#tina turns the country on

[bitter69uk]

The Beyhive was abuzz when Beyoncé dropped a teaser for her two new country-adjacent song (“Texas Hold 'Em” and “16 Carriages”) during the Superbowl. But when it comes to African American soul divas dabbling in country music, as so often the case in pop culture history, Queen Tina got there first! I’d always mistakenly assumed Acid Queen (1975) was Tina Turner’s debut solo effort, but no – the record Tina Turns the Country On was released in September 1974 (so it turns fifty this year. Note that Tina started releasing solo material when she was still married to Ike). On it, the R&B tigress wraps her gravelly rasp around material by the likes of Kris Kristofferson, Dolly Parton, Hank Snow, Bob Dylan and James Taylor. While Turns the Country On garnered Turner a Grammy nomination that year for "Best R&B Vocal Performance, Female" it belly-flopped commercially (no singles from it were released) and the reviews were decidedly mixed (“She sounds so woeful doing country on Turns the Country On, you would think she grew up overseas” Ron Wynn concludes in his 1985 book Tina: The Tina Turner Story). You can judge for yourself – the album is streaming on Spotify. Ultimately, as the Saving Country Music website notes “perhaps Tina Turner’s biggest country music contribution came from being a muse, not a performer. In 1969, Waylon Jennings was hanging out at the Fort Worther Motel in Fort Worth, TX when he breezed by an advertisement for Tina Turner describing her as a “good hearted woman loving two-timing men.” Waylon immediately recognized the phrase as the perfect premise for a country song” – and it resulted in his 1972 hit “Good Hearted Woman.”

[chaos-from-basil]

Just listened to Tina Turner’s debut album (Tina Turns The Country On). It’s so good.

[guessimdumb]

Tina Turner - Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You (1974)

I was reading a short NY Times article about Dylan covers performed by women artists. The writer mentioned this version that I'd never heard. It's pretty damn great - from Tina's first solo LP Tina Turns the Country On!.

[tha-wrecka-stow]

Tina Turner Discography

[seasonofthewitch06]

Tina Turner’s country era was one for the books!

[vogelmeister]

thinking about the australian cultural cringe on this sunny sunday hbu

[outrunningthedark]

.

[hearts4johnwick]

— CASUAL.

SUMMARY. you’re mad at tyler after an argument, he decides to win you over by bringing in your favorite food and taking you to a rodeo, when you think that his charm was working, an EF-4 tornado strikes.

WARNINGS. angst (happy ending though), tornado attack.

WORD COUNT. 1.2k

you were lying down in your bed, attempting to go to sleep or at least take a nap given that it was 8:21 p.m. you found yourself staring at the ceiling, listening to the music and people singing outside.

you can’t help but toss and turn around as you overthink about the argument you had with tyler. tyler was your best friend, childhood neighbor, situationship, you don’t even know at this point. and although tyler and you were always risk takers, some risks are too hard for you to handle, but boone and tyler are a dangerous duo.

when you graduated high school you went straight to college and studied meteorology, you didn’t waste another second of your life and did everything that it took to where you are now. but, tyler and you were separated for college, you were halfway across the country while he stayed in his hometown. but when you graduated college, you went back home.

the both of you caught up on everything each other missed, and next thing you know, you ended up joining tyler’s storm-chasing team, the thing is, by something that happened to you in the past, you always rode alongside Dexter and Dani, there were moments where you rode with tyler, but you were always harnassed up even if you weren’t inside the tornado yet.

your train of thoughts were so rudely interrupted by the knock at your door. you sit up and take a breath before walking over to the door. before opening it, you were thinking to yourself that maybe it was going to be your mother, or your sister, not tyler owens. he sees the expression on your face and smiles, attempting to cheer you up.

“hey…” your nose flares, he notices and chuckles. “i brought your favorite… Tina Mae’s chocolate pie…” he hands it over to you and you take it. “maybe if you let me in we can sha—“ his words were cut off by the door slamming on his face. his eyebrows raised and he froze.

you put the pie on the desk next to your bed and open the bag, and it is indeed your favorite chocolate pie. you smile to yourself and head back to the door, as expected, tyler was still there.

“if you think you’re always gonna take me back with my favorite food, you’re wrong.” i inhale sharply and tap on the door.

“well, i wanted to do it another way if you’d let me show you…” you raise your eyebrows and cringe. “no—no, not like that, well…” he cocks an eyebrow and glances at you, you were about to close the door again but he stops it. “no, hey, i’m serious. get changed i want to take you somewhere.” he smiles. you hum and close the door gently so you can get changed.

“you can’t be serious. do you want me to forgive you or hate you more, tyler owens?” you say as you take your seats in the rodeo’s benches.

“bit of both.” he smiles, and you chuckle whilst shaking your head. “look, y/n, i’m sorry.”

“you’re apologizing here? rea—“ tyler touches your knee softly, cutting you off.

“i’m sorry, sorry for what i said earlier. i shouldn’t have said those things. you’ve been through so many things i can’t even begin to imagine, and it wasn’t my place to say anything about that. you know i would never do anything to hurt you, i am sorry.” the soft glow in his eye made you feel the truth he was saying. you nod and smile.

“and why would you ever think i wouldn’t forgive you?” tyler smiles at your words and so do you. “i think i should be the one apologizing, i tried to stop you from doing something you gave years of experience, and that was out of place and overprotective and unnecessary.”

“no, no, it’s okay. you of all people know about these stupid risks i take, i was a bull rider for God’s sake! I know you hated that.” you laugh.

“yeah, i think i hated that more than storm chasing.” he chuckles and glances at you, there was a small silence until you broke it. “i just… i don’t want to lose you, ty.”

“you’re never going to lose me.” you look over at him, your eyes stinging as you feel some tears coming. he wraps an arm around you and holds you. “you won’t.” he reassures you nod and after a while, let go.

“you and that stupid face…” you look away, trying to hide a smile.

“wait what?”

“every time i was cleaning blood off of you, whenever you got knocked off your bull, you would always make that stupid face, or like look at me some way like you were trying to get me to kiss you.” he raises an eyebrow and you look at him again.

“oh, you mean my charm? i already come with it, it’s not something i do on command.” you roll your eyes and click your tongue.

“well, “your charm” has never worked on me. never has, never will.” the two of you share a soft smile, all while maintaining that potent eye contact.

you don’t know if it was the tension, but you had sudden goosebumps and started getting chilly. although your hair was in a ponytail, your bangs were getting in the way, you never took your eyes off of tyler’s but you could see his hair starting to get messy too.

“well, i don’t know about you but, i think it’s working pretty well now.” he moves the strands of hair out of your face and tucks it gently behind your ear before cupping your cheeks.

“about time.” you manage to let out seconds before his lips are on yours. your heart was racing the whole time, but you felt it could come out of your chest any second now.

the kiss started slow and gentle, but the moment you smiled into it, tyler deepened the kiss, you placed your hand behind his neck and ran your fingers through his hair, which made you notice how much his hair was moving around, as much as it pained you doing it, you pulled away and saw people walking away from the stands. you look around and pick up a leaf from the ground.

tyler notices and the two of you exchange a look. you both stand up and head for shelter, you feel the winds get stronger and that’s when you start to run, helping some people who have tripped along the way, but not wasting more than a second.

tyler and you managed to find a motel and in that motel an empty pool, where you sought shelter until the tornado passed over you. at that moment tyler had to help a man that had twisted his ankle, and a vending machine was blocking his way, due to the man panicking, he was gone.

tyler hid with you and another family of a mother and her daughter. the grip you had on tyler and that he had on you was like no other. you felt tyler plant kisses on your head to calm you down as you felt the tornado right above you, you held onto some pipes and his arms tightly, fearing for your life at that very moment.

when the tornado passed, you didn’t even want to let go of tyler, you hugged him and stayed with his arm wrapped around you the whole night, even when you shared your bed with him.

❛i know, “baby, no attachment.” but we’re… ❜

i have a ‘Twisters’ fic on wattpad if y’all wanna check it out! https://www.wattpad.com/story/374563132?utm_source=ios&utm_medium=link&utm_content=story_info&wp_page=story_details&wp_uname=hearts4johnwick ᥫ᭡

[rcmclachlan]

OKAY so this is for @dadvans specifically because he and I have spent many an evening across multiple fandoms shouting at each other about various characters and their raging pregnancy kinks but anyway.

I saw this post.

And I had this thought that Tommy's probably only ever thought of children tangentially. Like, I kind of clock him as an only child who didn't have any little kids in his neighborhood growing up. His dad's sister had three, all of them older than him, and his mom's brother had two but they lived on the other side of the country so he only saw them in Christmas card photos and once at his grandmother's funeral.

The only kids he's ever around are the ones he sees on calls, who are all either unconscious, traumatized, or somewhere in the background out of the way where he doesn't have to interact with them. He's basically that gif of Alec Baldwin trying to console a crying Tina Fey with a broom, like, "there there."

But now that his life is enmeshed with the 118, he's around kids all the time: Jee, Christopher, Denny, Mara. And he sees Buck with them—how good he is to them, how patient and kind and compassionate, how he listens seriously to them and always tries to meet them on their level—and it's doing something for him. Like, a lot.

Then, like, one evening Buck and Tommy have dinner with Kameron and Connor, and they bring the baby—who has Buck's eyes and the same shape of his lips—with them, and Tommy watches Buck like a hawk all night. Buck's a natural with Spencer: holding him like a pro, soothing him whenever he fussed, making him laugh. He's loath to put him down.

Tommy's never seen someone so suited to be a parent before. He knows Buck wants kids more than anything. Buck stops to interact with every child they pass on the street the way Tommy does with dogs, like he can't help it, like he's got a homing beacon inside him. And children gravitate to Buck like he's a Disney princess. And after watching Buck with Kameron and Connor's kid, Tommy can't stop thinking about it. About Buck and kids. Specifically, Buck and their kids. 

Tommy looks out into his backyard and can picture Buck out there putting together one of those plastic Fisher Price playhouses and running around chasing after a toddler waddling around on chubby legs and tucked up next to a crib in the guest room-turned-nursery reading The Little Mouse, the Red Ripe Strawberry, and the Big Hungry Bear to a drooling baby trying to shove its foot in its mouth. A baby with Buck's eyes and mouth, and Tommy's nose and cheeks. 

SO ANYWAY smash cut to later that night and Tommy's balls-deep in Buck, fucking him slowly, doing it missionary the way Buck loves because this way they can kiss and he can see every stupid expression that crosses Tommy's face, and Tommy's staring down at him and blurts out, "You were really good with Spencer tonight." 

And Buck sort of gasp-laughs, like, "You know I love kids," and he arches up against Tommy, and Tommy's hand slides down between them so he can get a hand on Buck's cock, but halfway there he gets distracted by the feeling of Buck's belly. It's taut and toned and flexing with every thrust, and out of nowhere a little voice in his head goes but imagine what it would look like with a bump. 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And then his brain kind of makes a weird popping noise and his mouth goes rogue and says, "I know you do. I know you wanna have kids. Would you wanna have my kids?"

Evan's eyes fly open wide and he sort of stutter-wheezes in shock, "What? What do you—"

But now that Tommy's started, he can't stop, and the leisurely pace he'd been maintaining loses rhythm before picking up the pace, just these deep, dragging thrusts that pull at Evan's hole on the drawback. "But I don't think you'd be satisfied with just being handed a kid. I think you'd want it to be part of you from the start. I think you'd wanna feel it every step of the way. You want to feel it growing inside you so bad, don't you, baby? I bet it's all you think about."

"Tommy, what the fuck—" But Evan's mouth is open and panting, tongue lolling around in his mouth like it's suddenly too big to control, and he starts shuddering hard enough that his bones must be rattling. Tommy can feel his fat dick twitching against his stomach, drooling so much precome the glide between them is soaked and almost too easy, and Evan's insides are vibrating where they clutch Tommy's cock like a vice.

With a grunt, Tommy gathers Evan's impossibly long legs in the bends of his elbows and folds him practically in half, wheezing like he's gutshot, "Maybe I can't trust you with our condoms anymore. Maybe you've poked holes in all of them."

"Oh fuck, that's so hot," Evan gasps, his arms flying up over his head so he can put his hands against the headboard and fuck himself wildly back on Tommy's cock, his eyes wide and scandalized, and alight with a lust bordering on violent. Even through the condom, Tommy can feel how hot he is inside, like a fever, like magma.

They've fucked a million ways since they first got together—enthusiastic, rough, slow, sweet, hard, exhausted, frenzied, grateful—but they've never fucked like this: just absolutely nasty. 

"What are you gonna do if the condom breaks?" Tommy gasps into Evan's ear, then bites it while Evan drags in desperate gulps of air and scrabbles for purchase on Tommy's back, fingers slipping in sweat. "I'd fill you up. I'd shove so much come up inside you that it'd have to take."

Evan's wailing so loud the neighbors are absolutely going to call the cops and his hole is rippling around Tommy's dick so good that Tommy's eyes roll back into his head, and then Evan starts begging like his heart's breaking, "Oh god, oh fuck, please, baby, do it, I want it so much, I want to feel it."

Through the sweat dripping in his stinging eyes, Tommy looks down at Evan, who's got his teeth bared like an animal, who's taking every punishing thrust like it's his due, even as his eyes well up with tears that spill over his temples into his hairline. He thinks of how it would feel without the condom between them, how he would see-saw his cock through wads of his own come into the dripping hot sleeve of Evan's body, every thrust pushing more and more of it into some secret place where it would stay until something took root. He squeezes his eyes shut, because if he spends one more second looking at the hungry, crazed expression twisting Evan's face into a rictus, he's going to come.

The bed frame's making metal-on-metal sounds that don't sound like they're covered under the warranty, but Tommy can't stop fucking Evan like he's trying to split him down the middle. He's going to shove his way inside until he reaches the pulp at the center and pries Evan open like a nectarine. 

"You want it?" Tommy bites out, then doesn't wait for an answer, dropping down and smearing his mouth over Evan's in a fierce, sloppy kiss, sucking his tongue, biting his lips. Their teeth clack together painfully and Evan makes wounded noises into his mouth when Tommy's cock grinds up deep inside him. Tommy fucks him brutally until he stops.

Breaking away with a choked gasp, Evan chants tearfully, "Oh my god, oh my god, come in me, please, I want you to, god, Tommy, fuck me pregnant," and then comes messily between them, and there's so much of it like there always is, soaking their skin, sliding down to get sucked up by the sheets. Evan sobs and comes and comes and comes himself insensate.

The combination of the hard clench of Evan's body and his desperate pleas touches some part of Tommy's lizard brain that feels like a one-two punch, and he fucks in and in and in frantically, buries himself inside that trembling furnace, and finally something breaks and he comes like it's the last thing he'll ever do.

Gracelessly, he collapses on top of Evan, sucking in great, painful gulps of air, while Evan shivers underneath him like he's been electrocuted (again). Somehow, Evan still finds the wherewithal to throw his arms around Tommy's back and cling, pulling down on him as though he can somehow make Tommy sink deeper into him, like he never wants to not be glued together by sweat and come. Impossible. Tommy's two-hundred-and-something pounds of deadweight and his head is full of television snow. He's a husk of a man. He's probably going to die here.

Evan coughs into Tommy's hair. His voice is in absolute tatters when he chokes out, "That was a hell of a way to ask if I want kids."

From where his face is smashed into the bed just above Evan's shoulder, Tommy mumbles, "I think every single brain cell my body's ever made is in the condom right now. Good thing you're the smart one or else our kid would be up shit creek."

Evan's entire body shakes with laughter, and Tommy can't help but join in, exhaustedly lifting his head so he doesn't miss a second more of that grin. If Athena knew the kinds of things Tommy'd do for that smile, she'd throw his ass in prison for the next 500 years.

"At least they'd still be pretty," Evan says, snickering. 

"There is that," Tommy agrees, and with a grunt he forces himself off the warm, welcoming mattress that Evan's allowed himself to become to deal with the aforementioned condom. He shudders in revulsion when he slides it off and tying it is an exercise in futility—it's disgustingly full and his hands are shaking. 

Evan lifts his head to see what he's doing, then lets it drop back with a huff. "Just wrap it in a bunch of tissues."

"Is it weird that I resent wearing it at all?" Tommy finally loops it so he can tie the knot, then throws it in the direction of the little trash barrel on the other side of the nightstand. It hits the floor with the same slap a water balloon makes. Tommy skeeves a face at it.

"'Course not," Evan says, sliding a hand up Tommy's thigh, aimless. "Our kid's swimming around in there somewhere."

Tommy risks a look at his face, because there's going with the flow and then there's letting your boyfriend plow you into the mattress while he tells you he wants to get you pregnant. But Evan doesn't look mad or like he's laughing at Tommy. He mostly looks peaceful, and maybe a little bemused. 

"Uh, I'm sorry about that," Tommy says, feeling so awkward he wants to peel his own skin off. It shapes his words strangely. "I just—watching you with Spencer made me a little insane, I think."

"Don't be sorry. I think I learned something new about myself tonight, but hell if I can tell you what it is." A sly smile spreads across Evan's face like a flame on a candle's wick. "Either way, it was fucking hot."

Relief unwinds all the muscles in Tommy's lower back, and he hunkers down, slotting himself up against Evan and pillowing his cheek on Evan's chest. Almost immediately, Evan slides the pads of his fingers up and down his spine, and Tommy can feel himself rapidly approaching post-nut blackout territory.

"But kids, though," Evan murmurs thoughtfully.

"Mm." Tommy sketches a nuzzle against Evan's nipple, which earns him a laugh and a slap to the back of the head. He chuckles and settles down with a hum. "Yeah. Well, our kids."

"Huh." The smile on Evan's face is audible, and deafening.

[wardenparker]

American as Apple Pie

Jack Daniels x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 12k Warnings: Cursing, food/alcohol, meddlesome friends, mention of shooting/guns but the context is carnival games, cheesy flirting, Jack being Jack. Fingering, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, rough sex. Summary: Going to a Fourth of July party with your girlfriends turns out to be an unexpected whirlwind. Notes: It wouldn't be a holiday without a little fic to celebrate. Independence Day seemed best acknowledged with a heavy dose of Jack's good natured charm. 🎆🎇💗🤍💙

The Statesman Fourth of July celebration in Louisville, Kentucky is one of the biggest and loudest in the area. It was an excuse to drape everything in red, white and blue, perfect your Uncle Sam costume, and play Lee Greenwood’s ‘Proud to be an American’ on repeat. There is a special whiskey barrel that is opened every year since its founding in 1919. Huge grills are rolled out to cook hamburger and hotdogs by the thousands as it’s an open party for everyone. Ending in a spectacular fireworks show that lights up the sky.

Some friends wanted to go. Girls from the office who were looking for a more festive holiday celebration than watching their siblings' kids play in the pool and playing cornhole while their aunts bitched about grocery prices. Not having anything better to do, you had thrown on the only red, white, and blue clothes you had in your closet and punctuated the look with red lipstick just for fun. Maybe you'll have one too many and flirt with a cowboy. That wouldn't be too bad.

The bolero he normally wears around his neck with the button down and sports coat had been traded for an open collared shirt, a print of U.S flags on them. His normally painted on jeans exchanged for white shorts and cowboy boots changed out with boat shoes. Still, the black Stetson is firmly on his head, although the mustache was still impeccably groomed and no one would mistake him for anything but a cowboy as he drinks from a long neck bottle to beat the mid afternoon heat.

The music filtering through speakers all over the Statesman Distillery property is obviously country, but the actual number of Stetsons in the sea of guests is staggering even to a Louisville resident. It's that time of the year, you suppose, making your way toward one of the many drink carts with your friends as you scope out the crowd.

“Weeeeeellllll, holy shit.” Tequila whistles, twisting his neck as he looks over at the margarita cart, smirking at the choice of drink. “Get a good look at the shorts on those legs.” He nods, making Jack follow his gaze to the group of women who obviously just arrived.

"God bless the USA." Rum pronounces solemnly, only lifting his Stetson from his head to place it over his heart in salute to the group of four ladies in the tiniest shorts he's ever seen that are now getting their drinks.

“Goddamn I love the summer.” Jack whistles, winking at the one in the red top when she looks over at them. “Happy fourth ladies!” He calls out, lifting his beer towards them.

"Happy Fourth!" You call back, raising the frozen margarita you've just been served in their direction as you friends giggle mercilessly around you. The three men who are not bothering to censor their ogling are dressed in some of the worst outfits here. Tiny white booty shorts on one, a stars and stripes Kiss the Cook apron on the tallest, and the third wearing neon red shorts and a muscle tank depicting a bald eagle wearing sunglasses that says You Free Tonight? underneath.

"Rocks Paper Scissors for the tall one?" You friend Madi proposes to the group, eyeing the youngest and buffest of the men like he's the snack she didn't know she was craving.

“No, you can have him.” Tina snorts. “I’ve got my eye on the one with the eagle on his shirt.” She admits, drooling herself at the virile display of man, who can also enjoy themselves.

“Have fun,” you snort, shaking your head and focusing on your drink. “I came here to drink and to line dance very poorly, not to get picked up.”

“Why can’t we have it all?” Madi asks, giggling when the one in the apron motions the group over when no one has looked away.

“I’m not sure white shorts is the guy to break my dry spell,” you mumble to them with an amused grin as the four of you strut over to the men who were watching you. “And you two already called dibs on the others.”

“If you don’t want him, I’ll ride his mustache.” Sandra snorts, smirking slightly at the group of men. “I’m sure my fiancé wouldn’t mind.”

“Sure.” Tina giggles. “We’ll just call Brad up and let him know you’ll be late for dinner because you found a cowboy at a party.”

“He’ll understand.” All of you laugh, knowing that he definitely would not understand. He loved her completely and was lucky enough that she was just as crazy about him. Their wedding is only three months away.

“Ladies.” Kiss the Cook tips his hat gallantly and lets his eyes sweep over every single one of you. “A very happy Independence Day to you beauties.”

All three men clock the ring on the statuesque brunette’s hand and immediately understands that she is off limits. The other two tip their hats as well and Jack grins. “Can we offer you something to eat?”

There is a split second before you look over to fully take in the third man of the group that you’re apparently now hanging out with, and instantly regret the snap judgement made from yards away just a minute or two before. He’s only smaller by comparison, broad shoulders and a strikingly cut jaw accented by the aviator sunglasses he’s wearing and leading down to biceps as thick as his neck and hands that — fuck, if you’d seen his hands beforehand you wouldn’t have said a damn thing, he makes that beer bottle look like a doll accessory. “Ah—We—um, sure,” you manage to blurt out, nodding self-consciously and absolutely aware that your friends are never going to let you live down getting flustered in front of the cowboy.

Madi grins at the way you are suddenly tripping over yourself to accept the offer of a burger. “If we’re gonna eat, maybe we can know who is offering us a plate?” She asks, smiling flirtatiously at the taller man holding the spatula. The three men chuckle. “We go by our work nicknames.” Jack offers, pointing at Rum to start. “Ryan, also known as Rum. Because he can get any party started.” He introduces him with a grin. “Next, we have our ‘kiss the cook’, Luke, who we call Tequila. He thinks he can make clothes come off.” Tequila rolls his eyes and shoves Jack slightly as the older man tips his hat towards you girls. “And I’m Jack, otherwise known as Whiskey.” Tina grins. “Why do they call you that?” She asks, making Jack chuckle. “Because I go down as smooth as the finest whiskey.” He boasts, tipping his aviators down so his eyes find you again and he shoots you a confident wink.

“So you work here then, I assume?” Guys who work for a distillery having boozy nicknames it’s so far off base, but Jack’s declaration that he ‘goes down like the finest whiskey’ has you thinking mustache ride thoughts all over again and if you could do it you might just slap yourself for something so obvious. On the other hand? No man should be able to make a wink look as smooth as he just did.

“Only if you want us to.” Rum smirks at Tina and tips his hat back slightly. “Otherwise we can be whatever you want. Spies, cowboys, hell, maybe all three.” Tequila huffs a cough and slaps Rum on the back. “Are you ladies burger or hot dog kind of women?” He asks, changing the subject.

“I think there’s a rule that you have to have a hot dog on the Fourth of July, isn’t there?” Tina replies, batting her eyelashes pointedly.

“Absolutely.” Tequila agrees. “Now the question is-“ he points the tongs at all of you seriously. “Are you a chili cheese dog person or a peppers and onions person?”

The question sparks a full culinary debate, as Tina insists only mustard is necessary, Sandra and Madi are fans of peppers and onions any way they can get them, and you just shrug over it all because there's no point in trying to be dainty with a hot dog. A chili cheese dog is the only way to go.

Jack chuckles as the girls are chattering, except the one in the red. “You are awful quiet, sugar.” He comments. “Not choosy?”

"Very choosy," you tell him, laughing a little about how involved your friends are getting in this debate with the other two guys. "Chili cheese dog every time. But my friends like to pretend that it's possible to be dainty while eating a hot dog. I'd rather enjoy something delicious."

Jack grins at your answer and points a finger up to tip his hat back on his head. “No, you just gotta jump in and devour it.” He hums, his smirk slightly dirty.

"Whoever put you three in one place today is a menace," you inform him with a deeper, rounder laugh. "But I totally agree. The only way is to jump in."

Jack chuckles, leaning in a little closer to you. “Not true.” He coos. “We were brought together for a good time.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his beer.

It can be both," you concede, getting a whiff of an expensive, musky cologne under the grill and sunscreen smell that hangs all around this booth.

“Well then.” Jack snorts, tapping his bottle against your margarita glass. “To being a menace.” He offers with a smirk.

"Here." A long sip of your drink hides a flustered grin, but you don't mind having run into someone this charming and handsome right off the bat. You and your friends will wander away in due time, and they'll become a fun anecdote for the office, and probably material for the spank bank of each and every member of your group as well.

“So what made you decide to join our little celebration?” Jack asks without any sense of irony despite the bash being massive. There are bounce houses and carnival style game booths set up. Along with all kinds of food and drink.

"Girls' day out." Ordinarily you might feel bad for Sandra, being slightly singled out while the other three of you are being shamelessly flirted with, but she's chatting with Kiss the Cook as well and having a grand time. "When your day is office, home, and back again, sometimes a party is just what you need."

“Oh I understand.” He promises, even if his work is not as traditionally boring all the time, there are plenty of days that the paperwork tedium gets to him.

"Your days are probably a lot more fun than ours." Without knowing that you're reading his thoughts, you just decide to make conversation and enjoy whatever comes from it.

“Some days. Others it’s slower than molasses dripping off a spoon.” He likes the fact that you aren’t just flirting, there’s interesting conversation blooming. “Although I’m enjoying right now.”

"This must be one of the more fun workdays each year." Why wouldn't it be? There are half-dressed women all over the places, and whatever the orientation of these three might be, they're all definitely interested in women. You sip your drink again and find that your head tilts slightly in his direction instinctively. "We're not going to get you in trouble, are we?"

“Nah.” Jack waves away your concern, secretly touched that you would be worried about that. “Well just call this….public relations.” He teases, winking at you again. “How does that sound, sugar?”

"Like you should be a politician," you snort, but honestly you don't mind. It's been a while since you just flirted for the hell of it and it's fun.

Jack wrinkles his nose in disgust. “Sugar, you are breaking my heart.” He groans. “I would never want to be lumped in with those lyin’, thievin’ scumbags.” He shakes his head and puts his beer down to lay his hand over his heart. “I’m a patriot.”

Somehow that only makes you laugh more, and when you meet his eyes again it's with warm cheeks and a bright smile. "My apologies," you hum, tipping your margarita in his direction again like a salute. "We'll stick to drinking and flirting. No filibusters today."

“Now hold on….” Jack leans closer and chuckles. “Depends on what kind of filibuster we are talkin’ about.” He drawls. “Some of them can be a good time.” His eyes slide up and down your body suggestively.

Raising one eyebrow at him, sip your sour-sweet vacations through the bright pink straw and smirk. “You want to have a prolonged speech that stalls all activity about my body? Seems counterintuitive, cowboy.”

He snorts and shakes his head. “I don’t think you understand darlin’.” He leans in even closer. “We ain’t talkin’ during my filibuster, we’re just prolonging the main event.” He explains.

One second your head is tiled and the next second you're clamping your mouth shut on a bitten lip. He's just gone from casually flirting to casually painting a mental image that will last you weeks. "You're pretty sure of yourself, cowboy," you hum when you remember how to speak again.

“Have to be.” He admits, truth more than cockiness in his words. “You don’t have to accept, but….” He smirks. “You could always consider it your patriotic booty.” His pun is horrible and he knows it, but he uses it proudly. With the same confidence he wears his Fourth of July outfit.

You snort before you can stop yourself, shaking your head at him as you wave off the laugh as good natured. "That's awful." The play on 'patriotic duty' is absurd, but somehow he manages to make it circle back to charming in a way that is fairly impressive. From most guys it would just sound cheesy or plain bad.

“It is, isn’t it?” He agrees with a grin. “Really awful.” He reaches for his beer again and finishes it in one long swallow.

"Worst line I've heard in a very long time." Even though you're agreeing, you chuckle and shake your head. Why the hell not? When was the last time you just cut loose and had some fun? Can you even remember? "It's...not a no, though."

“Hmmmm.” He lifts a brow and smirks at you again as he reaches into the cooler next to him for another beer. “Well then, I better make sure that you are fed, sugar.” He tells you. “‘Cause you might be in for a hell of a night.”

"You promise a girl a hell of a lot." But for some reason you don't think he's lying, or even exaggerating that much. Maybe it's wishful thinking, you can't tell, but Jack fixes up your hot dog with flare and hands it over just as you finish your margarita.

He takes your empty glass and chuckles. “Would you like another frosty margarita? Or perhaps the blackberry old fashions that are being made?” He asks, pointing to another stand just a few feet away, featuring the ‘87 single barrel that Jack loves.

"I think I have to have whiskey this time, don't I?" Given his nickname, it would almost seem rude not to. Especially when you've decided to encourage him. At least you've been polite enough not to let your eyes wander down and inspect those tiny little shorts he has on.

“Right away.” Jack gives you a two fingered salute before he spins on his heel and hurries towards the booth to collect you the best blackberry old fashion you’ve ever had.

Sandra scrambles over during the momentary pause, searching your face for anything besides the focused attention you're paying to the cowboy's ass as he walks away. "Are we rescuing or retreating?" She murmurs, hot dog in hand but ready to bounce in a heartbeat if you need it. "Actually?" Glancing up at her, you offer a sideways grin of defeat. "I think I'm gonna hang out a while. Hot-but-cheesy cowboy kinda got to me. I wanna see how this plays out."

“Really?” Her brow shoots up and she grins at you. “Takin’ that mustache for a ride?” She teases. “I’m jealous. He’s got a fantastic one.”

"I'll tell Brad to grow one before the wedding," you tease, barely managing not to snort again with laughter as Jack heads back your way.

“Ladies.” Jack smiles with a charming aplomb as he hands you the old fashion he had made for you, and offers Sandra the one he had gotten for himself.

"Oh, I'm alright." Sandra insists, smiling her thanks but not taking the drinks. "Designated driver. I had my one and now I'm set for the day." That smile flashes over at you, and she squeezes your hip gently but encouragingly. "I think we're going to wander. You want to come?"

It's a clear chance to break away if you have suddenly changed your mind and you want to, but you shake your head and lean over to kiss your friend's cheek. "I'll catch up with you guys later," you tell her, though at present you aren't actually sure if you will or not.

“I’ll keep her entertained.” Jack promises when your friend’s eyes turn towards him and he can read a slight warning in them. “And return her to you when she’s bored with me.” He adds.

“You have our numbers,” Sandra reminds you. “One text and we come running.” She blows you a kiss before stepping away, satisfied that Jack will at least be respectful as well as pretty, and that’s worth its weight in gold.

“You don’t have to stay.” Jack hums. “But I’ll make sure you don’t regret it if you do.”

"Promises, promises," you sing song, but rather than letting the moment get heavy you take a first bite of your hot dog and groan happily.

He chuckles and lets you enjoy the hotdog, admiring the way you save a dollop of mustard before it escapes and takes a sip of his drink. “After you eat, are you wanting to dance or maybe play a few games?”

"Either." Pleased with the idea that he might put a little more work into this than just fucking you and having a nap after, you end up smirking a little before the last bite of your food. "Both?"

“Done.” He agrees easily, holding out a napkin for you like a gentlemen. Other agents have taken over the grills because Tequila and Rum have magically disappeared with your friends. “Games first, let your hotdog settle.”

Gone in mere minutes, you make sure you haven't smeared your mouth with mustard or chili before picking up the drink he brought you and motioning ahead of you toward the rest of the fair. "Lead the way, cowboy."

The first booth is one that all the agents have been warned to throw. It’s the shooting gallery. He grins as he cocks his head to the side. “Whatcha think?”

"I can't say I'm much with a gun. Besides maybe a Super Soaker." The big plushies and toys behind the counter look just as inviting as they're supposed to, though, and you shrug. "But what the hell. Think you can give me a few pointers?"

“Let’s see how you do and maybe I’ll help you win a prize?” Despite the warning, Champ won’t be too mad if he shows off just a little. Especially since all the prizes have been paid for by Statesman already, leaving the game free to play.

"I have a feeling I'm about to embarrass myself for your amusement." Despite that, you laugh and take your place at the booth. The moving targets are fairly standard — bright yellow duck-like figures that do not resemble the actual animals but look more like rubber duckies that will fall over on the track when shot. "Here goes nothing," you decide, figuring that if you get even two you'll be extremely proud of yourself.

Jack uses this to his advantage and presses close behind you, holding your elbow up. “Steady.” He murmurs in your ear.

"Hell of a thing to say to a girl when you're that close," you mumble, but the smirk in your voice is obvious.

“I can always say more.” He teases playfully, nudging your arm up slightly. “Be a good girl and take a deep breath.”

It's almost frustrating how well that works on you, making you inhale sharply and shallowly at the words and completely giving yourself away before you can follow the direction and inhale slowly like he's told you to.

You miss, but it was actually closer than Jack had figured the first shot would be. “Good job!” He praises, reaching for your hips and shifting your core slightly, brining you back against him more. “Try again, sugar.”

Whatever the cologne is he's wearing, it reminds you of a campfire in the middle of a forest and that might be fogging your mind more than helping you concentrate. Again, you inhale deeply and squeeze the triggering, putting far more work into this silly shooting game than you need to but finding that you actually clip one of the targets this time and manage to almost knock it over.

“Almost got it.” Jack hums in approval. “Let’s see you knock that same one down.”

Utter concentration isn't possible with him pressed up against you, but you breathe again and call yourself to order, managing to breathe and aim and drop your elbow and all of those other things in just the right harmony to actually knock over one of the targets on the next try. It's not enough to get you a prize, but it's enough to have you doing a little wiggled dance of celebration that all the effort paid off.

Jack chuckles, happy with your achievement. “Good job, sugar.” He praises. “You did a good job.”

"Not bad for an accountant," you joke, turning a little to beam at him.

“Not too bad at all.” He winks, nodding to the game handler as they set the target back up. “Now I want you to pick out which prize you want.” He tells you, taking the gun from your hand.

"Cocky." You smirk at him but glance back at the booth and consider the options hanging from the top of the booth. Right in front, there is a white teddy bear with blue and red stars wearing a Statesman t-shirt. "How about that one right there?"

Jack hums in approval and looks towards the attendant. “Ten shots in a row.” The kid, who can’t be more than seventeen explains. “Knock all ten down and you win the prize.”

There's no way he'll do it, but you step far enough away to give him room and wave one hand toward the little metal duckies. "Show off for me, cowboy."

Jack settles his hat more firmly on his head and since it’s ten shots, he picks up another gun to have one in each hand. “Oh I will.” He promises as he sends both weapons twirling around his trigger fingers in a smooth gun trick.

Despite literally asking him to show off, your eyes still widen with the trick and you're left half-giggling and half-staring as he knocks down every single target with grace and seemingly no effort at all.

The targets are easy and Jack might have been showing off just a tad by alternating shots with both hands, making sure that you know he’s just as accurate with both hands. The targets are down and he turns towards you with a grin. “Your prize, sugar.” He bows as the stuffed bear is handed to you.

More than a little surprised by the display that was just put on for your benefit, you choke out a laugh, thank the kid running the booth, and positively curtsy to Jack in exchange for the bow. “Alright, I admit it,” you laugh in utter surprise, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek like a fairy tale princess bestowing a token. “I’m very impressed.”

“Good.” Jack smirks slightly and looks at the bear. “I think it’s always important to impress a lady.”

“Consider us deeply impressed indeed,” you joke, holding up the bear beside you like it might have had an opinion in the matter all its own.

Jack smirks slightly. “Do you want to play some more games or dance?”

“I don’t see how we could do any better at the games.” ‘We’ here meaning him — your own performance was dismal but that hardly matters. He’s smiling at you like he wants to make you scream in the best way possible and you want to see if he moves as well on the dance floor if he claims to in bed. “Let’s go dance.”

“Yes ma’am.” Jack takes the hand that is holding your drink and carries it for you. Looping his arm through yours so you can still hold your bear. “We’ll let him watch and learn.” He jokes, motioning to where other stuffed animals are resting while couples cut up the large dance floor.

“For when all the other bears decide to have a hoedown of their own?” That’s about the cutest thing you can think of — aside from him — and you grin at the idea. “I like that. Teddy Bear Hoedown is like a sequel to the Teddy Bear Picnic.”

He chuckles and you go over to the large table, setting down your bear in a particular spot. “He will be safe.” Jack promises you.

“So full of promises today.” The little coo in your voice is teasing, but maybe that’s just how he is? Reassuring and protective is not a bad combination in a man. Not at all.

“My momma always said never make promises you can’t keep.” Even with your drink in your hand after he presses it to you, Jack sweeps you up in his arms to take you out to the dance floor.

“And you always do what your momma tells you to, like a good southern gentleman.” It’s just a guess, but as he twirls you around to settle against him, cradling you in his arms so you can drink and dance while you away with the slower tempo song that’s playing, you just have to grin. “Very smooth,” you admit without a hint of begrudging in the compliment.

“Sugar, all my moves are smooth.” Jack boast, smirking as he gently glides around the floor with you, taking special care not to jostle your drink. The next song will be faster, but right now, the breathless couples are resting slightly with the bluesy sounds of Patsy Cline crooning to them.

“I’m starting to get that.” Not that you mind. Coming to this whole big carnival for the holiday was just for fun after all. But you glance over at Jack after taking the last sip of your drink and find your smile going a little lopsided. It isn’t the booze. He is that handsome.

He hums, his voice a little rusty as he starts to quietly sing along with the song. Only slightly off key as he serenades you with a grin on his face. One that tells you he’s well aware that he’s not the best singer, but he enjoys being a little silly.

Maybe it’s silly. Or maybe it’s human. Maybe it’s because it’s both, you start singing along with him, quietly and just a tad off key. Two silly, awkward, imperfect little people out there on the dance floor swaying in each other’s arms and singing ‘Walkin’ After Midnight’ to each other like a chest moment from a 90s romantic comedy. It’s impossible not to look at his lips at least a few times, both of you grinning when one of you flubs a lyric. And at the end of the song when he twirls you around again to land tight against his chest? The only possible place you can look are his eyes or those lips again, like a magnet pulling you in.

He doesn’t miss the way your eyes drop to his lips, basically asking for him to kiss you. He leans in slightly right before the song changes and is incredibly peppy. A song to line dance to. “Oops.” Jack smirks.

One another day or with another man it might have annoyed or frustrated you to be more or less cockblocked by a deejay. Today? With Jack? Your answer to it all is just to snort in amusement at how pleased with himself he looks and let yourself get all swept up in the dance. It was barely an hour ago that you met him. It does no one any harm to spend a little more time together before things get frisky.

The beat is easy to dance to and despite the fact that you might not know all the steps, Jack does. “Just follow me, sugar.”

The trouble with line dancing is that if you don't know every move you end up looking like an idiot, but you nod and decide to put a little bit more trust in him for the time being. If you were about to kiss the guy, you should at least be able to do that, right? "I'm with you," you promise him, knowing you can keep up.

Jack files into the natural line that forms, partners slightly in front of their men and everyone starts to move together. ‘Heel, toe, dosey doe, come on baby. Let’s boot-scoot.”

Able to pick it up step by step, you follow Jack's lead for movement and watch the couple in front of you the once or twice you get confused, until you're very smoothly and easily moving through the dance with glee. It's such a simple thing but so welcome, and utterly fun to boot.

You are laughing and that is all that matters as Jack grabs your waist to pick you up and spin you around before setting you back down in time with the other couples on the floor. “Having fun?”

“Every second I possibly can,” you answer with a light, bubbling giggle. He’s a strong lead — which is wonderful in a dance partner but gives you ideas about what he could be like in bed. Not to mention how strong he is…

“Good.” Jack is almost ninety-nine percent certain that he is taking you home tonight, but he wants you to enjoy yourself.

"And I hope you are, too?" Glancing back at him as he turns you, you raise one eyebrow at him in question.

“No doubt, sugar.” Jack is a shameless flirt, but oftentimes it’s not leading to more than that. Unless it’s his mission to seduce a target. This- this is just for him and he likes that you are having fun with his corny nature. “Best damn party I’ve been to in forever.” He promises. “Company makes it good.”

“Company is what matters.” And maybe it’s the silliness of it all again, but you throw him a wink before the dance has you turning again. He seems to like a like cheese with his flirting, and frankly that just makes it more fun for you.

The song finishes up and Jack decides that he will twirl you around once more and dip you down low, just to make you giggle. People clap and he grins at you over his aviators. “Another dance, or another drink, sugar?”

“One more dance?” He’s far too much fun like this, with moves even you have to admit he can be proud of, and you’ll be damned if you’re going to give that fun up just yet. Besides which…it might be a bit embarrassing for the guy whose nickname is Whiskey to find out you’re a bit of a lightweight.

He waggles his brows when the song turns to another slow one, meant to press bodies together. “Never turn down a chance to hold a beautiful woman close.” He promises as he tugs you in.

“I don’t believe you do.” It may be a small moment of teasing but the fact that he doesn’t take himself too seriously speaks volumes to you. Relaxed and confident are too things that don’t always compliment each other well — it can come off as pure arrogance whereas he’s cocky in a way that is a bit cheeky and fun. Everything about the man is over the top. “But then,” you hum, winking for good measure. “Neither do I.”

“Really?” Jack’s grin blows into a fully devilish smile and he looks around speculatively. “And which beautiful woman would you choose?” He asks with a chuckle.

For his amusement, you make a show of surveying the room even while you’re pressed tight up against him, and nudge him slightly when you spot a cute girl in the corner being talked at by some other guests she doesn’t seem to be too interested in. “Do you see the cute little redhead over there?” Your own nose points the way to him when you nod. “In the corner? She’s at a table with a blonde, but these two guys keep trying to flirt with her. I think she’s talk rather be flirting with her blonde friend.”

“Good call.” Jack snorts. “That’s Grenadine.” He explains. “She works at Statesman too.” It’s interesting that you seem to have an eye for agents.

“Does everybody get a booze related nickname?” You ask, amused at the idea of it. If you all got accounting nicknames, things would start sounding weird very fast at the office.

“Mixers count.” Jack chuckles. “It makes it easy when there’s twelve John’s working around the place.” He reasons.

"Fair enough, I guess." That does, logistically, make a bit of sense. And frames Statesman as a fairly whimsical place to work in the process. After twirling around the dance floor a little more, you hum softly to yourself and lift your head, raising one eyebrow in question. "Did you always want to work in the booze biz?" He seems silly enough to appreciate the phrasing, and you grin. "Or do you want to be something else when you grow up?"

“Just wanted to raise some hell.” Jack admits with a chuckle. “Was in the Navy for a little bit. Found out I like the freedom of the private world better.”

“Rules.” You huff dramatically, blowing a raspberry to make him laugh. “Who needs ‘em?”

Jack laughs, a full belly laugh of good humor. “Exactly.” He agrees. “Plus the pay is better.”

“There’s that too.” A nod of agreement comes on the end of your own laughter. “Distilleries pay well? I can’t say I’ve ever thought about it.”

“Good enough to buy corny outfits for the Fourth of July picnic.” He jokes, taking his aviators off and turning them around to perch on your nose.

“That’s what your shorts need!” You tease, cackling out loud and pushing his sunglasses a little further up your nose. “Ears of corn! The perfect symbol of Americana.”

Jack laughs again. “I’ll have to see if I can order some for next year.” He hums.

"Perfect." The grin you aim at him is almost blinding. "I guess I'll have to come back and see if you found any."

His smug smirk deepens and he waggles his brows. “Yeah?” He asks. “Maybe I’ll have to model them for you.” He suggests. “Make sure they are cheesy enough. Rum talked me out of my Daisy Dukes of Freedom.”

"Oh my god..." You barely manage not to snort with laughter over that image. "Do I want to know?"

“Silkies.” He explains. “Running shorts in the military are…brief.” He hums with a grin. “I had some American Flag ones but then Rum was complaining my upper thighs were too white to wear them.”

"Your friend's objection was your lack of tan?" That only makes you laugh harder, and by the end of the song you're practically clinging to each other as you share that laughter between you. "I dunno, Jack." With your lips pursed, you correct yourself. "Whiskey." He's sure as hell smooth, so why not just use the nickname? "I think you might have to do a little tanning so you can wear them again."

“Well I left my speedo in Italy.” He chuckles. “So how do you suggest I tan?”

That opens up a whole new line of questioning, but in this moment you just flash him an even bigger grin. "Nude, hopefully."

He pretends to be shocked, mouth opened and he reaches for his chest as if he is clutching pearls. “Why I declare!” He drawls. “That is such a scandalous suggestion.” His lips curl into a smirk. “I love scandal.”

"I had a feeling you might." The song is over, your revolving has stopped, and as the next — much more upbeat — song begins, you tilt your head slightly to the edge of the dance floor. "You wanna go be scandalous, Whiskey?"

“Is that an offer?” He asks, lifting a brow and giving you a chance to change your mind. He loves to flirt and have a good time, but he wants it to be enthusiastic.

Hadn't he caught you staring at his lips maybe fifteen minutes ago? Was it really only just a few dances since then? It seemed like days spent basking in his energy and charm. Ah well. Why the fuck not? The Founding Fathers were all freaks anyway, might as well celebrate their way. "Yes."

Well, sugar…” Jack sweeps his hat off his head and holds it over his heart. “You just made my damn year.” He promises with a wink. “And I guarantee I’ll make yours.”

“I’m gonna hold you to that, cowboy.” Something tells you he’s bragging with plenty of proof to back him up, but you still give him a crooked smile as you dig your phone out of your pocket. “I’m going to tell my friends not to wait for me.”

“I’ll go collect Mr. Bear for you while you do that, sugar.” He nods and sets his hat back on his head and moves away so you can text your friends privately.

Sliding open your phone, the group chat you have with your friends is full of photos, videos, and excitement shared between them during the day. You’ve been apart from them longer than you expected but they seem to be having a ball — though Rum and Tequila don’t feature in any of the photos or videos so it seems like you’re the only one who stuck with an interested fella today.

Don’t wait up for me, ladies. You type out, and send along a selfie of you wearing Jack’s aviators with him picking up your prize bear off the table in the background. Gonna save a horse by riding that cowboy.

The answers that come back are swift and all congratulating you. Teasing you about your quick change of mind.

Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all the gossip tomorrow. You write back, barely smothering a grin and you have to bite your lip to keep it at bay. I’ll send you guys a photo of his place and the address when we get there. If you never see me again, tell the cops it was the cheesy pickup lines that convinced me to go with him.

Jack watches you giggle as you put your phone away and walks back to your side with the bear. “See? Safe and sound.”

"Both of you." And something tight and gnarled in your heart seems to breathe more easily in a way you don't quite understand. It's an excitement you haven't felt in a very long time. "Lead the way," you say, accepting the bear happily when Jack deposits him in your arms.

“Did you ride with your friends, or do you want to follow me?” Jack’s Bronco is close to the party, having been here for hours bringing in coolers and helping to set up. He pauses by it and taps the side. “Give you a ride to your car if you want?”

“We all rode together, so I guess I have to beg a ride with you.” Saying it out loud makes it feel very real, but for some reason you’re not nervous. There is a tingle of anticipation and excitement but no worries.

Jack nods and opens the door to the passenger side for you. “Then let me give you the address of where we are going.”

“Thank you.” For both the door and for his understanding, you offer him a soft smile as you climb into the Bronco. So many men these days take the sensible precautions of women they’ve just met as an insult. It’s nice to not have to skirt the line and simply be upfront with him.

He smirks at you as he whips out his phone and opens it up to air drop you a location. “Nothing but details, sugar.”

“Which is the same thing the girls are gonna say to me tomorrow,” you tease, sitting back in the buttery soft seats as he pulls out of the parking lot.

“Then I better make sure you got nothin’ but good things to say.” Jack chuckles.

“I guess you’d better.” And you wink, even though the promise makes you squirm slightly in your seat.

“I don’t live too far.” Jack converses as he drives, wanting to you at ease. “That way I can be in the office easily in an emergency.”

“Like oh no, the whiskey isn’t old enough yet?” You ask, confused as to what kind of emergency a distillery could possibly have.

He chuckles. “Or the storage tanks collapsed and flooded the complex in raw, unbarreled whiskey.” He counters. “Thieves. Corporate spies.” He doesn’t get into the extra security Statesman has, that would be a little much for you to understand.

“Corporate spies. Thieves. You make it sound so…” Searching for the word, you notice he never even gets on a highway to get back to his place. He’s simply driving through a suburb as ramblingly as he pleases, and then turns down a long country road. “So very much like the beginning of a self-discovery novel, where the main character is just a lowly employee who finds out their job is really just a cover for something illegal or magical.” Grinning at him, you turn in the front seat and look at him instead of the drive. “Need an accountant? The place sounds fun.”

“Never know, maybe we could.” He chuckles, knowing he would enjoy seeing you around the office more. Might actually want to sit behind his desk more often if he could expect a view like you.

“Never know,” you agree, but your attention is quickly diverted by the little white-painted farmhouse with its picket fence and big shady trees outside that he pulls up beside. “It’s so cute!” You exclaim, having expected to see him living in something huge or deeply masculine. A house you’d see on Yellowstone or picture Clint Eastwood outside.

“Thanks.” He shoots the house a proud smirk. “My great-grandaddy built the place with his own two hands.”

“I love it even more now.” Madi would point out that you’re a sucker for a family story, and she would be right.

Jack is proud of the restoration and tasteful updates that have been done to the old place, an homage to the past. “Then you’ll love it when I tell you that they are buried up on that hill.” He chuckles, pointing to a little fenced off area around a large magnolia tree.

“Being a sentimental man runs in your family. I do like that.” When he pauses in sliding out of the Bronco to open your door and raises an eyebrow at you, you fluster. “Not that I assume you might be sentimental about me,” you clarify immediately. “Just that I appreciate a man who isn’t afraid to be passionate.”

“Sugar, that is something you’ll get to witness firsthand.” He promises as he climbs out and saunters around the front to help you out.

It’s a beautiful little place he’s got, and when he helps you out of the car you can see the wrap around porch does go all the way around, and that the house has been added on to in back. Maybe the second level was an add-on as well, you can’t quite tell. But it speaks to generations of love and stubbornness to stay here and add to this old place instead of moving or building new, and you like that. Loving and stubborn isn’t a bad combination by any means.

“Do you want a drink?” Jack offers. “Water, Coke?” He doesn’t just want to ply you with alcohol, so he offers other things, even though he is walking towards the bar cart in the corner.

“You can make two of whatever you’re drinking.” Whether that’s alcoholic or not, you have a feeling you’ll be putting your glass aside in favor of paying attention to other things soon enough.

“Hmmmm.” The countertop ice maker is put to use after you tell him this and Jack adds a little flair to his movements as combines orange vodka, pineapple juice and peach schnapps into a shaker and mixes it up before straining the cold alcoholic drink into two glasses and floats some blue raspberry vodka onto the top. “Here you go sugar.” He hands it to you with a wink.

“Do you have friends called Vodka and Schnapps, too?” It’s just a light tease, but he poured and mixed and assembled the drink so deliberately that you found yourself mesmerized by his movements. “Or one with the same name as whatever this drink is?”

“There are colleagues by those names.” He admits with a grin and takes a sip of his drink and groans in approval. “But this one was made just for you.” He hum. “I call this ‘Lick Her Right’.”

“Shit, Jack.” You end up smothering flustered giggles as you have your head at him and try a sip of the fruity sweet cocktail. It’s every bit as delicious as you expected and doesn’t taste a thing like alcohol — which probably means it’s the strongest drink you’ve had all day.

He chuckles at your cute little giggle. “Sweet with just a touch of twang,” he murmurs, stepping closer to you and leaning in to nuzzle his nose against your cheek next to your ear. “Just like the best pussy.” He murmurs in your ear. “Like I’m betting your pussy tastes.”

“Need you to do one thing for me before I let you find out,” you murmur, finding that just as you expected you’ve only had a few sips of the drink before something much more enticing has been presented to you.

“And what’s that, sugar?” Right now, he will offer you the moon. Give you whatever he needs to be able to strip off those tiny shorts of yours and drape your legs over his shoulders for a private Independence Day celebration.

“You’re gonna need to kiss me, cowboy.”

He laughs, tossing his head back and reaching up to take off his hat. “Much obliged to, sugar.” He promises before he swoops in for a kiss, his tongue still cold and fruity from the cocktail as he slides it into your mouth.

He’s playful and enthusiastic, two things you all but demand from a lover, and your arms slide around each other with greedy intensity as the rest of the room goes blank around you.

Jack’s drink is all but forgotten when he sets it on the table and pulls you closer, letting your body press against his as he plunders your mouth and groans in happiness that you accepted his invitation to come back to his place.

The half-wall behind you becomes the perfect thing to lean back against as Jack presses in, holding you as close as he is holding the last shred of decency you’ve got as you plunder each other’s mouths eagerly. You’re damn lucky your glasses didn’t get so thoroughly tossed aside that they fell over and stained his rug, but right now all you care about is chasing that sticky sweet taste from each other’s tongues.

His hands slide under your tiny little tank top, fingers pinching the back of your bra strap and unhooking it with one hand while the other slides under the cup to posses one breast. Keeping his tongue tangled with yours as he moans at the soft fullness of it, the hard nipple against his palm.

It's so smooth you might have barely noticed the movement at all, except his hands are hot and callused and the touch of them on your skin makes you moan into the messy kiss with enthusiasm. Nothing but the perfect heat and heaviness of him can penetrate your mind at this point — and that includes the heaviness growing hard in his own shorts as you both do your best to stay as pressed against the other's body as possible.

Jack presses his cock against your tiny shorts, grinding into you as he paws and plucks at your tit, pulling the most beautiful sounds from your throat as he slides his other hand to your neglected breast to give it the same treatment.

Pressed between Jack and the wall, your own hands wander freely. Mapping his body from broad shoulders down to slim waist, there is no hesitation there when you slide one hand into the back pocket of his shorts and pull him forward, inviting him to grind into you just as much as he likes as he swallows your moans.

There’s nothing wrong with a little over the clothing humping in Jack’s mind. Grinding against you and squeezing your tits as he kisses you is just the warm up for the night, although it feels pretty fucking good as you pull him closer.

The world has gone the most gorgeous shade of blank, narrowing down to just Jack, and when you finally can’t breathe in any more of him and have to break the kiss for air, the matching groans you let out are sweeter than any other sound.

You’re gorgeously giving and soft. Yielding to him. He reluctantly releases one breast and pulls back just a bare two inches to slide his hand between to you pop the button open on your shorts. His hand immediately sliding inside to delve into your panties.

“Fucking—” The rest of the curse, whatever it is, gets swallowed up by your moan as his thick fingers make quick work of finding your slick and swollen clit to draw circles around it that have you seeing double.

You’re wet and nothing is sexier to Jack than a wet pussy on an eager woman. He groans into your mouth. “Already so wet.” He rasps. “Want to see how much wetter you can get.”

“Before I dehydrate?” You huff, growling into a kiss with ferocity and angling your hips to try to get him to slide his fingers inside you. Not that it’s been very long at all since he first kissed you, but you’re on fire with wanting him and have been for hours. “Or before you finally fuck me?”

He chuckles into your mouth and bites at your lower lip. “Both?” He teases, rubbing your clit again before he finally gives you what you want and slowly sinks two fingers into you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Shaking as he twists his wrist and presses the heel of his palm against your clit, you’re even more pinned against the wall behind you than you were a second ago. Far from finding it confining, your fingers dig into Jack’s broad shoulders with enthusiasm as you cling to him in that moment.

“That’s it.” He groans, feeling your walls pulse around his fingers and he hums in approval. “You’re little pussy likes my fingers.” He coos. “Why don’t you cum on them for me?”

If you could ever cum on command, it would probably be right now. It would be for the pair of thick fingers curled so perfectly inside your cunt every time he pumps them inside you that your vision whites out a little at the edges. It would be for the man who makes you simultaneously tense and limp with need. As it is, your toes are curling in your sneakers and you're about damn ready to flood his hand any second while the only sound you can make as an incoherent moan.

“Sugar, sugar, sugar.” He groans. “You’re so close.” He continues to finger you, loving how your eyes are rolling back. “Just let go and give it to me.” He begs. “I want to strip you down and eat your pussy, but I can’t until you cum for me.”

The absolute whimper of frustration on your lips and hearing what's coming next mighty really be what does it. What has you moaning his name into the warm evening air and holding onto him so tightly that your fingernails leave neat little half-moon shapes at the base of his skull. When you cum it's full force, with shaking legs and an arching back, and all you can think — when you eventually get your thoughts back after the fireworks subside in all your nerves — is how fucking glad you are that you took a chance on going home with this man.

Jack loves to see a woman cum. Always beautiful and you are no exception. The hollow of your throat is the perfect place to moan his praise, the white shorts he’s wearing becoming damp and showing it as he leaks pre-cum into the material. His fingers are soaked and making the most obscene sounds as he pumps them into your cunt until your entire body sags against the wall and is only held upright by his pinning you there. Then he slows his wrist and ease you to a stop as you pant his name. “Good girl.” Jack rasps against your throat. “Now I want to see what kind of mess your pussy made.”

“You’re gonna have to give me a second,” you huff, giggling under your own breath and a little dizzy. If he can do that with his hand, the rest of him is going to reduce you to a puddle. “Stripping is tricky when my legs are wobbly.”

He chuckles and pulls his hand out of your shorts to grab your thighs. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” He promises, pulling you up into his arms and guiding your legs around his waist as he pulls away from the wall to carry you through the house to his bedroom.

It only encourages you, which you’re sure was his intention, you steal kisses and swoon at this strength as you carries you down a hallway. By the time he turns into his room you’ve found the spot on the long column of his throat that makes him moan when you suck on it, and the bruise you’ve left there will be sure you remind of you every time he looks in a mirror for at least the next few days.

Jack’s bed is large, inviting and it’s not as heavily masculine as you might expect. The comforter is pillowy when he lays you down and smirks as he pulls back to look at you. “Now it’ll be easy to strip you down and not worry about those legs, except for how they look on my shoulders.” He boasts.

“I think I’m past the point in my dignity where I can dispute that,” you tease, wishing he hadn’t stood up fully because now he’s too far away for you to grab.

Jack unbuttons his shirt and shrugs it off his shoulders. Revealing the shape of his hard cock pressing through the white shorts and he grins down at you. “We will just have to have an undignified time then.”

“Deeply undignified, I hope.” You agree, letting your eyes wander down the length of his body and darken all over again at the sight of what is waiting for you.

“Is there any other kind of sex?” Jack snorts, quickly unbuttoning and stripping down his shorts to groan in relief when his cock bounces free.

If you were going to debate with him, whatever argument you had gets lost on your tongue. He's a mouthwatering sight — veiny, cut, and curved just right so you know you're not only going to have him pulsing against your g-spot later but you're going to be cross-eyed and breathless while he's at it. "Fuck I hope not," you grin, licking your lips. "At least not tonight."

He smirks proudly and kneels on the bed, shuffling closer to reach for your shorts. He drags them over your hips along with your panties while you lift your hips so he can slide them down your legs and toss them on the floor. Eager to spread your thighs and get a good look at that slick pussy.

Sure it was only five minutes ago that your legs were shaking in his living room, but when he very surely moves your ankles to open your legs wide on top of his bed, your fingers drop between your spread legs without hesitation. His eyes on your pussy have you craving touch all over again.

There’s only your shirt left and Jack hates for the material to conceal your tits from his eyes, so he slides his hands up, grabbing the hem of it to pull over your head, unable to resist dipping his head down and lapping at a hard nipple.

It was barely a scrap of a shirt and this is so much better — tits free for his attention and back arching up to meet his mouth just as eagerly as he dips his head. The cool air in his room makes your already hard nipples peak even tighter, but all you can think about is the heat of his mouth and the heaviness against your thigh. Every inch of him feels incredible and he's not even inside you yet.

He lavished attention on one, then the other before he pulls away with a pop and a grin as he starts to slink back down your body. Intentions clear as he scrapes his teeth over the top of your mound and pulls your legs up onto his shoulders to cradle his head.

"Jack..." his name is a whine from your lips as he kisses the insides of his thighs, and one of your hands fists in his hair to tug encouragingly at the short strands.

He chuckles and blows a little air on your pussy to hear you whine again, your hips jerking up to try to meet his mouth. “Now, let’s get down to the business at hand.” He intones seriously. “You’ve got a pretty pussy that is begging to be eaten.” He looks up into your eyes and winks. “And I’m just the cowboy for the job.”

He dives in like a man starved, making you feel like every single woman whose pussy he tried to eat over the years must have denied him otherwise there wouldn't be any reason to be this voracious. That first lap at your slit has you gasping sharply, eyes rolling back in your head and tugging tighter on his hair in needy, silent gratitude. You'll be lucky if you can form any words beyond his name in all this. His name and endless repetitions of 'yes' or 'fuck'. But that's all you need.

Anything that Jack sets out to do, he does with vigor and eating your pussy is no different. His hands are wrapped around your thighs, pulling your hips up to his month as he devours you. Wanting to feel the sting of your hands pulling at his hair while his tongue carves a path through your folds.

He means to overwhelm your senses entirely and he's doing a damn good job, right down to how tightly he manages to hold you in place while he leaves no part of your soaking wet pussy untouched. Maybe at another time you might have fought of wrestled or taken some of the lead, but he's swept you away so entirely today that all of your usual sass is reduced to whimpers and moans under his attention. Probably because the attention of that long tongue of his is well worth submitting to.

He had been right, you do taste delicious. Making him even more ravenous as he explores what makes you whimper and whine his name as his tongue laps at your swollen clit.

Every time your hips twist or roll to beg for a specific kind of friction. he seems to be anticipating it. He reads the waves of your body like it's a second language, intuiting what you need and giving it to you with growls and groans of his own that vibrate through you and make you see wave after wave of stars.

His mustache is coated with your juices, his chin slick with them, and still he continues to devour you. Licking into you and pushing his tongue into your pussy like he is starved for you, his hooked nose pressed against your clit as he groans in pleasure.

It doesn’t matter how long you lay spread out like this. Or how long Jack spends devouring you like you’re his new favorite dessert. The walls could crumble down around you and you would still be begging for more.

Jack can feel your body start to tense, your thighs tightening around his head briefly and then relaxing only to do it again. He holds them loosely, wanting you to squeeze him and he rolls his tongue back up to your clit to lap at it.

The second time you cum for him isn't like being carried away on an ocean wave. Even the arch of your back is like being washed out to sea, and the roaring of your blood in your ears making you feel like you've just crashed on top of a wave in some dramatic engraving. It's like all of your senses are both being hugged tight and being blasted wide open and you're drowning in every sensation but your nerves are tingling with life as you float back down to earth in his bed.

Humming softly, the pads of his thumbs rub your inner thighs, soothing you as your breath starts to slow down. You had screamed loud enough to wake the dead. A feat that has Jack feeling mighty smug as he watches your closed eyes bounce around under your lids.

"Fucking hell," you manage, once you stop panting and have the presence of mind to push up on your elbows to be able to see him more fully.

Smirking up at you, he winks as he unfurls himself from between your thighs to rest on his knees. “How are we doing so far?” He asks, even though he knows the answer. “Feeling patriotic yet? Or should we really make you see fireworks?”

"I think we'd both be missing out if we gave up now." After all, you've barely done a thing for him. And if his cock feels half as good as it looks, you refuse to miss out on that.

“I have to admit, I’m dying to know what you feel like around my cock.” Jack confesses, his hand squeezing his cock and pumping it lightly.

"I think it's time for you to find out." There is a smirk curling in the corner of your mouth as you sit up, and with one hand beckon him closer. "Don't you?"

“Yes ma’am.” He hums. “Do you want to save or horse, or see if I can hold on for eight seconds?” His brow arches in question and he wonders what you will say.

“On your back, Jack.” You grin up at him, already shifting over to switch places. Even if this isn’t where you end up, you want to ride that handsome cowboy for at least a little while.

“Never say I don’t follow a lady’s orders.” Jack drawls as he lays down, tucking one hand behind his head and the other still pumping his cock languidly.

“Not if you know what’s good for you.” That smirk stays in place as you straddle his hips and lift yourself up, braced for your cunt to be so wet from his attention that he slides inside you right up to your throat.

Jack helps, holding his cock up for you line up. “Take your time, sugar.” He coos, watching you with a predatory gaze. “It takes time to make sure you are seated right.”

“Not too long.” A moan escapes your lips as you sink down, but you take him at a slow, steady pace. “I’ve been thinking about this all damn day.”

“And here I thought I couldn’t be the one to break your dry streak.” He teases, having read your lips from the margarita stand with the assistance of his glasses. He had turned off the special features before he put them on your nose earlier.

“Were you spyin’ on me earlier?” The best you can do with him halfway inside you is to raise one eyebrow as if you vaguely disapprove, but it doesn’t hold a single drop of water when you let out a shuddering little gasp and take more.

“I can read lips.” He admits with a grin. “Don’t worry, sugar, I didn’t hold it against you. Just made me want you more.”

"Now I feel like I ought to have made it harder for you," you purr, but the truth is that he'd had you from the first real smile. Not the smirks, not the intrigue of just being handsome in general. The first time Jack genuinely smiled at you, you had felt your heart beat a little faster. Now it's your pussy that's reacting to him, though, and you shift your weight to lean back and give him a long view of your whole body as you start to bounce on his cock. Whatever his reason for being interested in you, it is well worth it.

“Jesus Christ.” Jack hisses, sliding his hands up to your tits again. “You are such a pretty thing, so fucking beautiful.” He groans, admiring the view as you use him.

"View can't be as good as mine." Panting between each word is the only way to get them out, because your mind is so fuzzy all over again from how good he feels that all you can focus on is how well he fills you.

He would have to disagree, but you steal his ability to speak when you roll your hips and squeeze him tight. All he can do is groan and squeeze your tits harshly before sliding his hands down to your hips.

"Hold on, handsome." It doesn't take more than a few movements of your hips to establish a rhythm, and one that you're both thoroughly enjoying. With Jack's fingers curling insistently into your flesh, you pick up the pace and let your eyes slide shut in bliss.

Jack groans your name again and again when you fully seat him inside you. Giving you the encouragement and praise through the panted words.

It's a damn good thing that his bed isn't an antique like his house. Once you get going, with his encouragements and your own seemingly insatiable thirst for this man, it would be a damn shame to sacrifice an heirloom to your shared lust. The sheer power and force of your enthusiasm with his strength makes it feel like you're going to fuck each other into the stratosphere to begin with, there's no reason to lose furniture.

“That’s it, sugar.” Jack slaps your flank in encouragement and moans when you roll your hips down at little harder. “Fuck, you do know how to ride a man, don’t you?” He counts his lucky stars you wanted to come home with him. “Ride me hard.”

He might have been the one to make the joke about lasting the length of the ride, but you have no intention of getting bucked while you're on him. The prominent veins of his cock scrub your walls like they were made for you, bringing deeps moans and shuddering growls of his name from your lips with every bounce and rock of your body on his.

Bracing his feet on the bed, Jack tilts his hips up, changing the angle and he chokes out a sound of approval when you squeal in pleasure. “There it is.”

It's the exact angle you need to have the head of his cock battering against your g-spot with just the right amount of pressure, and right now you're prepared to swear that no one has ever managed to find the spot that perfectly before. Just like his fingers curling against it earlier, your vision whites out as your eyes slide shut again and you could swear this is what being on fire feels like as you cry his name out in that quiet little farmhouse.

When your pace stalls, Jack picks up the slack. Driving up into you while your walls convulse and you shake on top of him. Groaning out your name raspily as he works himself towards that same peak you are currently cresting.

It's so easy to fall forward, bracing yourself on his chest with both hands and letting him take over the pace. Your third orgasm ripples through you so sharply and definitively that you practically scream, but his arms are there to catch you and pin you to his chest while he races toward his own pleasure.

It only takes a few driving thrusts until his holding you tight, locking his arms around you and grinding up into you. Your name is moaned into his ear as he floods your fluttering pussy with his cum. “Fuck sugar.” He groans. “Little pussy is milking my cock like a dream.”

"I'm afraid..." You're both panting, and you rest your forehead on his rising chest for a beat and giggle to yourself. The flow of endorphins is making you feel so light you could fly. "I've been neglecting her. She was hungry."

“Pussy like that needs to be seen to frequently.” Jack chuckles breathlessly and strokes your back as the sweat clinging to your bodies starts to dry and cool. “I’ll be happy to make sure that happens.”

"Oh yeah?" In the bliss of the moment, when you pull back to look him in the eye, it's like you're seeing a completely different side of the needy and addictive man who was pushing you up against a wall a mere hour ago. This Jack is soft at the edges, boyish and gleeful, not to mention beautifully relaxed as he cradles your body against him. "Thinkin' about asking me out, cowboy?"

“Considering it.” He admits before that soft smile curves into more of a smirk. “I think it would be my patriotic booty to keep you satisfied.” It’s the repeat of the joke from earlier, but completely worth it because of how cheesy it is. “What do you say, sugar?” He asks. “Want to make everyday Independence Day?”

"I think it's only right." Stretching slightly, the tip of your nose nearly touches his and you dip your head barely lower to hover above his mouth. A single centimeter of movement and you would be kissing him. "It'd be a damn shame to never ride my new favorite steed again."

“Damn shame.” He agrees. Since you’ve been in his house, the sun has slipped below the horizon and he reaches up to cup your cheek just as the first muted boom of the fireworks from Statesman is heard. “Happy Fourth of July, sugar.” Jack murmurs before he crushes his lips to yours, happy that he had decided to go to the celebration rather than taking a mission. He had never had a better Fourth than this one.

______

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My Masterlist!

[hellishjoel]

slow shift

7k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Next Chapter

series summary: Tommy’s Diner is where dreams go to die and burnouts clock-in for work. Waitressing would be boring without the flirtatious distractions of line cook Frankie Morales.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), swearing, talking about w33d, alcohol consumption (not by reader or frankie, but discussions of alcohol), oral (f! receiving), discussions of periods and Plan B, frankie having a fat d!ick, slightly public sex, unprotected p in v (don’t be silly, wrap your willy), you know how I roll

A/N: welcome to the first part in my linecook!frankie series! It's all just going to be chaos!! enjoy dirty dishes, cussing, and decent food made by the hot linecooks. I’ll have a title as soon as I stop putting it off <3 enjoy! let me know what you think! also how LIT is the banner

here's my masterlist!

**follow hellishfics and turn on notifications get updates on my fic postings**

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle.  You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Welcome to hell. 

A makeshift building somehow still holding up four walls that housed a small restaurant inside. 

This wasn’t some secret treasure that belonged on an episode of Diners, Drive-Ins, & Dives or a hidden hole-in-the-wall five-star Michelin Restaurant. This was Tommy’s Diner. 

The locals had different names for the run-down dump you called your place of employment: the Hometown Heartburn Hut (true), American Pie ( ha-ha funny), the Rusty Spoon (some guy OD’s behind the place one time, and no one ever forgets), or Tumbleweed, your pothead coworkers liked to call it. It was a tumbleweed because the restaurant was barren, emphasis on the weed to accommodate the faded line cooks that lurked in the back of the restaurant. 

Don’t let today’s slow shift fool you; there were times when Tumbleweed was cram-packed. Friday night football games were busy with tailgaters, bustling with teens after a championship game. Other times, it was when a Greyhound bus or a similar cross-country vehicle drove through and took a stop for the passengers. 

The most popular time of year was in the summer. Tommy’s Diner hosted Saturday night Cruise Nights. The town would flood with classic cars and hot rods, and the diner would transform into a drive-in. Their engines revved through different cities from far and wide to be at Tommy’s. That’s when the place felt the most alive, bustling with people and their laughter, little kids running with their milkshakes and flipping quarters into the rigged claw machine. 

But it wasn’t a Saturday in August. It was a Monday. You were stuck with the misfit motley crew that did everything from dishwashing, cooking, bussing, running the register, being half-ass managers, and, of course, the token pretty waitress. You. 

You will admit that each character working at Tumbleweed had a unique story etched into their grubby hands or baggy-eyed faces. They’ve weathered years of late-night shifts and condiment, grease-stained aprons. 

Tonight there was Lou, the jaded by heartbreak teenage busboy. He walked with a shuffle, always sniffling about an ex-girlfriend. He worked slow and god damn, did that piss you off. 

Then there was Tina, the aspiring singer stuck in a small-town type. She was newer, still learning how things worked since she had never waited tables a day in her life. She had that fresh twinkle of stardom in her eye despite being in her late 30’s. You were training her and trying not to let her drive you up the wall whenever she started singing different songs on the jukebox. Note to self: Put a sticky note saying it’s busted every time you work together. 

Paul was the do-it-all guy. Toilet clogged? Get Paul. Dishes piling up? Ask Paul to do it. The cashier on a bathroom break? Paul can run the till. He was useful, just complained and grumbled a lot. 

Tommy of Tommy’s Diner hasn’t worked a day in years. He’s older, so it’s understandable. Last thing you heard was he was down in Florida, living out retirement in a cheap home with a gambling addiction. Sounded like he was doing well for himself.  But now his idiot son Rudy ran the place. Tommy’s picture was still on dusty display, toothy smile and all at the front door that people huddled in and out of—speaking of. 

Your head lifted to attention as the bell above the door chimed, sighing in annoyance as you leaned back onto the counter. It was just Frankie. 

“It’s fifteen after. You were supposed to be here on time today because we have to set up for Carla’s thing.”

Frankie breezed past you, aviators and stupid ballcap on, his smile lifted in a sneer. He was smacking on pink bubble gum as he neared your part of the counter and purposely shuffled past you with his hips against yours in an attempt to get into the kitchen. You couldn’t help but lean into him with a little smirk. 

“Tommy said it was fine I was late.” He joked once he ducked into the back, your arms crossed as you followed him aimlessly. 

You sigh and lean back against the locker next to his, watching him shuffle off his jacket.

“You disappoint me, Frankie.” Your face held a teasing pout. 

“Never meet your heroes, baby.” That stupid fucking cocky smirk painted his face. 

You opted to roll your eyes and look away as a defense tactic against Frankie’s flirty moves. Frankie calling you baby made your guts twist. 

He was an ass ninety-nine percent of the time, but you two were hired the same summer a few years back and were the only ones who stayed once summer had run its course. You supposed it was bonded trauma after that. 

New workers had come and gone, but you and Frankie were still at Tommy’s, still working crappy shifts on crappy hourly pay. Despite Frankie being a douchebag, he made the place bearable. He was comfortable. You knew each other. 

“Can you just meet me on the floor like you were supposed to fifteen minutes ago and help with the banner? Carla’s going to be here at five, and you still have to make her special-”

“Jesus fuckin’- yes, I’ll be out in a few.” Frankie playfully groaned, shoving the brim of his hat into his mouth to hold it, his hands busy as he tied a tattered red bandana around his forehead before he replaced the cap back on. Okay… hot. 

He took a deep breath once he finished, and leaned against the locker beside you, arms crossed, mimicking you as your shoulder brushed his bicep. You looked up at him, so many inches taller than you, as he looked down. Maybe too far down. He started at your eyes, but those eyes of his tended to wander right down to the cut of your shirt.

“Ugh- Frankie!” You rolled your eyes and pushed him away, readjusting your top as he playfully threw his hands up on the defense. 

“You look fuckin’ gorgeous today, by the way!” He shouted as you exited the locker room, smiling and shaking your head with your back to him and throwing up your middle finger before the door swung closed with your exit. 

---

You stood on the top of a dining table in your sneakers, attempting to hang a shitty banner you had painted for Carla’s birthday. You glanced down at the table and made a little face about the scuff you put in it. Oops. You can try and scrub it later. 

There was no other person you or Frankie would do this stuff for. But it was Carla’s birthday and she was a diamond in the rough at this dump. 

Carla's position at Tumbleweed is a mixture of human resources, accounting, decent management, and a mother figure to not just you but the entire staff. Besides Carla, we could all care less about everyone else's birthday. You were burning this ‘Happy Birthday!’ banner as soon as the clock struck midnight. 

You let out an exhausted huff as you attempted to tack the final hanging string into the wall, but it was just out of reach. That’s when you heard the smacking of his stupid pink bubble gum. You didn’t even have to look. 

“Are you gonna help me or not, Morales?” Your voice seethed in annoyance, not only to Frankie but also cursing your short legs and your just not long enough arms. 

He didn’t say anything. Just crossed the differential space between you and took the tack and string into his meaty fingers. 

You glanced down, watching his teeth capture his lower lip in concentration, checking to see if it was straight. Pushing the pin in, he backed up to where you stood on the dining table and crossed his arms in observance. 

It was incredibly crooked. But it was the thought that counts, right?

“Good enough for me. You?” You glanced down at Frankie, and he was biting back a smile. 

“What?” You pushed, narrowing your eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s good.” Distracted by something else. “D’you paint this?” The warmth of his hand slowly crept onto the back of your calf, your chest tightening as he slowly skated it higher with no interference from you. 

You gently nod, avoiding his eye contact as you look at the sign. Now, his hand was on the back of your thigh, and you had to take a breath. A mhm was all you could muster up. 

His fingers delicately skimmed the skirt of your uniform, knuckles brushing against your backside. You used to hate these 50’s style waitress uniforms, but now they didn’t seem so damn bad because Frankie’s movements were making you lightheaded. Snap out of it!

“Need help down?” Frankie asked, hand at the ready on your hip. 

You shook your head despite using his assistance anyway. You squatted on the table, black lace panties peeking out as you used Frankie’s broad shoulders as leverage. You put one foot down onto the linoleum and then the other, wiping your hands cleanly down your uniform as you both returned to look at the lopsided sign. 

You hoped it was enough. You hoped she appreciated it, especially all that she’s done for you over the years. Covering your shifts, leveling out the register when you accidentally gave someone the wrong change, tucking extra tips into your apron when she knew your rent was coming up. Everyone needed a Carla, not everyone was lucky to have one. 

“She’s gonna love it,” Frankie seemed to sense your nerves as he lifted his cap to bring some air to his sweaty dark curls before putting it back into place. “I’ll start workin’ on her special. Mushroom Swiss patty melt?” He said before disappearing into the kitchen again, only leaving once you gave him your little nod of assurance. You liked that he remembered.

---

“Happy birthday, Carla!” Uncoordinated voices cheered as Carla entered Tumbleweed right on time for her shift. 

Her face lit up, and she looked beautiful. She packed a little extra blush and eyeshadow to commemorate the special occasion. 

“Oh, shit- oh my- You guys! Thank you!” Carla made special eye contact with you, knowing you were the only one caring enough to orchestrate this shindig. 

Carla has this soulful charm about her. Raised in Louisiana, she loved to cook family recipes and bring the leftovers to work for you and Frankie to fight over. You remember she had three kids at home, so she had this curvy mom's body that put a proud sway in her walk. A playful and confident woman at heart, she was all the regular’s favorite to see. And she knew everyone. And she knew everything. She put Tommy’s back in business during the slower seasons. People would come to see her face on Sunday mornings over their coffee and runny eggs. 

“Oh, baby, thank you.” She cooed as she cupped your cheek and squeezed, making your face tick. “This the red velvet?” Her voice hummed as she observed the cake in your hands, pushing her finger lightly into the frosting to taste it. 

You had pulled one of the cakes from the display case and shitily piped it with chocolate sauce ‘HBD!’. 

“Of course, your favorite... Right?” You pursed your lips and snuck a nervous glance at Frankie before you set the cake down on the countertop. 

Carla looked beyond touched for something you’d consider a bit lackluster. “It’s my favorite ‘cause you made it. Thank you, baby.” 

You glanced around for the cake cutter, watching as Tina pushed a quarter into the jukebox and got the party started. Everyone was doing shitty dance moves, even the one or two customers that had filtered in for a cheap dinner. 

You sighed as you looked behind the counter for the cake cutter, grabbing the cake and its stand to haul it to the back. 

You thrust your shoulder blades into the swinging door, setting the cake stand on the counter as you started sifting through the different drawers to find the serving knife. 

Half a carton filled with cigarettes; Frankie’s. Matches from an old jazzy gentleman’s club; Rudy’s. Hair ties; yours. Where’s the fuckin’ cake cutter?!

The music from the jukebox was more faded in the kitchen. The serving window, professionally called the pass, was just big enough to see faces and hand plates through from the kitchen to the front. 

You made a face when you found the cake server inside a  large pot-- how, no, why? Jesus Christ. Fucking idiots. 

The swinging door to the kitchen wooshed in before slowly creaking closed, seeing Frankie coming to stand beside you in your peripheral. 

You carefully plunged the slicer into the soft sponge of the cake, carving a piece for Carla and setting it on a plate. You reached forward across the counter for another small plate, the short skirt of your uniform revealing the curve of your ass to an overly curious Frankie. You could feel his heat burning through his chest. 

“Could you be less obvious?” Your voice held teasing notes, putting another piece of cake on a plate and pushing them away to make space for more. 

He had tried this a handful of times with you, and he had yet to be successful besides that one time when you both drunkenly made out at the last December holiday party. You were pretty sure he had been hung up on you ever since. You enjoyed watching him try. 

Your eyes flitted over to his, observing his body and facial features. 

He looked gross, honestly. The two meals he cooked including Carla’s special before she came in for her shift made his face and neck sweaty and his hands greasy, his apron to match. It was white at one time, a long, long time ago. His stupid red bandana was still tied around his forehead, catching the spare sweat droplets, as the kitchen became unbearably hot in the middle of August.

You probably didn’t look much better. Hair all over the place with makeup you put on in the morning probably half smudged off by now. Your hands were checkered in pen ink, a spare papercut from snagging a receipt from the register. But still decent. He was still decent. 

His hand was back in dangerous territory, lingering low on your waist. He didn’t care if anyone saw him. You could feel warmth flooding your body, heat from the heart of his hand burning into your hip. He was admiring your body, slow and appreciative as he cupped the curve of your ass. And then he squeezed. 

Your shaky hands barely got the fourth slice you cut onto a small serving plate. The cake cutter clattered onto the metal counter as Frankie shifted his body behind yours, his watchful eyes on the pass. No one was watching, stupid and oblivious. You swallowed a lump down your throat, your small hands clenching the rim of the counter. His hips were flushed against yours. Worst of all was that you really fucking liked it. 

“This okay?” You’re flattered he asked after the fact. 

You leaned back into his touch, quietly humming on the brink of a little moan. You were a little desperate for touch, maybe you’d be on your period soon. “Mhmm..”. 

Frankie was a douchebag, but you two have been flirting back and forth with one another for years like an ongoing tennis match. He was older, he had years on you. Not an obscenely amount, but enough to make people raise an eyebrow. You were surprised he had the balls to actually make a move on you like he was right now. 

“Like you in black.” Frankie’s voice was cut down to a murmur, low and all-enveloping. You weren’t sure if he was referring to the black in your waitress uniform or your black panties. Probably the latter. 

His fingers brushed past your goosebump-covered ass and slipped between your legs to your clothed pussy. You softly gasped, eyes shifting closed as your hips involuntarily leaned into Frankie’s touch. You didn’t look subtle at all. You looked like you wanted to be touched, manhandled, kissed, fucked… 

“Open your eyes, baby girl.” He purred, your chest already heaving. “Act normal.” You forced your eyes open, looking back at him with wide, innocent eyes. Needy pupils connected with his blown-out ones. The back of your head brushed his shoulder, setting it there for just a moment before he looked straight ahead. 

Frankie nodded back to the pass, your eyes following his eye line to everyone distractedly dancing and sipping coffee mixed with bourbon on the floor. 

You bit down on your lower lip, knuckles cast over in a milky white with the iron grip you held on the metal rim of the counter. Frankie’s body heat had disappeared from your back, and now you felt it cast against the back of your legs. You glanced around, seeing him on his knees behind you with his mouth now latched to the back of your thighs. Oh, fuck. His kisses sponged up higher, towards your heat. 

Your eyelashes fluttered, Frankie’s act normal echoing through your hollow head. With distracted hands, you resumed cutting the cake. You probably looked slow and stupid, but feeling his patchy beard hair nestle between the sweet skin of your inner thighs had you in a haze. 

Frankie’s big hands reached under your skirt, lining the black panties that sat snugly on your hips with his forefingers. He slowly peeled them down, feeling the material roll as he stopped them to rest halfway down on your thighs. 

Your shoulders shuddered as your warm pussy met the slight chill of the outside world, panties adorning a little soaked spot. 

“Frankie,” Mm? “Someone’s gonna see.” But you weren’t stopping him. You weren’t telling him to fuck off. You weren’t kicking him right in the gut like you probably could. In fact, you were leaning into him. 

“Such a pretty pussy... Can’t stop, baby.” 

A helpless whimper left your lips, thighs shaking at his affectionate, warm kisses. 

Frankie’s hand swatted at the inside of your right ankle and then the other, hinting for you to spread yourself for him. You pursed your lips and shakily sighed, parting your legs as your sneakers lightly squeaked on the checkered floor. Fuck me, Frankie. 

You didn’t know how much longer you could be patient. The waiting was tantric, hypnotizing you into seduction. 

Spread for him and dripping, Frankie’s mouth finally attached to your slit. Your knee lightly jerked up and smacked a bus tub filled with dirty dishes, a few eyes on you through the pass as you nervously laughed. “S-Sorry!” 

Frankie couldn’t help but let out a warm puff of laughter against your cunt, and you swore your insides were twisting at the sensation. 

“Easy pretty girl… Don’t need us gettin’ caught. You want me to stop?” Frankie’s voice was husky, warm palms spreading your thighs, your body lightly bending over to lean on the counter. You tried to look busy with something, stupidly polishing a random fork. With the extra exposure, he had full access to your sex. 

“Does it look like I want you to stop?” You finally punched out through air-abducted lungs, anxiously chewing on the skin of your lip. “Frankie.” You said in a hushed warning tone, wanting more and not knowing how to ask nicely for it. But that’s what he liked about you. You weren’t nice. 

His lips finally attached properly to your pussy, his devilish tongue lining the center of your cunt and flicking off your clit. Your head dropped, ears ringing at the sensation. 

You wondered how good he would feel if he could take his time instead of giving you head quick while all your coworkers were distracted.  Maybe he could run his thumb over the front of your panties, trace the seam of your pussy, and feel how soaked you were for him and his attentive fingers. You thought Frankie had always been so down bad for you. He probably dreamed about getting this opportunity. He finally got you when you were just as horny for someone with a pulse. But this wasn’t all the time in the world; this was a slow shift at Tommy’s. 

You rut your hips back into Frankie’s face, hot pants fanning fog onto the cool metal of the counter. 

Frankie put his mouth where you needed him most, his tongue dedicating a poem to you. He flattened his tongue and licked a wide, wet strip up through your core, taking in all your juices. His tongue lapped at your weeping hole, thighs shaking against his head as you stifled a moan into the counter. 

He was good, manipulative, a fucking menace. 

Frankie’s tongue made precision flicks against your bundle of nerves, a gasp a bit too loud leaving the kitchen as you whimpered broken fragments of his name. 

You weakly looked up, seeing Tina pluck another quarter in the jukebox, cranking the volume to some seventies soul music. Fuck being quiet. 

Concealed by the groove of Stevie Wonder singing We Can Work It Out, your moans were hidden by the shake of a tambourine and plucks to an electric guitar. 

“Goddammit, Frankie, mmm, so fucking good,” a gasp and a moan followed suit, lazily smirking with your eyes closed. “So fucking… hot.” You murmured. 

Frankie’s mouth was a welcome wonder, dedicated to making you cum. He was swirling his tongue around your clit, weakly flattening your front over the counter again and pressing your cheek against the cool metal. Don’t be a douche right now, Francisco Morales. Make me fuckin’ cum. 

The kitchen door swiftly swung open, and your body flew up to stand straight as Carla waited in the doorway. 

“What’s taking you so long to cut my cake, baby? I know that bitch is stale as hell, but that don’t mean I don’t want it.” 

Your eyes were wide, lips parted in an attempt to speak, but Frankie’s movements didn’t cease despite Carla’s unexpected intrusion.  You bit back a whimper as he lined his tongue just barely into the tight entrance of your walls, his greedy fingers piercing into the flesh of your thighs to keep you spread. Thank god the counter covered your waist down. 

“I-I’m sorry, I’ll be out in a sec.” 

Carla looked you up and down, curious but ultimately not giving a damn. You could feel Frankie’s dirty smirk against your thighs. 

“Alright... Hurry up. I’m tryna get my dessert.” 

And with that, the door swished closed, and your back slumped at the relief. 

Frankie’s unexpected voice made you jump lightly, his words echoing against you. “Gotta make ya finish fast, princess. Want my dessert, too.” 

You whimpered but willed yourself to stand up straight and turn around to face him. He looked like a mess. Lust-filled black eyes and a cocky smirk to match. Your juices glistened on his lips and chin. Frankie would be incredibly hot if he knew how to keep his mouth shut. 

“Taste as good as you look, princess.” Frankie stood up, tall and broad body making a white hot spot form in your stomach. Fuck,  you couldn’t do this right now. Not right here. 

He could tell. He took a few cautious steps away, you watched him carefully like a rattlesnake. He knew when not to push you and when to let you make the decisions. He also knew how to give you orders when you were too pussy fucked to think straight. 

“Serve that cake and meet me out back.” He was looking over you, enjoying the few times you looked totally fucked like you did right now. He stepped back into your space and pulled your panties back into place, a sobby whimper leaving your lips as he gently cupped your aching mound with a smirk. “So fuckin’ needy, huh?” 

“Fuck off.” You mumbled, fixing the bottom half of your uniform. 

You watch as Frankie grabs the beer bottle you all used as a makeshift door prop and his half-carton of cigarettes you had brought out of a drawer in an attempt to find the cake cutter. He disappears out back into the alley. Shit, the cake. 

You hurriedly sliced the remainder of the cake, placing a few stray candles into the slices. You lit them once you greeted the group waiting on the floor, singing a shitty rendition of Happy Birthday.  Paul lights his cigarette from one of the candles, puffing smoke across the frosting. 

The crowd hastily grabbed one of the small plates and a fork. Most of you only tried a bite or two. The cake had been in the display case for far too long. 

---

Anxious and impatient, you slip into the back with everyone’s dirty dishes and sneak back into the kitchen. You do nothing more with them than chuck them into the sink for Lou to wash up at some point or another. Your eyes stare at the beer bottle keeping the back kitchen door ajar. You take in a deep breath, leaving a shaky sigh before following Frankie out into the alley. 

The air was warm, a welcome breeze passing over you. The alley was everyone’s hideaway, littered with crushed beer and soda cans, two large garbage dumpsters, and a large one for recycling. You could see the highway in the distance. The sun was setting, and the sky was turning purple and blue. You’d watch those cars drive right past your little town, paying no mind, probably off going to somewhere bigger and better. The only people from the highway who stopped to visit Tommy’s were people who didn’t know any better. 

A flick of a lighter crackled, dividing your attention. Frankie was smoking his cigarette, his back leaning against the brick wall of the diner. He was trying not to smirk. Seeing you out here was way too much power for him. He took a drag, the end of his cigarette lighting up in a glowing orange haze before he pulled it from his mouth. The smoke he exhaled was taken by the breeze. 

“Happy to see me?” His goading tone asked.

“No.” A challenge. A pause. 

“So, you want me to go back inside?” 

“No.” Another beat. A step closer to him, arms crossed. He’s smart enough to let his cigarette land on the ground. 

“So, you want me to stay out here?”

Silence. Staring. Gauging each other’s reactions. Your tight jaw meets his cocky smirk. Too stubborn to ask meeting too stubborn to give without begging. Fuck. 

Maybe it’s because you’re both desperate. Maybe because Frankie knows you. Knows you’re too stubborn to ask for him to fulfill your needs. Your inaction meets his unwillingness to waste another moment that he could be inside of you. 

Stomping on his cigarette before closing the distance between you two, he envelopes you in a kiss that robs you of your breath. He tastes musky and bitter. The smoke that recently captured his lungs was hot on your lips. 

Your heart was beating with excitement, happy to lose control for a moment as Frankie walked you blindly backward into the brick wall. Ouch. 

Your tongues danced in a rhythmic motion, seducing you into letting him take the power as the kiss deepened. The flavor was subtle but distinct. The Marlboro’s held an acrid undertone, an unexpected layer of the kiss you sort of liked. If he tasted like spearmint gum, it might have turned you off. 

It was like you were his cigarette now, breathing you in and clinging to you in addiction. It was his bad habit, but who were you to judge. You had a closet full of skeletons you weren’t open to anyone seeing. Maybe this was one of his. 

His hands were a welcome guest, feeling his warm palms explore a body he had probably fantasized about. 

“Don’t-- mm -- don’t have a lot of time, Francisco.” You teased for dominance, using his full name made him muster up a dirty chuckle. 

You were ready to turn around and have him fuck you into the wall, but his hand snagged your wrist, and he stopped you. Confusion screwed into your face. Then his mouth muttered the most filthy thing you had heard yet from him. “Wanna see that pretty face when I fuck you.” He muttered, your body slumping into his. Fuck it, you were Frankie Morales’ tonight. 

Frankie guided you further from the backdoor, hearing voices enter the kitchen. Probably Paul and Lou to start working on closing chores. He took you behind the dumpsters and hiked up your dress. You decided to be useful and push your panties down. He rounded up the material that was tying you up at your ankles and shoved them into his pocket. You were not letting him keep those. 

You pushed his apron aside, fingers fussing over his belt buckle. He watched, amused, unwilling to help. He liked seeing you so desperate for his cock. Unbuttoned. Unzippered. Black boxer trim peaking out now. You made slight eye contact with him before you shoved his pants and boxers down to his thighs. Your heart clenches at how girthy he was. Fuckkk, this was gonna feel good. 

He didn’t take his apron off, merely shoved it to the side as it haphazardly swayed on his hip. He closed the distance between you again, a greedy kiss, a kiss to mark you with. You pulled away to spit into your hand, taking him by his base and squeezing. 

Frankie’s eyes shuddered closed, his head dropping as you took his manhood in the small of your hand. He was.. more than a handful. He was so meaty, not even able to wrap your fist fully around him. 

You purred out a little moan as you worked your hand over him, feeling him grow heavy in your hand as you lubed up his tip, slowly circling your thumb teasingly around the pulsing head. 

“Enough.” He muttered. He didn’t like you toying with him. 

Frankie hiked up your leg by the underside of your calf, hooking around his hip as you leaned your back against the cold brick wall. It wasn’t comfy, but when you fuck against a run-down diner, you don’t get many options. 

Your chest shuddered as you felt his cock heavy against your folds, erect and brushing up against where you needed him most. He was running his hand up and down himself now. You watched as he put down another line of spit from his mouth to his cock before his knuckles shuffled up and down his shaft a few more times. 

The sight made you reel your head back and stare up at the sky. As eager as you are, you’re worried about feeling how thick he is. He knows. 

“M’gonna go real slow.” He punches out, setting his forehead down against yours, and you shakily nod. Please don’t fucking split me in two, Frankie Morales. You still have a shift to finish, after all. You’re thankful he at least acknowledges his girth. It’s sort of the elephant in the room. 

You both look down at your centers, your dripping one and his angry, pink head meeting in unison. It’s sort of fucked up the way that you’re two horrible people. But you knew horrible people always seemed to find each other.  

You wet your lips and bite down. Hard. You weren’t a fresh spring virgin, but this wasn’t any other half-decent dick. 

You lay your head back against the wall as Frankie guides himself into your welcoming entrance. Your wetness lubes him up well, but he’s still large. 

You clench your eyes close and smile. The pain is always pleasure. “Fuck,” you mutter, your head wanting to come back down and watch. 

Frankie’s being gentle, an odd word you’d never describe him as. He’s grunting and impatient, but patient for you. He fills you up to the brim and your head is flooded with clouds. You’re in the sky, lightheaded, but so fucking horny. 

His hips meeting yours are a gentle greeting, both of your lips brushing as you shared pants of desperation as well as relief. Your stomach was tight, recoiling with the pressure he was providing to the inside of your walls.

“God-

“Jesus-

“-fucking damn.”

“Christ.” 

The two of you moaned in unison. 

Your nails are piercing into his shirt, bunching around the tops of his shoulders. You move to grip his apron for some sort of control. There is none. 

One of his hands is still supporting your leg wrapped around his hip, the other flattened against the brick wall beside your head. You took solace in his arm, resting your forehead against it weakly. 

He was cocky for a reason. His length in inches was his amount of reasons. 

“Fuck me.” You finally mustered up enough strength to demand. He shakes his head against yours. 

“Give it a minute.” He mutters, barely coherent. You’re scrumptiously tight around him, and you know it. You both do. 

“We don’t have a minute.” You feverishly bite back, attempting to shift your hips against his. He retaliates by planting his hips against you, fucking the final few inches of his dick into you as you both fell deeper into the wall. 

A hot moan rolled off your tongue, hiding your face away in his forearm and shuddering your eyes closed. Frankie’s hand slipped from your leg, cupping the globe of your ass in his warm hand. He squeezed and it made you smile as he reeled his hips slowly back. 

He grumbles something. 

“What?” You asked with a dopey grin. He pushes back inside you and wipes the smirk clear off your face. 

“I said… you’re so fuckin’ impatient.” His voice was tattered with grunts, your tight little pussy making it hard for him to breath. 

Now he was creating a rhythm, fucking you into the wall in steady thrusts. You were already feeling your insides tug eagerly in excitement, the hot pool he had created in your guts simmering to a boil. 

“Mhmm, mhm, mhm,” you moaned in silent begs, moans you had to read between the lines to understand. Fuck me, fuck me harder, fuck you feel good, I-I can’t think of anything other than fuck! Fuck me, Frankie!

He filled you up to a brim you had yet to discover you had. His tip tickled your cervix with each snap of his hips. He was getting greedy, a little sloppy. You’d judge him on this short-lived fuck later, for now, it was perfectly timed to get back into work without anyone noticing. 

Your eyes widened and met his murky brown ones as he moved the hand he had against the wall nudged between your thighs, circling your clit. It was messy at first, but he found what made you tick and adjusted. Now he was running tight circles around you, and you were finding it hard to stay silent. 

“Feel so fuckin’ perfect for me.” He murmured, his lips ghosting over yours in a teasing motion. You actually wanted to taste him again, so you leaned into it, your tongue lining his mouth and tasting his old cigarette with a moan. 

Now he was filling you up, no hesitancy in his hips as he snapped the full extent of his length into your cunt. Your head flew back against the orange and red brick, a fucked moan leaving your mouth. Neither of you cared. Frankie’s face was nuzzled against your jawline and neck, sloppy kisses tasting old perfume as the circles on your clit intensified your impending orgasm. 

“F-Fuck, Frankie, shit, I’m gonna-” You gasped and closed your eyes, clutching your arms weakly around his shoulders and holding him to you. His body enveloped you like a shield protecting you from anything in your surroundings. 

Your orgasm crashed over you, coursing through your body like a million volts of electricity as you whimpered and moaned into his neck. Your eyes were clamped closed, your walls clenching and fluttering around his sensitive cock. 

His moans were heavenly, guttural and deep, a little shaky even as he puffed them into your neck and shoulder. His hips twitched against the inside of your thighs as he came undone inside of you. It felt like he was cumming for days, filling you up with white rope after white rope of his semen and painting your insides with only remnants of him. 

You couldn’t think. You just focused on the distant sound of the highway, creating a bustling amount of white noise for you. You gently held his head to keep him close, your shaky hand winding into his hair as the two of you reconciled over your orgasms.��

He was the first one to move. He slipped himself from you and gave you a few lazy kisses. Your stomach fluttered before you shook your head.

Stop it, Frankie. 

‘M not doin’ anything. 

Teasing smiles. Hands softening their holds on each other’s bodies. Fixing hair. Fixing undergarments. 

He would have held onto your panties. He probably hoped you forgot about them. You tugged them from his pocket and attempted to slip into them with ease, but you ended up having to use the brick wall as a support to lean into. 

You steadied his apron straight, and he pulled the skirt of your uniform down. Teamwork. 

You don’t really talk, just clean yourselves up, nod, and dart back inside before anyone can really notice or give a damn that you were missing in action. You kept having to excuse yourself to the bathroom, feeling Frankie still seeping from you. It made your chest hot, an embarrassed smile on your face. 

Fuck it. That’s what Plan B is for. Or you can just wait to see if you get your period in a few days time. 

---

You and Frankie danced around one another during the closing shift. Carla went home and took the cake in a to-go container to give to her kids. It was shitty that she had to work on her birthday, but she said that getting to see your gorgeous face was a present of its own. 

You tiredly yawned, seeing it was a few minutes past ten. You helped Tina even out the cash register, putting today’s earnings in an envelope, then putting it in the safe for Rudy to take to the bank at the end of the week. 

“You sure you don’t mind cleaning up on your own?” Tina asked, giving her a tired smile and a soft shrug. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll see you Wednesday.” Despite her annoying singing, Tina wasn’t that bad. She gave you a big grin before she hopped off the stool and left out the front door. Lou and Paul had already left at the start of closing. You didn’t know if Frankie snuck out the back early. 

You did a double take to the jukebox, watching Frankie flip his baseball hat backward and push a quarter into the machine. Your face softened, seeing him flip between the different records before landing on one. 

Something by Fleetwood Mac started playing. You watched him reach up and untack your banner from the wall easily. You nodded softly before grabbing the spray bottle filled with disinfectant and began wiping down the counters, seats, and tables. 

He walked up to you once you finished cleaning, handing you your folded-up banner. You twisted your lips in thought, rolling the banner around in your hands. 

“Wanna help me burn this in the burn barrel out back?” 

Frankie sighed and put his hands on his hips. “Yeah. Fuck it. Got nothin’ better to do.” 

---

With Frankie’s lighter, both of you watched with glassy eyes as the Happy Birthday! banner burnt to ashes. His face was lit up in orange and yellow hues. He haphazardly tried to lean into the flames with a cigarette dangling between his lips, a stupid laugh leaving you. He shrugged and put the cigarette behind his ear. 

“Fuck it.” He huffed, both of your eyes transfixed on the fading flames.

There was a beat of silence. 

Frankie’s eyes met yours. “We should do that again sometime.” 

Half of your mouth quirked up into a smirk.  “Do what?”

He cocked his head to the side in annoyance. “You know what.”

You shrugged and shoved your hands into your jacket pockets. The hum of the highway in the distance made you flashback to just a few hours ago with Frankie railing you against Tumbleweed. A black and purple-streaked night sky submerged the two of you, making you feel tiny. You sigh and shift on your feet, keeping your eyes on the flames that licked up the ay! in Birthday!

“Maybe.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Maybe?” 

“Mhm.”

Frankie teetered on your half-ass decision. Even the notion of having an open door left for him to sneak in was enough to make him happy. “Okay. I’ll take a maybe.” 

God, you were bluffing so hard. Maybe it wouldn’t be sooo bad to throw him a bone every once in a while. 

Your fantasizing was cut short as ashes of the banner spewed up from the depths of the barrel and fluttered up into the air between you and Frankie, both of you taking a preemptive step away.

His lighter clicked again; he had to do it a few times before the end of his cigarette caught a flame. “I’ll see you when I see you.” He murmured. He wouldn’t admit it, but he was trying to walk you to your car, wanting to leave, but not until you started heading home, too. 

He swung his body into the driver seat of his beaten-up pickup truck. You decided to follow suit, sliding into your car. You saw Tommy’s fade away from the rearview mirror in the distance. But the thoughts of Frankie between your legs, fucking you into oblivion, and begging to serve your aching center would sit with you until your next shift at Tumbleweed. Sorry. Tommy’s Diner. 

---

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[whenmemorydies]

Breakdown of a racist microaggression in Ice Chips 3x08

This title is misleading because any scene with Donna in it is likely going to be one gigantic macroaggression of some sort lol but I wanted to talk about this scene in Ice Chips and how subtly but impactfully it was played by all the actors in it:

Recall the beginning of 3x08 Ice Chips. Donna has just done her narcissistic thing in the parking lot of the hospital, ignoring-a-very-pregnant-and-about-to-give-birth Natalie's pleas to "shut the fuck up" and we are now in the hospital room with the two of them.

Donna is continuing to do her narcissistic thing and has begun to regale everyone in the room (which at this point is Natalie and a nurse) with stories about being a mother, asserting herself as an expert on the journey her daughter is about to embark on.

She tells Natalie and the nurse (who happens to be Black) about how badly she wanted to be a mother. She said its because:

I wanted someone to love me the way I had seen.

So yes, alarm bells. Wanting a baby so you can feel loved? Probably not the best reason to bring a whole other person into the world.

Note: Mikey entered the world with so much of Donna's expectations and trauma waiting to receive him like his first swaddle. No wonder he knew from a young age that pursuing a singular passion of his own was not going to happen for him because he had people to look after (recall his discussion with Tina in 3x06 Napkins). Parentified, eldest siblings unite /sob.

But back to Donna, Natalie, the nurse and the hospital room.

Donna then hits us with this curveball - her feelings about the exact parent/child relationships she had seen:

You know, all those smug mothers down at the Jewel, blocking the aisle with their strollers.

Yikes.

Donna is jealous of those mothers. She wants to be one of them. She wants to block the aisle at the Jewel (which a quick google tells me is probably short for Jewel-Osco - a chain of grocery stores in Chicago). She's so resentful of mothers with children, that she calls them "smug" for no other reason than they're probably not yelling at their kids in public (lol, also more yikes). She wants to be smug too. It's almost like Donna doesn't want a child, but what she thinks a child will give her: love she clearly hasn't experienced either as a child herself or as an adult . And also the power to be smug and take her place at the Jewel. Its almost like, to Donna, a child is an object, a means to an end.

But we're not done.

Then Donna says:

Do you know what Gina said to me? Gina fucking said to me - she looked down at my stomach - she says to me,

'You know, Donna, there are lots of good Chinese babies, honey.'

And then Donna turns to the only racialised person in the room, the Black nurse and says:

I mean, can you imagine?

And to her credit, that nurse did not kiss her teeth (she has so much more patience and professionalism than me lmao) but I felt her reaction to my CORE:

The biting of tongue, the looking up for divine intervention to get the person speaking to shut the fuck up, the looking down and pursing of lips when you realise no such help is coming, lmao.

I felt that reaction because I have been in this situation so many times as a racialised person (specifically as a non-Black POC). What is the situation exactly? The situation is a white person making a racist comment or "joke" in front of BIPOC folks in order to feel validated in their racism. The situation is getting BIPOC folks to collude/cosign in racism by doing it in front of them and trying to get them in on the "joke" too. This nurse was not having any of it.

For folks who are unsure about what was racist about Donna's comment: the "Chinese babies" Donna is likely referring to are the wave of Asian-American adoptions (where largely white Americans adopted children from China, South Korea, Vietnam, Cambodia and other East Asian countries) that began during the Cold War. The racism is the exporting of Donna's previously discussed objectification of a child, to the East. If she can't make a baby to fill the emotional vortex of her heart, Donna can buy adopt a "Chinese" one (the use of "Chinese" to refer to a myriad of nations and people is also racist). To be clear: white people treating BIPOC folks as objects to fill their needs and not as humans deserving of dignity and respect, is racist.

And yes, this is Donna recounting what someone named Gina has said to her. Its not technically what Donna has said so she's innocent right? Wrong. Donna is recounting a racist incident in front of a BIPOC person whom she has no relationship with. She's not condemning the racism of her friend so for all we know, she may have the same views as Gina - that Asian babies are fine to be adopted if you're a white woman who's feeling very lonely and just wants a baby really badly. This is deeply uncomfortable. My skin was crawling during this scene.

Natalie, observant woman that she is, clocks the nurse's discomfort right away:

And then Donna says:

The joke was on her. God rest her soul. I was two months gone with Michael at the time.

So we know Donna is not condemning Gina for her racism. She's condemning Gina for assuming Donna couldn't get pregnant on her own. Great. So now we and the nurse have a better sense of Donna's position here (Natalie being Donna's daughter surely already knows her mother's position).

Understandably, the nurse does not take Donna's bait and does not affirm her statements. So Donna doubles down in her condemnation of Gina, trying to get the nurse to affirm her any way, any how.

Natalie can see where this may end up going (when JLC does that upside-down-smile-grimace, even I know this is about to get messy lmao) so, being the well-practised parentified daughter that she is, she intervenes:

Then Donna reassures Natalie and the nurse that she did call Pete and she did leave a message and that everything is good. Still Donna needs affirmation from the nurse (can we talk about white folks needing BIPOC folks, in particular Black women, to affirm and hold their feelings for them? Can we talk about the demands of emotional labour?) so she tries another tactic:

The nurse can see right through Donna's posturing:

But she remains respectful and professional, politely responding: Wow.

(which wasn't as sarcastic in the scene as it might read here lol)

Natalie, like the nurse, can also see that her mother is, in fact, on one:

When the nurse does not give Donna anything more than "wow", she gets visibly pissed off. She pulls a face like "That's it?! Wow? Don't you know how hard it is to walk while being in labour?!" JLC goes FULL upside-down-smile-grimace:

But before Donna can embarrass herself further, she gets interrupted.

By a visibly Asian nurse:

And proceeds to shut the fuck up:

The way I CACKLED at the end of this scene lol.

Anyway, I was rewatching this episode for another meta but as is often the case with this show, something else revealed itself in the rewatch, so here we are.

This scene in Ice Chips is literally only one minute long. But the subtleties of facial expression, the looks thrown, the silences, the script choices were *chef's kiss* for so accurately depicting a racist microaggression and the inherent narcissism of racism itself - above and beyond any other mental health diagnoses that Donna might have. This scene was a perfect example of someone having mental health issues and also doing tone-deaf and racist shit, and how blurry those things may appear when you watch them in action.

As humans, we can have multiple things be true of ourselves at the same time. Donna can be mentally unwell and can say and do racist things. Natalie can love Sydney - an unambigiously Black woman - like a sister and also love her unambiguously offensive (lol) mother Donna. Carmy can love his largely BIPOC staff but then treat them like cogs in a machine at work.

I'm not saying that humans contain multitudes, the end. If some of those multitudes are harmful to BIPOC folks or other groups that face systemic discrimination then it is imperative that we try to change the behaviours we have that are harmful. Donna has work to do, so does Carmy and so does Nat. But I'm also saying this shit is messy and its complex. I just thought I'd point out that 3x08 Ice Chips did a great job of showcasing a bit of that mess and a bit of that complexity.

[vivwritesfics]

warnings: mentions of death

Series Masterlist

"It's the first home race for Oscar Sainz and everybody is rooting for him."

Oscar was proud to be wearing orange as he stood on the circuit, listening his national anthem. The twenty four year old had his parents there, watching him and cheering him on.

He wanted his sister there, too, but she was busy. At nineteen years old, Valentina Sainz was running the Sainz family. Well, not completely, not yet. Carlos was still the head of the family, but Valentina did a lot. He was setting her up to take over the family one day.

So that her parents could watch Oscar, Tina stayed at home to take care of any work that needed doing. Her grandma was there too, helping her out. Women have always run this family, her grandma often said to her. There was one exception, Valentina's mother, but she let that part out.

By the time Tina was sixteen, she was used to having bloody knuckles. She loved the feeling of it, that might have made her a monster, but she didn't care. She loved seeing the imprint of the ring her father gave her on somebody's skin.

Valentina had watched Oscar's races on television whenever she could. When he moved into F2, she watched on the television with her mother, while Carlos travelled with him. The family hated being apart, but it was for Oscar. The Sainz family would do anything for their children.

Oscar was an insane rookie. Valentina had watched on the television as he scored points in almost every race in his first year. It was crazy just how good her brother was. It was a mystery to everybody how he hadn't gotten a seat until now.

Oscar brought along one big sponsor, his family. Of course, they were known as something else, a front of a company to hide the real nature the of Sainz family money.

Oscar scored points all the way through his rookie season. He finished eighth in the drivers championship, which his family understood to be incredibly good for a rookie.

For his last race of the season, Tina wanted to be there. Her grandma took over the role of head of the family for the weekend, with Carlos on speed dial, while they went to watch Oscar in Abu Dhabi.

He did incredibly well in his final race, achieving his first podium. His mother was crying, his father was beaming, and Tina was incredibly proud of her brother. Oscar ran straight into their arms.

Many of the families congratulated Oscar at the few events he had to turn up to. Almost all of them watched racing, watched as he climbed his way to the top. Fernando of the Alonso family told him that he would be a world champion in no time. And he would be. He really would be.

Oscar knew who he was named after. He knew that Oscar Piastri, the man that had saved his mother, the man he was named after, had wanted to race. He wanted to do what Oscar Sainz was now doing.

Oscar visited his grave site. Over the Australian Grand Prix weekend, Oscar and his parents went to visit his grave. There were always fresh flowers, Carlos made sure of that.

"Hey," Oscar said as he sat in front of the headstone. He'd asked his parents for privacy and they'd given it. "It's Oscar, Y/N and Carlos's kid." He'd visited the grave only twice before, when he and his father were in the country for racing purposes.

"I'm sorry I haven't visited you more," he said as he pulled his orange McLaren hat from his head. "I made it to Formula One, by the way. I know that was your dream, too." Actually, Oscar had something written on his helmet, so small that most couldn't read it. It was his mothers idea to have 'For Uncle Osc' printed on the back of his helmet.

"I wish I could have met you," said Oscar as he placed his hat on top of the headstone. "I bet we would have raced together. I think that would have made my mum really happy."

Oscar stood up from the ground. He touched his fingers to the headstone and turned around, walking away from his Uncles headstone, back to his family.

Taglist (CLOSED): @biancathecool @multi-universe21 @formulas-bitch @gills-lounge @weasleyswizarding-wheezes @carlossainzwho @f1lov3r @samaib11 @charli123456789 @queenofmanydreams @ironmaiden1313 @vellicora @glitterf1 @80sloverry @lightdragonrayne @moonayu @bellsalabanccini @hiireadstuff @handsupforamiracle @cmleitora @jenniferrvsesi @barcelonaloverf1life @sbella13 @nicolettecallednikki @darleneslane @thehufflepuffavenger1 @champagneproblems17 @aespie @yukheizcigarettes @rewmuslupin @hollie911 @ashy-kit @ririgy @stqrgir1 @zaynzierulez @minkyungseokie @rafaaoli @carolinesainz @ashies-ln4op81aa22 @measimp @mizelophsun11 @eviethetheatrefreak @andydrysdalerogers @chonkybonky @shobaes @celesteblack08 @watermelonworries @gracielukey @cassie0sstuff @goldenharrysworld @venusesworld @sparklyperfectionstranger @evans-dejong @graciewrote @formulaal

[lovelytsunoda]

can't stand the rain // george russell

summary: the nights are always long and lonely when she misses her lover. but dating a formula one driver isn't easy, and she knew that when she started dating the most wonderful and exciting man that she had ever met.

pairing: george russell x female reader

warnings: longing and pining! the harsh reality that which would be dating someone like george russell, but there is a happy ending! allusions to sex, but not written out.

I can't stand the rain, against my window cause he ain't here with me//hey window pane tell me, do you remember how sweet it used to be? when we were together everything was so grand//now that we parted there's just one sound that I just can't stand

it was on nights like these that she missed george the most.

rain drops crashing down against the window panes, a steady haze of fog rolling across the english country side.

she hated that sound when he wasn't here to share it with.

y/n was sitting on the couch by the window, a scented bath and body works candle on the coffee table, burning and filling the main floor of the house with that simple, summer scent as she wrapped herself in a blanket, powerpoint presentations reflecting off the blue light lenses as she typed.

dating someone as magnetic and larger than life as george russell was no easy feat. the days and nights were long, the timezones too much to bear as his schedule demanded he jet off to some faraway country every weekend.

sometimes, it felt like her george wasn't actually her george, but the world's george.

she slammed her laptop shut, rubbing her eyes under her glasses before she turned on the tv, dialing in to sky sports as the warm up for the evenings race began.

if george were here, they would be watching some stupid movie on netflix (last rainstorm it was bait, a movie about tsunamis and twelve foot long sharks), with the plush calvin klein blanket pulled tightly around their bodies until one of them got tired of the film and started getting handsy.

something about the rain always got george russell going. those afternoons usually ended up with y/n on her back, georges gentle kisses against her skin as he made love to her, the pitter patter of the rain in the background.

she missed him.

the race ended, and she sent him a congratulations text, knowing that he did the best that he could in a car that wasn’t where either mercedes driver had expected it to be.

she blew out the candle, phone in the back pocket of her jeans as she moved to the kitchen of a house that felt too large for just her alone as she warmed up the kettle.

her phone rang, and she slipped the small device out of her pocket, beaming as she swiped up to talk to the most important man in her life.

“hey, beautiful.” george russell beamed from the other end of the line, and the other side of the world. “how are you feeling?”

“tired.” y/n laughed. “uni is relentless. remind me why I decided to go to law school?”

“because I wanted a strong, powerful girlfriend?”

“hilarious. it’s killing me slowly.” she grimaced, placing a bag of peppermint tea in her indigo mug. “you had a good race today, honey. I know the car is shite this year, but you’re driving the hell out of that thing.”

“you know what, I think I’m finally getting the hang of the car.”

“that’s really good, georgie. I’m proud of you.”

george smiled sadly, wishing that he could reach through the phone and hold his lover in his arms. every part of his skin, his body aches for her touch, for the feeling of cradling her in his arms again.

“I miss you. I’ll be home before you know it, yeah? you’ll wake up in a few mornings and I will be there and you’ll get to wrap your arms around me and we’ll make the most of the time we have before I have to go to the next race.”

“I wish it were easier. I wish I could come with you.”

“I know, sweetheart. I know.”

two days passed since that phone call, and the rain showed no signs of stopping. a few times the downpour has lightened to a manageable drizzle, but it was still as if the clouds in the sky were reading her emotions.

reading how much she longed for georges presence.

how she missed watching him play backgammon with his mates at the table by the french doors, sunlight refracting on his face.

how she missed his touch, even when it was the touch of his cold, cold feet in bed.

how she missed his cooking, even when he burned the simplest of dishes and ended up ordering takeaway (and swallowing his pride).

the weather outside reflected how she felt, but that fact did nothing to make her feel better. george was stuck in team meetings, despite the promise of a two week break before the next double header began.

she was debating the merits of going to visit her parents in the city, reconnecting with the world and getting away from her feelings and her term papers. it seemed like all she had done since george left was drink peppermint tea and pore over old court documents.

until the morning all was right again.

the sunlight was orange as it filtered through her curtains, the sun just beginning to rise over the hilly countryside. she heard footsteps, and the sound of the creaky bedroom door swinging open.

she’s have to to tell george to fix that.

george.

she didn’t believe her eyes. there he was, kneeling in front of the bed to kiss her forehead. she grumbled his name, trying to peel her groggy eyes open.

“I’m right here, darling. caught an earlier flight. there’s an iced coffee in the fridge for you.”

she smiled, reaching for his hand. “I missed you.”

“I know, love. can I join you?”

“you may.” she hummed, pulling the blankets back up over her shoulders. normally she would have loved to watch her boyfriend undress, but this morning she was far too sleepy to care about the sound of georges heavy hilfiger belt hitting the hardwood floor.

eyes still closed, she felt the mattress dip next to her as george slipped underneath the covers, taking her into his arms. she sighed contentedly, resting her head on his bare chest as the driver ran his large hand up and down her back.

“I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, george william russell.”

TAGS

@daydreamingleclerc @libraryofloveletters @magnummagnussen @scuderiamh @sidcrosbyspuck @oconso @cl16version @cartierre @monzabee

[bubblesandgutz]

Every Record I Own - Day 812: Willie Nelson Stardust

My father-in-law passed away on February 23rd after a long battle with Parkinson’s and various other ailments. Over the last six years, my husband and I made frequent trips down to central Oregon to check in on my in-laws and help out around the house. During some visits, it seemed possible that his dad would be around for another decade or more. And on other visits, we wondered if he would be around more than a few months. Things took a rough turn around Thanksgiving of last year and his health declined considerably. My husband spent most of January in Oregon while I’ve spent 2024 fulfilling tour obligations with three different bands and making trips down to visit them during any available downtime.

My father-in-law was a great guy. He grew up in the Bay Area and was around for all the excitement of the late ‘60s and early ‘70s. He was buddies with Pigpen from the Grateful Dead and attempted to go to the Altamont Free Concert but was stuck in the traffic jam when news traveled down the road about all the chaos and violence incited by the Hells Angels. He loved ZZ Top and Creedence Clearwater Revival and Tina Turner. But more than anything, he loved Willie Nelson.

Stardust, in particular, got a lot of spins around their house when I’d come to visit. In some ways, it’s odd that this was their Willie album of choice. After all, the ten songs on Stardust are all covers of old pop standards. Columbia Records was even hesitant to release it considering that Willie was riding strong on his outlaw country reputation at the time. But the album became a huge hit—a quintuple platinum album and a favorite among both fans and critics.

I won’t lie, I prefer Willie’s own songs, but the slow, sparse, and relaxed vibe of Stardust grew on me. I also appreciated how he chose songs with less conventional melodies (“Blue Skies,” “All of Me,” etc) and how his minimalist slow-hand style seemed perfectly suited to those compositions. The stretches of empty space, the chord changes that feel a little counterintuitive at first but then settle nicely into the larger song, the playful but rough-hewn quality to the vocals—it all has a hazy, late night, intoxicating vibe. I don’t even remember when I picked up my personal copy but it’s been a part of my collection for at least two decades.

Over the years, I heard less and less music at my in-law’s house. Television became the more constant companion, perhaps because the sound of people talking filled the conversational void stemming from the reclusive nature of my father-in-law’s disease. But when they began doing hospice at home back in January, they switched back to music. In his last days, we kept the stereo on throughout the day, switching between various CDs from their collection. I was occasionally tasked with picking out music, and I grappled with finding something that was familiar and comforting without running the risk of forever being tainted by the circumstances. Stardust was a family favorite but I never put it on for fear that it would render it off-limits once his father passed.

The hospice nurse called us on a Tuesday in February to say my father-in-law was near the end. He wasn’t eating or drinking and his breathing was labored. My husband and I drove all night hoping to make it to central Oregon in time to say goodbye. He was nearly unresponsive by that point, though he would squeeze your hand if you talked to him. Despite his condition, he managed to to hang in there for another week-and-a-half. In that time, I had to return to Seattle for rehearsals, then had to fly out to the East Coast for a weekend of shows, then flew back to Oregon, then had to fly back to Seattle to check in on a friend that was mentally struggling after being involved in a motor vehicle fatality involving an inebriated man that had been running across a busy highway.

The call came in the afternoon. My father-in-law passed peacefully. My husband and his mother had been listening to Stardust at the time, and he took his last breath during “September Song.”

The struggle was over. It had been a long decline and by the end it was hard to recognize the warm, witty, and vibrant man I first met nearly 26 years ago in the withered and incapacitated person we’d been tending to for the last few months. I was grateful to know my father-in-law for so many years, to have a stockpile of memories of him before things got so difficult. And in the weeks since he’s passed I’ve listened to Stardust a few times. The wistful nature of the album has an added element of sadness, but the memories of listening to it in happy moments outweigh its more recent association. If anything, “September Song” feels like an even more bittersweet reminder to savor the moment and hold your loved one’s close, because seasons change and all things must pass.

Oh, it's a long long while

From May to December

But the days grow short

When you reach September

When the autumn weather

Turns leaves to flame

One hasn't got time

For the waiting game

Oh, the days dwindle down

To a precious few

September, November

And these few precious days

I'll spend with you

These precious days

I'll spend with you

[unamused-boss]

Boots and Trumpets

Robin Buckley x Hargrove Oc

Warning, Strong topics: homophobia, child abandonment, troubled sibling relationship, child abuse, underage drinking, Homophobic language, strong language

I will not tolerate any negativity in the comments regarding sexuality or religion!

Summary: Amelia is now facing new challenges within Hawkins. One being her having the miss her friend Tina's annual Halloween party. So to counter for what she thought would be a boring night, she stopped by a little birdie's house instead.

I are currently sitting inside your shared ride with Nancy Wheeler and Steve Harrington. I had the pleasure to have the whole back seat to myself, with my boots propped up onto the window opposite of your head. My baggy washed out jeans hanging from my ankles with my golden colored sweater tucked into my jeans with a brown belt.

“Steve, the more you complain about it and not work on it the more it’s going to suck.” I said to him after hearing him complain about his college essay for the past fifteen minutes.

“It’s not bad Steve, it just needs some rearranging.” Nancy reassured. “You just have to…” Nancy went onto this thing about how he can fix it but I truly did not care. They went onto something else about some dinner that they had to go to. Everything came to a halt when a roar of an engine stopped every word that was about to be exchanged. Both Nancy and Steve stepped out of the car to have a look at the noise while I only peered out of the window. We all saw a charged blue Camaro drive by us and parked. Our eyes still followed to see who owned it. My eyes made contact with the California plate on the back of it.

“What are the odds..” I laughed, I’m kinda happy another Cali kid is here. Maybe I can make a new friend. Two people got out of the car, a dude wearing denim on denim with curly hair styled into a mullet and a twelve year old with red hair with a skateboard. They both looked familiar. But then I saw it, it was the missing earring to my set that I had when I left in California. I thought it fell out when I was packing my bags.

“No fucking way…” I said in shock. ‘Out of every town in this country, you just had to show up here…’

“Shit.”

You gotta be fucking kidding me. Out of every damn state that those asswhips could pick. They pick my state. Indi-fucking-ana. I can’t handle this. I'm gonna throw up. I don’t have the energy to go find a new place to live. I can’t let any of them see me. I can’t live through this. This has to be some sort of nightmare. A really bad nightmare. God I didn’t change my last name either. Everyone is going to know. He’s going to figure it out and I’ll be thrown in front of a flippin bus. What am I going to do?

“Hey!” An all to perky Tina jumped up at me while I was at my locker. “How are you Amy?”

God, here it begins.

“What’s up…” My voice sounds frazzled, get it together. “I’m fine. What do you need?”

“Well as you know by now there is a new hot topic on campus.” Tina grinned.

“Yeahh.” I answered clearly to most with no enthusiasm, but not to Tina. “What does he have to do with me?”

“Well. I was hoping you could hook me up with your cousin!”

“Cousin? No he is not my cousin, we are no were near related.”

“Really?” She seemed not to believe me. “You guys just look really similar, I mean if you never took your sunglasses off I’d think you were him.” She obviously meant it as a joke. I can tell by the light giggle that she gave after making her comment.

“Well we’re not so I can’t help you there.” I stated blankly to her. “Hope you’re able to get in his pants.” I tried to end the conversation there but I was stopped.

“Hey wait!” I turned back to face Tina, who had pulled out an orange slip of paper. “Here you're invited, hope you can make it.” She said before skipping away to her next class. I looked down at the flier to see ‘ Let’s get sheet faced’ printed in bold on it. I laugh a bit at the play on words before folding it and putting it in my pocket. ‘I am skipping school today’ I made my way to the back exit of the school when a light force knocked me a few steps back.

“Oh my god! I am so sorry, that was completely my fault. Please don’t yell at me, I’m just trying to get to chem.” A familiar frantic voice called out to me. Robin Buckley.

“Robin, it’s okay.” I reassured her.

“Are you sure? Cause listen if that scary dude is related to you please don’t send him my way.” She begged. 

I huffed. “I’m not related to him, Robin, don’t worry. I’m playing hooky, I’ll catch ya later… hopefully?” I say. I start walking past her to the free world from Hawkins High School

“Yeah, to-totally.” The faint voice of Robin can be heard from the closing doors.

…

Halloween Night: Friday 31, 1984

“Listen Tina, I can’t make it.” I told the bummed girl over that phone. “I’m sorry, I’ll come to the next party you throw.” I reassured her.

“But why are you flaking out on the Halloween bash! You never miss this specific party in the few years that I have known you.” That is true. Once you went to Tina’s annual halloween party you’ve never missed it. But that is changing this year. Being that your twin brother and step sister now live here, there is going to be a lot more flaking then just at the halloween party.

“Tina I told you, I’m taking Will trick or treating with his friends tonight.” You told her once again. “We can do a sleepover some time next week… okay.” 

“Okay.” I heard her sigh, “I see ya around.”

“See ya later Tina.” I hung up the yellow landline. I walk over to the livingroom to see Will fixing his ghostbusters costume.

“I still can’t believe no one else dressed up this year.” Will said sadly, “Everyone dressed up last year.”

“It’s okay Will, they just think they're too cool to dress up.” I reassured the small kid. In the back you can hear Bob explaining to Johnathan how the camera works when Joyce came behind Will with his, whatever it is, backpack for his costume.

“Listen, stay close to your brother and Amy, and you get a bad feeling just tell them so you can come straight home.” Joyce told him. “You promise.” Will gave her a thumbs up. “Okay.”

“You ready to rock and roll, Will the wise.” I smiled down at him.

“Be safe.” Joyce shouted out to us, mainly to Will. We all got into the car. Jonathan driving, Will in the passenger seat, and with me in the back. We start to make our way over to Mike’s neighborhood. 

“I just don’t get what she sees in him.” Jonathan says all of a sudden.

“What?” Will answered in utter confusion.

“Bob.”

“At least he doesn’t treat me differently.” Will said. “I can’t even go trick or treating by myself. It’s lame.”

“What, you think me and Johnathan are lame?” I said, trying to lighten his mood. 

“No, but it’s not like Nancy is coming to watch over Mike. You know?” Jonathan just sighs. He looks at me from the mirror. I give him the same look. We both feel bad for the kid, but what are we gonna do? I don’t want anything to happen to Will. Sooner than later we are at Mike’s front yard. Will makes his way to get out till Johnathan stops him.

“Hey.” Jonathan says to Will.

“Yeah.” He answers.

“If I let you go by yourself, will you promise to stay in the neighborhood.” Johnathan suggested. 

“Yeah.” Will’s mood brightened up. “Yeah-Yeah, totally.”

“And be back at Mike’s by 9:00.” Jonathan told him.

“9:30?” Will tried to persuade him. “9:00.” Jonathan said again.”Deal?” “Yeah deal.” Will rushes out of the car to go to his friends.

“Will.” Jonathan stops him from leaving the car to hand him the camera. “Don’t let any of your spazzy friends touch this.” Will laughed and took the camera to go over to his friends. 

“You’re a good brother John.” I smiled at him. “I’ll see ya later.” As is tried to get out of the car but Jonathan stopped me.

“Wait where are you going?” 

“I don't know, I’ll probably walk around the neighborhood.” I said. “I got a friend down that street.”

“You’re really not going to Tina’s party?” He was bewildered by this. 

“Yeah John, I’m really not going.”

“But you love Tina’s parties.” He simply stated.

“Well I’m not feeling it this year.” I told him.

“Bullshit.” He called. “Why aren’t you going?”

“I just don’t want to go.” I’m sticking to this. “I have someone I can hang out with, plus I’ll be close to Will if something happens.” John and I just stare at each other for a minute.

“Okay.” He sighed. “But if Nancy gets upset that you’re not there, I’m not taking the heat.”

“Okay.” I smiled at him as I got out of the car. I walked my way over to where the boys were messing around as John left for Tina's party. “Okay turd-nuggets.” I begin.

“Really, what are you twelve?” Mike sassed. 

“And are you a lollipop with that stick up your ass?” I sassed back to him, I start back up were I was interrupted. “I will be down that street with a friend, I will be back her at 8:45 to make sure you guys are fine. Okay?”

A chorus of “Okay’s” filled the air.

“Great! See you shit-heads later.” I walk off a familiar bird’s house. I walk up the stairs to the front door and give it a quick knock. I wait until the door opens. 

“Amelia?” Robin says confused. “What are you doing here?”

“ I was hoping we could hang out for a bit.” I suggested. “Is that okay?”

“Oh! It’s completely fine!” She exclaimed, “I just thought you'd be at some party.”

“I didn’t feel like partying tonight, ya know.” I made my way into her house.

…

Tina’s Halloween Party: Friday 31, 1984

The party was in full swing. TP covering the lights of every room. Alcohol filling the mouths and noses of every teenager on the property. Music blasting as loud as physically possible. Someone throwing up in the front yard. The smell of weed coming from the master bedroom with each new blunt that was lit. The sound of a name being chanted in the backyard. A keg stand can be seen with an all too familiar blonde on top, like always. 

“Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy! Billy!” Is chanting through the crowd as the new keg king came down from his stand. Spitting out that remaining beer from his mouth.

“That’s how you do it Hawkins! That’s how you do it!” Billy yelled. The statement “We have a new keg king, ladies and gentleman!” Being shouted along as Billy made his way into the house. His senses are filled with the atmosphere of the room. Till he sees a certain fallen king with his princess. 

“Got ourselves a new keg king Harrington.” Tommy boasted.

“Yeah, eat it Harrington!”  Steve looked onto the, now new, keg king. Waiting for something to happen.

“What’s wrong Harrington? Your little dyke is not here to save you.” Tommy fake whined to him. As a way to taunt him. Tommy was about to keep laughing when he felt beer splash over his shoulder. “What the? What the hell Tina?!”

“Don’t call her that!” Tina shouted at him “If she was here she’d leave you crying.”, too drunk to keep dealing with him but still wanting to defend her friend. Nancy, now done with the testerone in front of her, quickly left to get something stronger to drink. Tommy is now pissed that he is covered in pungent drink. 

“Go worry about yourself before you come at me guys.” Was all Steve said then walking away from the other teenage boys. Staring off at the brunette as he went after his girlfriend.

Billy turned himself around to face Tommy. “How were you talking about that got Tina mad?” He asked, genuinely curious about the lesbian that was not present tonight at the party of the semester.

“Oh. Just some lesbo that hangs with Harrington.” Tommy retorted, making it seem like she isn’t worth Billy’s time. “She can be a fucking asshole.”

…

Laughter filled the Buckley house this Halloween. The two girls conversed with one another for the past few hours. Being comfortable with one another knowing how the other truly is.

“Wait.” Robin kept laughing. “You got caught kissing Heather Halloway from her bedroom window then proceeded to fall from the second story?!”

“Yeaah, I’m not welcomed over at the Holloway house any more.” I giggled.  

“Jeez, you’ve done more than I thought.” Robin smiled. “I’m still scared to change in the girls locker room.”

“Hey I’m the town lesbo.” I calmly giggled. 

We fell into comfortable silence, “Hey, I wanna ask you something?” Robin asked.

“Sure.” I said, waiting for her question.

“What was California like?” I sat silent for a second. Due to my silence Robin thought she had hit a nerve. “If you don’t want to talk about it you don’t have to!”

“It’s okay, I just haven't talked with anyone about California.” I reassured her. “ It was like a constant sunset everyday…” I started.

“The weather was always perfect. And the beaches, oh my god the beaches. They were always clear. I lived in Santa Monica, very touristy but beautiful.” I was happy I could finally talk about my home again. “Ugh that sand was so soft under your toes when you walked. And there was this boardwalk that my mom took me and my brother to all that time-” 

“You have a brother?” Robin asked curiously.I stopped. ‘No I messed up’.

“Yeah.” I frowned.

“Do- Do you miss him?” Robin asked.

“Everyday… but I hope he’s living the California dream as you guys would say.” I covered my truth with a lie. Not wanting her to know that my brother is here in Hawkins. 

“Well from how to describe California, it sounds beautiful.” She reassured me.

I stared back at her with a smile. “Thanks Robin.” Silence filled the room again. Comfortable silence. I liked being around Robin, even with her nervous attitude, she was truly one of a kind. I was about to say something when I glanced at the clock of the wall to find it was close to the time I told the boys I would meet them.

“I gotta go.” I sighed disappointedly, “But I’d love to spend more time together.” I am hoping her answer is a yes.

“Yeah, I would love that! Well not like love-love, but do love being around you. Not in like a couple ways cause that would be weird since we’re just friends. Yaaa know.” She panicked.

“I know Rob.” I smirked, “I’ll see you at school later.” 

As we said our goodbyes, I made my way down the street to see the boys. I saw the familiar ghostbuster’s suits from where I was. I could tell that they picked someone up along the way to go trick or treating with. ‘How cute, they made a new friend’. There were two stragglers in the back of the group, by the hair cuts I could tell that it was Mike and Will. I did a small jog over to them.

“Hey shit-heads!” I yelled to them, all their heads slowly turning to me as I made my way over to them. “Did you guys get anything good?”

“What Amy, why are you here?” Mike complained.

“Cause it is close to 9:00 and I want to check on you guys, is that so bad?”

“Yes.” He answered.

“Okay you know what, you're a little shit.” I said to him, “Besides who’s your new?... friend…”

Fuck.

It appears that we have the same looks on our faces. I stared at Max. She stared back at me.

“Shit…” I accidently said out loud.

“Do you know Max, Amy?” Lucas asked me.

I took a deep breath in. “No.” I said simply. “Listen, hit up a few more houses, I’ll come get you in a minute.”

“Where are you-” Dustin started.

“I need a minute guys!” I shouted at them, walking over to Mike’s front yard. Dammit, why. Why! The last person I want to see is with the kids I watch. Shit. This is bad. She can’t tell Niel. No, she can’t tell Billy. Would they even believe her if she told them? Shit, what do I do? I was taken out of my head when a very upset Mike walked by me. I was about to ask him if he was okay when I heard a commotion in the street. I look over to see Will being picked on by some older boys.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing!” I shout at them as I run over to them. “Get back here you fuck heads!” They ran away the minute I had my eyes set on them. Will was pushed to the ground, dropping his candy and camera. I kneel down to him, “Hey Will, are you okay?” I calmly asked him. “Did they hurt you?” I kept asking. Will was not responding what so ever. He just kept looking up at the sky, like something was looking at him. “Will?... Will!” He started to get up slowly, still not answering me. He started to move slowly. Till he ran straight to the back of Mike’s house. “Will!” I shouted after him, grabbing his candy and camera. The other apparently heard me since I heard multiple pairs of feet behind me. I made my way down some brick stairs to find Mike with Will hiding behind a wall.

“Will! I couldn’t find you.” Mike panicked with worry. “I heard Amy shouting then I couldn’t find you, are you hurt?” Due to Will’s heavy breathing I could tell what was up.

“Holy shit!” Dustin yelled. 

I kneeled down to his level looking him in the eyes. “Did you have another episode Will?” He was still looking around like a scared cat. “I’m gonna get you home, okay buddy.”  Mike made his way to help Will up. When others tried to help he called them off. Blocking off the rest of us to take Will with him.

“Mike?” Dustin tried.

“Keep trick or treating, I’m bored anyways.” He started taking Will with him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Max asked, looking to us for an answer. The boys and I were silent, nothing to say.

“It’s something you don’t have to worry about.” I told her. “Dustin, Lucas go up there for a minute. I need to talk with her.”

“What! Why?” They both started to complain.

“I don’t want to hear it. Go!” I hardly ever get stern with them, but when I do I hope they know I mean what I say. They both, begrudgingly, made their way up the stairs. I turn myself back to Max.

“Max.”

“Amelia.”

“I go by Amy now…” Well this is awkward.

“What did you want?” She asked me, quit literally over me already.

“You can’t tell Billy I’m here or anyone.” I told her.

“What? Why not?” She was baffled. “Do you not know how much Billy misses you?”

“No Max I don’t, because I’ve been here for the past 4 years.” I stated. “Just please don’t tell him, and don’t tell anyone that we’re related. Got that.”

“Yes.”

“Good. As far as me and you go, we just met. Okay?”

“Okay.” She said a bit quietly. “Now let’s get you back up there with your friends so you can enjoy the rest of the night.” I take her back up to Dustin and Lucas. And since Johnathan isn’t here by 9:00, looks like I’m stuck here.

Jeez, the next month is gonna be a shit show. Max knows I’m here now. Johnathan is nowhere in sight. On top of that my twin brother is here too. Hopefully this can’t get any worse than it already is.

Man. I was so wrong about that…

Hello! I hope you enjoyed this part of the story! Also so sorry for my absents, I know you guys are wanting fics/stories. All I ask is that you be patient with me, thank you. If you have any kind of feed back I would love to hear it. And please tell me what you think of Robin and Amelia's interactions together.

I always love good feedback!

Thank you for reading and have a great Christmas!

@meowiemari

@b1tchy3lf