from the bed. You decide as you get dressed that you’ll make a batch of muffins for breakfast, that way Javi will have something quick to grab when he leaves for work in the mornings.

You make your way to the kitchen, yawning again even though the clock shows it’s past nine. You can’t lie to yourself, it’s been nice having the entire day to do whatever you want, without having to worry about getting the bills paid. It was a little hard to transition into not working, but Javi takes such good care of you that it’s hard to stress about it. 

You keep waiting for the day where you feel the urge to find a job again, but it hasn’t happened yet, and you’re not eager to rush it. You really do think you can get used to this whole ‘staying at home’ thing. Especially now that you and Javi aren’t being particularly careful about sex anymore. You need to be prepared to stay home with your kids whenever that happens. 

You’re not rushing that either, if you’re being honest, but you wouldn’t be upset if you found yourself pregnant. It makes you smile, thinking of mini Javis running around your house, playing in the pastures or on a tire swing hung from the big tree out front. Javi would make such a good father too; he’s so thoughtful and attentive. 

You sigh as you start to mix ingredients for your muffins, turning on the radio beforehand to distract yourself. The last thing you need right now is baby fever, you’ve just taken a big life step already. 

You hum along and sway your hips to the soft music as you work, occupying your mind by trying to mentally plan how you’ll be decorating the guest room. A few moments later, you slip the tray into the oven and set the timer before heading back down the hall. 

The room is mostly put together; the last of the belongings mostly small decor or whatever didn’t fit somewhere else in the house. It was unspokenly decided between you and Javi that this room would hold the junk closet. 

You open the first box and find that it contains pictures. You don’t mean to snoop too much, but you can’t help but analyze each one. They’re mostly old family portraits, though a couple of them are just of dogs, which confuses you as much as it makes you laugh. 

You realize once again how strange your situation is as you pick out Javi’s siblings and parents. How is it that you’re married to a man whose family you’ve never met? The only relative you’ve heard him talk about before is his dad. You wouldn’t want to pry though if it was a sensitive topic, so you decide on waiting for him to open up to you when he’s ready. 

You’re just finishing propping up all the photos on their shelf when you hear the timer go off from the kitchen. The muffins are perfectly done, so you pull them out to let them cool off. You glance at the clock and decide that you’ll have enough time to plant some flowers. 

Javi had made these absolutely gorgeous wooden planters for you to put outside the house, and you’ve been waiting until you had time to yourself to fill them. Javi also assisted you in picking out what flowers would go in there—orange Marigolds. They look beautiful in contrast to the white siding of the house. 

Since you’ve moved in, you’ve fallen so deeply in love with the old farm house. It’s honestly the house you always pictured as a girl when you would dream about your future. The big porch, the intricate vintage details, the rolling hills in the background. You just can’t believe that you’re here already, that Javi brought you here. 

You get misty eyed thinking about it, gratitude swelling once again in your chest. Your eyes land on the flowers laid out to be planted and you realize you’ve been smiling like an idiot. Shaking yourself out of it, you flip on the radio you brought from the kitchen and get to work. 

You savor the feeling of the sun beating down on you and the gentle breeze cooling you. It feels so nice to be outside with this weather when you’re not working your ass off on a farm. 

The rest of the day is spent exactly as you had it planned. You finish planting, wash up a bit, finish the guest room, and read a bit before you have to start dinner. It’s a relatively busy day, but it doesn’t feel like work. It’s nice, getting things done in your own house.

You have just enough time to get dinner ready and pop it into the oven before you hear the front door open. Your stomach flutters as a grin spreads across your face. You had a great day, but nothing you did could top the feeling of being in your husband’s arms. 

“Javi?” you call out as you start to walk back to the entryway, wiping your hands off on a dish towel. You wonder if he can smell what you just put in the oven—it’s his favorite. You grow a little concerned when he doesn’t answer right away. 

“Baby?” you ask again. 

Javi is silently toeing his boots off when you round the corner and walk to him. Your stomach drops along with your dish towel when you see the somber expression on his face. 

“Honey, what’s wrong?” you ask gently, stepping toward him and reaching your hands out. He meets you halfway and pulls you into a comforting hug. You can feel the way he deflates against you as if all of his stress suddenly disappears when he holds you. 

The combination of his raw emotion and the way he uses one hand to smooth down your hair makes tears spring to your eyes. You’re not used to him looking so distraught.

“I have some news, carino,” Javi says after a moment. His words are quiet but you can sense the urgency behind them. You loosen your grip to allow him to take a step back. He crouches down slightly in front of you so that you’re looking down at him. 

“I received my promotion today,” he says, taking your hands and watching your face scrunch in confusion. 

“But isn’t that a good thing?” you ask. “I know how long you’ve been waiting for this, Javi. What’s the matter?” You don’t understand why he would be upset by such a thing. Javi nods and takes a deep breath. 

“Yes, baby, it was supposed to be a good thing. They offered me almost double what I’m making right now,” he says. By his tone of voice, you can tell that there is more to be said. 

“That’s great,” you say, though it sounds more like a question than anything. “What do you mean ‘offered’?”

“They gave me a choice,” he says after another deep breath. “I only get the promotion if I relocate.” you jerk your head back slightly. What kind of shitty deal is that? He must see your train of thought in your expression because he quickly elaborates. 

“I don’t have to accept the offer, of course, but I won’t get the promotion if I don’t. Things will just stay as they have been.” 

“Well, where do they want you to relocate?” you ask even through the sour taste in your mouth at the thought of leaving this house. You don’t like the look he gives you when you do. 

“Colombia,” he looks hard into your eyes as they widen. 

“What, like West Columbia? The city?” you ask, bewildered. “There’s no way they mean... They can’t do that, can they?” 

Javi sighs again and nods. You wish he would stop doing that. 

“Not the city, sweetheart. And yes, apparently they can,” his words are gentle but with a bitter bite as he lets go of one of your hands to cup your cheek. 

“But we just moved in,” you say, your voice sounds small as you look down at him. He gazes back at you, and you can see the desperation in his eyes. He wants this so much, and you can’t be the thing that holds him back, no matter how much it sucks for you. 

As much as you might not want to move again, you would do anything for your husband. He’s done so much for you, it’s the least you could do. You owe him so much. Still, there’s that painful twist in your chest at the thought of leaving all this behind when you just got it. 

But you know that if it were you in his position and him in yours, he would tell you to take the promotion in a heartbeat. You’re being selfish right now, you need to think about what he wants. You can’t disappoint him.

“I know, baby. I asked if I could have a few days to think about it so I could see where you would be on it. I can still tell them no.” You flinch slightly at the impatience ebbing into his tone. It’s hard to pick out, but it’s there. It makes your cheeks heat and you feel for a second like a child being scolded. You don’t want him to be upset with you. 

“No!” you say a bit too quickly. “Sorry, I just-” you struggle to find the words. “I want this for you, Javi, and I’m here to support you in whatever you choose. I know how badly you want this, and if you decide to relocate, then that’s what I want, too.”

He smiles up at you, and you can’t help but to smile back. It’s true, you’ll do anything for him. 

“Are you sure, sweetheart?” he asks, his eyes unable to hide the glint of hope that shines in them. 

“Yes, of course I’m sure. I’ll start packing tonight if you want,” you giggle and lean down to slot your lips with his. 

He wraps his arms around you as he stands up, picking you up with him. Your legs instinctually cross at the ankles behind him. 

“Thank you, baby,” he says once he positions you so that your back is against the wall. “Knew you would understand. You’re too good to me.”

You perk up even more as he praises you. All the annoyance has left his tone and you allow yourself to take a breath of relief. There’s a clear admiration in the way he looks at you right now, his eyes softening as he slowly dips back down to kiss you.

He thrusts his hips forward, stimulating your clit with the bulge in his jeans. You moan into his mouth as you grind down, seeking more friction. Your lips feel swollen when Javi releases them to suck at your neck. 

“Oh, Javi, more, please,” you beg, making him chuckle lowly. 

“I’ve got you, baby. Gonna make you feel good,” he whispers into your ear, making you shiver. 

He wastes no time on unbuttoning your pants and letting you down to slide them down your legs along with your panties. It only takes a second before you’re right back where you started, only this time without anything between your cunt and his cock but his own pants. 

“Gonna get you ready for me, pretty girl,” Javi says breathily as he brings his thumb up to circle at your clit. You keen as he immediately begins to rub in hard and fast motions. 

As if that wasn’t enough, he takes his thumb away for only a second so he can gather spit in his mouth and lean over you to dribble it right over your sensitive bud. You gasp as the saliva begins to cool from the air of the hall. 

Suddenly, his thumb is back, continuing its assault. 

“God, feels s-so good,” you moan as Javi starts to nip and suck at your neck again, no doubt leaving a gathering of hickies behind. You can feel your toes beginning to curl and heat rise to your upper body. It’s not going to take long before you’re coming for the first time tonight. 

“Fuckin’ soaked already, baby. Gonna make it so I’ll slide right in. My perfect fuckin’ girl. Always so good, so ready for me.”

Javi’s rambling sets you off, you don’t even have a chance to warn him before your body begins to tremble. You’re pretty sure you shout his name between moans, but it could have been anything. 

“There you go,” Javi praises. “Such a good girl, so pretty when you come for me.” 

You hear the rattle of his belt buckle as he shifts your weight to his other hand and one of his thighs. You look down as he tugs on himself, his red tip poking out from his fist as he moves his hips to line his cock up with your soaked cunt. 

He grips your chin and kisses you fiercely as he pushes in, shoving his tongue into your mouth at the same time. Your sharp whine is smothered by his tongue licking into you, and your eyes roll to the back of your head from feeling so full. 

He thrusts up heavily, effortlessly knocking the breath out of your lungs with each slam of his hips. Your back jots up the wall despite Javi’s best efforts in bringing you down to him. He lets one hand trail up to cradle the back of your head so that it doesn’t hit the wall with the force that he’s shoving up into you with. 

“You’re so tight for me sweetheart, taking my cock so good,” he pulls away just enough to breathe out the words. 

You clench around him, still not used to the filth that spews from his mouth when he gets his dick wet. 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ love that don’t you.” 

You nod as much as you can while focusing on the way his tip is punching into your cervix. You can feel another orgasm approaching, and you start to tense and keen from the intensity of it. Your legs start to shake around him and Javi increases the grip he has on your hip. 

“There you go, take it just like that baby girl,” he grits. 

You let your head rest on his shoulder, weakly mouthing his neck, salty and slick with sweat. Your arms tighten around him in an attempt to hold on, but you can feel your mind numbing from the euphoric feeling building up in your abdomen and spreading through the rest of your body. 

“Give it to me, I can feel it baby,” Javi groans, picking up his pace. The increase makes the slaps coming from where your bodies have fused together echo through the hall, your wetness splattering on your thighs with each smack. 

There’s a sharp tap to your clit with each thrust, and you’re coming around his cock with a scream before you realize you’d been that close in the first place. You feel your body melt as your husband nips at your jaw in an attempt of holding his composure. 

“Oh that’s so fucking good sweetheart, come all over my cock just like that. Messy fucking pussy,” Javi continues to talk you through it, bringing the hand from your head back to your clit as you moan wildly. 

“Who makes this cunt feel good, huh?” 

“Y-you do, Javi, you do,” you cry as you come back down from your high. 

“Yeah? Who’s cock? Who’s cock do you fucking cry on?” 

“Ah—Yours, Javi!”

“Goddamn it—such a g-good girl…” 

You nod into his neck, your brows furrowing as he keeps pushing up into you. He slams one hand onto the wall beside your head to hold himself up for balance as he pummels into you to bring himself closer to the edge. Javi grunts and groans into your ear like a mad man, rapidly chasing after his pleasure. 

You barely register an overstimulated tear run down your ruddy cheek at the feeling of his cock continuing to spread you open and nail that spot deep inside of you. A pleasured sob escapes your closed mouth as he keeps manipulating your limp body. 

“Gonna come in this pussy, fill you up so f-fucking full,” he claims right before his pace begins to falter. His hips jerk and he comes with a muffled grunt, his fingers gripping you hard enough to leave bruises for later. 

He lifts your head and takes your mouth again, moaning into your swollen lips as he stills inside of you. It’s a complete mess, all tongues and teeth clashing together out of pure hunger. When he pulls his head back, you’re both panting and staring into each other’s eyes with heavy lids, both of you thoroughly exhausted. Enough so that you don’t recognize the burning smell floating down the hall until now. 

Javi’s eyes narrow as yours widen, your mouth falling as well. He glances down at where you're still connected to make sure you’re not hurt. 

“What’s the matter?” 

You bite your bottom lip, waiting for him to smell what should have been dinner. He gets it after a moment, his eyes softening and a—dare you say giggle—tumbles from his full lips. 

“Yeah,” you confirm his silent suspicions, smiling despite the inconvenience. “You might need to go grab us some dinner.” 

****

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear y'all's thoughts so far! Taglist is open as usual <3

Series taglist:  @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy @survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @callachloe @missladym1981 @sofiparallel @koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi @justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-blog

[ourvanishingghosts]

hi!( ^ω^ )

I requested that gordie fluff!! ty

cld I also req raihan,gordie,milo all separate x reader who has social anxiety? they’re energetic with people they’re used to but like example when they order food they can’t stop stuttering or like get panicked ｡ﾟ(ﾟ´Д｀ﾟ)ﾟ｡

Hello again. I would love to write this request.

x Reader with Social Anxiety

Raihan

Raihan is a pretty outgoing kind of guy

He loves it when you are bouncing around when you are alone with and/or with your close friends

It took him a while to figure out that you have Social Anxiety

He realized it while you two were on your third date

He had already ordered his food and was waiting for you to be done ordering

It took him a hot second to hear you stuttering over some of your words

He put a hand on your shoulder and told you to text him what you wanted and he will order it for you

He told the worker to make it a to-go order so that you two can eat together quietly until you felt better

That was your plan whenever your Social Anxiety was starting

You would just text Raihan since it is easier and quicker than writing it on paper

That solution also comes in handy when you meet newer people and when his fans swarm him

Gordie

Gordie is anxious himself sometimes as well

Just not to the extent of yours

You and Gordie were shopping for clothes for you to wear to meet his family

You couldn't find your size for a shirt that you liked

You didn't want to distract a worker from what they were doing at that moment

Gordie asks you if you would like him to ask a worker if they have your size for you

You nodded your head and he did just that

Luckily they did have your size in the back

You were very anxious while meeting his parents

But as time went on you warmed up to them

Gordie could hear the confidence in your voice change when you were no longer anxious

Afterward, he let you know that he is proud of you

Milo

Milo is not a big talker, but he will talk enough for both of you when your Social Anxiety gets bad

He will always have something for you to fidget with while you try and calm your anxiety

Sometimes it's a small Wooloo plush and other times it's his hat or one of his big hands

If you were out and about by yourself and your Anxiety started and you couldn't handle it

Once you got home you would go outside to the pasture and play with the Wooloos

Sometimes you lose track of time and end up falling asleep and Milo carries you inside and puts you to bed

You try to apologize to him when you wake up, but he won't allow it because he has definitely fallen asleep a few times in the pasture

He just loves watching you and some of the local kids play with the Wooloos on his farm

[jamiesfootball]

On the one hand Roy breaking up with Keeley was deeply rooted in his own insecurities and it’s heartbreaking because they both clearly still love each other.

On the other hand, while it’s easy lambast him for being stupid about it and not staying together to work it out, he may have accidentally done a very good thing for himself.

We saw in season two how Roy tends to get a bit clingy in a relationship. Some of that is probably just who he is - a guy who feels things very very very strongly and wants all the quality time with people he loves - but I suspect that some of it is also an outlet for the fact that Roy doesn’t easily make strong, honest emotional connections.

He gives people PARTS of himself. He gives the yoga ladies a bit of his silliness, but not the passionate core of himself that loves football more than anything. He gives the coaching team… more than he used to, but he holds back from being a Diamond Dog. He clearly loves the lads on his team, but they’re not allowed to comfort him about his break up. That’s a step too far.

Outside of his family, Keeley really was like the only person he let inside. And it’s easy to point at Roy’s sense of self worth as the reason for the break up, but on a deeper level I think part of him also felt devastated by the possibility that maybe Keeley didn’t feel as strongly. She didn’t need him the way he needed her, didn’t want to be attached to him the same way. She was fine on her own. Preferred it sometimes.

She loved him. He knows that. But Roy is a man in progress, and god only knows how low his reservoir of being loved was before the series. In some ways, Roy was a starving man when it came to Keeley, and honestly good on him if he realized that wasn’t the healthiest thing to bring into a relationship.

While he might have gone about it in a messy way, in a way that didn’t use enough words because he didn’t know how to make the words mean exactly, I think Roy asked for what he needed. (And Keeley might’ve hit the nail on the head when she called it a ‘break’ instead of a ‘break up’, but Roy is not a man of half measures. If they’re not together then it’s a break up. He’s stringing no one on here.)

Roy is emotionally a fucking mess post break up, but we do see signs now that this is a Roy Kent who is becoming comfortable with his life. He’s warmer with the boys, he’s joking with the coaches, he’s having a great old time during practice and personal training. He’s even made Jamie Tartt into a friend- dare I say, a close friend.

These are the support structures he needed in season two but wouldn’t let himself have. Now that he’s forcefully put himself out to pasture, he’s in a position where he has to let them in or it’s going to get very cold out there. Of course like a sheepdog he has found himself surrounded in cozy things.

This is a Roy who’s gonna be more secure in a relationship. Boy really just needed some time to work on himself. Its the good idea hiding behind the facade of a bad one. He’s gonna be just fine.

[christotokos]

it’s kind of a shock to me dal/pony’s never been a big ship in the fandom (tho rn i can understand why ppl are not quick to ship charas who frequently refer to e/o as brothers — musical) when they’re both well-defined as indiv charas and share lots of moments together on paper and on screen (many of which worth mulling over) and can fit into the tropes many ppl clearly enjoy in their ships! (for instance making pony love drawing curly or steve…)

there are a couple of things that prevents it from being a big ship:

a lot of people are young, it's their first fandom, and they get scared off by the age gap. when you're older or at least have more fandom experience, it's not as big of a deal. a lot of younger people currently treat it like it's like a ten year old and a twenty-five year old which is just not correct. and a lot of newer people are really puritan brained in a way that is a bit disturbing. there was a little bit of dalpony on ff.net but ff.net is very hard to navigate and almost all of those fics were varying levels of ooc. (and i ate it up anyway)

i want to be nice but there's really no nice way to put it: a lot of jally shippers are extremely possessive over their ship and over dallas. jally is treated as the de facto ship of the fandom and dalpony isn't like tim/dallas or johnny/pony — pony is instantly pegged as direct competition to johnny and it makes a lot of jally people angry. i think what makes them angriest is that it de-centers johnny from dallas' narrative in their eyes and it subverts the line they always cite from the novel that is very jally. they tend to act very entitled over jally being the "default" ship and a lot of them get loud and aggressive over the existence of dalpony in general so that's stopped a lot of people. (there's also the fact that a lot of jally fans are johnny fans more than they are dallas fans so a lot of them perceive dallas as a prize for johnny rather than his own separate human being)

a lot of people in fandom, again bc it's first fandom and there's a young skewage, can't write in character for shit to be blunt. so a lot of ships where it involves a developed character shipped with an undeveloped or totally non-present character appeals to them cause they can just self insert or because they can just write whatever and not be held up to the same standards. you can do almost anything with curly and not have to check back to canon at all about him cause curly doesn't ever appear until that was then, this is now and he's not significant. most of purly is "dalpony with training wheels" for me with how it's written and more than one dalpony person has said to me they used to be into purly and switched or became a multishipper.

the musical and the proliferation of "they're brothers! you can't ship them!" that's going through fandom right now is stifling a lot of shipping. i've seen the musical via a bootleg, it's the most out of character version of canon and it's the most de-queered version of canon to come up. people, as a consequence, are buying hard into "platonic only!" versions of canon to the point that there wasn't even a surge of jally after the musical. if jally can't even make it, dalpony won't. (and they had a nugget of dalpony in there)

some other things is that people tend to move on from this fandom within months of each other or they're here for a long time but stick into one lane or there's lots of breaks between. so there's not a whole lot of consistency in presence, either. i think i'm the only dalpony who's been here the longest with the most influence (i hate dallyboy as a name so i picked dalpony and here we are using it!) and the most fanworks vs. people who've simply drifted away, been bullied out of shipping it (happens often, unfortunately, even though i try to support as many people as i can while maintaining boundaries), or go to other pastures. (though i will say some major shipfics haven't been going on as long or consistently as say fits even for other ships. i think the last major jally fic that was completed was 2019.)

[paingoes]

Crash Out - Goal

okay this is basically a companion piece to yesterday’s update and not the “next” update. i realized it would be better to post now. next update is the really long one and the one ive been referencing. this is more stream of conscious.

(Content: concussion mention, angst, guilt, wound care)

The grass of the field was no more than polyethylene. She knew this well when she was pinned against it. The scent of it was harsh and chemical — and without the pressure at her back, without the yelling, and still without being allowed to move — it was all she had to focus on.

Back home she had felt safe enough to sleep anywhere, though rarely was she ever tired enough to. She had liked the long days of summer most, where the heat would get to her and she had let it. She cost fall asleep dead in the middle of the pasture and wake up with a calf’s head resting right on top of her chest, no other disturbance.

She was nearly deafened as the ship took off. But it only lasted for a second. She laid there a few seconds more before she slid her hands up beneath her, pushing her body up into an arch. All fragile. Dead alone. Somewhere in the distance, the low thrum of the cicadas. Sometimes it seemed like all the planets were the same.

Lorelai walked back however many blocks it took to reach the ship, however many minutes that must have been, she really wasn’t sure. The phone screen hurt her eyes. All the light wielded ghost trails against her vision. She thought to call Paris. Her first instinct was to call Paris. But if he even had his phone on him when he was taken, setting the ringer off wouldn’t do him any favors. She’d have to wait.

The phone rang.

VI: Hello?

LORELAI: I have a concussion.

VI: Okay.

LORELAI: Did you hear I got your message delivered?

VI: Oh, yeah. I heard all about it. 

VI: They like you a lot, you know. They think you’re funny.

VI: Made a fucking mess of things though.

VI: The royal thing — that would’ve been important information.

LORELAI: You knew it just from looking at me.

VI: It’s different if it’s you. He doesn’t get a pass.

LORELAI: Well, he did. I didn’t think he was going to. I thought your folks were gonna shoot him right there on the concrete.

VI: That’s more your style than ours.

LORELAI: I’m not like that.

VI: But you want to be.

LORELAI: I want to be like you.

LORELAI: I have a concussion. I’m drunk.

VI: Where are you?

LORELAI: Saturnalia, I think.

VI: Oh, honey, I’m not even close.

LORELAI: I’m scared.

VI: Send me your coordinates. I’ll send someone. It’s a wide net, someone has to be close.

LORELAI: Where are you?

VI: Other side of seven solar systems. You’re gonna be fine.

LORELAI: But where are you?

VI: Juliiet. It’s nice. It’s only morning here, it’s still dark. I was in the cafe when you called. Now I’m outside of it. Where are you?

LORELAI: In the parked ship.

VI: Oh, you still have it?

LORELAI: Yeah. I don’t think I can drive.

VI: Don’t. What happened? Did he run out on you?

VI: If he touched you-

LORELAI: Taken. Again. 

VI: What happened to your head?

LORELAI: Pistol-whipped. Never had that before. Doesn’t even hurt, really. I don’t feel it.

VI: Oh boy.

LORELAI: Did I mess up?

VI: What?

LORELAI: Do you think I made the wrong choice?

VI: What choice is that?

LORELAI: Coming here. I could be home right now. I miss my parents. I miss home. I can’t go back now. They’re under investigation, I mean, I can’t even go. It's my fault.

VI: Fuck, what did you tell them? 

LORELAI: I told them that I was fine. They knew I wanted to go.

LORELAI: And now they tell the cops that I was kidnapped, that he put a gun in my face and that I had no other choice. Colorful things. I didn’t know my dad had a mind like that, the shit he came up with.

LORELAI: It’s all the same to Paris. In for a penny, in for a pound. But it still makes me feel bad.

VI: You never would’ve been happy at home.

VI: But I think there were more than two options, probably. It didn’t have to be like this either.

LORELAI: Do you think I’m stupid?

VI: No. I think you’re fucking weird.

LORELAI: You think I’m an idiot. I-

LORELAI: Hang on.

LORELAI: Ew.

VI: Okay, honey?

LORELAI: Nauseous. I drank too much. I’m sorry.

VI: Someone’s coming to get you.

LORELAI: Can I bring the ship?

VI: Yeah. I don’t think you’re stupid. Just weird. I wouldn’t have done it. Not in a million fucking years would I have done it. But I’m not like you.

LORELAI: I really love him, you know?

LORELAI: I’m scared. I don’t know.

LORELAI: I really feel like. I don’t know. I’m scared. I don’t think he’s coming back this time.

VI: He’s slippery. He’s survived everything else. Arrow through the heart. The reckoning. I think if you’ve made it this far, you’ll make it through anything.

LORELAI: I don’t think so. I don’t know.

LORELAI: I don’t feel well.

LORELAI: I love you.

VI: …

LORELAI: I love everyone.

LORELAI: I wish I could protect them.

VI: You can’t.

LORELAI: Why not?

LORELAI: What else am I doing? All I’ve done this year is get fucked up and play pretend. I want to be like you. I even want to be like him, sometimes.

VI: No you fucking don’t.

LORELAI: His problems are real. All mine feel…imagined, sometimes. Just a listlessness.

LORELAI: I want to be a sword.

LORELAI: I want to be useful, you know that? I want to be like you. I want to do what you do.

VI: What is it that you think I do?

LORELAI: I don’t know. You help people. 

VI: You met me at a nightclub in a half-sunken city.

LORELAI: I just want to be useful. I think I fucked up.

LORELAI: Everything feels so cruel.

VI: Well, it is.

LORELAI: It doesn’t have to be. I wanted to help him, Vi. I’m scared.

VI: Someone’s coming for you now. You’re going to be alright.

LORELAI: I feel like you’re not listening to me.

VI: No. I am.

VI: She says she can see you.

LORELAI: Oh.

LORELAI: I think I see her too.

When the new ship finally did pull up, they would extend one hand gingerly to where she’d curled herself up in the passenger seat. The transfer was all gentleness. Drunk as she was, and walking lopsided, they treated her with all the precious fragility of a newborn foal. Like the mess she had made of things might’ve endeared her to them.

They masked their surprise when she bared her neck to them, like there was never any question but to trust in them. Like there was never any doubt.

She was right, this time. The new girl combed Lorelai’s hair back in careful strokes to keep the blood from the curls and the curls from the blood. She washed the dirt away from her face with a wet cloth, careful to avoid the rhinestone halo at its center, certain it must have been sensitive. Lorelai didn’t flinch or correct her. She stripped her own shirt off to show the ring of cuts the cleats had left in her back. She hissed when the antiseptic seeped into the wound, but otherwise made no sound. No matter how softly the engine purred, she could not bring herself to sleep.

[bitletsanddrabbles]

[Fic] Lightshow

It's 6:56 am and I've just finished this, not even read it over once, but it got me over the 65k line, so I'm just going to put it up here and revise it later!

This will be another year that @alex51324 and the Island saved my output levels. XD

Worth noting: I have never actually seen the northern lights. Like most such phenomenon, "They'll be visible in your area!" inevitably means "On the other side of the famous, Seattle overcast!" The only time I know they were actually visible was this past October, and since I had to go to work the next day and figured it would be a standard "oops! Haha! Weather interference!" situation, I slept through it. These descriptions were written based entirely on about an hour's worth of reading "what seeing the northern lights in person" articles and watching similar videos. Bless the guy who included a still of "How it looks to the naked eye when it first starts up" in his vid.

-

“Why are we out here?” Gordon groused, pulling his coat around himself and pressing up against Thomas. It was damn cold, so Thomas didn’t particularly mind the extra heat.

“Because Mr Braceridge and a couple of the new fellows insist that something special is going to happen tonight, and you wanted to try your hand at writing an article,” Thomas replied, shoving his hands in his pockets. He was wearing gloves, of course, but the cold worked through them. He was pretty certain his nose was going to be frost bitten by the time he got to bed. Why was it the clearer the sky, the colder it was? “So Kit gave you this one.”

Gordon gave a disgusted sigh. “A’right, I suppose that’s fair. But what’re you doing out here?”

Keeping you from running scared from the dark and taking notes, so if your article’s unusable, we’ll have a backup, Thomas thought, although he didn’t say it out loud. Gordon’s reading had got better over the last two years, as had his writing, but all of the Beacon’s older staff were a bit sceptical of his ability to pull off an article, to say the least. “Because I’m nice and thought you might like some company.”

There was no response to that, although the younger man did lean into him a bit more. Funny how his aversion to being touched was inversely proportionate to his desire to get warm. “Then why isn’t Kit out here?”

This time Thomas said exactly what he was thinking. “Because he’s a hypocritical little sod who will shove anything he doesn’t want to do off on other people.” It might have been a bit unfair to the paper’s other proprietor, but given that Kit was at home in bed while he and Gordon were freezing their arses off in the cow pasture waiting for something to happen in the sky, he wasn’t feeling overly charitable.

Admittedly, the sky was lovely. Even in the middle of rural Yorkshire Thomas didn’t think he’d ever seen as many stars. A few feet off, Mr Braceridge was giving a lecture on the constellations to some of the other people who had elected to come stand in the field staring at the sky. But it was also bloody cold and he was well aware that he could be asleep right then. Even Richard had declined on joining them.

“Wots this thing we’re supposed to be seeing anyway?” Gordon asked, craning his neck upward. They’d brought electric torches and a few lamps out with them so they didn’t get lost or break their neck in the dark, but those had all been turned off.

“They’re called the aurora borealis,” Thomas informed him. “Also known as the northern lights.”

“Wot are they, then?”

Thomas shrugged. “I dunno’. Some sort of…light in the sky. I don’t know why it happens at all, but I bet ol’ Braceridge could talk your ear off about it.”

Gordon didn’t seem at all inclined to go and ask the scout master anything. “You ever seen it, then?”

“No, but you hear about it.”

There was a moment of thoughtful silence and then. “How do they know we’re going to see them?”

“I’m not certain they do,” Thomas sighed, not exactly pleased with the answer. The doubt was strengthened by Kit’s absence. “From what I gather someone got an almanac, that’s a book that predicts the weather and growing seasons and such, and something in it made Braceridge think there was a good likelihood.”

“Wot do we do if we don’t see them?” the boy demanded, clearly as pleased by the notion of coming out to the pasture on a fool’s errand.

“That’s easy.” Thomas shrugged. His eyes had adjusted enough that he could see his breath in the starlight. “We murder Kit for sending us out here to freeze our arses off at bloody one am for no reason.”

Gordon gave an amused sort of snort, but didn’t say anything. They lapsed into silence again. After several minutes, the younger man asked, “When’s the sun come up, then?”

Thomas’s first response was to pull out his watch, but the moon was dark, so he’d have to turn on the torch to see it and he might get scolded. “Not for hours yet, I would imagine.”

“Then wot’s that then?”

“What’s what?” Thomas asked, looking around in confusion.

“That light, over there.” Gordon pushed on his shoulder to give direction.

Thomas turned and frowned. There was, in fact, a light on the horizon, much like the light of predawn. The only problem was that it was far too early for dawn, and it was in the wrong direction. He squinted. On second though, the thing looked sort of like a glowing cloud. “I’m not certain…” He puzzled a second, then called. “Hey, Braceridge! What’s that light over there? To the north?”

There was a sudden buzz of excitement from the assembly and a jubilant cry from the scout master. “It’s them! It’s starting! Oh, well spotted Mr Barrow!”

Thomas blinked, then stared at the light. “That’s…it? That’s what we came out here for?”

“I’m going to murder Kit!”

“Now, now, chaps,” a cultured voice from somewhere to their left chuckled. Thomas placed it with Captain Smythe, a former naval officer who’d arrived on the island not long after they’d finished the building the expansion. “I know it’s not much to look at yet, but it’s just getting going. With a bit of luck, we’ll get a good show.”

“Have you seen these things before?” Gordon demanded with his usual disregard for rank or class.

“Oh yes,” the Captain replied, completely unruffled. Thomas supposed that military was military, so the Captain was probably used to courser manners than a London street rat had. “I’ve done a few tours up north to the arctic. This might be all we get, bad luck if it is, but there are nights the entire crew just went out and stared at the sky for upward of ten minutes.”

If he meant to raise Gordon’s hopes, he failed. “It only lasts ten minutes?”

“Sometimes less than that, actually, but I promise you, a good aurora is worth coming out in the dark and the cold.”

Gordon’s only response was an unconvinced ‘hmph’.

Thomas watched the horizon. The pale wash of white was certainly nothing like the descriptions of the northern light’s he’d ever heard. It did seem to be moving, maybe, at least a little bit. Then again, that might have been his imagination.

Time dragged on. The group of men continued to simply stand in the field and stare. Thomas was beginning to feel like a priceless ass when he realised the light was doing something. It was happening so slowly and subtly that he’d missed it at first, but it was definitely moving now, back and forth like a snake. It also, unless he was imagining things again, coming closer to them.

He frowned and waited.

“Right then,” Mr Braceridge announced into the darkness. “We should be getting colour soon! Keep your eyes peeled!”

Thomas was sceptical right up until the green actually appeared. At first it was just a flicker here or there, but it slowly spread until the line of lights flashed green and white like fireworks. The waving became more pronounced too, and it steadily got brighter. Soon the whole ribbon was mostly green, although there was still some white in there. “Alright,” Thomas admitted. “That’s more impressive.”

Gordon grumbled. “Still don’t know if it was worth getting up f-oh!” Suddenly there was a flicker of purple amid the white and green. As soon as the first flicker appeared, there were more, and soon the entire sky was lit up by the ribbon of light. More ribbons appeared as well, not as bright, but little ghosts or echos of the main ribbon off to the sides.

Thomas had to remind himself to breathe.

A few minutes later, the sky was black again. Thomas stared into the darkness, wondering if he’d somehow imagined the whole thing.

“Wooee!” Someone whistled. “That was a show, weren’t it?” As if the exclamation were permission, the entire group broke out in excited chattering, like a group of insects on a summer night.

“Well, chaps, what did you think?” the Captain’s voice asked. “A bit better than the start promised, eh?”

“Much,” Thomas admitted, still awed. “Although I don’t think that was ten minutes.”

“No,” the other man agreed. “More like three, I’d say. But still, you don’t always get that much colour, so I’d call even a minute worth it.”

“Yeah.” Thomas shook his head, still trying to believe what he’d just seen. He suddenly realised Gordon hadn’t said anything. “Oi, Gordon. What’d you think?”

For a moment, there was no response. Finally, in an awed voice, the younger man said, “I will never question Mr Braceridge’s sanity again.”

Thomas laughed at that and ruffled Gordon’s hair. “I wouldn’t go that far.”

[fanficfanattic]

This week’s ficwip word:

Excerpt under the cut from Belted.

“Kent. The one what we’ve been talking about this whole time? Your hero worship school boy crush? I kid, I kid. But your favorite player nonetheless.

He’s past his prime and I wouldn’t care if he were just holding back that bottom of the table joke of a club. But your name is attached to it, which means my name is attached to it, so they need to put him out to pasture so you can actually keep them in the Prem. You’re the only fucking shot they have at it, ain’t ya.”

“I…what? No?”

“Did you just disagree with me? After saying yourself you aren’t smart enough to bother with thinking.”

“It’s Roy fucking Kent, da. They’d be mad to release him just on the strength of how it’d depress the team.”

“Jamie, my poor Jamie, this is why you’re only good for footie. None of those lads matter, and if they’re too big’a emo little bitches to lace up their boots? That don’t matter neither.” He picked up the belt. The metal clinking as it tipped over before swinging into the air.

“Last chance, son. You going to accept that I know best. Or you gonna fight me on it.”

“I ain’t saying that about Roy and I’m not going to sabotage his career!”

“Suit yourself. If you don’t care about your own career, why should I?”

And the belt came down buckle first.

[bullet-prooflove]

Bronco: Travis Wheatley x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989

Travis Wheatley falls in love when he sees you riding Bronco.

The Montana Rider’s Association are bringing back the women’s event for the first time since the forties and the prize, it rivals anything he’s seen in Dallas.

The aim of the game is to stay on the horse for eight seconds, no matter how much it may fight you. It’s messy, violent and adrenaline inducing.

“She needs the money.” Rip tells him as the two of them watch you from behind the fence that circles around the arena. “She’s just coming out of a messy divorce, she let the bastard have everything just so she could keep the horse. He told her he’d have it put down if he ever got his hands on it.”

The horse is called Artemis, she’s a white Arabian with a sleek coat and a glossy mane. They’re known as a light breed, excelling in both strength and agility, great for barrel racing. He’d fawned all over  her when he’d first laid eyes on her. She was a gorgeous creature, spirited, well cared for. The two of you are a match made in heaven.

“He sounds like a nasty son of a bitch.” Travis says as he sips from his bottle of beer, his breath catching as the Bronco tosses you. Those three seconds it takes you to move are the longest of his life but then you get back up on your feet, a little dirty, a little battered and you go again.

You’re the ballsiest damn woman he’s ever met.

“Malcom Beck.” Rip tells him and the name triggers something inside of Travis. He’s heard the rumours, cruel to his horses and to his wife, which was why she was always travelling the country competing in barrel rolling competitions. “He blackballed her from all the other stables, which is why we’re housing Artemis here. It’s not enough that he took everything, he needs to make her life difficult too.”

“She leave him?” Travis asks, his gaze straying down to his watch as he counts the seconds because your back on that Bronco and this time you’re staying put.

“The women she could put up with but then he tried to stop her competing, tried to take the horse.” Rip shakes his head, his palm rubbing across his grizzled chin. “It was the only thing that gave her any joy in that piece of shit marriage.”

You make eight seconds, and then you do it again and again and again until Lloyd calls you off because both you and the Bronco are both tired. Travis greets you at the gate with a beer and you press the cool glass against your flushed cheeks before you pop the cap off.

You have that look in your eyes, the same bright, exhilarated look that he gets when he’s competing. There’s a wildness in you right now, your husband he tried to tame it, stifle it but Travis he wants to run with it, all the way out into the mountains and however far it goes.

“You wanna get into some trouble tonight?” He asks you, his shoulder bumping against yours as you both sit down on the grass outside the arena. “No strings, just a mutual thing between two people who haven’t felt tenderness in a while.”

It’s quiet now, Rip and Lloyd are seeing to the Bronco whilst the others are camping up in the pastures with one of the herds. There’s a peacefulness to it, a stillness you never get tired of. You could live forever up here in the valley, soaking in the tranquillity of it.

“I don’t believe for a single second it’s been that long for you cowboy.” You say, leaning back in the grass. Travis follows suit, his arm propping up his head as he studies you.

The warmth of his body rolls over your skin, the hem of his t-shirt creeping up to reveal a slither of firm, tan muscle. It’s been a long time since you wanted a man, since you craved the unyielding thrust of his cock deep inside you.

“It’s been over a year.” He tells you, picking a daisy and using it to trail up along the inside of your forearm. It’s a euphoric sensation, the gentle trace of petals over your flesh sending a thrill of anticipation chasing through every single one of your synapses.

“I ain’t got nobody back home waiting for me and from what I hear you don’t either.” He murmurs, the daisy slipping from his fingers as his thumb chases along the line of your jaw. “Why shouldn’t we take a little pleasure in one another, enjoy ourselves.”

There’s an ache in you, a fierce heat that licks through your veins likes a wildfire as his nose trails along the length of yours, his lips ghosting lightly over your mouth. That kiss, it’s full of everything you’ve been missing, passion, sensuality and above all promise, promise that it’s not just about him tonight, it’s about you.

“Oh honey,” He whispers against your lips. “The two of us are going to have some fun.”

Love Travis? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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