#I’d like to save jim | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jazziejax · 4 months ago

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𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐃𝐮𝐬𝐤 ‘𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐰𝐧

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - Cowboy!Terry Richmond x Black!Reader

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 - They had always had this lingering tension between them. But not it seems that whatever feelings were there have now boiled over and at the Sweet Tooth Saloon, things get a little hot.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 - 18+!, MINORS DNI, Heavy tension, sensual dancing, explicit smut, oral (f!receiving), soft!Terry, mild dominance, tender aftercare, implied feelings

𝐉𝐚𝐳𝐳𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 - since yall only like me when I write about Aaron Pierre 🙄 I’m not good at wiring smut and I don’t even like doing it but this is something to hold yall over in case I drop off the fave if the earth soon. I have Finals next week :( UNEDITED, sorry for any spelling errors and grammar mistakes. There probably many because my laptop over heated…also, I can’t write a short fic to save my life.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭- 9,567+

The small bell above the door jingled as the large man stepped into the beauty salon, ducking slightly to avoid the low-hanging dried herbs strung up near the entrance. The scent of lavender and bergamot mixed with the faintest trace of hot iron and other chemicals, the kind used to curl or straighten a lady’s hair.

He had never set foot in a place like this before. Not because he didn’t believe in looking presentable—he just never trusted another person with a razor near his throat. And, to be honest, he didn't mind looking rough sometimes, but he was starting to become a little self-conscious whenever a woman looked at him for too long. Especially her. But the dust of the road clung to him, so his beard and his hair had grown past the point of comfort as he and his comrades spent more time than they thought in Sugar Cane Creek. Everything needed a trim. At least, the mirror at the bar last night told him as much, and Jim had made a comment about him “starting to look like a wild man”.

Terry didn’t care much what people thought, but he cared about feeling like himself.

A woman stood behind the counter, fingers-deep in a bowl of soapy water, scrubbing a comb. The early morning light that poured through the shop window was caught in her dark hair, making it shine like polished mahogany. She looked up, recognizing him instantly—because who in Sugar Cane Creek didn’t know who he rode with? But she didn’t stiffen or frown like some folk did when they saw a man from the Nat Love Gang.

Instead, she wiped her hands on a cloth, tilted her head, and smiled just enough to let him know she wasn’t afraid.

“Well, well." She mused, setting her rag aside. “Never thought I’d see the day you walked in here.” She said, a soft grin on her face. Her voice was as rich and smooth as honey fresh from the comb.

Terry removed his hat with a sigh, brushing a hand over his curls that had gotten a little thick on top of his head. “I think I'm in need of a trim.”

She raised a brow. “Hair or beard?”

“Both.”

Her gaze flickered over him, lingering on the rough edges of his beard. “I’ll say. Starting to look real close to a mountain man.” She quipped. Terry, however, didn’t smile, but something in his dark eyes did shift, a flicker of amusement that only she would catch. They had always danced around one another. Something they had been doing for a while now—exchanging looks in town while Terry earned his keep over at Cotton's and she began to start her work day at The Blush and Brush Parlor, brushing shoulders when they shared time at The Sweet Tooth Saloon. He was a quiet man, but she liked that about him. A man who didn’t talk just to fill space.

Her eyes flickered over his face, then lower to where his suede, dark brown, coat stretched broad across his shoulders. “Take your coat off." She said, already gathering her scissors. “You might be here a while.”

Terry hesitated, looking down at the shorter woman with a tired look. "Don't talk about me like I'm some sort of ruffian, now." He said, his voice deep and his country drawl thick. The brown skinned woman gave him a faux pout with a small laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry, bright eyes, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. Now take a seat and let’s get you looking decent again, okay?" She grinned, playing coy with him. Terry didn't flinch at the name, but a small twitch was his lip was noticeable to her before he then shrugged out of his coat and laid it over the empty chair not far from him. He then sat down in the chair she stood in front of, allowing the woman to drape a sheet over his front, tying it at the back of his neck with nimble fingers before combing through his hair. She was gentle, but precise—no wasted movements, no hesitation.

"You know how to do men's hair?" He asked.

"Yup." She said. “Been cutting my daddy’s since I was eight. Used to say I was better than any barber in town.” He could hear the smile in her tone at the thought, though it veered off into something a little sad.

Terry hummed, the closest he’d come to laughter anyways, but he could also tell that the subject was a little sensitive to her. He let her work, let the soft snip of the scissors fill the quiet. Every so often, he felt the barest brush of her fingertips against his skin. He could also feel her large chest brush against the back of his neck every now and then, causing him to look up into the mirror in front of him, watching the woman work. He wasn’t a man who flinched easy, but something about that gentle touch made him tense in a way he couldn’t explain.

The shop was quiet except for the snip of her scissors. She worked with practiced ease, combing through his hair, trimming away the weight. Every so often, her fingers brushed the nape of his neck, light and deliberate. She felt the way he tensed, barely noticeable, but there.

“Relax, cowboy." She teased. “I ain’t gon' hurt you.” She said softly.

He exhaled slowly through his nose, settling into the chair.

She then suddenly grabbed the side of his head, straightening his head and looking at him though the mirror. He wasn't quite sure what she was doing, but he didn't question it as he watched her intensely though the mirror.

“Alright." She murmured after a while. “That’s the hair. Now the tricky part.”

She brush the excess hair from him before she turned to the washbasin, dipping a cloth into warm water before wringing it out. He expected her to hand it to him, but instead, she pressed it against his face herself. She held his head steady with her other hand, gripping his chin. And he couldn't help but wonder if she did the same procedures with all her clients, because even though his hair looked better than before, the way she was touching felt oddly intimate. The heat from her touch as well as the warm cloth sank into his skin, soothing the roughness of travel and the dry air. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that.

She worked carefully, rubbing a mixture of soap and oil into his beard before picking up the straight razor. She tested the blade against her thumb. She hummed before moving over to the leather strap against the wall to give it a quick sharpen. She tested it again, obviously to her liking since she walked back over and tipped his chin up with two fingers.

“You ever had a woman shave you before?” She asked, looking up from inspecting his unruly beard to lock eyes with his bright ones. It was a simple question, calling for a simple answer, but their gazes were intense. Terry shook his head, just barely, caught in her big eyes and soft touch as he licked his lips.

His response, or lack there of, caused her to grin. “Good. Means you’ll keep still.” She said, only leaning in briefly as she joked with him, but her sudden contact made allowed him to catch a whiff of sweet scent like, something like Ambrosia.

“Lean back,” She instructed, her foot hovering over the pump that allowed the chair to recline. Terry hesitated, blinking at her. It's not that he didn't trust her, he'd known her for quite some time now. He trusted her hands in his hair, but a blade near his throat? That was different. He never trusted anyone that much, not even his closest comrades. It's the reason why all his self-cut's were a little choppy. Something that wouldn't have mattered if he was still up to his outlaw duties and on the road. But now he was spending his time in saloon's and around beauties they didn't offer at home.

She caught the shift in his posture, her smirk turning knowing. “You scared?” She questioned.

Terry met her gaze, his own steady. “No.”

“Then sit still.” She said before she pushed down on the pump under the chair, allowing it to recline. And that he did, opening his growing facial hair to her, ample room left in case of his worst fear. But he had no reason to fear her and her intentions, because her blade was steady. Her hands were sure, and he trusted her, even though he had no reason to.

The razor glided slow, careful. She kept her grip steady, the blade sharp and sure as it skimmed along his jaw. The heat of the late afternoon pressed into the shop, thick and lazy, but it wasn’t what made her skin prickle. It wasn’t what sent that slow, creeping flush up her neck, settling warm in her cheeks.

No, that was him. It was his eyes that were watching her.

They were unblinking, steady, tracking her every move like a man who had nowhere else to be. He was always like this—silent, still, and always looking—but something about it felt different now. Maybe because they were closer than usual. Maybe because she could feel the heat radiating off him, could see the slow rise and fall of his chest under the weight of her touch.

She set her jaw, trying not to let on just how much she felt him. The every move he made under her touch.

Instead, she focused.

“Bet you’re the kind of man who don’t like feeling vulnerable." She murmured, trying to make small talk with staring man.

Terry’s eyes stayed on her. “You talk too much.” He said, quirking a brow at her. She chuckled, dragging the blade along his jawline. “Maybe. But you don’t talk enough, so it evens out.”

Her hand shifted, fingers pressing just beneath his chin as she tilted his head for a better angle. He was warm beneath her touch, his pulse steady, but she felt it jump when her nails scraped lightly against his throat. She tilted his chin just slightly, her fingers light under his jaw, and dragged the blade down his throat in a slow, deliberate motion. He let her, not moving, not even swallowing, though she could see the tight pull of his muscles beneath his skin, right at the peek of his shirt.

She shouldn’t be looking there, but how could she not? This hunk of a man was lying below her, almost open and willing as he gazed up her with a soft look in his eyes. The air between them was thick, something unspoken curling at the edges. Her grip on the razor tightened just a little as she worked, and his gaze burned hotter for it.

“You always watch this hard?” She asked finally, keeping her tone light as she wiped the hair she cut on a rag after shaking it off in the water basin and then wiping it away. She glanced up some, catching sight of his lips—pink, full, and slightly parted—tipped up at the corner. “Always.” That single word, rough and low, sent something straight to her stomach.

She swallowed as she continued working, trying her best to focus, steadying herself. She wasn’t about to let him get the better of her, no matter how much heat curled between them. But she also took her time finishing the shave, enjoying the rare sight of the outlaw that is Terry Richmond—silent, still, and at her mercy.

“You’re awful quiet for a man with so much to say in his eyes." She murmured, brushing away the lingering shaving foam with the pad of her thumb. Her hand lingered a second too long, caught in the shape of his jaw. Terry still didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just watched her.

“Didn’t know I needed to talk." He said, and she could’ve sworn she saw his blue eyes flicker to a sea green as the light hit them. The warmth in her cheeks…and else where, deepened. She pulled back, making quick work of the last stroke of hair she had to eliminate, but her hands weren’t as steady as before.

And he knew that.

By the time she was done, the shop felt too small, too warm, too much. She grabbed the cloth and wiped his face cleaning, looking at her finished product around his mouth. Her eyes met his briefly as she took in the goatee she set him up with, a small smile beginning to grace his feature as his eyes bounced across her face. She cleared her throat softly, wiping an imaginary spot of lather from his jaw and leaned back to admire her work. “There. You clean up nice, cowboy.” She said with a grin.

She turned, quickly wiping the blade clean, setting it aside, and moving a few steps away to compose herself as she gathered the material she sat out in front of the mirror.

But then she felt him stand up from the chair, taking the cape off. She felt the shift in the air when he got close—just behind her. Close enough that she could feel the heat of him at her back. She glanced up, watching as he inspected his face in the mirror from behind her. He rubbed his large hands across his face, taking in his fresh look. He only did that for a few seconds before his gazed dropped to the round woman below him. He her her eyes in the mirror, nothing but an exchange between their eyes. She was the only to look away first, cleaning the station.

Terry sat the hair cape he had in his hands in the chair, looking as himself one last time before he hummed in content. He place his hand on her shoulder, large over her breakers that was far from small. “Good job.” He said, voice low near her ear. He then stepped away, his hand dragging down and across the back of her waist as he moved over to shoulder on his coat. She froze at the feeling of him touching her, and then gulped at his fingers tracking off her body. She looked up, looking herself in the eye and blinking, making sure this was all real, before looking in the mirror to watch him put the coat over his large frame.

Terry ran a hand over his chin, feeling the smoothness. He met her gaze, something unspoken passing between them.

“How much?” He asked after putting on his hat, straightening his clothing, and she tried not to get distract by the way he grabbed his belt, using it to adjust his pants. She turns, tiring her head at him as she gave him a noticeable once over. “Hmm.” She stated with a hum, placing her hands on her hips as she stepped closer. “Well, if you were any other customer, I’d charge five cent. But for you, Terry Richmond, I’ll charge you three.” She smiled.

Terry’s lips twitched, his expression unreadable as he glanced off into the distance out side of the parlor’s windows. He adjusted his belt, the large buckle dinging softly while the leather shifted under his grip. His eyes, sharp and knowing, flicked back to her.

“Three cents, huh?” His voice was smooth, lazy, but there was an edge to it—like he was turning something over in his mind. “Mighty generous of you. Can’t help but to think I’m special.” He quipped, though his tone never really wavered from his deep baritone and his serious manner.

She lifted a brow, arms still crossed as she tilted her head at him. “Well, I’m feelin’ kind.” She smiled, playing along to the game she knew she started, all for the hell of it.

That little smirk of his deepened. He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, closing some of the space she’d put between them. She felt it immediately—his warmth, his presence. It was impossible not to.

“You always this kind? Or only to me?” His voice had dropped, rough and low, like gravel dipped in honey.

Her pulse skipped. She held his gaze, not backing down, but he knew what he was doing. He knew the way his voice curled around her, the way his eyes made her skin prickle. Her breath caught, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she kept her expression even, playful, letting her smile linger as she tilted her chin up at him.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She murmured, voice smooth as satin. “Mr. Special.” She finished, a certain glint in her eye as she tilted her chin just slightly—like she wasn’t the least bit affected. Like she wasn’t keenly aware of just how close he was now.

Terry huffed a quiet chuckle, but there was something else in his eyes—something sharp, knowing. His gaze flickered down, just briefly at the Lowe part of her face, before settling back on hers. His presence was suffocating in the best way, heavy and warm, filling up the little space between them.

“I would.” He admitted, voice slow and deliberate, like he was testing the weight of the words. “Got a feelin’ the answer might keep me up at night.” He said, crossing his arms.

She let out a soft laugh, looking away from his heavy stare as she shook her head. The heat curling in her stomach was unmistakable. He was good—too good. And she didn’t now how’s long she last in this little game they always played before she pounced on him.

“Don’t go losin’ sleep over me, Richmond.” She teased, even as her pulse thrummed in her ears. She breezed past him, making sure her side brushed against his as she moving over to the small counter on the left side of the door. His eyes trailed down her figure once her back was to him, taking in her round and voluptuous curves from behind. “Wouldn’t wanna be the cause of your troubles.” She finished as she turned to look at him from behind the counter. She leaned her weight in the counter, her hand clasped together with her forearms resting on cold wood. She watched as Terry stood there for a moment, the look in his eye darker than before as he stated at her. He then blinked before moving, not taking his eyes from her with his pace slow and deliberate before he stood on the other side of the counter, looking down at the woman.

Terry tilted his head slightly, studying her like he was seeing something no one else had the sense to look for.

“Too late for that.” He said. The words were quiet, but they landed heavy between them, sending a shiver straight down her spine. Before she could find something clever to throw back at him after gulping, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a silver dollar, and placed it on the counter in front of her hands. His fingers brushed hers, Cushing him to glance down at the small touch.

He then looked back up, his blue eyes staring into her brown ones. “That oughta cover the next few visits.” He said, voice even, but there was that flicker of something else in his eyes again—something smug, something dangerous.

She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s too much.”

Terry simply shook his head, glancing away from her. “Nah.”

She narrowed her gaze at him, lips parting slightly, but he was already shrugging into his coat, the weight of his scent—tobacco and something deep, something him—lingering in the air. “And here I thought you didn’t like to talk.” She mused, watching him, arms placed on the counter as she thought over all their silent but pleasant times together in the Saloon while the rest of the gang chatted.

Terry confined to gaze at her, his eyes taking across her face. “I don’t.” He said, his smirk lazy, knowing. He paused, casting her a slow, lingering glance—one that made her stomach twist up in knots. He then turned to the door, but before pausing and casting one last glance over his shoulder. His gaze swept over her—slow, deliberate, enough to make the air feel thick with something unspoken. Then, after a beat—“But you make it worth it, Mrs.Special.” Then he tipped his hat and walked out.

And then, just like that, he was gone, leaving her standing there, staring after him, her heart racing, her face burning hotter than a summer’s day in Cane Creek, her fingers gripping the counter a little tighter than before and the lingering ghost of his eyes still burning against her skin.

★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ ★

The Sweet Tooth Saloon was alive tonight—thick with the scent of whiskey, tobacco, and the heat of too many bodies pressed close together. Laughter and conversation swirled beneath the hum of string instruments, boots tapping against the wooden floor. The music was thick, rolling through the air like smoke, wrapping around every body packed into the space. Heat clung to the walls, thick with whiskey, sweat, and the deep, throaty hum of anticipation.

But all of it quieted—just a little—when she stepped onto the stage. Her deep red dress hugging her curves, sinching in her waist and pushing up her breast.

The pianist struck a slow, rolling tune, and a hush fell over the crowd like a held breath. She let them wait, dragging her fingertips along the microphone stand, tilting her head slightly as she took in the sea of faces before her. Then, just when the tension thickened, she let her voice pour out, smooth and rich like warm molasses.

The song was sultry, the kind that curled its way around a man’s spine and made him lean in just a little closer, made him think about things he shouldn’t in a room full of people. And Lord, did they lean in. The entire saloon was hanging onto her voice, watching the way she swayed, the way her fingers trailed down her own arm, the way she made every lyric sound like a promise whispered against bare skin.

Men leaned closer, their drinks forgotten, their gazes fixed on the woman commanding the stage. Her voice was rich, full of promise, of something dark and sweet.

But there was only one pair of eyes she felt, steady and unwavering through the thick haze of smoke and lantern light. In the very back, where the light barely reached, where the smoke curled the thickest—she saw him.

Terry Richmond.

He was leaning against the bar, broad and still, his hat tilted low but not enough to hide the way his bright eyes. He was half-shrouded in shadow, his bright blue gaze cutting through the dim like a knife. He wasn’t drinking, wasn’t talking—just watching.

Her heart skipped a little.

Heat licked up her spine at the intensity of it, but she didn’t let it shake her. She didn’t falter under his gaze. Instead, she let it fuel her, let it shape the way she sang, the way her lips curved around the lyrics, the way she dragged her fingers over the curve of her own waist. If he wanted to look, she was gonna give him something worth looking at.

She kept singing, dragging out the final note, letting it settle over the room like the last flicker of a candle before it goes out. By the time the last note left her lips, the saloon erupted in cheers, men whistling, clapping, stomping their boots against the floor. She gave a slow, knowing smile, dipping into a slight bow before stepping down from the stage.

She didn’t make a show of looking for him, but she knew exactly where she was going.

The moment she reached the bar, a whiskey was already waiting for her—on the house, as always. She took a slow sip, letting the burn settle deep before finally turning, finally meeting his gaze up close. The bar was crowded, but somehow, the space next to Terry was clear. He didn’t look at her right away, just lifted a hand slightly to catch the bartender’s attention. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. He just looked at her, that same unreadable expression on his face.

“Whiskey?” He asked, voice low, smooth like dark molasses as he gave a small gesture to the glass she already downed. She leaned against the counter, close enough that the edge of her skirt brushed his leg. “You know me too well.” She grinned, already feeling the buzz that the alcohol as giving her. At that, Terry slid a silver coin across the counter, and within seconds, a glass was in front of her. She looked away from him as she took a slow sip, letting the burn settle in her chest. She could feel him watching her, but he didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. That was the thing about Terry—he could say more in a look than most men could in a thousand words.

“You always stare this hard, Richmond?” She asked, looking over at him with a tilt of her head once she had enough of the hard liquor, her voice still thick with the remnants of the song. His lips quirked, just barely, his eyes drifting over her figure. “Only when I like what I see.”

Her stomach flipped at his words, but she kept her expression even, playful. “That so?” She asked, a smirk in her lip and quirk of her brow. “That’s so.” He repeated in confirmation, then kicking his lips. Terry then leaned in just a fraction, close enough that she could feel the heat of him, close enough that she caught the scent of tobacco and cedarwood clinging to his coat.

“So much so.” He murmured, “That I might just have to get my hands on it.” Her breath caught, pulse quickening, but before she could say something sharp, something smart—before she could even decide if she wanted to—Terry’s head tilted slightly, his gaze flickering to the dance floor.

A new song had started.

Something slow. Something meant to be felt more than heard. She barely had time to set her glass down before Terry’s hand slid to her waist.

Without another word, without giving her the chance to refuse, his other hand reached for hers, his grip warm and sure as he led her away from the bar. Her breath hitched. Her heart pounded as she let him pull her into him, his palm settling low against her back. He didn’t ask. Didn’t say a damn word. Just pulled her onto the dance floor.

If he wanted to play with fire, she was more than happy to let him burn.

The moment they stepped into the space, bodies made room for them. Not out of fear, not tonight, but out of knowing. Because everyone in Sugar Cane Creek had eyes. And at that moment, everyone had seen the way Terry Richmond looked at her. The way she looked back.

The tension wrapped around them thick as smoke, curling in the air, pressing against their skin.

Terry moved slow, deliberate, his hand firm at the small of her back, the other clasping hers as he pulled her close—closer than what was proper, closer than what was wise. She let him, her breath shuddering as she settled into him, the warmth of his body seeping into hers. The saloon blurred around them, the lights dim, the chatter distant. None of it mattered. Not when his blue eyes were locked onto hers, not when she could feel the slow drag of his thumb against the back of her hand.

“You dance?” She murmured, her voice teasing, her lips dangerously close to his jaw. She felt him take in a breath with her chest against hers, and if she paused attention, she could’ve sworn she felt the way his heart was beating. “Only when I got reason to.” He answered, his voice a low rumble against her skin. “You given me plenty.” He said, his lips close to her ear as they danced.

She swallowed that his tone so close, heat curling in her belly. “Is that so?”

His fingers flexed against her back, pulling her that last inch closer. His breath, warm and slow, ghosted over her cheek. “Mmhmm.” He hummed with a lick of his lips, the sound causing his body to rumble against hers. She exhaled softly, turning her head just enough that their noses brushed, just enough that if either of them leaned in—just a little—they’d be past the point of no return.

The music swelled, the rhythm thick and slow, wrapping around them like a promise. The way they moved now—close, slow, like something dangerous just beneath the surface—only confirmed what they both had long suspected.

His hand was firm against the small of her back, his other clasping hers as he led her through the steps. It wasn’t a fast dance, nothing rowdy or wild, but it was just as electric. Every turn, every shift, had them pressing together. His breath skimmed the shell of her ear when he leaned in, his grip tightening just enough to let her feel the strength in his arms.

“You always hold a woman this close when you dance?” She whispered, looking up at him through her lashes. Terry’s lips barely curved, his smirk lazy, knowing. “Only when I don’t plan on lettin’ go.” He said, his eyes inspecting every crevice her face had to offer. He didn’t know if he’d bee be this close to her again, and he was taking advantage of the blessing he had to hold her in this way, and gaze at her face as he did.

Her breath hitched.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them blinked.

Lord, the way he watched her. He looked at her as if she was the only thing in the room. Like he was memorizing her in real time. She met his gaze, bold as ever, and let her fingers trail slow up his shoulder, tracing the line of his coat until her nails met the hot skin of his neck. A muscle in his jaw ticked at that. His grip on her waist flexed. They didn’t speak. Didn’t need to.

And then, just when she thought he might tip his head and close the space, just when she thought she might lose her damn mind waiting for it—

He pulled her into the next step of the dance, smooth as silk, a satisfied glint in those blue eyes of his. He was teasing her. Daring her.

If he wanted a game, she was more than happy to play.

“Oh, is that how you want to play?” She asked, feigning innocence while her pulse quickened with anticipation.

Terry’s smirk returned, a challenge wrapped in his expression. “You started it, darlin’.” He replied, stepping into her space that was no longer available due to him, their bodies flush against one another. The heat radiating from him was intoxicating, lulling her in despite the playful facade they each wore. He controlled their movements with a firm yet gentle lead, the world around them fading as she lost herself in the intensity of his gaze and the cadence of their bodies moving in sync.

She narrowed her eyes, but her smirk was knowing. Two could play that game. She let her body press just a little closer, her curves molding against the hard lines of him, her breath a warm whisper against his cheek. He swallowed, his fingers tightening against her waist, a sharp inhale the only sign of restraint.

She felt it, that slip of control, and it sent something hot through her veins. "Careful, cowboy." She murmured, voice all honey and silk. "You might not want to let go, but I ain't so sure you can handle holdin’ on."

His eyes then darkened. His grip flexed, strong fingers digging into the curve of her waist, keeping her against him like he had no intention of letting her go. Not now. Not ever. Now, Terry didn’t scare easy. Didn’t flinch and didn’t fold to many.

But her?

She was dangerous in a way he wasn’t prepared for. Her voice, all thick honey and slow-drawn silk, wrapped around him, testing, teasing, tempting as it spilling through his ear and ran though his veins like it was his blood. Keeping his heart pumping. He could feel the shape of her, soft and warm against the hard planes of his body, the sway of their dance turning into something far more dangerous, far more intimate.

He leaned in, just enough that his lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You think I can’t handle you?” He asked, his hands drifting lower as he practically engulfed her in his body. She let out a breathy little laugh, conveniently covering the way she took in a sudden breath at his touch, one that made his pulse jump, made his restraint strain at the edges. "Wouldn’t be the first man to try and fail, cowboy.” She whispered to him, her fingers brushing against the nape of his neck, feeling the freshly shaved haircut he had gotten only hours prior.

Terry exhaled through his nose, amused, darkly so.

She was pushing him, daring him. And he welcomed the challenge. So he let his hand slide lower, fingers grazing the base of her spine, just above the curve of her ass, applying the slightest pressure that had her breath catching. She was quick, though. Slipping her arms around his shoulders, she placed her hand on the back of his head, nails scratching ever so lightly. That same muscle in his jaw ticked again.

Her smirk widened.

That was it.

The last frayed thread of his patience snapped.

Without warning, Terry spun her, pressing her back against his front, effectively caging her in. The movement had her chest rising, her lips parting, and damn if that wasn’t the prettiest sight he’d ever seen as he looked down at her. His voice dropped, a low murmur only for her.

"Darlin'..." His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down the side of her neck, lingering at the base of her throat. He could feel her pulse hammering beneath his touch while his other hand rested low on her waist in the front, easing down to a place unimaginable in front of folks. “You’re playin’ with fire." He muttered.

She tilted her chin up, leaning her head back against his chest, gaze smoldering. "Good thing I ain't afraid to burn.” She whispered. And that was all he needed. He quickly spun her around and his mouth was on hers, rough and consuming, his kiss leaving no room for question, no space for anything but him—his hands, his body, the heat of him pressing against every part of her.

She met him with equal fervor, fingers fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, gasping into his mouth when he pressed himself fully against her. The saloon around them might as well have disappeared.

Nothing else existed in that moment. Just him and just her. That and the fire threatening to consume them both.

One moment, they were moving with the rhythm of the music, spinning slow in the dim glow of the saloon lights. The next, he was leading her off the floor, through the press of bodies, past the thick haze of cigar smoke and whiskey-scented air. The second the cool night air hit her skin, she was backed against the wooden frame of the saloon’s outer wall, the rough grain pressing into her spine, his body caging her in.

There was no more teasing, just as there was no more space between them. She barely had time to breathe before his lips found hers again. Slow, at first, like he was still savoring, still memorizing, but the second she sighed against his mouth, the second her fingers slid into his hair and pulled, something broke between them. The kiss turned hungry and deep.

Like he’d been starving for this—for her—for longer than he cared to admit.

She gasped when he gripped her thigh, hitching it up against his hip, pressing her flush against him, making her feel a bulge she that didn't know was his belt buckle, the crease of his jeans or his manhood. Heat coiled between them, urgent and burning, his mouth trailing from her lips to her jaw, down the curve of her neck. She tilted her head, giving him more, losing herself to the feel of him—the weight of his body, the heat of his breath, the quiet growl he let slip when she dragged her nails down his back. "Oh, Terry," She breathed, and damn if he didn’t shudder at the sound of it.

He lifted his head, his forehead pressing against hers, their breath mingling, their bodies still tangled together in the shadows. "I ain’t lettin’ go," He murmured, voice rough, edged with something dangerous. "Not tonight."

She grinned, breathless, running her fingers down the side of his face, feeling the slight roughness of his freshly shaven jaw. "Good." She said before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him to place her lips against her. The kiss lasted for mere seconds, a mash of panting breaths and slick tongues before Terry pulled away. He didn’t say a word before he took her hand, his fingers wrapping firm around hers, rough and warm. He didn’t have to. The look in his eyes, the quiet pull of his grip, said enough.

She followed him back through the saloon, past the clinking glasses and low murmur of conversation, past the haze of cigar smoke still hanging thick in the air. The wooden stairs creaked under their steps as he led her up, slow and steady, his thumb tracing slow circles against her palm like he was trying to keep himself anchored. Or like he was memorizing her touch.

She should’ve felt nervous. Should’ve felt some sense of hesitation as they moved further away from the music, from the people, from any excuse to slow this down.

But she didn’t. All she could focus on was him.

The broad stretch of his shoulders. The slow, deliberate pace of his steps. The way he glanced back at her over his shoulder, his blue eyes dark with something unreadable, something that made her stomach dip and heat coil between her ribs.

They reached his door.

And for a moment, he didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He just stood there, facing the wood, his breath slow and measured like he was giving himself a second to think—to decide if this was a line he was ready to cross. Then, without a word, he pushed it open. The second they were inside, it changed.

The tension that had been simmering, stretching between them in the dance, in the way he watched her, in every unspoken moment leading up to this—it snapped.

She barely had time to take in the room before she was against the door, her back pressed against the worn wood, her breath stolen by the press of his body. Terry’s lips crashed against hers, no hesitation now, no teasing restraint. He kissed her like he’d been holding back for too damn long, like he didn’t know if he’d ever get the chance again, and she felt it all. The hunger. The need. The slow, deep pull of something dangerously close to devotion.

She gasped when his hands—big, warm, calloused from work—spanned her waist, dragging her closer, molding her to him like he needed to feel every inch of her against him. His hands tacked down, bending slightly to gather the bunch of her skirt. He hiked it up, catching a feel of her warm thighs that molded under his grip. The feeling of her hands caused her to moan in his mouth, her hands moving over him feverishly as she was filled heat she was giving her. He didn’t hold back, moving his hands up for the back of her legs and gracing over the smooth skin of her ass. He tightened his grip, needing it and causing her to gasp into his mouth. He took his as an option to slip his tongue deeper, almost sucking on hers while he moved his hands to begin to untie the strings of her corset.

She didn’t hold back either. Her fingers found the buttons of his vest, fumbling with them, her hands eager and desperate to feel the heat of his skin. His breath hitched against her mouth when she dragged the fabric from his shoulders, then she felt the quiet rumble of a chuckle against her lips when she yanked his shirt free and ragged her hands down his ribbed abdomen, impatience getting the best of her.

"So eager.” He murmured against her lips, voice low and teasing.

She narrowed her eyes, nipping softly at his bottom lip with her teeth, her nails grazing down his chest, feeling the sharp inhale he took at the touch. "So are you." She purred.

And he didn’t argue. He didn’t need to.

Instead, he reached back down, cupped her though just under her ass, and lifted her, carrying her further into the room like she weighed nothing at all. She barely had time to register the shift before she felt the softness of the mattress beneath her, his weight pressing her down, his mouth trailing slow, lingering kisses down the column of her throat. His touch was slow and sensual, his hands finding any place to rub and caress. Like he was still memorizing, like he was savoring.

But the moment she whispered his name—breathy and wanting—something shifted again. His slow, deliberate control had snapped.

And neither of them held back anymore.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, pulled him closer as if she was trying to meld them into one. Terry's breath caught as his bulge hit her core, his hands gripped her tighter, holding her as if he were afraid she might slip away. The world outside faded -no clinking glasses, no murmurs, just the vibrant thud of their hearts battling for attention in the silence between their kisses. Their mouths slid together with a hunger that left her breathless. Every kiss deepened the fire sparking between them, waves of adrenaline crashing over her as she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him even closer as he dipped down to claim her throat once more. He kissed his way down, worshipping her skin with heated touches and soft bites, igniting every nerve ending in her body.

"Tell me what you want.” He murmured against her collarbone, his breath hot against the cool air of the room. “Come on, tell me baby. Tell me and I’ll give it to you.” He breathed out. There was something dangerously tender in his rough but needy words, as if he genuinely wanted to know-not just in the heat of the moment, but in that space where everything was laid bare.

She didn't hesitate. "You. All of you. Right here, right now, baby. Give it to me." It was a wild and brisk admission, and a thrill shot through her at the honesty in her voice. She could feel Terry's pulse quicken at her words, a primal urge coursing through him. He raised his head, looking directly into her eyes, and in that moment, she understood. This was more than a fleeting encounter. This was a collision of desires that had been simmering for far too long.

With a sharp intake of breath, he dove back into her mouth, a feverish kiss that stole her thoughts and drowned her in pleasure. She felt the weight of him press into her, his body a delicious contradiction of strength and softness. He paused for the briefest moment to catch her gaze, the heat in his eyes burning deeper than before, and she sensed the shift—not just in the proximity of their bodies, but in the intensity of everything that hung between them.

"Are you sure?" He rasped, pulling back just enough for her to see the uncertainty mingled with desire in his eyes. She could sense it— the weight of the moment, the gravity of their choices. "Absolutely.” She replied, her heart racing with certainty. She reached for him again, pulling him closer, and felt a grin split his face as he dove into her once more, taking her breath and leaving nothing but a breathless gasp in its wake.

Their clothes were off in an instant.

Once her corset was off and the full expanse of her skin was showing, he sucked a nipple into his mouth, his tongue trace the outline of her areola to his heart's content before pulling away to show the other the same attention. He listened to her sigh and smiled. "I love the way you sound." He said before grumbling out her name.

"Yeah?" She sighed, eyes closed as she took in the feeling of his tongue as he licked up her sternum. "I love the way you say my name." She breathed.

"Yeah?" Terry releated as his hands drifted lower in her body. “ I love your body. Your perfect." He paused to place a kiss on her stomach. “Perfect.” Another kiss, this time below her belly button. “Perfect, body.” He finished, his warm breath blowing on her core. His hands moved from her waist, deriding lower to ease her legs apart as he took in the sigh before him. He audibly moaned at the sight, practically drooling as he looked at her. “So fucking pretty.” He whispered. He wanted to taste all she had to offer. Before she could sink in, She placed her hand on his head, pushing his head back. “Wait.” She said.

Terry looked up at her, his large blue eyes dark and blown with lust. “What is it baby?” He asked, licking his lips as his eyes trailed over her form laid out before him. Her eyes sifted away from his stare, biting at her bottom lip before she spoke. “I…I’ve never had a fella go down there before.” She said softly.

Terry’s smirk faded, his expression shifting into something softer, something reverent. He rested his hands on her hips, his thumbs stroking slow and reassuring circles against her skin, before he placed his head on her bender knee. “Ever?” He asked. His voice was quiet, almost disbelieving, but there was no judgment—just understanding, just care. And something a little more that neither of them knew.

She shook her head, eyes darting away, almost shy. “Ain’t never been with a man who wanted to.” She shrugged a bit, still biting at her lower lip.

Terry exhaled sharply, his brows pulling together for the briefest moment, like the thought alone frustrated him. He cupped the side of her thigh, grounding her, making sure she felt him, felt the sincerity in his touch.

“Well.” He said, voice warm and steady, “You got one now.”

Her eyes flickered back to his, searching, cautious. But all she found was certainty. His lips brushed against her skin, his breath warm as he murmured, “You just tell me what feels good, darlin’. I got you. I just want you to play back. You ain’t gotta worry no more.” He said, his voice going back into the deep ruble that set her ablaze. And the way he said it—so sure, so gentle—made something deep in her chest tighten. Because she believed him.

So that’s what she did, ladies back against the pillows and open her legs further, barring it all and offering it to him. And Terry took it with life, gratitude, as well as pure lust. Like a magnet, Terry's fingers found their way to her slick lips as he gathered wetness before dragging his skilled digits around her clit. Her breath audibly hitched from the contact, making him chuckle before he pressed his lips against her plump thigh, squeezing with the other hand. Slow circles, maddeningly slow and gentle enough to feel like nothing at all had her willing to agree to just about anything to get off.

He then lunged forward with hunger, letting his tongue do all the talking, slithering inside of her warm walls as his nose nudged her clit. She tensed up with every nudge, let out small pants at the unfamiliar yet raviging feeling that washed over her. He glanced down, watching as he freely put his face in her center. He made it messy enough to admire when he pulled his mouth off of her, her pussy glistening like he just doused her in oil.

"Ohh, look at you, baby.” The grumble that came deep from within his throat as he watched her cute clenched around nothing as she continued to whine from the loss of contact from above. And his green eyes on her most intimate parts made it so hard not to get hot and bothered even with him not doing anything. Her poor nub was jumping with excitement as he used his large fingers to spread her lips open. “Look who’s happy to see me." He said as he took in a sharp breath, feeling her slick coating his fingers, the sound of her wetness loud within the room. “You happy to see me, hun? Huh?“ He questioned, looking up at her.

She moan and nodded eagerly, bringing her hand to cover her mouth at the stimulation he was giving her down under. Terry smiled at that, sharp teeth flashing from under his lips. He tried to keep his eyes on hers, looking into her large orbs that were filled with pleasure and a slight sheen of tears at his touch, but her pussy that just kept sucking his fingers in had him in a trance as his sick standing at attention in his underwear. “Tell me you’re happy I’m down here. Making you feel so good.” He demanded. His tone didn’t leave anymore for defiance, which she took as she angered him. “I’m so happy you’re here, Terry. You feel so good, baby.” She whined out as best as she could, breaths short and rocked her hips into his fingers.

"Mmm, yeah, I know.” Terry grinned. “When the last time sometime touched you, huh?" He asked, but this time he got no response watching as she began to reach her high and feeling her clench around his finger. Tweeting pulled his hand back at that, causing the woman to whine at the loss of contact. “Tell me, hun, and we can continue.” He said.

"I-I don't remember.” She said, and she was telling the truth, she truly couldn't. It had to be nothing worth remembering, especially in comparison to what he was making her feel now.

"Well, I’m gon’ make sure you remember this, hear" He then bent down to deliver a bite to her plush thigh, almost as if he was warning her for what's to come before he dove his face back into her heat, slurping at her hard and soaked clit. Her belly was doing summersaults, she could barely contain her volume at the feeling of his long and warm muscle working a magic she’s never felt before. But her sounds were the last of his worries, they were actually only fuel to his already burning fire.

As he ate, he made noise. He moaned, grunted, groaned in her, letting he know and feel that he was having just as much fun as she was.

Her legs had began to shake the longer he was down there, her hands gripping onto the white sheets of the inn bed since that was all she had to hold on to after he practically ripped her’s and his clothes off beforehand.

"Yes! Yes, oh, yes! I'm so close, Terry baby.” She struggled to keep her eyes on him even with his staring back up at her over her pudge, his eyes low lidded and dark. They beckoned her to stay, to not go levee the edge just yet, but her pleasure had came rolling through like a monsoon and wiped all the thoughts from her brain. She was a shaking, blubbering mess under his weight as he continued to lick and eat at her juices. He moved his mouth away from her pussy only to replace it with his hand, rubbing her clit in tight circles as he subconsciously moved her hips.

"Just feel it, baby. Let it happen.” He cooed in that sexy country drawl. She tried to fight against his hand, her thighs subconsciously closing around his wrist. But he smacked his large hand into her juicy thighs and kept at it with his other hand until he felt like he was done. "Be still and met it happen, baby." He cooed, enticing another moan from the woman. She felt like she was literally about to float up into the heavens, her back arching up off of the couch just to get away from the overstimulation.

"Okay! Oh, Fuck!" She screamed. “Yes, Terry!” He moved his hand to allow her to go through the motions, watching as she twitched until that special feeling left her center. "Good job, baby.” He said, pressing a soft kiss on her thighs. “Good job, my pretty girl." Another kiss from him was placed beside her opened mouth as heavy breathing left as he moved up her body.

As the tremors faded from her body, she lay there, chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, her skin flushed and glowing in the dim lights of the room. Her limbs felt weightless, boneless, as if she’d melted right into the bed.

Terry was still there, right where he had been, his hands firm on her thighs, holding her steady like he wasn’t quite ready to let go. He pressed slow, lingering kisses to the inside of her knee, then another, trailing up, as if savoring the aftermath.

When she finally opened her eyes, she found him watching her, his expression unreadable at first—like he was memorizing her in this moment, like he was trying to etch the sight of her pleasure into his bones. A slow, lazy smirk then tugged at his lips. “Ain’t never seen somethin’ so damn pretty.” His voice was rough, thick with satisfaction, but there was something else there too. Something deeper.

She let out a breathless laugh, her fingers finding their way into his hair, rubbing lightly. “You sure know how to make a girl feel special, cowboy.” She smirked. Terry hummed with chortle, leaning into her touch, his hands sliding up to rest at her waist as he crawled up beside her. “Ain’t about makin’ you feel special.” He murmured against her skin, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. “You already are.”

Her breath hitched, her heart fluttering in her chest at the way he said it—so simple, so certain. She turned her head to look at him, finding those piercing blue eyes already on her, unwavering. And for a moment, neither of them spoke. There was no need to.

Instead, she reached for him, guiding his face to hers, and kissed him slow—letting him feel exactly how much she believed him. She slowly came back to herself with her lips attached to his, still basking in the warmth of his touch. She let her fingers trail down his chest, her nails scraping lightly over the fabric of his briefs. She could feel the way his breath hitched, bus bulge rubbing against her. The tension still coiled tight in his body despite the easy way he lay beside her.

A slow smirk pulled at her lips as she traced top of his boxers, slipping her hand into them with practiced ease. “Reckon I should return the favor.” She murmured, her voice soft, teasing.

But before she could go any further, Terry’s hand caught hers—not rough, not forceful, just firm enough to stop her in place. She looked up, brows furrowing in confusion, but the look in his eyes made her pause. “Ain’t about that.” He said quietly, his voice still thick, still warm, but full of something deeper. He squeezed her fingers, rubbing slow circles into the back of her hand. “You just came down from somethin’ real intense, darlin’. I just wanna hold you right now.”

She blinked at him, caught off guard by his words, by the tenderness in them. “Terry, I—”

“I know.” He gave her a small, lazy smile, shifting so he could pull her closer against him. “We got time for all that. Just… let me have this. Let me have you right here in this exact moment. We might not ever get it again.”

And the way he said it, like holding her in his arms was just as much of a pleasure as anything else, sent something warm through her chest. The way he already planned for this to be something more made her body flutter in a way only he can make happen. She sighed, settling against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “That’s my good girl.” He said before placing a kiss on her warm skin.

And with that, they stayed there, tangled up in each other, letting the night stretch out slow and easy.

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to-the-stars8 · 8 months ago

Text

The Waynes' Nanny

Batfamily and Reader/ Bruce Wayne x Reader Chapters Ao3

Book Shop Nanny

It was too nice of a day in Gotham to pass up sitting in the park. So, you packed up a little basket of food, a picnic blanket, and some toys, and rounded up the brood of children to force them into a day of outside activities. They all were enthusiastic about it, in reality, and even Mr. Wayne decided to join you.

Now, you were sat between Damian, who was getting a bit sleepy already, and Mr. Wayne, who looked too pale in proper lighting. The rest of the kids, save for Dick, were running about playing a sham game of badminton. You watched them happily, your heart leaping with every childish giggle or joke. Then, you noticed the eldest Wayne boy sitting across from you.

Dick was torn between paying attention to the group and a fine pair of brown eyes not too far away. You looked to where his eyes were to see a young redheaded girl sitting on a blanket with some friends, giggling away. Like you, they were having a picnic.

Smiling, you said, “You should go talk to her.”

“What?” Dick said.

Bruce glanced down at you, now focusing on the conversation right next to him. He didn’t say anything but listened as you said, “I see you staring at her, Dickie. Just go say hi.”

Looking over his shoulder, Bruce saw Barbara Gordon, Commissioner Jim Gordon’s daughter, sitting with her friends. Dick stumbled over his words, eventually getting out that it wasn’t really an option for him to go up and just talk to her.

“Do you know her?” You asked. When Dick nodded yes, you added, “Then it shouldn’t be a problem. Just go up and say you saw her over there and wanted to say hi.”

The boy seemed a little more interested now. “What if she really doesn’t want to see me?”

“Then get the hint and leave her alone. You’re making this too complicated.”

“What do I say?” Dick said.

Bruce was going to give some advice at that point, just to seem like a parent, but you were quick with a response. “After you say hi, ask her what she’s up to today. Just ask her about herself. People love talking about themselves.” You took a moment to yell to Jason not to be so rough with Tim and Duke before going on. “For instance, if someone asked me about my books, I’d never shut up.”

“But…” Dick paused to think. “Well, okay, I guess.”

Slowly, the boy got up and made his way over to Barbara’s group. She smiled upon seeing him approach and immediately invited him to join. Smiling, you told Mr. Wayne that you knew everything would turn out.

After a few minutes of silence, Bruce finally asked, “I never took you as much of a reader.”

“Oh, yeah,” You said with a bright smile. “I would say I read about as much as Jason, but I think he might have me beat.”

Bruce chuckled. “If reading ever becomes a job, I think Jay would be ten times richer than me...You’re always welcome to the books in the library at home, you know.”

You smiled kindly at Mr. Wayne. “I do now. Thank you.”

“Well, I think a majority of them are law and medical books, but it never hurts to brush up on your STEM knowledge.”

You laughed a little and adjusted Damian on your lap. “Oh, I’d say the books I read are a little medical.”

“What do you read then?”

You smiled before turning back to the kids, and he began to wonder if what you said had a little mischievous double meaning. Bruce stared at you, trying to find something to say, either about books or just about you, but couldn’t find the right question. Finally, he settled on just suggesting that, after the park, maybe they could all go to the bookstore. You agreed heavily, thinking that Jason and the rest of the kids would enjoy it.

“You can get something, too, if you like,” Bruce offered. “I think we can fit it into the budget.”

You laughed a little too hard at the joke, not having anticipated it from Mr. Wayne of all people. “I mean, if we can squeeze two pennies together then why not!”

“But, you do want to go?”

“Of course, I’d do anything for a free book,” You said with a playful wink.

Bruce chuckled as he looked back at his kids, thinking that just maybe there was a bit of weight in your advice.

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huggybearhughes43 · 1 year ago

Note

all three boys cause i’m a dirty slut for the hughes brothers 🙇🏽‍♀️🙇🏽‍♀️

I know if I go, I’ll die happy tonight

Hughes brothers x Fem! Reader

This is pt.3 of my Hughes brothers series here’s pt.2 and pt.1 for context!

Warnings- smut, raw dawgin, anal, oral (f and m! Receiving), cream pie, cum swallowing, foursome, lowkey a lot of cutsie fluff

Summary- Jack and Luke convince reader to go to the lake house with them, even though she knows the second she’s face to face with the oldest brother that she’d be embarrassed.

Word count- 3.6k

My head leaned against the window of jacks back seat with my legs propped up on Luke’s. Somehow, the pair had convinced me to stay at the lake house for a week. In which means, I am to stay with all three brothers as well as their parents. Adding to that, god knows Jack invited Trevor as well as Cole. The feeling of Luke rubbing his hand back and forth on my ankle and the sound of Jack humming along to a song on the radio puts my right to sleep.

My eyes flutter open at a familiar feeling of a turn into the driveway of the lake house. I sit up as Jack parks the car. I look at Luke, a frown playing on my face. “Just kill me now and save me the embarrassment of seeing Quinn.” Luke smiles and nudges me, “it won’t be that bad, he’s a gentleman.” Luke holds his pinky out, “I pinky promise.” I sigh and unlock my pinky with his before stepping out of the car. Luke grabs my bag and his before making his way inside. I follow quickly after him.

The second I walk through the front door I run smack into someone’s chest. I apologize, stepping back and looking up at the person, my hands on their chest to stable myself. My face flushes and I mentally curse myself. “Hey, Quinn.” I realize my hands were still on his chest and I quickly take them back. “Hey, y/n.” He smirks, “you seem tense.” I roll my eyes. “If you think you’re funny, you’re not.” Both of our attentions are pulled away from each other when Jim and Ellen walk in.

I smile and walk up to them, pulling them into a hug. My family knew theirs since we were kids, practically growing up with the Hughes and counting their parents as a second pair to me. Jim and Ellen and Hug me back tightly and speak that they were going to their room to but their things away. I nod, smiling at them as they walk away. I was truly happy to see them. The happiness moment, soiled by Quinn. His arms were crossed on his chest as he smirked meanly, “do they know what you’ve been sneaking around to do with their sons, because I think they should kn-“ “Quinn, leave her alone.” Luke cuts him off as he enters the room. The older brother shrugs, “I’m just saying.”

“Do they know you said you wanted a turn?” I shrug and walk past the two brothers. “Just saying.” I walk up the flight of stairs and into the room I’d be staying in. Ever since I was a kid, I shared the room with Luke while at their home, that seemed to have transferred over to the lake house. I sit on the bed, rubbing my eyes. My head perks up when I hear the door crack open. Luke walks in, scratching his neck, “I’m sorry about him.” I shake my head, “don’t be” I flip backwards to lay down on the bed. “But what happened to him being a gentleman?” Luke laughs as my words, I feel the bed dip down as Luke crawls up the bed to lay down next to me. “I thought he would be.” He explains as he traces shapes on the part of my chest exposed from the tank top I was wearing.

I turn my head to look at Luke, smiling when our eyes meet. “It’s okay” I mumble before pressing my lips to his. After a moment of enjoying his soft kisses, he pulls away. He props head up on the palm of his hand, his other hand using its thumb to rub my cheek. “Jack and Quinn were asking me if I wanted to take the beat out on a test drive tonight, wanna come?” “That sounds like hell.” Luke smiles, “pretty please?” I sigh at Luke’s pleading tone. “Fine.” I sit up in the bed. He smiles and hugs me from behind, kissing pecks on my neck. “Thank you.”

The sun peaked through the windows in Luke and I’s shared room as I unpack my clothes. I was alone, looking through my swimsuits as Jack walks into the room. “Luke and Quinn are getting the boat ready, it’ll get cold tonight on the water you should probably change.” I nod to his words, telling him I heard but he stops in the doorway. “Can’t wait to see you in those.” He laughs jokingly as he eyes my bathing suits. “Jack?” I bat my eyelashes at him convincingly. He swallows, “yeah?” My expression drops, “get out.” Jack huffs dramatically and leaves the room, closing the door behind him for privacy.

I put on some sweatpants and a white t shirt before making my way down the stairs and out into the backyard. “Stay safe, sweetie! Don’t let those boys be bad influences.” Ellen calls from the kitchen, I turn to reassure her that I’d be safe. I turn back around and exit through the back door, walking through their back yard to the dock. Luke holds out his hand as I approach the boat. I thank him and grab his hand as I step into the boat. Quinn was at the wheel while Jack was sitting at the back of the boat. Luke leads me to sit down with him at the front, pulling me flush against his chest as Quinn starts the boat. I adjust myself to lay down, using Luke as a pillow.

I bask in the remainder of the days sun while Quinn finds a place to anchor. My eyes only open to realize the sun has set completely when Quinn stops the boat. I look back as Jack tosses the anchor over the edge of the back of the boat. Luke stands up moments after I sit up. I look up at him questionable as he tugs his shirt off. “What are you-“ I’m cut off my Luke doing a front flip into the water off the side of the boat. The splash from impact soaks me. I gasp and stand up. Luke re-emerges from the water laughing, knowing exactly what he just did.

Jack follows soon after, doing the exact same thing as Luke. “Come on, y/n! The waters not that cold!” Luke shouts from the water. I cross my arms and shake my head, muttering no. I gasp when I feel a hand loop around my waist. Quinn lifts me tightly, not letting me get out of his grasp, no matter how much I struggle. “Quinn, wait! Wait- stop!” He walks over the edge not budging as I try to wiggle out of his grasp. The two boys in the water cheer Quinn on. “Wait!” I shout, trying to hold onto Quinn’s shoulders but I’m too late as he tosses me into the lake. I gasp for air as I come back up. “You asshole!” I shout up to Quinn who was still the on the boat. He laughs and follows what the other two brothers did. He tugs off his shirt and jumps off the side into the water with us.

I wipe the water off of my face from the splash. When Quinn comes up for air I splash him. “You’re an asshole” I repeat and he laughs again. “You’re just being dramatic.” I notice the other two boys swimming towards the boat to get back on and I follow them. I climb up the ladder with Quinn presumably close behind. The second I step back onto the boat Jack whistles. Luke’s face was a bright shade of pink as he covers his mouth in attempt to hold back his laugh. I don’t put two and two together until Quinn walks past me and looks down at my chest, shaking his head with a smile on his face.

I quickly realize my stupid mistake, covering my chest with my arms. “All of you are assholes.” I huff, my decision of not wearing a bra under my big shirt due to comfortability was not on my side at the moment. Quinn tosses me his shirt and for a moment I remember why he was the favored brother. I mumble a “thank you” before I tug it over myself. I sit back down where I was before but this time without Luke. I wrap my arms around myself to shield myself from the bitter cold air. Quinn takes the anchor out of the water and steers the boat back to the dock.

As soon as the rope of the boat is tied to the dock, I jump off of the boat, making my way inside to the warmth. I rush up into the room I was staying in. I pull off Quinn’s shirt, tossing it on the bed with a plan to return it later. I take off my wet clothes, tossing them in a clothes basket before running into the connected bathroom. I take a brisk shower to rid of the lingering lake scent. I step out and wrap a towel around myself, exiting the bathroom and into the room to see Luke on the bed. I was just about to remove my towel to get dress when Jack barges into the room. My bones almost jump out of my skin at the fright.

“Jesus Christ, Jack, what is your problem?” I scoff at him and he just smiles then looks at Luke. “Mom and dad are asleep.” I look back and forth between the two of them in disbelief to what they were suggesting. Luke looks at me and smilies softly, “come here.” I roll my eyes and do as he says, crawling onto the bed and onto his lap, clutching the towel at my chest so it doesn’t fall. Luke places his hand over mine to move it, “it’s not like Jack hasn’t seen you before.” I sigh and allow him to remove the towel from me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Luke whispers before attacking my neck with kisses. I let out a sigh, tangling my hands in his hair. I feel the bed dip down as Jack moves towards us. Jacks hands find my waist, just above Luke’s that were on my hips. Jack presses his lips to mine hungrily. One hand moves from Luke’s hair to jacks, deepening the kiss. I was so lost in a trance that I didn’t hear the footsteps walking into the room. Only when I feel another dip in the bed is when I realize someone else has joined us. My brain was too foggy to realize who it was until he spoke up. “Starting without me?” He scoffs, “assholes.”

Quinn presses up against my back, resting his chin on my shoulder as he reaches around my waist. He presses a soft kiss to my shoulder before harshly pressing his thumb to my clit. He laughs mockingly at me when I moan so loud against jacks lips that he could hear. As if the brothers knew what each other were thinking by mere looks, Jack leans away and Quinn gets up. I whine at the lost contact, Luke quieting me by pressing his lips to mine. Luke scoots us down a bit so he could lay down, pulling me down with him. Luke reaches down between us to pulls his shorts down enough to line himself up as the other to brothers take their spots back, their clothes somewhere on the floor.

I ease all the way down on Luke’s hard cock before I feel Quinn’s hands on me again. Jack traces his thumb over my cheek before cupping my chin and pulling me away from Luke’s lips. Before I could complain Jack presses his dick against my lips. Without a second thought, I open my mouth for him. Jack grabs my hair harshly, moving my head in a rhythm to his liking. Luke presses soft, sweat kisses onto my shoulder. Quinn’s hands wander all over my body, it was as if he were trying to memorize every mole, every stretch mark.

“Think you can take one more, baby girl?” Quinn asks softly, easing his hands over my shoulder blades. I moan out against jacks dick earning a laugh to fall from the middle boys lips. “I think that was a yes.” He tells Quinn. Quinn scoffs and pushes at jacks chest, “you prick, let her speak.” Jacks sighs a reluctantly pulls his dick out of my mouth. I gasp for air before speaking, my hips still being moved my Luke back and forth onto his dick, “yes! Yes- Quinn please.” I whine before I was muffled my jacks dick once again.

“Good girl.” Quinn leans down to press a kiss onto my back. “Wouldn’t wanna do anything you’re not okay with.” Quinn spits on his fingers, leading them down to press against my ass. Tears form in my eyes as he eases his fingers into me slowly, my moans muffled by Jack. Quinn presses soft kisses along my back, trying to make me as comfortable as possible with the foreign feeling. “I’ve got you.” He whispers before pulling his fingers away and lining up his dick where they once were.

No matter how much he wanted to go fast, Quinn slowly entered me. Luke momentarily stopped his moments to not chance hurting me. The stretch hurt but the feeling of his soft rubbing on my back made it bearable. He bottomed out, reaching up to wipe a tear from my face. The second Luke started moving my hips again and Quinn’s slow thrusts, I moan out repeatedly against jacks dick that was still down my throat. The matched pace between the brother instantly throws me over the edge. The clenching of my cunt makes Luke throw his head back, the two of our orgasms happening together. He cums deep inside of me, not stopping his thrusts until I’m worked through my orgasm.

Luke pulls out of me, not wanting to hurt me with overstimulation but his brothers weren’t helping. Jack holds my head all the way down on his cock, my nose pressed against his pelvis as he shoots his load down my throat. I do my best to swallow all of it as he pulls out. Jack laughs softly and wipe the remainder that dripped down my chin with his finger before pressing it into my mouth. I suck his thumb clean before pulling away. The quickening thrusts from Quinn have me pressing my head into Luke’s shoulder, muffling my moans. A few more thrusts and Quinn’s cums into my ass.

He breathlessly pulls away, pressing one more kiss to my back before pulling away to put his clothes back on. Jack does the same while Luke whispers praises about how I did so good into my ear. “Clean her up for us, Luke?” Quinn teases, causing Jack to laugh before they both exit to room to presumably go to bed in their own rooms. Luke plays me onto the bed by myself before going into the bathroom for a rag. He comes back, pressing soft kisses all over my face before he reaches down and cleans up my fucked out folds. Luke pulls me comfortably into him when he finishes cleaning me up. I fall asleep almost immediately into his arms.

There was no sign of the sun when I awoke. I sigh, sitting up. I rub my face and decide to go downstairs for a glass of water, slipping on Quinn’s shirt that I’ve still yet to return. “Hey Jack” I say as I see the familiar face in the kitchen. “Hey,” he takes a sip from his drink, leaning against the counter. “I’m surprised you can still walk.” He teases and I just roll my eyes. I grab a water bottle from the fridge, sitting on the counter as I drink it, opposite from Jack. Jack moves from his spot, walking to stand in between my legs. I sit my water bottle down and wait for him to do something. He stares down at me for a moment before he sinks down to his knees.

I bite my bottom lip as I watch him. My hand instinctively traps itself into his hair. “Jack” I whisper but he doesn’t respond, too busy pressing kisses into my thighs, “what if someone comes down stairs?” “You better be quiet then.” He mumbles against my inner thigh. Without warning, he presses his mouth against my cunt harshly. I throw my head back, trying my best to hold back my moans as I tug his hair. “Tastes so fucking good.” He mumbles. The way he moves his tongue along my folds, sucking my clit every time he gets to it, has me going mad.

I bite down on my bottom lip harshly. “Jack.” I whisper out to mask a moan. His eyes look up at me innocently as if he weren’t doing such a vulgar act. I throw my head back, trying to push my hips further into his face as if to get impossibly closer to him. My jaw drops as my legs shake around his head, my hands dropping from his hair to brace myself on the counter. His movements not faltering as my juices coat his face. He works me through my orgasm, not stopping until I have to physically push him away. Jack stands back up, licking the remaining juices off of his lips.

I hop off the counter as I chug the remainder of my water bottle, not wanting any waste. I turn back to Jack, standing in my tippy toes to press a kiss to his lips in a peck. “Go to sleep.” I say quietly before turning to return to my own room. I close the door behind me before climbing onto the bed and returning to my rightful spot in Luke’s arms. His arms pull me closer to him, the comfortableness forcing me to fall asleep quickly.

The birds chirping out the window soon me up from my sleep, the comfortable look on Luke’s face not wanting me to leave him resting. I silently wiggle out of his arms, looking into the drawers I put my clothes in for any shorts. I find a presentable pair of denim shorts and I figure putting on a swim suit now would save me of the hassle later. I find a random black swimsuit I packed and figure it’ll do. I pull off Quinn’s t shirt, tossing it to the side so I can put the bikini on. I pull his shirt back on, followed by the shorts before opening the door to make my way down stairs.

I’m greeted by Ellen and Jim in the kitchen preparing breakfast. “Smells good” I compliment, smiling at the couple. “Thank you, honey… coffees ready if you want some.” I nod and thank her, filling a mug with coffee and mixing it to my likings. I take the cup outside, wanting to enjoy the view of the lake when I drink it. The second I step out of the door I spot Quinn sitting on a bench at the docks. I smile to myself and decide to join him. I walk to the dock with the mug in my hands.

“Good morning.” I say softly as I take the seat next to him. “Morning” he looks me up and down and smiles, “is the shirt that comfortable?” He teases and I shrug, “it smells like you.” He stares at me for a moment, “did I hurt you? I mean… last night, did I?” I smile at his worried tone and shake my head. “No, you didn’t I promise.” He nods “good” then he goes quiet again. He looks back at me and sighs.

“Any chance I had with you is ruined now, isn’t it?” I shrug, “I dunno if I could bring myself to date any of you.” He reaches his hand up to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear as I sip the coffee. I look at him and smile, “you were the reason this all happened in the first place.” He furrows his brows, “what?” “Jack and Luke were jealous that I had a crush on you.” I laugh, “that’s why he went bragging to you after, I guess.” Quinn cracks a smile, nodding along to my words.

I finish up my coffee and Quinn notices quickly, “wanna go back inside?” I nod and stand up with him. Before we start our walk back I look up at him bashfully. “What?” He laughs. I grab onto the collar of his shirt and bring him down to a soft and sweet kiss. He pulls away with a happy yet confused expression on his face as if asking why. “I had to kiss you before I had the chance to think rationally.” He laughs and grabs onto my hand, leading me inside.

Ellen and Jim were outside eating a delicious looking breakfast. “Breakfast is inside.” Jim smiles and I nod, thanking them once again. I walk into the kitchen and see the two other Hughes brothers stuffing their faces. Before I could even grab a plate from the cabinet Jack speaks up. “I gotta know, who fucks better.” I scoff and roll my eyes. “I can’t answer that.” I grab my plate and grab some food before giving Luke a knowing look that makes his face grow hot.

The look is cut short by a light pounding on the front door. Jack nearly falls on to his face with how fast he stands up. He makes his way to the door, opening it just to be attacked in a hug by his two best friends. After the initial attack, Trevor walks past Jack and into the kitchen. Trevor leans on the counter next to Luke, looking me up at down. “Well don’t you look as hot as ever.” He flirts. “Back off” both the oldest and the youngest Hughes boys both say. Trevor’s eyes widen and I have to cover my mouth to suppress a laugh.

#smut #hockey smut #nhl #new jersey devils #luke hughes smut #jack hughes smut #quinn hughes smut #vancouver canucks

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fluentmoviequoter · 6 months ago

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Meet My Family

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!baker!reader

Summary: Street is ready to introduce you to his family. You become fast friends with his SWAT team, but meeting his mother is a difficult challenge. After she tries to scare you away from Street, he faces a tough decision about who he considers family.

Warnings: Karen is Karen, Jim Street is a flirt™️, brief angst, fluff, not proofread

Word Count: 2.1k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Hey, handsome,” you greet before kissing Jim’s cheek.

“Hi,” he responds slowly, his eyes narrowed as he watches you. “What’d you do?”

“Why do you think I did something?” you ask, blinking innocently.

“Because you met me at the door with a kiss and it smells like cookies in here.”

“I am a baker.”

“And I’m a cop. I can read you, babe.”

“Babe?” you repeat with a smile. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Not until you tell me what you want,” Street stipulates, failing to hide his smile.

“You said you were ready to introduce me to your team. And I accidentally tripled a few trial recipes, so I have a ton of cookies right now.”

“You want to bribe them,” he concludes, nodding.

“Not exactly what I meant, but… yeah.”

“Are you sure? They can be a lot. They’re going to like you, probably more than they like me, but I didn’t say I wanted to introduce you to rush you into anything.”

“You’re not rushing me. I’m ready to meet them. They’re important to you, and I love you.”

“Enough to save some cookies for me?”

“Of course.”

Less than half an hour after arriving at the station, Chris inhales deeply and says, “I love you.”

You smile as Street asks, “Because of the cookies?”

“Really?” Hondo asks you. “Street?”

“I see why he hid you,” Tan says, reaching for another cookie. “We’re going to need the address of your bakery.”

“The cookies aren’t the only reason we like you,” Luca explains. “You’re great for Street.”

“He’s great for me,” you reply. “But I’m glad you like the cookies, too.”

“How’d you meet?” Deacon inquires.

“He stole a cake.”

“I did not steal it,” Street corrects, looking at you as if you just accused him of murder. “I accidentally knocked it out of her window.”

“How do you accidentally knock a cake out of a window?” Hondo asks.

“I’ve asked the same thing almost daily since we started dating and I’ve never gotten a clear answer,” you say.

“Did you start dating after that?” Chris wonders.

“The same day,” Street brags. “I apologized for ruining the cake, and when I saw her, I had to ask her out.”

Hondo looks at you for confirmation, and you shrug. It’s close enough to the truth. Street tried to salvage the cake, offering apology after apology until you laughed. He looked up at you, with cake and frosting up to his elbows, and couldn’t find any more words to say. He finally blurted out a proposal to buy you dinner, and you haven’t looked back since.

“You should come to dinner with us on Friday,” Hondo tells you. “We’re going to a diner that just opened on Wilshire.”

“I’d love to,” you reply. “I’m sorry if I overstepped by just showing up today with no notice.”

“Family can drop by anytime,” Luca assures you.

After you say your farewells and gather the now empty cookie trays, you exchange numbers with Chris and talk to her about some of your shared favorite recipes. Meanwhile, the guys tell Street you’re perfect for him and welcome anytime, whether you’re bearing baked goods or not.

“How long have you been together?” Deacon asks him.

“About a month,” Street answers.

“What does your mom think about the new relationship?” Hondo inquires.

Street looks at you, where you’re laughing with Chris, then admits, “She doesn’t know. I wanted to introduce her to my actual family first.”

Deacon pats Street’s shoulder and encourages him to do what he thinks is best.

“We are your family, kid,” Hondo promises. “And we’re here for you – both of you.”

Street stops outside his door. He begins speaking but doesn’t get past your name before trailing off.

“I know,” you whisper comfortingly. “I’m here for you, Jim. Not your mom. And if she doesn’t like me, that’s okay. At the end of the day, it’s your decision about who you love, not hers. You know that, right?”

“I do. Okay, let’s get this over with.”

Street takes your hand and leads you into his apartment. His mom is living with him temporarily while she gets on her feet again and figures out what exactly she’s going to do for the remainder of her parole – or so she says.

“Jimmy!” she greets warmly. When she sees you, her smile drops.

“Mom, this is my girlfriend,” he introduces. “And this is my mom, Karen Street.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Street,” you greet with a smile, offering your hand.

“You too,” she answers. She then turns to Street, wiping the hand she used to shake yours on her pants, and says, “I couldn’t remember how to use the coffee maker. Could you show me again?”

“I’ll just make you some right now,” he offers before asking if you want anything.

“No, thanks,” you answer softly. Sitting with Karen, you ask how her day is going so far.

“Let’s just skip all the niceties since Jimmy isn’t here,” she interrupts. “You know as well as I do it will never work out. My Jimmy is a cop, he’s handsome, and you’re… a baker? Do you honestly see that working?”

Your smile droops, but you’re unwilling to let Karen Street deter you or scare you away from dating the man who makes you happy.

“We can make it work,” you answer. “I’m sorry that you feel that way.”

“It would be in your best interest to leave,” she snaps.

“Here you go, Mom,” Street says, placing a steaming mug of coffee beside her.

Karen looks between you and Street, then asks, “Could I speak to you alone, Jimmy?”

“Mom,” he begins, shaking his head.

“I actually need to use the restroom,” you offer, standing.

Street nods, points you in the right direction, then takes your previous seat. He brushes his fingers against yours as you pass him and prepares for his mother to be back to her usual antics.

“That girl is not good for you, Jimmy,” she warns. “She’s rude, uncaring, and she told me that I was a bad mother! Can you believe that? She practically admitted to using you for your law enforcement ties and for money.”

“That doesn’t sound like her,” Street replies, knowing perfectly well that you didn’t say anything rude or about using him.

Karen gets desperate then, unwilling to lose Street because he’s her access to everything. Jim can get her everything she needs and wants, and she will not let you win him over and take him from her.

“I’m sure it doesn’t, not to you,” Karen continues. “She mentioned another man, so I’d bet she’s not loyal. And you, Jimmy, are the most loyal and caring person I’ve ever met. I don’t want to see her hurt you.”

You linger by the door and scroll on your phone in the bathroom. You’re going to give Street and his mom five minutes to talk, you decide. Smiling as you reply to a message from Chris, you don’t concern yourself with hypothesizing what Karen is saying about you. When you do return, Street stands and rises from his seat.

“Did Chris text you too?” he asks. “About coming over to help with the paint?”

“She did,” you reply, following his lead. Chris texted about helping her paint; that wasn't a lie, but she doesn't need help until next weekend. If Street’s taking it as an out, you’ll go with him. You’d go anywhere with him, you think. “It was a pleasure,” you tell Karen. “I made blueberry scones earlier and thought you might like them. They're on the counter.”

“Thank you,” she replies flatly. “Be safe, Jimmy.”

“I’ll be back later, Mom,” he assures her.

As the door closes behind you, Street sighs and wraps his arm around your shoulder.

“C’mon, homewrecker,” he murmurs.

With a laugh, you ask, “What?”

“I’ll tell you later. I need ice cream.”

“And cookies?”

“So many cookies.”

After arriving at your home, you share a plate of fresh cookies and homemade ice cream with Street. He stays close to you, stealing kisses between cookies, and makes you feel incredibly loved. As always.

“Now that you’ve met the family, what do you think?” he inquires.

“If you and Tan ever get tired of SWAT, you should do standup comedy,” you begin.

As you continue raving about 20-David squad and envisioning yourself staying friends with them for years to come, Street smiles. He knew his team would like you, but he’s glad you’re joining the group as seamlessly as he hoped you would.

“Oh, Deacon texted me yesterday,” you remember. “I’m making Sam a birthday cake.”

“Charge him double,” Street jokes.

“I said Deacon not Hondo.”

“You talk to my friends more than I do.”

“They’re great.”

“But my mom is insane.”

Your eyes widen and you sit up straight. Pulling your leg beneath you, you promise, “I was not going to say that.”

“Oh, no, it wasn’t a question,” Street assures you, tugging you closer. “You’re not going to see her again unless you really want to.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. My mom… My mom isn’t good for me, I’ve known that for a long time. Today, she showed me that she isn’t good for you either, and, if she can’t be supportive of us, I’m done. She’s pulled me in too deep before and I’m not going to let her do it again.”

“She’s your mother, Street.”

“And I’m not risking what I have with you for her manipulative schemes. I think I have to cut that tie before I give her something I can’t get back.”

You nod, frowning sympathetically. You feel uncomfortable giving input on the situation because it’s Street’s decision. As you hug him, he knows exactly what he has to do. His mom was scared of losing him, but she was going to be the one to drive him away.

“Is that why you called me a homewrecker earlier?” you ask against Street’s shoulder.

“Oh, yeah, she thinks you’re seeing other men. Just using me for my loyalty, good looks, and SWAT money.”

“Please,” you scoff. “That order is way off.”

Street gently pries your arms off of him and shakes his head. “Apparently you also called her a bad mother and if she were a fraction less manipulative and self-serving I’d think she was finally engaging in some reflection.”

“I’m sorry that your relationship is the way it is,” you offer. “But I’m here for you, no matter what you need.”

Street looks at the last cookie, and you smile as you nudge him toward it. Someone knocks on your door, and you leave Street’s side to answer it.

“Uh, I think it’s for you,” you murmur as you open the door wider.

Deacon, Hondo, Tan, Chris, and Luca walk into your home and look expectantly at Street.

“She didn’t like her,” he answers with a shrug. “Hondo was right.”

“Say that one more time?” Hondo requests, raising his phone to record it.

“No.”

“It smells good in here,” Luca whispers to you.

“There’s cookies and a cake in the kitchen,” you tell them. “I still can’t get that cake right. The one time I made a passable version, someone knocked it out of my window.”

Street prepares to defend himself, but you whisper, “Luckily for me, I fell in love with him.”

“So,” Hondo begins as he returns from the kitchen. “How’d it go with your mom?”

“As expected,” Street says quickly. He turns to you and says, “I love you, too.”

A few weeks later, you wait at your open door for Street to arrive. His mom is going back to jail for a parole violation, and his entire team came by your bakery today after a stressful day of saving lives and arresting domestic terrorists. Now, you want to provide Street with the comfort he gives you daily.

“I love you,” Street says as he hugs you.

“I love you,” you reply, brushing your hand over his hair. “Come on in, I have something I want to show you.”

Street nods, catches your falling hand, and follows you inside. Sitting on the counter is a cake that looks nearly identical to the one that brought you together.

“I didn’t get to taste the first one, so I need you to let me know if this is a redemption cake.”

Street forces you to take several pictures with the cake before he takes a small bite. His eyes widen, and he nods rapidly.

“It tastes similar, but even better,” he says. “Can we have this at our wedding?”

“Sure,” you answer with a smile.

Street offers you his fork, and you admit it’s a good cake.

“Speaking of our wedding,” you say after taking another bite, “your future groomsmen invited us to dinner at Deacon and Annie’s tomorrow.”

“I don’t know if I should introduce you to Annie.”

“We’ve already been texting.”

Street shakes his head and kisses you before reminding you that he loves you. "And the cake," he adds as he pulls back and steals another piece.

#jim street x fem!reader #jim street x reader #jim street fluff #jim street fic #jim street imagine #jim street #swat imagine #swat fic #swat x reader #swat cbs #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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bisexual-young-atlas · 23 days ago

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Book bingo spaces 10, 11, and 12 from @batmanisagatewaydrug book bingo for 2025! still no bingo and I’m literally halfway through the spaces, if I weren’t such a mood reader, I’d have managed a bingo already.

Set in an Country You Have Never Visited Before - Clytemnestra by Costanza Casati

A retelling of most of the Odyssey but with actually very little retelling of the Odyssey itself given that this is from the perspective of Agamenon’s wife, Clytemnestra.

I thought this was really well done! I think there was a definite aim to be true to source material and the variations within it while also breathing new life and womanhood into this ancient story. I read the Odyssey translated but Emily Wilson after this book and I almost wish I had read them in reverse order. But both served to be an excellent little dip into greek myth again.

2025 Debut Author - Saving Five by Amanda Nguyen

A blend of memoir and fiction as Nguyen shares the fight for establishing a survivors bill of rights when it comes to sexual assault.

I really appreciated her willingness to share her story with a broader audience. A lot of her dreams were put on pause to pursue these changes. However, the book is fairly surface level. It makes it more accessible to a wider audience, but I think it also makes it less impactful.

2024 Award Winner - James by Percival Everett

Huck Finn retold from Jim’s perspective. Deep reflective work on slavery, autonomy, and access to knowledge.

This has to be one of the best retellings I have ever read. This will likely be a book I recommend over and over and over again through the next few years. I think it can be a hard to read book (due to some subject matter, not necessarily the language or any constructs of the text) but I think most people that read this will find it to be a gem of a retelling. When I say that no retelling has hit me in the way that this one has, I genuinely mean that. I was so captured by the characterization and the way Everett breathes new life into an American classic.

#clytemnestra #book bingo #books #batmanisagatewaydrug #james by percival everett #costanza casati #saving five by amanda nguyen

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spiderfangirl22 · 2 months ago

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Don’t Say That It’s Over I’d Kill To Be Closer IV

Two updates in 1 day wow!!! Even I’m surprised it might take some time for part 5 so maybe by Thursday I should have part 5 out

Warnings: Blood, Yandere, Violence

John Wick, the Baba Yaga, the man they called Johnathan, moved with a purpose that belied the years he'd tried to leave behind.

Winston's voice echoed in his mind, the urgency in his tone a stark reminder of the stakes.

He pieced together the fragments of information Winston had provided. A former colleague, a missing daughter, a car heading north. It was a thread, a fragile one, but John knew how to pull.

He activated his network, the web of contacts he'd cultivated during his years in the underworld.

Information flowed, whispers in the dark, digital breadcrumbs leading him closer to his target.

The car had been spotted, heading towards a remote cabin in the Adirondacks.

He traced the license plate, a phantom vehicle registered to a shell corporation. The former colleague remained elusive, a ghost in the system.

John prepared with meticulous care. He donned his signature suit, tailoring hiding a lightweight ballistic vest.

Underneath, he strapped a holster with his preferred handgun, a Heckler & Koch P30L.

He checked the magazine, the weight of the rounds reassuring in his hand. He packed a duffel bag with additional weapons, ammunition, and the tools he might need for infiltration.

His vehicle of choice was a black 1969 Ford Mustang, a muscle car resurrected from his past.

It was a symbol of the life he'd briefly tasted before it was ripped away, a reminder of the price he'd paid. He drove north, the Mustang devouring the miles, the city lights fading behind him.

He arrived at the location Winston had provided, a winding dirt road leading to a secluded cabin.

He parked the Mustang deep in the shadows, concealed by the thick foliage. As he scanned the area, he spotted a dark charger parked near the cabin, its tinted windows obscuring the interior.

A closer look revealed the telltale markings of a police interceptor, stripped of its official livery but still bearing the subtle modifications of surveillance equipment.

A cop? Involved in a kidnapping? The pieces didn't quite fit. He waited, patience a weapon honed over years of experience.

The car remained stationary, its occupants unseen. After what felt like an eternity, the Charger finally pulled away, disappearing down the dirt road.

John emerged from the shadows, his movements fluid and silent. He approached the cabin, his senses on high alert.

He circled the perimeter, searching for points of entry. The windows were reinforced, the doors were solid, but the framing wasn't perfect.

He found a weakness near the back, a loose panel in the wooden wall.

He reached into his bag, withdrawing a slim jim and a lock pick set.

He worked quickly, bypassing the rudimentary security system. The panel gave way, revealing a dark space behind the wall. He slipped inside, moving with the silence of a predator.

He found himself in a storage room, boxes stacked against the walls. He moved to the door leading into the main cabin, pressing his ear against the wood.

He could hear voices, hushed but distinct. He recognized Y/N's voice, thanks the recordings of her from Winston, laced with a hint of fear.

He kicked the door open, bursting into the room, his gun leveled. Y/N stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock. Her black green eyed kitten, Shadow, scurried behind her, her fur standing on end.

In that moment, John felt a pang of protectiveness, a flicker of genuine concern for this woman he had never met.

 His presence hadn't gone unnoticed. Y/N, scrambled to her feet, instinctively backing away. Then, she noticed the resemblance.

The eyes, the set of the jaw… it was almost uncanny. She had spent weeks staring at Tom, imprinting his features onto her memory.

And here stood a man who could have been his twin, save for the subtle differences – the stubble shadowing his jaw, the sharper lines etched around his eyes, the air of lethal competence that radiated from him.

 She stumbled back, fear warring with confusion. "Who... who are you?" she stammered, instinctively seeking cover behind the armchair.

 John Wick raised his hands slowly, palms open, a gesture of peace that felt almost absurd in his line of work.

”My name is John Wick," he said, his voice a low, soothing rumble. "I'm here to help you. Your father is worried about you." He kept his voice calm, slow, and gentle, the same way he would with an unpredictable animal.

 Relief washed over Y/N, so potent it almost buckled her knees. Her father had sent someone and not just anyone it seemed as she had heard stories of the infamous baby yaga and here he was at her door…She was going to be free.

"You... you're here to rescue me?" she whispered, her voice trembling with hope.

 "That's right," John replied, offering a small, reassuring smile. "Let's get you out of here."

 But the complex knot of emotions that had been tightening in Y/N's chest for weeks refused to unravel so easily.

Despite everything, despite the fear and the uncertainty, there was a thread of connection between her and Tom Ludlow, a bond forged in the crucible of shared trauma. And she couldn't just abandon him.

"I can't leave him," she said, her voice stronger now, laced with a desperate plea. "I won't."

 As if summoned by her words, a figure appeared in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light. Tom Ludlow.

He had seen the car parked in the distance, that so desperately tried to hide from view but, Tom being a cop was as observant as ever. He knew something was wrong.

 His eyes fixated on John, and then on Y/N. Comprehension dawned, followed by a surge of raw, desperate anger. He raised his pistol, aiming it directly at John.

 "Get the fuck out of here," Tom snarled, his voice shaking. "This doesn't concern you, fucker!”

 John didn't flinch. "This does concern me," he countered, his voice still calm but with an underlying edge of steel. "I'm here to take Y/N home."

Without another word, Tom fired.

 The bullets slammed into John's chest, the impact muffled by the bulletproof vest. He grunted, the force momentarily staggering him, but he didn't fall.

 Y/N screamed, a high-pitched, piercing sound of pure terror. "Tom, no! Stop it! Please!"

 But Tom was beyond reason, his mind consumed by fear and desperation. He fired again, and again, the cabin filling with the deafening roar of gunfire.

John moved with blinding speed, a blur of lethal motion. He dodged one shot, deflected another with his forearm, and closed the distance between them in a heartbeat.

He lashed out, his hand a lightning strike, hitting Tom's wrist with brutal force. The gun flew from Tom's grasp, clattering to the floor.

 Before Tom could react, John had him pinned against the wall, his forearm pressed against his throat, cutting off his air supply.

He reached down, retrieving the spare pistol holstered at Tom's waist. He brought it up, the cold steel pressing against Tom's temple.

 "Please! Don't!" Y/N shrieked, her voice hoarse with desperation. She rushed forward, grabbing John's arm, pleading with him. "Please, don't kill him! There has to be another way!"

John hesitated, his gaze locking with Y/N's. He saw the raw fear in her eyes, the desperation, but also something else – a flicker of something that looked like… compassion? He lowered the gun slightly.

 "There is another way," Y/N insisted, her voice trembling but firm. "We can go to my father. He can pay off your debt. Tom and you can be the heroes. If Winston finds out Tom took me, he will kill him himself, but if we bring him back as the man who saved me, he will be spared."

 The suggestion hung in the air, absurd and improbable.

But John saw the logic in it, the desperate attempt to salvage a situation spiraling out of control.

And he saw something else too – he saw why Tom a cop would risk everything even jail time for this women.

Y/N was beautiful, pure, innocent, with a hint of raw spirit, and she seemed to see the good in people as she had stopped him from ending the pathetic cops life.

Y/N had to be more pure and innocent than his late wife, Helen.

John slowly looked at Tom, his face contorted with fear and desperation. He saw the weakness, the misguided love that had driven him to this point. He could have easily ended his life, but he stopped himself.

 John released Tom, shoving him away. "Alright," he said, his voice flat. "We do this your way. But one wrong move, and I won't hesitate." To make a point John touched the gun attached to his waist.

The uneasy truce was struck. They gathered their belongings, the atmosphere thick with tension and unspoken recriminations. As they prepared to leave, Y/N approached John, her expression a mixture of gratitude and concern.

 "You're hurt," she said, gently touching his arm. "Let me clean those wounds." John hesitated, unused to such gestures of tenderness.

But he allowed her to guide him to a chair, her touch surprisingly gentle as she examined the bruises left by the bullets. She cleaned the skin with a damp cloth, her brow furrowed in concentration.

 As she tended to his wounds, John found himself studying her face. He saw the resilience in her eyes, the quiet strength that had allowed her to survive this ordeal. He saw the beauty that Winston had spoken of, a beauty that went far beyond mere physical appearance.

 He understood now. He understood why Tom had been driven to such desperate measures. He understood the possessive love, the fear of losing something precious.

He wasn't sure he condoned it, but he understood it. He realized that he, too, would have been in the same place as Tom right now as he’d would have also taken drastic measures to keep Y/N by his side..Such an innocent and pure soul.

As Y/N cleaned the blood, she could see the pain etched on Johns face, the weariness in his eyes.

She realized that beneath the ruthless exterior, there was a man who was burdened by his past, a man who was capable of empathy….She was tempted and couldn’t resist and gently cupped his cheek his facial hair tickling her fingers slightly.

At first John tried to pull away but the sweet and gentle touch of this women had him conflicted. So he gave in and leaned into her touch.

"Thank you, John," she said softly. "For saving me. For not killing Tom."

John looked at her, his eyes searching. "You shouldn't thank me. I did what I had to do."

Y/N nodded and removed her hand from his cheek and went to check on Tom who had finished packing John’s mustang.

They had to leave Tom’s charger behind much to his displeasure, as Winston knew the car model that had taken is daughter and wouldn’t hesitate and shoot Tom Where he stood.

They all sat into the Mustang, John behind the wheel, Tom and Y/N in the back.

The ride to the Continental was silent, each lost in their own thoughts.

As they drove, John couldn't shake the feeling that he had crossed a line. He had spared a life, not out of mercy, but out of understanding. He had seen a reflection of himself in Tom, a man driven by love and desperation.

Finally, they arrived at the Continental, after a few grueling Days, the imposing building a beacon of neutrality in a world of violence.

Y/N was astonished at the building only having see it once as her father didn’t want her involved in this life. She once again reached into her almost empty back of ranch Doritos and offered and Tom and John some and they politely declined.

John parked the Mustang up front and handed his keys to the Valet and led them inside, the familiar atmosphere of the hotel washing over him.

He approached the front desk, where Charon, the concierge, greeted him with a knowing smile.

"Welcome back, Mr.Wick," Charon said, his eyes flickering towards Y/N “ I trust everything went according to plan?"

"More or less," John replied, his voice noncommittal. "I need a room for three."

Charon nodded, handing him three keycards. "Of course, Mr. Wick. And as always…Enjoy your stay."

They went up to their room, the opulent suite a stark contrast to the rustic cabin they had left behind. Y/N turned to John, her eyes filled with gratitude.

"Thank you, John," she said again. "For everything."

John nodded, his gaze fixed on her. "Get some rest, Y/N. You've been through a lot."

He turned to leave, pausing at the door. He looked at Tom, his eyes filled with a silent warning. "Don't make me regret this," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

He stepped out of the room, leaving Y/N and Tom alone. As he walked down the hallway, he couldn't help but wonder what the future held.

He had broken his own rules, defied his own code. He had allowed love and compassion to cloud his judgment.

He knew that Winston would be pleased that he had rescued his daughter.

But he also knew that Winston would be suspicious of his actions. He had spared a life, a life that deserved to be taken after what they did.

As he reached the lobby, he saw Winston waiting for him, his face etched with concern. "Johnathan," Winston said, his voice grave. "Tell me everything."

John nodded, preparing to recount the events of the past few days. He knew that he had a lot to explain, a lot to justify. But as he looked into Winston's eyes, he saw not judgment, but understanding.

He realized that Winston knew him better than anyone else in the world.

 He began to speak, his voice low and steady, recounting the events of the past few days.

As he spoke, he couldn't help but feel a sense of relief, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He had done what he had to do, even if it meant breaking his own rules.

As he finished his story, Winston remained silent, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but firm.

"You have done well, Johnathan. You and this man I have yet to meet myself..have saved my daughter's life. And for that, I am eternally grateful."

John nodded, accepting Winston's praise. He knew that he had earned his gratitude. But he also knew that he had changed, in ways that he couldn't yet comprehend.

He had seen the power of love, the strength of compassion. He had spared a life, and in doing so, he had perhaps saved himself.

And he hoped that the officer didn’t mind sharing such an innocent soul such as, Y/Ns

#yandere #keanuverse #tom ludlow #john wick

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slvtrlv · 26 days ago

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~ ULTRAVIOLENCE ~

part 2. Ultraviolence

Summary: “…I could've died right then. 'Cause he was right beside me…” Tommy saves Y/N from a violent encounter — but his methods are darker than she expected. There's something both terrifying and beautiful in the way he hurts men for her. She feels ashamed that it turns her on.

Relationship: Tommy Shelby x Female Reader.

Warning: diary style, smut, 18+, smoking, alcohol, slow-burn, drama, angst, fluff, age-gap, power dynamics, obsession, protection, forbidden love, feminine rage & surrender, based on album "ultraviolence" by lana del rey.

Words: 1342

A/N: comments and reblogs are appreciated

_ _ _

“…He hit me and it felt like a kiss... He hurt me but it felt like true love…” — Y/N’s diary, 1922

The pub smelled like old wood, wet coats, and the kind of smoke that never leaves your skin once it settles in. It was late. A storm hung outside the windows, quiet and waiting, like even the sky knew something was about to happen.

I walked in wearing a thin dress and a secret. The bruise on my cheek was hidden in the half-light, but not well enough. Tommy saw it the second I crossed the threshold. He was standing at the bar, one hand curled around a glass of whiskey, the other resting on the dark polished wood like it was his weapon of choice. When he turned and looked at me, there was surprise in his face but it was fleeting. What replaced it was something colder. Something heavier like thunder right before it cracks.

— What happened? - his voice was low and steady. But his eyes were already moving over me, my face, arms, hands as if looking for more injuries I hadn’t named. There was no comfort in his tone. No softness. Just calculation. Like a man already planning the murder before the confession's done.

— Nothing - I said too quickly, like a lie you’ve told yourself before telling anyone else.

His jaw tightened. He wasn’t the type to let a puzzle stay unsolved, especially not when I looked like one.

— Just an old acquaintance - I tried again, lighter this time, like it was a joke and not a wound still throbbing beneath my skin.

Tommy didn’t move. He blinked once, slowly, like he was pressing something down behind his ribs.

— Doesn’t look like an old acquaintance - he said quietly. Then softer, the way men speak to dogs before deciding whether to pet or put them down — What’s his name?

I didn’t hesitate. Didn’t need to.

— Jim. My ex - I swallowed, hard, because saying it made it feel worse somehow. Realer — We broke up three months ago. After he… after he decided he could beat the love into me.

My voice shook, but the tears didn’t come. They had already bled out hours earlier, in a bathroom with no lock and a cracked mirror that showed me exactly what I’d become. A girl who kept her mouth shut until someone noticed the bruise.

Tommy stared at me for a long moment. Not blinking now. He lit a cigarette with a match that hissed like a warning and held the flame too long before blowing it out.

— What did he say to you? - his voice was calm. Which was worse than anger. It was a blade waiting to be drawn. The kind of calm that makes men confess things they never meant to admit.

I looked away. Dabbed my lip with a handkerchief already stiff from dried blood. I could still feel the imprint of the slap, like a heat branded into me.

— He said I looked like a whore - I whispered — Said I was probably one of yours.

The silence after that was thick. Heavy. Like the whole pub stopped breathing.

— And then he hit you - Tommy said, not asking just stating the truth out loud. Like he needed to say it to believe it.

I didn’t nod. I didn’t have to. The bruise on my cheekbone answered for me. Then something changed in his eyes. He took off his coat, slow and deliberate, like a man preparing for the storm. He stepped closer and draped it over my shoulders. It was too big. Swallowed me whole. But it smelled like him with gunpowder and smoke and something older, something worn into the fabric by years of blood and whiskey and war.

— Wait here - he said, and something in his tone made it impossible to argue. Like the decision had already been made and I was just catching up.

— Tommy… - I reached for him, but my fingers didn’t make it. He was already turning and already walking.

— I said wait - and then the door slammed.

I sank into the nearest chair like my legs couldn’t hold the weight of what just happened. The coat was warm and heavy. Like armor or chains. I pulled it tighter around me, feeling the worn edges against my collarbone.

The pub was nearly empty. The rain outside started again, a soft, steady rhythm against the glass like a lullaby sung through gritted teeth. I lit a cigarette with trembling hands and watched the smoke curl toward the ceiling.

I didn’t know how long he’d be. I only knew what he’d do. And God help me, I didn’t want him to stop.

Ten minutes. That’s all it took.

When the door opened again, Tommy walked in like the storm had followed him inside. His gloves were off. His shirt was stained. His knuckles were raw, torn open on someone else’s teeth.

He didn’t look at me. Just poured himself a drink and leaned against the bar like nothing had happened. But it had. I stood slowly, the hem of his coat brushing against my knees.

— Is he dead? - my voice was low. Not afraid. Just curious. Like asking about the weather or the ending of a book I already knew by heart.

Tommy looked at me sideways, his eyes unreadable.

— No - a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding slipped out of me.

But then I asked what I shouldn’t have:

— Should he be?

That made him look. Really look. The kind of stare that feels like it's peeling your skin back just to see what kind of girl lives underneath.

I didn’t flinch. Just brought the cigarette to my lips and let the smoke curl around the space between us.

— You’re dangerous - he said softly. Not accusing. Just recognizing a mirror.

— So I’ve heard - I murmured back.

He took a step toward me. Then another. And another. When he reached me, he brushed the hair from my face with one hand, the one not bloodied. His fingers were soft. Too soft for someone who just crushed a man’s jaw.

— If you stay near me, men like that will keep coming - he said, his voice rough around the edges — And I’ll keep hurting them.

— Is that supposed to scare me?

We were close now. Too close. I could smell the iron tang of blood on his shirt. Could feel the heat of his body under the weight of his stillness.

— It should - he said. But it didn’t. Not even a little. I searched his face like maybe I’d find the part of him that wasn’t made of violence. But all I saw was want. Gritty, unbearable want.

— Why does it matter to you? - I asked, barely above a whisper — What happens to me.

He blinked. And for the first time, he looked almost… wounded. Something in him cracked, a little hairline fracture beneath all that steel.

— Because you shouldn’t have to fight back - he said. And then, just as quickly, he stepped away. Like the nearness had been a mistake. Like the urge to stay close was something he’d punish himself for later — That’s my job.

I didn’t follow him. Just stood there, wrapped in his coat, surrounded by the ghost of his touch. I should’ve left. But I didn’t.

Because it was already too late.

DIARY — 1924. He didn’t kiss me. He didn’t even touch me the way I wanted. But he hurt the man who hurt me. With his hands. With his rage. With the kind of fury no one had ever shown on my behalf. And I liked it. That’s the part I can’t stop thinking about. Not the bruise. Not the pain. But him, coming back to me with blood on his knuckles and fire in his eyes — and all of it mine. Maybe that’s the real violence. The part you ask for. The part that feels like love. — Y/N.

#cillian x fem!reader #cillian x reader #cillian fanfic #cillian murphy x reader smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy #peaky blinder oc #peaky blinder headcanon #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby x reader #thomas shelby

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spockandstars · 1 year ago

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I was thinking about how Spock is intentionally paralleled with Sydney Carton from A Tale of Two Cities in The Wrath of Khan, and now I am unwell!

At the beginning of the movie, Spock famously gives Kirk A Tale of Two Cities as a birthday present. This book was specifically included for its themes of sacrifice and resurrection, which obviously mirror Spock’s decision to give up his life to save the crew. Notably, Kirk’s final lines reference the famous closing of the novel.

Kirk: It is a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done before... a far better resting in place I go to than I have ever known...

Carol: is that a poem?

Kirk: Something Spock was trying to tell me. On my birthday.

So what’s the importance of this line? The famous “far better thing” quote is from the book’s ending when Carton has just sacrificed himself for his beloved Lucie, giving himself up to be executed in place of her husband so that she may find happiness. (Live long and prosper, anyone?)

Interestingly, both Spock and Carton are emotionally repressed characters, and anguish over the depth of their love for the people who uniquely see them for who they are — in this case, Jim and Lucie. While I’d argue that Spock is more at peace with himself and his feelings for Jim after the events of the first movie, the point still stands that Jim is the one to truly understand him in a world that labels him as a cold and calculating being.

I believe that this is what Kirk’s line calling Spock’s soul “the most human I have ever encountered,” is supposed to represent. (Even though I agree with the criticism that it could have been worded better!) Similarly, Lucie is the one to recognize Carton’s inner nature in spite of his aloof facade, begging “I would ask you to believe that [Carton] has a heart he very, very seldom reveals, and that there are deep wounds in it.” (Book 2, Chapter 20.)

When Carton finally admits his love to Lucie, it’s hard not to see the resemblance to Spock’s dilemma in the first movie. You know, that time when Spock, in his heartbreak over something related to Jim (that were not given an explanation for), cries out “Jim! Good-bye my . . . my t’hy’la. This is the last time I will permit myself to think of you or even your name again!” before attempting to purge himself of all feelings in an ancient ritual, and failing because the Vulcan priestess can totally sense that he’s still thinking about Kirk. (Yup, that totally straight time!)

Well, Carton is in a similarly agonizing predicament, because he can’t get his feelings for Lucie to go away. He tells her, “I break down before the knowledge of what I want to say to you” and “I have had the weakness, and have still the weakness, to wish you to know with what a sudden mastery you kindled me, heap of ashes that I am, into fire—a fire, however, inseparable in its nature from myself, quickening nothing, lighting nothing, doing no service, idly burning away.” (Book 2, Chapter 13)

He also expresses that he could never separate his love for her from himself, saying that “Within myself, I shall always be, towards you, what I am now.” (Book 2, Chapter 13) Yeah, I know the fact this mirrors Spock’s famous “I have been and always shall be yours” is probably a coincidence, but I’ll be damned if I don’t mention it.

Finally, Carton expresses his love for her in his willingness to sacrifice himself for her sake: “For you, and for any dear to you, I would do anything. If my career were of that better kind that there was any opportunity or capacity of sacrifice in it, I would embrace any sacrifice for you and for those dear to you… there is a man who would give his life, to keep a life you love beside you!” (Book 2, Chapter 13.) Of course, Carton’s story ends when he sacrifices himself for her, fulfilling this promise. Hmm, now who else does that sound like?

This is definitely not a perfect parallel: Spock doesn’t start out as a lazy alcoholic, although there is an argument to be made that Carton’s low self-worth reflects Spock’s before he went on his conversion therapy fueled journey of self discovery. Additionally, I wouldn’t say that Spock’s love for Kirk is unrequited like Carton’s for Lucie, (as evidenced by many things, but I’ll primarily point to the events of The Motion Picture and The Search for Spock), but you could potentially cast Carol in the role of Darnay, Lucie’s husband.

The most important thing to glean from this is that Spock was very deliberately set up to be the Carton figure, which is interesting given that Carton’s actions are driven by his willingness to do anything to see his beloved be happy and prosper.

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late-to-the-party-99 · 2 months ago

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Having watched TDTEBU, I’m curious about something: how did the acres of rural farmland become a suburban neighborhood?

The way I see it, there’s two options.

Option 1: After Farmer Jim fades away, developers approach Porky and Daffy. In the beginning flashback, neither of them seem very interested in tending to the farm beyond an occasional tractor ride. It’s arguable they don’t want it or know what to do with it. So Daffy and Porky agree to sell the farmland to the developers with the condition that they keep their house in the new neighborhood. That way, they can fulfill their promise to Farmer Jim and get some new neighbors in the process. And they can live off the money from the sale for awhile. It’s a win-win! Right…?

Option 2: Farmer Jim realizes his boys, for all he loves them, aren’t interested in or fit for the farmer’s life. He’s also been asked by developers for years to sell the surrounding farmland. Knowing his time is drawing near, he agrees to the sale while ensuring he and his descendants will keep the house. He leaves not only the house, but also the money from the sale behind to support Porky and Daffy after he’s gone. He doesn’t know what they’ll make of their lives, but this will give them a start. At least, that’s what he hopes…

I’m curious about what people think! How did the farm become a neighborhood? Do you agree with either of my suggestions, or do you have one of your own? I’d love to hear what you think!

Regardless of how the farm becomes a suburb, I think it’s safe to say it doesn’t go how Daffy, Porky, or Farmer Jim hoped. And it turns out I have a lot to say about that… so if you want, buckle up for some (over)analysis. (Spoilers for the end of TDTEBU follow under the cut! Proceed at your discretion.)

The HOA representative repeatedly refers to Daffy and Porky as “freaks” and “filthy barn animals.” She could’ve only cited their destructive tendencies, their unsafe management of their home. But even as she notes the hole in their roof, the representative flings hateful insults at them. She takes issue with immutable facets of their identities such as being raised on a farm. She resents them for not matching her model of suburbia, for being relics of what the neighborhood used to be — a farm where a man called a duck and a pig his family. When she cites the hole in their roof, it’s to justify her preexisting, prejudiced desire to evict them.

And it’s not only the HOA representative who poses an issue here. The mayor of the town winces when she yells, tries to calm her, but still stands beside her. The most he’s willing to offer Daffy and Porky for their heroism is a park bench, but he’s silent when the representative insists that would lower property values. He doesn’t seem to like her very much or even agree with her views, but he doesn’t stand up to her or push back against her decisions. His inaction is what allows her unchecked reign over their community — and her prejudices.

Instead of being a welcoming community, the neighborhood’s leadership ultimately forces Daffy and Porky to the margins, looking for any excuse to get rid of them because of who they are as people. People in town do care about them, like the lady at the diner who gives them milkshakes. Plenty of people have neutral to positive interactions with them, or negative reactions for understandable reasons (like screaming in their faces, breaking their things, etc). But it’s the leadership that seems to decide whether they get to stay or go, and their decision is based on hatred and passivity in the face of hatred.

However, that’s the key word: “seems.” After they save the world and, in the process, overcome their doubts and issues in their relationship, Daffy and Porky carry on without leadership approval. Rather than comply with an eviction or an impossible timeline to repair a roof, they build a new house even more grandiose than the first and still very much theirs. They refuse to give up. They carve out a place for themselves as they are, loony and zany. In addition, they find people who stand by them, like Petunia, the Scientist, and the Invader, who are equally zany and wacky in their own ways. And the very act of standing together on their new home’s porch, tigers and boba tea and all the mayhem that makes them who they are, causes the HOA representative’s head to explode. Daffy and Porky grow as people, yes, but they develop a sense of purpose and self-awareness without compromising their “freakishness.” They accept themselves as the weird outliers and embrace that, because it was their weirdness and their faith in each other that saved the world. And that is how you find your place in the world. When you stop caring about what other people think, when you live on your own terms, you can make a home. You will always have a home with other weirdos like you. Home isn’t so much a place as what you make of it, as what you carry with you. Home is with the people you love.

#the day the earth blew up #tdtebu #daffy duck #porky pig #petunia pig #looney tunes #the invader #the scientist #analysis #tdtebu spoilers #tdtebu analysis #meta #tdtebu meta #farmer jim #looney tunes analysis #late talks #this got away from me #but i hope it resonates with someone out there?#I have more thoughts about petunia i might cobble together someday

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yuttikkele · 3 months ago

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S1E28 The City of the Edge of Forever: aka holy cow I had a lot of notes on this one. This was a roller coaster. I don’t think I can make a cool synopsis quip on this one.

Jim when he’s been proven wrong or something and he does that little gulp thing continues to be funny.

OH MY GOSH BONES FLAILING TO THE GROUND 😭😭

Uhura beamed down! WHOPPEE!!

“Each of you will have to try it. Even if you fail, at least you’ll be alive in some past world somewhere.” Oh gosh let Uhura go last 🙏🙏

You think all those 1930s people looked at them and instead of thinking “maybe they’re time travelers!” were thinking “what are these guys? queers?”

KIRK YOU’RE JAYWALKING KIRK YOU’RE STEALING KIRK THIS IS THE GREAT DEPRESSION PRACTICALLY EVERYONE IS POOR.

…

HUH. “My friend is obviously Chinese.” THAT’S THE BEST YOU COULD DO???

That took me by surprise so much not only WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT but also THAT’S THE WORST EXCUSE I’VE EVER HEARD

AND THEN HE EXPLAINS THE EARS ANOTHER WAY? I THOUGHT THE CHINESE THING WAS THE EXPLANATION OF THE EARS? WHAT WAS THE GOAL OF SAYING HE’S CHINESE 😭😭 ???

Spock’s sigh is a mix of “phew I saved us” and “why is he saying that?”

MECHANICAL RICE PICKER?

AS A CHILD??

Spock is admitting their defeat nodding his head.

Casually gets groped, pulls the “look over there!” trick, then everyone just casually watches and does nothing as a police officer collapses in their arms.

“You were actually enjoying my predicament back there.” You mean the terrible Chinese backstory or the cop groping him?

Ok gonna have to ignore the racist comments for now and move on

Ooo they’re wearing regular clothes!

Kirk your chest is still out button up your shirt you’re talking to a woman

I’m sorry they look like they’re straight from the 2000s. I know they’re very universal outfits, but they just look like they’re 2000s grunge. Spock’s skater beanie is hilarious.

Spock why do you just place your bread bare on the table. Kirk not you too.

Kirk telling that guy to shut up. Well, at least he’s not sexist.

Oh I like her. This Edith lady.

WHAT IS SHE A TIME TRAVELLER? HUH? HIT BY THE DODGE BALL OF APOLLO???

Kirk coming in arms full of groceries. He’s even got a baguette, a sausage, and some lettuce. What is this, a domestic AU?

Well at least Spock’s being honest to the lady about his computer building.

Ok now SPOCK is stealing

I see Kirk is actually just not gonna button up his shirt so. Ok I guess.

Oh so when Edith says “you guys don’t belong here” she actually means “Kirk doesn’t belong here, and Spock should be wherever Kirk is, so he doesn’t belong here either.” If I were Spock, I’d probably be offended by being told I’m second to someone, but knowing Spock he probably thinks this is a great compliment honestly. “Second to my captain? Right next to him? Well, you would be right. Thank you for noticing.”

“Captain. Even when he doesn’t say it, he does.” Oh after that and the “by his side” line she definitely thinks something’s going on between them. “I see the devotion this man has for you- *proceeds to say a homophobic slur*”

“Hey these guys are sorta out of place.” “Yeah. Honestly, they’re kinda… queer…” *looks at the camera as a laugh track plays*

Oh Spock just looks oddly out at Kirk and the lady as they leave on what I’m assuming is their date. She’s not even blonde.

“Did you do something wrong? Let me help.” She thinks you’re gay and you’ve done something gay and she’s an ally.

MCCOY APPEARING FROM THE WALL OF THAT BUILDING BAHAHAHAHA

OH MY GOSH THE GUY STEALING THAT MILK IS UTTERLY TERRIFIED. I WOULD BE TOO LOOK AT BONES BRO. He’s NEVER stealing milk again.

“DON’T RUN. I WON’T KILL YOU!” Dumbledore said calmly.

“Take all the money they spend on war and death and make them spend it on life.” And when’s that gonna happen. Cause ngl, it doesn’t even really seem like Y’ALL’s stardate is doing that.

Oh and the guy’s stealing again

HE JUST FAZERED HIMSELF.

Oh? Jim formally admitting he’s in love with a woman?

Forget Edith dying, Spock, you guys would have to return to the future anyways 😭 and then Jim’s got his ship to worry about. Spock you’ve seen how he literally never stays with one woman. This relationship is never working out.

Yknow speaking of women, where did Janice go?

Is it not awkward for Spock, like even as a friend, to always be walking in on Jim being romantic to another woman. Like it’s awkward to watch but imagine what Spock feels like.

“SPOOOCK!” Was Spock like third wheeling a couple steps behind or something?

Oh wait them all seeing each other is so wholesome ;0;

aaaand edith got hit by a truck. Yep ok guess that was bound to happen.

Oh gosh. Poor Jim. Oh dude that really sucks.

Oh that’s a sick pose they all hit beaming up. They may be sad but at least they all hit that sick pose

quite an. Interesting episode. Til next time on YUTTI’S STAR TREK LIVEBLOGGGGG!!!

#star trek #star trek tos #star trek the original series #star trek liveblog #spirk #ack #text post

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janeykath318 · 4 months ago

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A Sudden Confession: Jim Kirk x reader

“Because I love you, okay? I freaking love you!!”

These shouted words capped off a heated argument you were having with the Captain on the way back from a rough away mission. Jim had been very upset that you took a shot aimed at him and had been busy scolding you, while hauling your bleeding self to the transport site.

“What in the world were you thinking? We have the security officers for a reason!” He’d said, frowning at how much you were bleeding. “I said to stay behind me, lieutenant.”

And so on the scolding went until you’d rematerialized on the Enterprise and the entire Away team and most of Engineering heard your exasperated declaration.

There was a moment of stunned silence as all eyes turned to you, but you mercifully passed out before embarrassment could set in.

Jim hoisted you in his arms and commed medbay, letting Doctor McCoy know he was bringing you in.

“Oh, Y/N” he sighed as he looked down at your unconscious body. “I hope you meant that.”

Jim had taken a shine to you after you’d delivered a very passionate geological info dump on your first away mission. Your eyes had sparkled and your enthusiasm for your science field was very effusive and very much what he wanted on his crew. As for off duty, he’d soon discover you had a passion for frozen yogurt and old Terran film noir and could always be found at the ship’s weekly movie night.

He’d struck up a friendship with you and started stopping by the labs semi-regularly to chat, despite the Vulcan stink eye Spock gave him.

You were flabbergasted that the Captain went out of his way to talk to you, but you weren’t about to complain, because Jim’s charm and genuine interest in your work were impossible to resist.

Five months in and you were hanging out so much that everybody on the ship knew what was up except you and Jim.

You had finally had your clue-by-four moment when you instinctively darted in front of Jim to block the projectile weapon that was headed straight for him while his back was turned.

Jim sat glumly while you were in surgery, kicking himself for being so blind. Spock came down and joined him in his vigil.

“Any word, Captain?” he asked.

“Not yet, Spock,” Jim sighed. “Surgery’s still going on. I can’t believe she did that.”

“She is very attached to you, Jim.”

Jim gave a weak chuckle, thinking about your loud declaration before you’d passed out.

“I’d say so. And I’m attached to her. How did I not see it?”

Spock wisely did not give the logical speech he could have and just listened to Jim rant about how crazy you made him and how awful he felt that you’d been hurt and how much he needed you.

Doctor McCoy finally emerged and Jim bolted up anxiously.

“She’ll make it, Jim. Wasn’t as bad as it could have been. I heard there was a love declaration involved?”

Jim blushed. “I admit nothing, Bones,” he said stubbornly.

“You don’t have to when the entire room heard it,” his friend replied with a smirk. “Good luck, Jim. You can probably see her in an hour or two once she wakes up.”

You woke up groggy and stiff, but pain free and deliciously woozy. Jim was sitting beside your bed reading from a PADD.

“Hey.” you croaked out.

“Hey, yourself,” Jim answered, looking up at you with a relieved smile. “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

“High as a kite. Like Spock when all those spores hit him,” you replied with a loopy giggle. “Are you still mad at me, Captain?”

“No, I’m not,” Jim admitted. “A little annoyed that you didn’t listen to me, but very thankful that you saved my life. You’re my hero, Y/N.”

He kissed your hand dramatically and you felt your cheeks heat.

“Heroing is overrated,” you said in a grumpy tone that made him chuckle again.

“Please tell me I didn’t yell out my feelings? Because I think I did and I’d have to ask to be put out of my misery if that’s the case.”

“Well………” Jim‘s look was apologetic.

You covered your face with your hand. “There goes the last of my dignity,” you groaned. “Can you disappear me, Jim?”

“Why would I want to disappear you, Y/N?” Jim asked. “I’ve been waiting here so I could tell you I love you, too.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock.

“Oh. Wow. I guess we are on the same page, after all,” you managed. “I was so afraid I’d blown it.”

“Never,” Jim assured you, with a smile and a squeeze of your hand that left you more than a little giddy. “I’m head over heels for you Y/N and I’ll hopefully demonstrate that once you’re feeling better.”

Your face heated again as he winked suggestively.

“But in the meantime,” Jim continued. “I’ve got some old Andorian crime show holovids for us to watch together.”

Your eyes lit up.

“Aw, Jim. That sounds amazing! Can’t wait until Bones lets me out of here.”

“You’ll have to do a lot more healing before that happens,” put in Bones gruffly as he came in to check on you. “Did Jim finally speak up?”

“He sure did!” you confirmed.

“About time,” the doctor commented, as he carefully checked you and your vitals. “Now behave and I’ll let you out of here in a couple days so you can go back to studying those rocks and doing whatever it is you science minions do.”

“That won’t be the only thing I’m doing,” you said slyly, boldly smirking at Jim, who smirked right back, looking very pleased.

“Dammit, Jim! You’re a bad influence!” He grumbled.

“Excuse me, doctor, but I was thirsting over the Captain way before I even met him,” you said playfully. “Besides. I might be just as bad. Have you considered that?”

“I am now!” he proclaimed in exasperation, fleeing the room as quickly as he could.

You and Jim looked at each other and laughed. Then Jim scooted up closer to your bed.

“I love you even more, Y/N,” he said, heart eyes on full display. “The couple that trolls Bones together, stays together. Are you up for a kiss?”

“Oh, yes,” you consented happily.

Jim’s kiss was so good, you forgot everything else for a long time.

#star trek aos #jim kirk x reader #fem! reader

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starsonggg · 6 months ago

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SONIC MOVIE 4 THEORIES AND DISCUSSION

I just want to get my thoughts out somewhere, to anyone. Because I just love yapping and thinking about the cinematic universe of colourful cartoon animals lol.

Spoilers for the 3rd movie if you haven’t already watched it yet!

—

I’ve been viewing what other people are theorizing for the next movie, it’s really fun. So I thought I’d throw my thoughts out there and if I’m lucky, maybe spark more discussion.

I personally really liked Robotnik’s character arc and death, and agree that it would be disappointing if he revived a second time. But I think there’s a way to make Jim Carrey return without ruining that arc.

The fourth movie might be based on Sonic CD, and if I recall correctly- it had that whole gimmick of travelling to the past and future.

I’m on board with Agent Stone becoming more of a main antagonist in the next movie. So perhaps, in Agent Stone’s grief, he builds Metal Sonic and seeks a way to manipulate time itself so he can go back and save Robotnik. Obviously it will fail in the end and Robotnik would still die or be sent back to the right timeline where he is dead, but it would be a way for Robotnik to return for another movie while keeping the character dead.

And with jumping into the past and altering the future and stuff, this might also allow Silver to join in! I think I saw somewhere that the writers were open to adding him into the cinematic universe.

The fourth movie could be a mash of Sonic 06, Sonic CD, and Sonic Heroes (if they decide to follow Metal Sonic’s character from Heroes). They’ve already established the movies as their own thing, so it’s not too far fetched to believe the next movie will be more original.

The problems that arise in this speculation is that 1) that’s a lot of characters to focus on in one movie, and 2) it’s a pretty complicated plot for one movie + they might not want to deviate so far from the games that it would upset the Sonic fans. Mixing all those games into one might be too confusing and messy.

But even so, it’s also possible the fourth movie sets up a fifth movie and maybe a plot like this could continue in the fifth movie. I dunno though, seems like a stretch.

I’d love to hear what other people think, though!

#sonic the hedgehog #sonic movie 3 #sonic movie #sonic #sonic movie 4 #sonic movie universe #sonic movie 3 spoilers #sonic movie spoilers #sonic movie three #sonic movie theory #sth #sonic cinematic universe #starabelle says

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artforsimps · 4 months ago

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I’d try to have one on one days with the kids to help them readjust to the real world and I can just imagine bringing the kids to the movie theatre and Doey is laughing his ass off in a trench coat like “yes one single adult ticket to sonic please and pop corn and a slushy that I can fill up with every flavor.” And I’d just hold up my phone with the correct number of tickets I bought online and the attendant would be confused for a minute and just play along getting the snacks and whatnot.

I’d take catnap to the library to pick out books for bedtime since he wants to help them sleep the safe way now. (Doey asked for word wizards and trust, I will buy a few copies just to have a backup. Sesame Street is already on a dvd box set)

For crafty corn it’s obvious, craft store.

For little kissy missy I’d take her to a fabric store to pick out patterns for pajamas and fabric that wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

Hoppy hopscotch and kickin chicken are going to the sporting goods store.

Dogday’s gonna pick out board games the kids might like for winding down, and would absolutely get a ring toss game since you can play that sitting down. (Kickin and hoppy tricked out his wheel chair with stuff from their day)

Id totally take pickypiggy to jungle Jim’s, cause I can do whatever I want, and let them run around the store filling the cart with whatever they’d like (after going so long not knowing where their next meal would come from) and get back home to see that this is just gonna have to be tradition for one on one days because all the kids thought of each other and got something they’d think the others would like.

For birthdays I’d want to rent out a trampoline park but I think that’d be overwhelming so instead I’d take them to a normal park where it’s more quiet and open. Less association with the last indoor playground.

I’m not bringing the kids to a toy store at least one of them is gonna wonder if the toys have souls and is gonna have a panic attack.

Once poppy recovers enough and has been writing letters to the kids for a while I’d start checking in on her in person rather than over the phone. I’d take her to an antique store on a week day so she could get compliments from little old couples. (Call me crazy but as an almost teenage girl stuck in an unassuming vessel, She has potential to be a good pickpocket but only for candy, Speaking from experience. She doesn’t touch money it feels gross. Candy is immediate payoff and she can bribe people into friendship faster with it). We find some old school assistive devices like in those old videos that help the smaller bodies get a bit more mobility.

When Yarnaby is out of the hospital it feels weird not having hair all over but they start knitting and find it very relaxing since it’s a repetitive but calming action. He’s not really too worried about the sharp metal sticks they’re holding but they save it for when they’re in their room and the others are busy. They need some alone time to themselves to decompress. If they need to calm down fast the have a Squishy crochet hook. The handles a ring they can chew on too.(i myself could use this to avoid gritting my teeth so much honestly)

#doey the doughman #catnap #craftycorn #kissy missy #hoppy hopscotch #kickinchicken #dogday #picky piggy #poppy #yarnaby #this is an Au now dont have a name yet tho

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fluentmoviequoter · 1 year ago

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No Dreams in the Wasteland

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: Years after Jim left Long Beach, he calls you from Los Angeles, and you do everything you can to get back to him.

Warnings: r and Jim were friends in Long Beach, angst to fluff, song lyrics are italicized

Word Count: 3.2k+ words

A/N: Jim Street owns this album in my mind. After months in my drafts, I hope you enjoy!🤍

“Hey, it’s Street – uh, Jim Street. You probably know that. Or maybe you don’t remember me, I don’t know, I shouldn’t just assume… This isn’t- I’m just going to start over. This is Jim Street. I’ve been thinking about you recently; longer than that, really. I’m living in Los Angeles now; I have a great job and amazing friends. I think I’m finally figuring out this adulting, life thing if you can believe it. I- I’d love to see you, so if you’re ever in LA, give me a call.”

You listen to the voicemail until you have it memorized. Jim Street was an important part of your life, and you loved him before you truly understood what love was. Hearing from him after all this time makes you realize that something needs to change. The nights after Jim left Long Beach were filled with dreams of him, but as life moved on and he did too, you stopped dreaming altogether. Street took a part of you with him when he left, and a surprise voicemail offers a chance to get it, and him, back.

The train ticket clutched in your hand emptied your savings account. Life was never going to be easy, but the decision to spend your last dime on a one-way train ride to find Jim Street again was. You couldn’t sleep during the night leading up to your departure, but when you sit down on the train platform to wait, you close your eyes to think of Jim and how amazing your reunion will be.

A train whistle blowing and wheels turning pull you from your dreamless sleep. Leaving your bag, you run toward the train and raise your ticket over your head. While you rush after it, begging the conductor to stop, memories of Jim run through your head.

It’s over, though, because if you miss the train, no, it ain’t gonna wait for you. Your ticket is nonrefundable, nontransferable, and now it’s nothing more than a useless piece of paper that symbolizes how trapped you are. In a life with no money, you are stuck with no hope and no chance of seeing Street any time soon. Even worse, you realize as you walk out of the station with nothing but your ticket, you can’t even dream of a better life with him because there are no dreams in the wasteland.

The following morning, with no phone, wallet, or future, you set out to find a job. If you can’t visit Street, or even listen to his voicemail again, you’ll have to work until you can. There’s a letter from a debt collector in your mail as you leaf through rejection letters regarding job applications you submitted previously. Falling back in your chair, you sigh and look around your dismal apartment. There’s a piece of paper beside you, and you decide to write a few goals. In high school, you and Jim wrote a list of things you wanted to do in life. It seems like he's working steadily down his list, while you’re stalled somewhere between “graduate” and “get a job I love.” The paper is quickly covered in your goals, and you pin it to the back of your door so you can see it every morning. Three goals will get you back to Jim, and you will do everything it takes to: save all your money, pay off all your debts, and always be afraid of all the failures and regrets. The second part is more of a reminder, but you refuse to get comfortable in your sad excuse of a life without Jim Street again. He’s the prize on the other side of this wasteland, and even if you only get a moment with him, it’s worth everything you risk.

Within a week of the disaster at the train station, you have two full-time jobs, a few hours to sleep each night, the cheapest flip phone you could find, and a growing bank account. Living with your goals and Jim Street in mind, you buy only what you need, and the lack of free time makes it easy to avoid spending money.

On your first day off, after a month of working nonstop, you clean your apartment. There’s a large pile of things you don’t use, and you use your laptop to find a second-hand store that will buy them. It won’t get you much money, but a few dollars in your pocket is the equivalent of a few miles closer to Jim. Los Angeles isn’t far, but there are things in Long Beach that you have to deal with before you leave. Granted, you’re unsure if Jim even wants to see you now. You’re done living without him, you decide as you gather the items to sell, and even if the world’s on fire and you’re dancin’ with the dead, you will find Jim Street again.

As you wait for the employees to examine and price your items, you wait at the counter and open your flip phone. Jim likely doesn’t have your new number, but the fact that he found your previous number makes you hope he’ll reach out again. You didn’t call back either, though.

Someone says your name as the bell over the door chimes. You turn and see a former classmate; a girl who knew you when Jim was still around.

“Jess,” you greet. “Hi.”

“I didn’t know you shopped here!” she says as she pulls you into a hug.

“Oh, I don’t. Just selling a few things.”

“We ladies can always use a little extra spending money, right?”

Jessica laughs and you wonder why she’s talking to you. There’s no reason for her to remember you, let alone be willing to strike up the first conversation you’ve ever had.

“So, did you and Jim ever tie the knot?” she asks. “I always wanted a chance with him, but ya know, girl code. You were so close I’d never do that.”

“Um.”

She grabs your left hand and frowns dramatically. “You didn’t? Or you did? Babe, I’m so sorry, either way. But…”

You prepare yourself for her to ask for his number or to blame you somehow. Everyone’s a stranger, but they’re actin’ like my friends to get what they want, you think. Long Beach has been empty for you since Jim left, and your lonely life is only invaded when someone needs something or thinks you can get them to Jim.

The first employee you spoke to returns, and you cheer internally as you excuse yourself from Jessica. She nods and pats your hand before turning to look at shoes.

“Friend of yours?” the employee asks with a knowing look.

“Something like that,” you reply. “Do you have good news for me?”

“I do actually. Some of this is from designer brands that have been retired; are you sure you want to part with them?”

“Designer?” you repeat. “I don’t have designer clothes.”

“Oh, these have been out of circulation for decades. You’d be surprised how many are handed down or found in thrift shops. Regardless of how you got them, our final offer is $5,000 for all of it. And if you have more, we’re prepared to pay the same rate.”

“Five thou- what are the brands? I can look and see if I have more.”

“I’ll take that as you accept?” the employee interjects with a smile.

“Yes, yes, I accept. Thank you so much. You have no idea how much I need this.”

She winks as she passes you an envelope and a piece of paper with several brand names written on it. You gratefully accept them and place them in the safest zipper in your purse before turning toward the door. Jessica calls out and your shoulders drop as you smile and walk to her side.

“You make good money?” she asks.

“More than I expected,” you answer. “Have a good one, Jessica.”

“No, babe, wait. We should go shopping tomorrow and you can tell me all about Jim!”

“I’ve got to work tomorrow, so maybe next time,” you lie before rushing out of the store.

You will sell all of your clothes if you’re going to get this much money for them. Having two streams of steady income has made a sizeable dent in your debt and rebuilt your savings account, but $5,000 will get you within inches of selling your apartment and buying another one-way train ticket. You won’t fall asleep this time, and you won’t miss the train for any reason, because you’re done expecting people and things to wait for you. This may be the wasteland, but you’re learning that you deserve more, and you can do the work to get there.

After you rip apart your closet again and fail to find more formerly designer clothes, you sit back. The fears, doubts, and insecurities in your head come and go, but you can drown them out in a moment. You close your eyes, and the voicemail from Street plays in your mind and you forget all the voices in your head. Thinking of a man from your past, the man you wanted to be your future, is the secret to forgetting them and remembering who you are.

Several weeks after Street left the voicemail, Luca has grown to anticipate the first words out of his mouth when he returns from late-night motorcycle rides.

“Any messages for me?” Street asks.

Luca shakes his head and says, “Nah, man. I’m sorry.”

Street runs his fingers through his hair and looks longingly at the phone as he sits. “I think it’s time for me to move on, Luca.”

“Dude, you can’t give up on her! Clearly, she means a lot to you; I mean, c’mon, you have dreams about her!”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have confided that,” Street murmurs. “She’s not going to call back, Luca. It’s never going to happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Weeks without an answer typically means there isn’t one coming.”

“You can’t pick who you fall for, Street. Or who you dream about.”

Street stands and slaps his hands against his thighs as he says, “Then I guess it’s time for me to find another dream.”

The refund in your bank account makes you groan. There are more than enough funds to cover the weekly payment to your debt repayment company. You find the number and wait to speak to a representative as you look around your empty apartment. Everything you have left, all that you care about, can fit in a single suitcase, and you’re ready for the moment that you fill the case and leave this part of your life behind.

“I just looked at your account, ma’am, and there is no outstanding balance. The refund was the difference of your payment,” the representative explains. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Are you saying I don’t owe any more money?” you ask incredulously.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Um, yes, one more thing, please. Can you check all of my accounts?”

“I did. They are all at a balance of $0. You have paid off all debts with our company.”

“Thank you!” you cheer before hanging up.

You look at everything even remotely related to your money several times before grabbing a marker and approaching your door. You draw a line through save all your money and pay off all your debts. With an excited smile, you rip the paper down and lay it at the bottom of your suitcase. Once all of your belongings are in the suitcase, you grab your favorite book from the shelf. A picture of you and Street in high school falls out, and you look at it before placing it in your pocket.

After a stop to inform your landlord that you will not be renewing your lease next month and he can sell what remains in your apartment, you arrive at the train station.

“I need a one-way ticket to Los Angeles,” you say as you approach the ticket booth.

“No trains to Los Angeles ‘til tomorrow morning. 9:30 a.m.,” he replies.

“I’ll take it.”

You accept the ticket and sit with your legs over your suitcase. Trains come and go, and you look at the picture of you and Street: a couple kids in the heart of America. Hours pass, and as the sun sets, you know you won’t be able to sleep. You’ll wait forever at the station to go home to Jim Street.

When you step off the train in sunny Los Angeles, you’re suddenly reminded that you don’t know where to go from here. Phone books are a thing of the past, and you’re sure an internet search would be more of a wild-goose chase than anything. Despite this lack of direction, you smile and exit the station in search of a hotel. Once there, you Google Jim’s name and are surprised to see it in several news reports.

“Jim Street of LAPD S.W.A.T. did not comment…” you read quietly. “He did it.”

“I understand that I can’t see him, but could you tell him I’m here? He called me and I couldn’t call him back,” you explain. “Please just tell him?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” the disinterested officer says before turning back to his computer.

You sit in the L.A.P.D. lobby and run your finger over the edge of the picture.

“Officer Luca,” the officer you talked to calls.

You glance up but quickly return your eyes to the photo. It’s your only comfort: the picture and knowing that the man in it is somewhere in the same city.

“Excuse me,” a man says as he steps beside you. “I’m Officer Luca, can you come with me for a moment?”

“Sure, officer,” you answer.

He smiles at something as you slide with photo into your bag. You follow him wordlessly as you wonder if Jim is somewhere in these halls. Officer Luca leads you through the station before stopping suddenly.

“26-David!” he yells.

You follow Officer Luca’s line of sight and watch as Jim Street turns around. He looks at Luca with his brows furrowed before his eyes slide to you. You smile and wave shyly as Street walks toward you.

“Now who’s dreaming about the right girl?” Luca mutters under his breath.

“Hi,” you greet.

Jim smiles and says, “I thought you weren’t going to call.”

“That’s- that’s a long story, but I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” he promises. “I have to work until 6, but I meant everything I said. Do you maybe want to get dinner or something?”

“I’d love that.”

“Where are you staying? I’ll pick you up.”

You tell him the name of your hotel, and he types it into his phone for safekeeping. You look between him and his phone, and he chuckles before offering it to you. After creating your contact, you send yourself a text, so you have his number, too. It’s as if a heavy weight is lifted, knowing that you can reach out whenever you want. Street places his phone back in his pocket and looks at you.

“Could I get a hug or something? It’s been years,” you whisper.

Street’s smile grows as he pulls you close. He wraps his arms over your shoulders as yours circle his waist. As he tightens his grip on you, he murmurs that he missed you and never wants the hug to end. You feel the same, but Street is called away, and you leave with a phone number, the prospect of a dinner, and an unspoken promise that things will be different now. Better.

“Officer Luca made it sound like you talk about me,” you say in the elevator of your hotel.

“You never leave my mind,” Jim replies, with his hand in yours.

“Even when you sleep?” you tease.

“Who do you think I dream about? Don’t you have a special someone in your dreams?”

You chew your bottom lip before answering, “I don’t dream.”

“I don’t mean actual dreams.”

“I know. I just- there’s no dreams in the wasteland, Street. And that’s where I’ve been for most of my life. It took everything I had to get here to see you. Why do you think it took me months?”

“What did you do?”

The elevator opens, and you walk silently through the lobby. Street pulls you to a stop on the sidewalk and looks into your eyes.

“I bought a train ticket the day after you called,” you begin. “But I missed the train and didn’t have enough money to buy another ticket. My phone was in my bag, and I left it at the station, so I had no way of calling you back. But because I spent the last of my savings on that ticket, I couldn’t pay my bills on time. It took working several jobs and barely sleeping, but I paid off all my debts. Except for one.”

“Being?”

“Everything I owe you.”

Street sighs and moves his hands up to your shoulders. “You don’t have to repay me for being your friend. When I said I wanted to see you, I wasn’t asking for anything more than your company.”

“I know, Street. My debt is not telling you how I felt before our lives stopped being connected. I wanted to tell you in high school, but I got scared.”

“You know how I felt in high school?” Street whispers. “I was in love with you, but I was terrified of losing you.”

“And now?”

“The same. With a little less fear. After all, you came all this way just to visit me, right?”

“Not exactly.”

Street’s brows furrow, and you smile.

“I left Long Beach. For good. I want to be wherever you are for as long as you’ll let me. I think I’m ready to leave the wasteland and get back to the life I always wanted, with you.”

Street nods slowly and leans toward you as he murmurs, “I think… I want to make up for lost time. The risk wasn’t worth it in high school; I wasn’t ready back then.”

“What do we have to lose now, Street?” you ask.

“More time. Too much.”

He pulls you against his chest and kisses you. The wasteland becomes a distant memory as you move with Street. Everything fades away as you show one another everything that you have felt for one another and communicate that the time apart was hard but worth it to get to this moment. You finally feel at home and like you’re living again. No longer are you living in a world on fire and dancin’ with the dead, but living in a world with Jim Street, where you breathe together, your hearts beat together, and his kiss gives you life. After you pull back, Jim leads you to his motorcycle and pulls you close.

“I could do that all night,” you say.

“I’ve been dreaming of kissing you since sophomore year,” Jim replies. “But that was far better.”

“No more being afraid of all the failures and regrets. I want us, Jim. Forever.”

“Alright,” he says with a dramatic sigh. “I guess I’ll just die every night.”

“What?”

He smiles as he says, “I’ve got a real bad feeling that your lips could kill. But I’ve always wanted to die for a night.”

You kiss Jim again, and the last few months become a memory only of his voicemail and loving Jim from a distance.

Surprise 2nd Song :)

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