#kent liquor

[kentavewine]

Elevate Your NYC Evenings: Fine Wine & Liquor Delivery at Kent Wines

Unwind in style! Kent Wines & Liquors delivers premium wines & liquors to your NYC doorstep. Explore a curated selection online, from Bordeaux to small-batch bourbons. Order & enjoy - effortless luxury awaits.

For More Details Kentavewines

☎️ Phone: (929) 337–6363 📬 Mail: kentwines@gmail.com 💻 Website: kentavewines.com 📍 Address: 420 Kent Avenue, Brooklyn, NY 11249

[travelling-my-little-pony]

Peachy Pie is sinking in to some pie, mash and liqour (apparently a traditional British meal, we were told).

In Dymchurch, in Kent, England.

[deathclassic]

a LONG list of fic recs

some fics i have enjoyed over the years

tonight belongs to me by @solitarycreaturesthey

the cleaner by @notherenewjersey

first times by @sluttygallavich

span the distance (bridge the border) by @sam-loves-seb

Every Love and Every Pretense by MintSauce

the taming of ian gallagher by @whatthebodygraspsnot

absent of shame by fingersfallingupwards

Re-boyfriending  by @ms-moonlight-inn

it'd be better if you flayed me alive by @crestfallercanyon

kodachrome by Aelia_Gioia

The afterlife by @rayrayor

Melánia by milominderbinder

When You Call Unexpected by @ms-moonlight-inn and @gallavichgeek

Kissed and Unkissed (Phil)Lips by Efflorescent

Right On Time by @depressedstressedlemonzest

Brotherly duty  by crazynadine

Anger Management by @transmurderbug

Misunderstandings by labelma

i like taking pictures (as long as you're in them) by @em-harlsnow

Weed Dreams are made of this by @jrooc and @mybrainismelted

will you still love me when i'm no longer young and beautiful? by @m4ndysk4nkovich

Extraction: Mickey’s Version by @callivich

5 Times Mickey Has Seizures and 1 Time Ian Sees by blackXroseXdying

happier than then by restapesta

Seduceable by labelma

Rewind by @energievie

Liquor Store Robbery by come2gusu

half-grown  by @sam-loves-seb

Ian Gallagher And All Of His Mistakes by toraten

The Morning After by lm19

Needy Bottom by sournotion

Teenage Runaway series by sadwhales

falling for you without a second look by xylodemon

Proud (Outro).  by @twinklyylights

Radio Silence by OfficialStarsandGutters 

Tumblr Archives: Serious by @arrowflier

Look So Good When You're Reading Me  by orphan_account

Employer of the Year; or, The Further Adventures of Mickey Milkovich, Power Bottom by  skepwith

Your Question Has Been Received by @heymacy

Beautiful by undisclosed69

Moonlight Sonata  by AnnaNSmith

Mickey Milkovich vs Kent State Gun Girl  by labelma

gossip never ends by restapesta

Meet the Neighbors by @arrowflier

Uptown Boy by red_special_specialist

a dream of you and me  by markofalover

One Bullet, Two Boys by Eyesthatseenothing

when you get there you'll know  by biblionerd07

please don't say I'm going alone  by biblionerd07

Unexpected by lockmyheart

Etherized Against the Sky  by Snarfle

Queen of Decatur by jaxington

The Fourth Milkovich by Dragon_in_Disguise

people problems  (svetlana x fiona)

The Cat's Meow by my_hopeless_opus (debbie x sandy)

Closeness by beskarsteel (debbie x sandy)

Complicated  by leinthalexandra (debbie x sandy)

skyscrapers by We_Were_Younger (mandy x karen)

sticks and stones by @holymurdock (mandy x karen)

Lipstick by leinthalexandra (mandy x karen)

like lightning  by shamiram (mandy x karen)

[georgiapeach30513]

Kinktober 2022, Day 29: Housewife Kink

He Always Did

Summary:  Clark doesn’t even feel bad about what he had to do

Pairings:  Clark Kent X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut, unprotected sex, PIV sex, mentions of punishment, teasing, size kink, dumbification, creampie, 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  1.3K

Previous

Kinktober 2022 Masterlist

Clark stands at the door of the kitchen.  Thinking to himself how you were shaping up to be exactly what he needed.  Yeah, it might have been a rough start, and yes, you might have taken a few times to understand what he expected, but you were the epitome of perfection now.  Your hair perfectly in place, a simple necklace around your neck, pretty little frock on your body, your very own Love bracelet around your wrist, and your pumps.

You peek around your shoulder, and your winged eyeliner and red lip was exactly how he liked it, and you looked like a dream.  He had felt bad about last week, and how you were not up to his  standards.  But the mess on the floor told him you didn't mind it too bad.

"Does it make you nervous when I stare?" He asks, looking like he was about to devour you.  Licking at his lips to show just how hungry he was for your sweet nectar.

You made up for your mistake today.  Stirring the sauce in the pan, you taste it, and bring some over to him to try.  "It's delicious, Dear," he informs you earnestly.  "The house looks immaculate," he leans over on the counter, and you gasp.

"Clark, I'm sorry, hun," you do a cute little jog over to the liquor cabinet to prepare his simple scotch on ice.  Delivering it to your husband who had the biggest smile on his face.

"What did you do today?" His thumb rubs just over your wrist, pulling you even closer to him.  You were wearing his favorite perfume.  You wanted to impress him.  Apologizing for him coming home to you in sweats, and hair a mess.  Since then you had been plucked right out of his fantasies.  Sometimes you had on a naughty little lingerie set as you dusted around the house.  And sometimes, like today, you were creating his dream of a perfect home, and wife.

"I made our menu for the month, did some shopping, stripped the beds, and added clean sheets, I even," you pause for dramatic effect, getting right at his ear, "Ironed your shirts, honey."

Clark's eyes flutter close, and his hand drifts down your back.  Settling on your ass, before he moans.  "You did all that for me, Dear?"

With a wicked nodding of your head you pull him into the living room, walking him over to his chair, before he sits down.  "Mmm," he bites at his lip, while you stand up straight.  Starting to unbutton your dress painfully slow.  "What do you have under there?"

"Shh," you softly say as your black lacy bra comes into view.  Oh you were feeling naughty, huh?  He wonders why he needed to see you in a dress that had buttons all the way to the hemline, because this was infuriating.

More of your lingerie comes into view, and it was much more risqué than he could imagine.  Sheer panels, and straps of fabric, creating an almost bandaged look to you.  He loved knowing that what was under your dress was sinful, and for his eyes only.

His hand wraps around the back of your leg when you reach the last button.  Letting that pretty blue number fall on the floor, and he tugs you closer to him.  You straddle his lap, starting to grind over him.  "Clark, I don't want the sauce to burn."

"You better get me off quickly then, or I'll make you start over, while I tongue fuck that pretty cunt.  I'll be on the floor in between your legs, and you won't be allowed to stop," you whimper.  His cock was getting harder as he told you what he was going to do to you.

"You gonna waste your time dry humping me, or are you going to actually fuck me?" You go to get off of him, and turn your backside to him as you shimmy out of your panties.  Giving him a clear view of your glistening folds and swollen pussy.

"Uh-uh," you warn him.  "Take yourself out," Clark doesn't hesitate to have his pants pulled completely off before he's kicking them off.  One move and he's ripping his shirt off, and you get to stare at his thick arms, and hard chest.

Backing your ass up to him, he grips his cock tightly, and guides you over him.  He still hurt to take all of him, but no wasn't an option.  You hiss at the sting and severe stretch of your husband as he lets you glide all the way down.  He bottoms out, and holds onto your stomach, feeling at just how deep he actually is.  "I bet you feel me in your throat don't you," you moan out your yes, and he grips tightly to your hips.  "Should I give you a second, or just starting fucking you?"

"Wait!" You needed to adjust to his width.  Sure, he was definitely long, but his cock was so thick and heavy.  Made you feel so full, and you wondered if you were ever going to get used to this feeling.

Clark's hips rut up into you, and you lean your head back on his shoulder, "I have had such a hard day.  I want you to fuck me."

Readjusting your weight, you put your hands on his knees, starting to move over him slowly.  Clark being such a vocal man, has you speeding up your motions.  He did make the sweetest noises.  His hands move to your tits, and he gives them a hard squeeze.  Tweaking your nipples, and pinching them when you hit all the right spots, "Right there, Dear.  Yeah, just like that," he pinches you even harder, and you slam yourself over him.  Taking him as deep as possible, and the tip of his cock tickles along your cervix.

You felt so full.  He had ruined you for other men.  Clark places his mitt sized hands around the back of your thighs, and lifts you up.  Using your body as his own personal sex doll.  Impaling you on his cock, while your vision goes blurry.  Words are incomprehensible, and you babble nonsense. He was so deep you felt him in your entire body.  So deep and hard that he was rearranging your insides.  And you were just along for the ride.

Clark hit every inch of the inside of your cunt.  While this isn't how you saw your life, he was making it worth it.  If you behaved, he awarded you handsomely.  If you disobeyed, his punishment was still orgasmic; it just made you walk funny.

You scream out his name as his tip stabs into your cunt.  Hitting in that special spot that makes you see stars.  Giving you an out of body experience as your euphoria spreads through your bones.  The world seemed brighter, when you came to, and you smile dopily at him.

Clark places you on the floor, letting your spent face feel a bit of coolness.  Looking back behind you, he squats down to enter into your warmth.  He had so much more control as he thrusts into you.  Having to hold tightly to your hips because you start to sink lower onto the floor, "You that dumb already, sweetheart?  You're so easy.  Saved this pretty little cunt for me, and now you're fucking addicted, aren't ya?"

You were addicted to him.  Addicted to the way he made you feel.  Your cunt sucks him deeper into your walls, and you reach out, clawing on the floor to ground yourself.  Clark lets your body sink to the ground, but he's still relentless at railing you.  Struggling on needing more, and wanting it to end.

"I'm so close.  So.  Fucking.  Close," his words punctuate his thrusts.  Your eyes roll back into your head, as you hold out a long and guttural scream.

His cum fills up your cunt, but he continues fucking into you.  Spewing both of your spend onto the floor, "You're going to mop it up with your tongue, Dear.  And since it's the weekend, don't worry about clothes.  I'm going to split you open whenever.  I don't care if we have fucking company.  Someone needs to keep you satisfied."

And he did.  He always did.

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @infatuatedjanes​ @pono-pura-vida​ @sstan-hoe​ @peaches1958​ @whimsyplaty92​ @rebekahdawkins​ @johndeaconshands​ @thedarkplume​ @whiskeytangofoxtrot555​ @sgtjaamesbaarnes​ @missusbarnes-rogers​ @km-ffluv​ @mickeyhenrys​ @awkwardgiraffe726​ @seitmai​ @smile1318​

[milknhonies]

Lassoed In Love

|| Masterlist || Chapter 2

Chapter Summary: An investigation turns into a car accident rescue, a cup of coffee, an argument...and heated kisses.

Pairing: Farmer!Clark Kent X Teacher!reader

Chapter Warnings: 18+ Dead Dove Do Not Eat, No Sex in this chapter, Slowburn, descriptions of car accident, anger management issues, no sex but lots of kissing, topic of rape being mentioned.

Word Count: 8k

Author Notes: To save me from total writers block I thought I'd share this story. I will repeat. I HAVE NOT ABANDONED MY OTHER STORIES.

Inspiring Song: "Too Sweet" by Hozier

CLARK

Tossing and turning in the blankets, Clark sighed with frustration. His head turned and stared at the empty space on the mattress. He had half the mind to drive to the dump and collect the old one again. But it still smelt like her. That selfish bitch. The mother of his daughter...Lois.

His body yearned for intimacy, aroused for the warmth of a woman. He grabbed himself beneath the sheets and groaned softly. What was he to do? Porn was starting to be an issue. Some nights he felt like a teenage boy covered in acne hiding porn magazines from his mother, only now it was deleting the internet history off the computer he shared with his daughter and hoping he wouldn’t wake her up with the wet squelching.

He sighed clenching his eyes shut. The crickets outside chirped like an obnoxious symphony. He wasn’t going to sleep tonight again. Not with how his thoughts consumed him.

‘Coffee...no...I need a whiskey.’

With a heavy set groan he rose from the covers, naked and larger than life. His muscular body moved with soft cracks down his spine. The icy floor beneath his bare feet was a gracious gift, cooling down his hot blood and calming down his own erection.

Padding to the living room, he crouched low to the liquor cabinet. All the bottles were in different places than he last recalled. He didn’t dwell as he poured himself a drink and sniffed. No smell. He lifted the glass to his lips. Water.

He blinked. Sighed. Couldn’t help the tiny jerk rise to the corner of his lips.

‘Fucking kids.’

Lara and her friends were going to the newest Mission Impossible movie, or at least that’s what he was told. Clearly, they’d snuck into the cabinet at some point and helped themselves to the joyful adult treasures while sneakily topping it off with water.

‘She is grounded. That’s for sure.’

Lara was only sixteen. His sweet pride and joy. She had been through a lot in her young life, a life Clark could only sympathise and try his best to be a good father. He knew he wouldn’t sleep, so he put on the kettle, dragged on a pair of jeans and sat outside on the porch. He gazed out at the road and fields consumed by the growing frost.

The icy air cooled down his body. His nipples grew taunt. The bright white moonlight beamed across the strong lines of his features, his years of hard labour and history in the maps of his crow feet and smile lines. His voluminous black hair with hints of silver through it fell to his shoulders, he would need to start tying it back or cut it short again. His thick pink lips pursed just sitting above his jawline, he was like a blade, sharp and strong.

His veins ran with the blood of two different worlds...but there was a certainty that he would never be able to return to one.

With his strong desire for companionship, he knew himself well. Though he controlled it, there were times when he needed the physical touch of a woman. He often met with Diana Prince, a widowed woman who lived in Cottonwood Falls. Theirs was a purely physical arrangement, with neither interested in marriage. Clark tried to keep their visits infrequent, aware that her gossiping neighbours would be shocked to know she was seeing a man in the middle of the night...a man who had a criminal record, a dark past.

The next day was going to be a Saturday. He would carry out the planned chores and duties on the farm. The upkeep was falling apart and he desperately needed to fix the barn roof hole and retighten the fences and cut the firewood. And in the evening he would ride his truck out to Cotton falls, park and walk the rest of the way to Ms Princes house and extinguish all the fiery rage of his loins inside of her.

He didn’t like riding his truck on the icy roads. He chewed his lips as he glanced down at his erection rising again in his jeans. He needed a woman. God help him.

♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞

YOU

You had your own chores and plans for the Saturday. In particular there was one plan on your list you were desperate to investigate and find a resolution.

Miss Lara Kent

The girl had left highschool prematurely three months ago, a month before you had arrived to take over the role as teacher after Ms Rampling died at the age of eighty four. You had deep shoes to fill. Smallville had quite literally a small school it would seem ranging from kindergarten all the way to year twelve with only four hundred students in total.

Not a single student or teacher had mentioned her name, it was by sheer luck you’d come across her school records. It was rather bizarre that such a successful student to drop out. A straight A student. Nothing in the file indicated a decent reason to why she had left school but it had been approved none the less....the burning passion of your life work was lit a flame.

“Oh Lara?...Lara...oh...Kent...that farmers kid...yea, best be left alone,” said Miss Lana Lang, the eighth grade teacher.

How could you though? Clearly this girls future was in jeopardy if she just left it so suddenly. You needed to understand what was the choice behind this important decision. You recalled being sixteen and feeling so ready for the world only to find even yourself so unprepared when you moved out of home.

You stood in the kitchen, stirring a cup of tea as you stared out your window up at the lonely moon, naked of the wreaths of stars...how could you sleep when this poor girl was making such a bad life choice?...you couldn’t imagine what her parents were thinking.

The cold wind was spreading white fog and frost against the window panels.

You were sure it would probably snow the first day of November at this rate. You rubbed your eyes and shivered. You would need to hire a handy man to fix the heater soon or else you’d freeze to death. It was never so cold in Metropolis city where you were originally from.

You’d moved here only after a month. You felt it was a sign of luck. You were struggling to find another teaching job while juggling to afford your rent....and then one-day you received a call on the phone. Out of some miracle or curse you had a great-great aunt Gwendolyn-Lee and she had a fat inheritance and a whole house left for you, her only surviving heir.

Oh and a ginger cat named Oz. With all the movie posters you had to assume your great aunts favourite film and book was none other than the Wizard of Oz.

He sat stop the old floral print arm chair, staring out the window. He turned his head and meowed wistfully. He kept to the floor and trotted over to you, threading his body around your ankles.

You sighed, “I know Ozzie, your poor bean toes must be getting cold like mine, I might need to see if there’s a pet store in this tiny town. See if they have socks for kitties.”

His meowing reply was lighter as if he had approved of your comment. You crouched to his level and ran your fingers along his orange stripe spine. It hadn’t taken him long to warm up to you. At first, he refused to leave the space beneath the bed in the master bedroom. You wondered how he had survived so long after Gwendolyn passed. You didn’t know who was feeding him. He mewled softly as you began getting dressed.

Despite the wonderful fortune you’d gained, tragedy struck when the moving van forgot to pick up the box with all your clothes.

So naturally you borrowed your dead great aunts hand made, outdated dresses. You’d never met the woman and yet the genetics were clear to be positive considering how you were both the same size.

You went with the white shirtwaist dress with lilac astor flowers embroidered along the edge and collar. You would’ve gone out to the town and bought a new wardrobe...if the shops sold anything that wasn’t still the same style from 1970.

Who were you even trying to impress, yourself? You sighed looking at the mirror. You reached for your flat shoes. ‘No one.’ Your hands ran down the front of your dress. ‘What type of man wants a woman that dresses like a grandma?’ you rolled your eyes.

You scratched Oz behind the ear, his little golden bell jingled away as he kept up onto the mattress and stretched his lithe body.

“I guess you’re the only man in my life to impress Ozzie,” you giggled as he flopped on his side and purred, snuggling his cheek on the patchwork quilt to take a fat cat nap.

Fetching the wool cardigan and car keys off the hook you grabbed the school record file and handbag.

Outside your car waited. You knew you’d have to drive carefully along the road. You prayed the address on Lara’s record was correct.

You pulled out of your driveway and watched as the small town buildings became trees and dead orange leaves. Halloween was just around the corner. Everyone was setting up their decorations, you felt strangely naked with such a bare house. It was on your shopping list to buy candies for the kids in the neighbourhood. You didn’t feel obligated to decorate or participate when you lived in your shitty city unit. But now you lived among families and country locals.

Even though the farm lands were carpeted in brown, red and orange leaves, you were looking forward to the gossip that come spring the lands would be blooming with green lush grass and waves of flowers and forests of apple trees with rushing blue creeks soaring through the valley. Smallville wasn’t very small in the proportion of its farming lands.

As you peered over to look at the map sitting on your passenger seat, you struggled to clearly see the street names.

Above the sound of your engine, you heard the sound of a moo before glancing up back over your hood. A large beast, a black bull the size of a fridge was haphazardly trotting across the road in line of your cat. You slammed the butt of your palm against the car horn before you hit the breaks hard and instant lost control on the loose dirt road. Spinning out, you uttered a prayer the big bull would move in time. You squealed as the tires burned across the trail and fields you crashed against flying dirt smoke and dry leafy grass up. Your body was lunged slightly forward before the car fully stopped and your ass hit the seat hard. You were finally caught in a man dug gutter, the cars nose diving down and the boot hanging up half on the road.

Your chest had been strangled by the seat belt when the loud bang and buff of white slammed up into your face, knocking your head back against your car seat.

Your mouth filled with blood and your face felt like it had been soccer punched. You managed to move your face to the side, sobbing at the feeling of your throbbing nose. Eyes closed in a mixture of fear and disbelief, you felt like you could barely breath, spitting up blood and crying in pain. You were gasping for air, your lungs stung like a million cuts.

You didn’t register the sound of a man’s voice asking if you were alright, nor how he flung open your door and used a pocket blade to slice through your seat belt.

The car hood was clouded in white, billowing out steam like the smoke of a Pompeii volcano.

What you do remember about your saviour was how he had the most bluest eyes that reminded you of the cleanest ponds. His hair was jet black like a crow. You stared up at those features when he curled his arm under your knees and behind your back and shoulders and hauled you out.

Your guardian angel...or the grim reaper carried you away from destruction as your head grew heavy and your eyes rolled like heavy marbles to the back of your skull.

♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞

CLARK

He was riding along and moving his cattle from his main property over to the Nell Potter’s who had lease out her land to him for grazing before all the frost took the sustaining grass. He had watched your car, assuming that a group of cattle with legal crossing signage would have you slowing down....but your speed never changed until Chief was last in line and taking his time to walk across the path.

By some miracle you’d managed to miss the bull but only to twist out of control and crash into the edge of his corn crop before the wheel took you back up and the car slammed into the road gully.

He leaped from his saddle, yelling out to the stranger in the car as he did. He tore the car door open, slamming the bags, struggling to click out your seat belt before succumbing to using his tool knife in his pocket to cut your trapped, weak body out. You were awake, your eyes droopy, but you weren’t responding to his questions.

“What’s your name?” no answer. He tore out the keys from the car, turning the damn thing off before it had the chance to explode or catch fire.

You weren’t answering.

“You alright darlin?”

He swore loudly, shuffling your body from one arm to the other, carrying you back hurriedly down to his house. He managed to whistle his horse back over. It had to be said you were lucky he managed to get off his horse in time before you suffocated against the airbag.

He trusted his cows to stay in the Nell property, grazing on the new grass, too stupid to leave the paddock back onto the road.

Chief had run into that yard the moment your horn blared.

Clark was a strong man yet that did little to change his worries. Racing up the steps of his porch, he kicked open his front door and planted you with care along his sofa lounge.

Clark stared at you with disbelief. How could anyone be out in the bitter cold so poorly dressed? How had you managed to not slow down for such a huge bull? He wondered how you’d almost hit the massive beast instead of slowing down and breaking in time. Thank god the car had swivelled on ice for a quick turn or else he would have a dead Kerry Bull and a female corpse he’d have to talk to the police about, again.

But his anger at your careless driving was eclipsed by his grand concern. You seemed so vulnerable; underdressed and out in the middle of the countryside, if your car flipped Jwho but him or Lara would be here to come save you?

Who the hell were you?

The moment he asked himself however, a sense of recognition flooded him as it became clear who you were. There was no mistaking that you were the new schoolteacher he’d heard so much about in the farm tool supply barn store. With the way you were dressed, it was like staring back at a significantly younger, prettier version of Ms Gwendowlyn-Lee.

That old bag died just around the same time as Ms Rampling died too. And it was to be well known the pair were...special roommates for a time in their youth, but that was just gossip and talk.

He snorted softly. Of course you were hers to replace not one But two ancient Smallville women.

Nonetheless you were severely underdressed for the climate. He hastily moved to the kitchen sink and began running a pot of hot water for you. He paused as he thumbed your front buttons. Your dress was soaked in your own blood. Did you know his history? What if you came to full awakening and saw him looking over your chest and touching that spot...would you start screaming that vile word too?

He huffed annoyed, shaking his head. He got up and returned to the warm water pot. If you didn’t wake up in the next ten minutes, he’d throw you into his truck and speed to the local hospital. Even if it meant he might risk spending a night in jail. God knows the average folk never listened to reason or logic – always jumping to conclusions.

♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞

YOU

It felt like a split second, cut up into spliced moments. You in the car. The bull. The devilishly handsome guardian angel and then waking up on a full purple lounge.

Your eyes fluttered wide open. Your head felt like it computer weighed like a bowling ball. The sensation of nausea took hold of you as you tried sitting up. You decided to give in to your body and laid back down. The room was slightly rocking. You shut your eyes again and sighed before slowly opening them, focusing on breathing and looking around the room.

The room was covered in similar decor as the stuff at your aunt’s home. Old ornamental decorations and wallpaper from the 70s. The dated furniture and lack of television in the living room except there was a and desk in the corner.

Beside you on the coffee table was a folded out box filled with first aid kit items. Bandages, syringes, gauze and disinfection creams.

You were startled to rise a little as the sound of loud foot steps entered the room. An enormous man held a bowl of warm water and a cloth. His face was stern while his brows lifted.

“Oh fuck, he’s huge,” you thought, watching how his hard face twitched in a smirk that appeared and disappeared in a blink. You realised with horror you’d murmured that thought aloud.

He got onto his knees beside you, touching your shoulder lightly and softly guided you back down onto the soft cushions. He wet the towel and gently dabbed at a spot on your forehead. You hissed. It stung. You winced and jerked back, quickly apologising.

“Care to share why you were tryin’ to kill my prize Kerry, Miss?” you heard him mutter. Your mouth dropped at hearing how deep, rich and sensual his voice was. You never had heard such a pronoun southern drawl sound so seductive.

He washed the dirt front your face lightly, he let he droplets wash away the marks.

You warmed, feeling butterflies in your belly as you tried to mentally find your bearings, “Wh-what? Could you repeat that sir?”

His brows lifted again, this time a firm frown was on his face, “Miss, you were in an automobile accident, are your brakes broken or are you just a bad driver?”

That’s when the black bull came back to your mind once more. You swallowed, your mouth was dry.

“I didn’t-,” you stammered and shook your head, “I wasn’t trying to hit it.”

He snorted with a hint of disbelief.

You curled in your lips, your eyes skated over the home again. You were almost at the Kent property according to the map address. You would’ve gotten there if it wasn’t for his dumb stupid bull.

You licked your bottom lip timidly, “I’m Y/N Y/F/N, I’m a schooltea-.”

“I know,” he said sharply.

Your eyes widened, “You know?”

“I know,” he repeated. You felt a discomfort in his responses even when his voice sounded like deep warm honey over buttered toast. Maybe his toast was burnt black in way.

You lightly nibbled your bottom lip and dared to ask, “Are...are you Mr. Kent? Sir?”

His ocean blue eyes darkened to the pitch of the night sky, his rosy lips peeled back, showing his white teeth in a tight grimace, “I’m Clark Kent.”

Oh.

You cleared your throat, “You’re Clark Kent?”

“I’m Clark Kent,” he repeated, again.

Granting him a small tight smile you then asked, “So you’re a farmer?”

♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞

CLARK

When you spoke so easily to him, it caught him off guard. Had no one warned you about him? Had the rumours not gotten to your darling ears? When you raised your brows in that inquisitive manner, it only added fuel to his frustration.

“Yeah, dairy and maize,” he grunted.

The delicate curves of your face and those sweet eyes had a curious effect on him; it set his teeth on edge. He was not going to hurt you, but he could if he wanted. That primness about you irritated him to no end. His first instinct – to shock you out of your prudishness – scare you into fearing him, make you see the monster everyone but his daughter called him. Your beautiful eyes were so innocent; it was frustrating that you couldn’t see how vulnerable of a situation you were in. There was something so twisted in his mind that even he was surprised by the urge to protect you from himself.

He tore open a packet of povidone-iodine and cupped your cheek and held the curve of your jaw, “Best hold still,” he warned, his eyes bore into yours, “This goin’ sting now.”

He pinched the wipe and ran it over your forehead. Clark had been focused on cleaning the cut but his gaze flickered up at the pitched whine you made, right into your wide teary eyes. The whimper that came from your lips had the air sucking out of his lungs. What a delicious noise. Your eyes right then were his new favourite colour, he decided. Your delectable lips had turned into an ungodly knot as they quivered in pain. And they were just inches away from his and the unfortunate desire to kiss them flashed in his mind.

He ran a thumb over one of your wet cheeks,

He wondered if your skin was just as soft and sensitive all over...your breasts, your belly, your thighs...the petals between your legs. Your body trembled under him. And the brief thought of making you tremble naked made his loins stir beneath his jeans. Holy fuck.

You’d just met him and made yourself a nuisance but the thought of kissing you sent an overwhelming surge of desire through his body. It was like an electric shock to his entire system. As he drew nearer, he noticed that you smelled exquisite. Your scent was tantalizing and all he could think of was how much he wanted to taste it. The urge to kiss you was nearly unbearable. But you would probably squeal and run out the door if he lifted your dress the way he wanted to and buried his face against your silky thighs to inhale the honey of your cunt.

He launched fast up onto his feet and walked away.

“I ugh, I’m makin’ coffee,” He marched back to the kitchen and turned on the pot for some coffee. No...he needed whiskey. Fucking damn it Lara.

He splashed cold water from the sink into his face. What the fuck was wrong with him.

♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞♞

You

You sat in quiet solitude as he took his time making coffee.

After five minutes of staring up at the garden wallpaper on the ceiling, you heard his foot steps return back to the living room.

You decided that Clark Kent was in fact not a social person and holding a conversation would deem a challenge. But you were stubborn. You came here for a reason and his lack of small talk would not dissuade your mission. In fact, it gave you the opportunity to study his character.

He sipped his cup and cleaned up some more scratches on your face. Very carefully he began peeling band aids apart and applying them to your face. You smiled at some still in the first aid kit. They were children’s bandaids, yellow and printed with ducklings, cute and probably many years old. You couldn’t imagine a sixteen year old girl being caught dead wearing duckling bandaids.

You had hoped to compare him to Lara and perhaps even her mother to see why and what behaviour the girl held. When he leant over you, you studied his expression, hoping to find some clue as to his thoughts. But his face was unreadable; you couldn’t discern a single emotion within his eyes. Without even the slightest word, he pinched your embroidered collar to get your attention.

You licked your lips, unaware of how your tongue movement had captured his attention. You wanted to say something, but were at a loss for words. His physical proximity had utterly paralysed your thought processes. You felt completely overwhelmed by the sensation of his presence and the sight of his face. You were struggling to find a thought or a word that could accurately describe how much he stirred your senses.

He’s so big...God...help me.

You should have maintained your composure and remembered why you had come here, instead of acting like a foolish girl because an attractive man was standing too close to you. You were frustrated with yourself for allowing yourself to be so swept away by his good looks, rough appearance, and masculine presence. You tried to remind yourself that his physicality wasn’t the point of your presence here but it failed to have any impact. Your body simply reacted with desire and longing to the nearness of his person.

You cleared your throat for the thousandth time to ask, “Ah… I have come to speak with Lara Kent, if I may?” as if you hadn’t just crashed your car and almost killed one of his cattle.

You cast your eyes over to the man in front of you. His face seemed expressionless as he stared back at you, but there was something in his eyes – a hint of suspicion, scepticism. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking.

“Lara ain’t here. She’s doin’ her chores out in the paddocks. Probably got her walkman on a higher volume, she didn’t hear your car destroying some of the crop or else she’d have been here by your side like you were some helpless duckling.”

A tiny smile came onto his face at those last few words before it melt back into his set frown.

“I see....sorry about the...corn,” You hummed sheepishly, “And...when might she return inside?”

He sighed, scratching lightly at the corner of his brow, he glanced over across the room at a grandfather clock beside the fireplace, “She should be back any time now....”

You looked at him disbelievingly, your eyes locked on his. You couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more to this man than just being a farmer. “Are you Lara’s father?” you finally asked.

“Yes,” he replied in a clipped yet measured tone.

“And where is her mother?”

There was no denying he was a man of few words, and yet somehow, he managed to convey much more than what was spoken.

His eyes shifted to the fireplace. You followed his gaze. There was a beautiful enclosed vase on the mantle...wait, no-

“Dead.”

-an urn.

Something about that flat, solitary word jolted you, a mix of surprise and discomfort. Yet alongside the shock, there was also a faint sense of relief. Slowly you sat up and with a quick glance away, you stared out the window just beside the sofa. You focused your eyes on the dead and disfigured front garden, dotted with weeds and looking more like a barren wasteland than a place of joy and life.

Clark began packing up the first aid kit. He left to put it away.

Further out you could see your car, the front bumper crushed and totally ruined. Shit. You’d be doing a lot more walking and catching the bus.

When he returned, in his hand was a cup of water and a small bucket.

“It’s salt water, to clean your mouth of the blood.”

You gratefully accepted the water, swishing the foul liquid in your mouth. You spit into the bucket. There was still a stillness in the air that felt like a heavy weight, weighing on you as you breathed in the cool air. You faced him again, hands in your lap now, touching your feet to his floor.

You dared to ask, “And how did you feel about Lara quitting school?”

He shrugged in a nonchalant manner, “It was her choice.”

He was turning to go back to the kitchen.

A palpable and intense feeling of indignation and exasperation mingled together, acting as a powerful driving force, you got to your feet and started to follow him, “But she’s only sixteen! She’s just a young girl—”

You managed to follow him into his kitchen, old vinyl flooring and wooden benches with a deep copper sink. He slammed the bucket and cup into the sink and spun on his heel.

“She’s my daughter,” Clark interrupted, holding his finger up, “and she can read, write, practices arithmetic better than anyone I know in this hick-town. My Lara also knows everythin’ there is to know about livestock and runnin’ a dairy farm.”

The man’s voice held a hint of pride, though even that couldn’t mask the hint of resentment that still showed through. “This is my land, my dairy farm, my house,” he continued. “One day it will all belong to her. She decided what to do with her life, and she decided to harvest and produce milk to the entire county.”

Clark was blushing, hints of his frustration were spitting out. He wasn’t fond of sharing his or his child’s life story, considering all the prejudice they faced all these years. Except, there was something about you, this huffy, and prissy little teacher that made him answer.

You seemed oblivious to the rumours about his past; or else why would you be mouthing off so brazenly without bringing it up... you evidently knew nothing about what made him who he truly was, about the impact of his name on the town of Smallville. You didn’t know how often it was people turned away and ignored him just to avoid associating with him...you didn’t know how much it affected Lara too.

He swallowed loudly, “Now, all that bein’ said, she chose to leave that sorry excuse of a school,” he tongued his inner cheek, trying his best not to curse. He groaned, his knuckles turned white as he gripped his own flannel. It was like white smoke was pouring from his ears and shooting out his nose as he forced himself to take deep breaths.

“And, who the fu-...who are you or I to tell her what she can or can not do?” He licked his teeth, “I’d love to see your smart ass out in the dairy shed and see how much you mess it up, I’ll wager it’s like your driving.”

You bravely jerked your chin up with your hands coming to sit on your hips.

Oh Fuck, he wanted to kiss you

And unbeknownst to him, you would’ve let him. Something about how much he was pissing you off and getting heated made you excited, scared...aroused. Facing the beast in the car was not as scary as facing this beast on your feet.

“I’d like to talk to her anyway,” You said stubbornly.

His brows connected, he licked the bottom of his lip, glancing down at yours, “That’s up to Lara. She might not want to talk to you. Especially if you’re here to ask her to return to that school.”

He leant away from you briefly to turn the coffee pot on to boil.

The hands on your hips cross over your chest, You scoffed, “Right, then you won’t even try to encourage her to graduate from the highschool then?”

That was it. He paused. He smirked, he chuckled mockingly and shook his head at you, “Nope.”

“Why not?” Your foot almost stamped, “She’s a bright girl, she should at least have the option of going to college!”

Clark stepped closer, towering over you, his nose nearly touching yours as you glared up at those dark blue eyes, “You listen here,” the air from his nose was hot against your face, “She’s sixteen, don’t you understand what that means ‘round these parts?” He snorted rolling his eyes, “Hell, how can you? You’re just some uppity, conceited, self-centered upstart.” He then scoffed. “She’s not welcome in that school. That was made very clear. When she wasn’t being neglected she was being bullied. Why the fuck would she want to go back?”

You felt a chill run down your spine as he edged closer, his words sharp and venomous. You bared your teeth in a grimace, frightened by his aggressive manner. You weren’t used to men invading your personal space, shouting curses in your face. As a young girl, boys had turned a blind eye to the shy, bookish girl. Now, as a grown woman, men still showed scarce interest in you.

You were utterly unwavering in your beliefs about education and refused to let him frighten you into submission. Bigger people often used their size to intimidate smaller ones, oftentimes not even realizing the effects of their actions. However, you weren’t going to bow down simply because he was more robust than you. Your beliefs were far too important to sacrifice for someone as boorish as him.

“She was at the top of her class given her KAP results, top in the five percent in Kansas for girls in her age group.” you said briskly. “If Lara could beat that top, think of what she could accomplish with help! She could get a scholarship, become something greater than a dairy farmer, or is having a doctor for a daughter beneath a redneck like you?”

He fluttered his eyes shut. There it was. That disdain he was used to. Little did you know...he was fighting his arousal his erection and the urge to put you on your hands and knees on that kitchen floor. If you wanted to call him a redneck, he’d fuck you like one...dirty and unprotected.

The silence was beyond pregnant until his throat bobbed, “Like I said, it’s up to Lara.”

The scent of freshly-brewed coffee filled the kitchen, but neither of you spoke as the minutes ticked by and the silence stretched on. He backed away and poured two cups of coffee. He poured fresh milk into the cups, real cow cream. He leaned against the cupboards and watched you sip from your porcelain mug, taking in the delicate sight. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, thinking back on what you’d just called him after he saved you from your car.

Redneck...

How could he be so kind in the face of your rudeness?

“Sorry...I didn’t means to call you a redneck...”

He smiled, this time it was filled with cheek, “Oh, yes you did...but I ain’t no soft Lily. Trust me, I’ve been called worse. You think I can’t handle when some hoity toity teacher goes an calls me a redneck?”

You returned the smile shyly. Looking down at your chest, you pinched the fabric. The front was blazing bright red.

He stepped closer and carefully reached out, pinching your shirt, he said with a calm and steady tone, “Yea that’ll probably stain without a good soak.”

You pinched your nose, “It was my aunt’s, I think it’s vintage.”

Clark set his cup aside and jerked his head to the side.

“I reckon I got something for you to wear. You can keep it and soak the dress in the laundry. Lara can talk to you about this mess and I’ll scrub the blood out.”

For a man so stubbornly spoken, he had been remarkably hospitable to you.

As you glanced up at him, the intensity of his dark blue eyes caught your attention. Something about his gaze made you feel unsure of yourself, your heart racing and a slight feeling of unease growing within you. It was as if he were peering directly at your breasts with a hungry look in his eyes. The thought made you feel warm with embarrassment and your breath caught slightly in your throat.

“I think some of my wife’s old clothes will fit you,” he said letting go of your shirt.

His dead wife? Oh god...

“Oh, I don’t need any clothes. I mean, what I have on is perfectly—”

“Stained,” he interrupted. “You really want to be going back to town looking like that? People might think I’ve gone and bashed you....”

You looked down.

“or raped you.”

Your eyes snapped back up. You didn’t know why he jumped to such a salaciously coarse word.

He murmured, “Come with me, then.”

You followed him down through the hallway of his farm house.

“Where are we going?” you asked.

“To the bedroom.”

You stopped, blinking at him, he turned to face you with a bitter smile twisted his mouth.

“Don’t worry,” he said crudely. “It’s Saturday. I only rape on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

Your eyes blinked again.

“What’s wrong with Saturdays?” those words slid past your lips without any warning, leaving you dumbstruck when you realized what you’d done. You clapped your hands over your face, mortified that you’d accidentally insinuated the possibility of him committing such a heinous act and not just that but almost questioned his intentions towards you in that department. Heat surged into your cheeks as a flood of embarrassment washed over you. Your brain must have short-circuited; there was no other explanation for the idiocy.

Clark was taken aback by your words, the stunned expression on your face making it clear that you had no intention to say them. It had been ages since he’d seen anyone look so horrified, and it took him a moment to realize that you were acutely embarrassed. You were certainly something of a prude, he concluded, with your dowdy appearance and old-maidish manner. So much so that your slip of the tongue was probably the biggest entertainment he’d had in a while. He couldn’t help but grin as his irritation softened again. Yes, this was definitely a highlight for him.

“Not a damn thing Miss Y/L/N,” he chuckled.

You drew yourself up to your full height, your lips firmly pressed together in a rigid expression. “Please do not make fun of me, Mr Kent,” you stated clearly, though it took a great deal of effort to keep your tone even. His sarcastic comment only served to salt the wound you already knew existed. You knew you fell short in the seductive department, but you didn’t need sarcastic reminders to confirm it.

Clark’s straight black brows drew together over his strong nose, “Make fun of you? What? How?”

You sulked sourly, “I am fully aware of how I look. I know I am not the most stunning woman. But surely...” you paused, your eyes shut, “Am I that ugly to look at?”

The choking noise was loud. He was rather gobsmacked. Did you really just say that to him?

His heart was still pounding from when she had whimpered, a lingering throbbing in his loins reminded him that his reaction hadn’t completely subsided. He chuckled bitterly, the sound devoid of humour, his mind playing over again and again what had happened between them. Why not spice up your life a little more?

“Now, don’t play this game with me Missy,” he said

But the way you avoided his eyes.

“Shit. You’re serious? Come on now girl, you gotta know. You damn well know you’re a wet dream...you’re a real head turner. Make men like me all hot and bothered.”

“Hot and bothered, by what?” she asked blankly. It was impossible. She had never made a man… aroused a man in her life.

Heat had been simmering just beneath the surface for too long, and the irritation he felt in the presence of this prim woman was like a spark to a fuse. His iron control had kept him in check when dealing with the townspeople, but something about her, this prim woman, got under his skin. Frustration filled him to the point that he thought he might explode, the tension and desire rising to a pitch that was almost unbearable.

His intentions had originally been to stay far away from you, but now he found himself pulled close by a force he could not resist. Hands gripping your waist, he pulled you closer until you were pressed against him. His mouth came down on yours, covering it in a hard kiss. “Maybe you need a to be shown,” he murmured, his words coming out in deep and breathless. It made the moment even more intense, his desire for you growing with each passing second. He couldn’t keep himself from kissing you again, his lips exploring yours in a passionate, urgent way that left you feeling completely powerless.

You froze as he gently and passionately moved his lips over yours. You couldn’t take your eyes off his long, thick eyelashes, how they brushed your skin. His hands wrapped around your waist and pulled you firmly against his muscled body, causing you to let out a deep gasp.

As soon as your lips opened, he took the opportunity to probe inside with his tongue as if he couldn’t get enough. You trembled, feeling a strange heat deep inside, growing more and more intense. The pleasure became so strong and powerful that it frightened you, not knowing where this might lead. If only you’d known to buy some lingerie this morning before you left to the Kent property....

There was something powerful about the way his lips felt, their firmness bringing you to a state of ecstasy. You could taste his heady flavor, and his tongue was caressing yours with an intensity that invited you to play. But beyond this physical sensation, there was a warm and musky scent drifting from his body. Your breasts pressed up against the taut muscles of his torso, causing the tips of your nipples to tingle in an exciting yet embarrassing manner.

You opened your eyes in sharp disappointment when he pulled away from you. But his intense black gaze was unwavering, like he wasn’t finished with you yet. “Come on girl, kiss me back yes?” he breathlessly pleaded, his tone suggesting he was far from satisfied.

“I don’t know how,” You confessed, still bewildered to what he had just done to you...and you enjoying it.

His eyes fluttered, “Here, I’ll teach you,” his nose nuzzled yours.

He pressed his lips against yours again, and this time you parted your mouth to accept his education. He explored your mouth and demonstrated a pressured patterned that you began mimicking and returning to him. His kisses this became further demanding, filled with panting.

You suddenly felt a frightening excitement explode through your body, growing beyond simple pleasure and transforming into a ravenous hunger. The sensations coursing through you were no longer merely pleasant but overpowering, your heart racing wildly as it hammered against your ribs. The heat within you was unbearable, an intense blaze spreading through you, leaving you panting and aching for more.

Looking into his eyes, you realized that he had felt the same burning desire that was overtaking you now. You were stunned by the revelation, and it made you feel even hotter. You uttered a soft, unconscious sound as you moved closer to his body, unable to control the sensations he had unleashed inside of you. The yearning was unbearable, and you wanted more of him, his experienced touches making the sensations overwhelming and irresistible.

You had never believed it could be like this, such an intense and overwhelming desire. You had been told that some men could be crude and cruel, but those warnings had never prepared you for the intense sensation of burning desire. You had always made the sensible choice to avoid flirting or attempting to attract a boyfriend, yet, here you were, wanting a man to do those very things to you.

The men you had encountered during your time at college and in the workplace had appeared to be normal, not lecherous sex fiends. You felt comfortable around men, and even considered a few of them to be good friends. But you did not consider yourself attractive, or at least, not enough to attract the opposite sex’s attention.

Men had never scrambled to get dates with you or even managed to acquire your phone number. As a result, you hadn’t been exposed to the intense sensations of a man’s embrace and touches, nor the throbbing sensation of his manhood pressing against your thighs. You hadn’t realized how much more you needed, the feeling of his hands roaming your body awakening a hungry desire that grew within you with every touch.

You instinctively locked your arms around his neck and moved your body against his, feeling the waves of frustration and desire increasing within you. The desire was a blaze consuming your body, empty and aching, hungry for more. The new sensations were a flood, your mind overwhelmed by the feeling of your nerves being assaulted. You didn’t know how to control it, the tidal wave of sensation growing with each movement made against him.

Clark jerked his head back, his teeth locked as he relentlessly brought himself back under control. Black fire burned in his eyes as he looked down at you. His kisses had made your soft lips swollen. Your eyes were heavy-lidded as you opened them and slowly met his gaze.

The desire was plain on your face, a look that suggested he had done more than kiss you. You already looked dishevelled, as if he had taken you in his arms and claimed you. In his mind, he had. He wondered how pretty you would look with a ball gag between your teeth. Despite your delicate appearance, you had moved against him with a voracious hunger, your body moving and seeking more.

He knew with the state of your mind, he could take you to bed right now. You were desperate for him, hot past the point of reason. And yet...he decided that it would be best if he would wait for you to make the conscious decision to be with him. Your inexperience was clear, and he’d even had to teach you how to kiss. The thought was suddenly cut off when he realized just how inexperienced you were. You were a virgin, and it was not fair for him to take that without your full consent.

The notion left him dumbfounded. It didn’t seem possible that you could be so innocent, yet there you were, gazing up at him with eyes that were both innocent and full of desire. Your body was pressed tightly to his, your arms locked around his neck, and your legs slightly opened to let him nestle against you. You were waiting for the next move, as you did not know what else to do. Before him you had never even been kissed. No man had touched your soft breasts or your tender nipples. No man had ever shared his love with you.

He swallowed the rock in his throat that threatened to choke him, his eyes still locked with yours. “Alrighty now, missy, that almost took a dangerous turn.”

You jerked away a little, your eyes fluttered, “oh, really?...”

Slowly, because he didn’t want to drop you, feeling how much your knees might collapse under you, he let you slide down to find your feet. Your sweetness would be the death of him...figuratively and literally if you tried to accuse him of something wayward. He was a fiend, a criminal, a man charged with possibly one of the worst crimes known to man. And you were the new miss innocent school teacher coming to talk to him about Lara only for it to almost become a shit show of either moans or wailing squeals.

You should never have come her. The people of Smallville had a knack for gossiping. Lord knows you’d find out the truth eventually and then you’d never want to associate with him again...

So he released you, despite the overwhelming desire to drag you onto his bed and educate you to all there was to pleasuring a man and yourself. Still wrapped around him like a human scarf were your soft arms. Your fingers had tangled up into his dark raven mane. You almost appeared unable to let him go, drunk on new founded lust. He reached up to take your hands and move your arms away from his body entirely.

The softest sound of disappointment left your wet lips...was he rejecting you now? Had you done something wrong...

Your eyes looked up at him in a desperate plea to continue...but his eyes were staring away and over your shoulder.

“I guess I’ll come back later then?” Came a new, young and feminine voice interrupting your blood rushing thoughts.

TO BE CONTINUED.....

    HELPLINES:

If you are a victim of sexual abuse, assault or domestic violence or know someone who is please reach out to these links that share helpline services, phone numbers or emails. Consent and respect is important in every relationship whether between friends, family or even strangers.

Australian Helpline Services

UK Helpline Services

American Helpline Services

India Helpline Services.

[sunwarmed-ash]

Angst Prompts: Roy/Jamie

Prompt by @novelbear *Their full list here*

when you want to introduce them to someone but you have that slight hesitation before saying "they're a friend."

"you called me your friend." "was i not supposed to say that?" "you really think i'm just your friend? after these last few weeks?"

A/N: usually I write flirty, sexy, happy RoyJamie but I feel like shit so you're getting sad prompts today. (Ficlet under cut)

“This is Jamie, my …friend.”

Friend, friend. It feels like a slap in the face, because it is. Because Jamie is not going back in the closet for anyone. 

Not for Man City. Not for Love Island. Not for his fucking father. And sure as hell not for Roy fucking Kent who Jamie had been considering, exclusively for weeks now, as his boyfriend. 

“Yeah. Hey, how you doing mate,” Jamie says diplomatically, through clenched fucking teeth as he shakes the hand of some old fuck Jamie could care less about. 

*

He’s fully trapped in his head by the time they reach the restaurant. 

“You’ve been quiet.” Roy says, and Jamie struggles to make eye contact. 

“Have I?”

“Eerily. Usually can't get you to shut the fuck up.”

Any other day, in any other mood, the comment would have rolled off Jamie’s back. Roy and Jamie teased each other constantly. But right now, after the ‘friend’ comment. After so much time listening to the hateful insecurities whispering venom in his ears, it just feels like a kick to the gut after he’s already down. 

“Fuck you Roy,” he says, louder than is polite for a half full restaurant, but it at least the message gets through. Because Roy’s eyebrows shoot to his receding hairline and his mouth drops open in shock. 

“Whoa, hey. The fuck’s going on?”

Jamie scoffs, pushing his hair back for something to do that's not destruct. 

“The fucks goin on? You called me your ‘friend’ Roy. To someone important to you. Is that all this is? All we are? It’s been months Roy!”

Roy is stunned, embarrassed, and angry. Jamie’s spent enough time looking at this assholes face to understand the nuances in his expressions. 

“I don't want to talk about this here,” Roy says, probably thinking he's compromising but it just sets Jamie off. He stands and leaves the restaurant without another word. 

*

Roy stares at the empty place across from him for another second before tossing cash on the table for the drinks and getting the fuck out of here. He can already hear all of the chatter in the restaurant escalate as more seconds pass. 

He needed to talk to someone. Jamie, ideally, but maybe after he’s cooled down a bit. 

He wished Keeley wasn’t the first person that jumped to his mind. Only because it wasn't fair to burden her with news of a second failed relationship after he was the one who ended theirs. 

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuucccck.” 

*

Jamie goes home. And he drinks. He hates himself for it, but, well, he’s already at the bottom of the well, can’t get any lower than this right? 

*

He loses track of time, and how much he’s drank. Of how many pictures he's taken of his body and dick as revenge postings to maybe piss Roy off more. They don't go any further than his camera roll though, because the liquor makes his eyes heavy and he’s asleep less than 5 minutes later. 

*

Waking up alone is one of the worst feelings in the world in Jamie’s opinion. Especially once he's in a relationship. And now, after 5 months and 16 days, he’s grown accustomed to waking up against Roy’s frame. To falling asleep with his light snoring in his ear. 

Waking up alone, hungover, because your actions may have ended yet another fantastic relationship? Take the worst feeling in the world and compound it by 100. 

Jamie isn't getting out of bed today. Maybe not even this week. Maybe he’ll quit the team all together. It would save him the embarrassing feeling of seeing Roy everyday. Of explaining to everyone how they went from best friends to enemies again over night.

He thinks about calling his mom. But then he remembered she and Simon were out on holiday till the 19th. 

The last of his hope for a good day is dashed.

[hopefuloverfury]

Hello, I was wondering if I could request Kent x Reader if you don’t mind since you said requests are open? The dynamic being an oblivious farmer who is just very polite and unaware as fuck while Kent is basically just like “I would both kill and die for you” (I apologize I am completely obsessed with him)

I don’t personally feel anything but platonic fondness for the rest of the townies, so this was a really nice challenge. It did take me forever to write because it gave me a lot of trouble and I kept rewriting it, but I eventually landed on this and I’m pretty pleased with it. They’re both dumb, but they figure themselves out by the end. I really hope I did your prompt justice, anon, and that maybe it was worth the wait! Enjoy! <3

2650-ish Words. This is a monster. I don’t like writing infidelity, so you can be sure that there is a hefty amount of canon divergence, even if I don’t mention anything outright. GN!Farmer. This is a little suggestive at certain moments, they flirt quite a bit (Kent does it knowingly, the Farmer does not because they are an oblivious shit), and there’s drinking, but nobody’s drunk. Ah, and there’s cursing, and Kent imagines the Farmer being all roughed up once (nothing explicit), and I use “Yoba” instead of “God.” Yanno. For immersion. I do say “fuck you” to the immersion in favor of using our twelve-month calendar year, though, so. There’s also that. Lmfao

Kent swirls the scotch in his glass, watching the amber liquid slosh around with the ice. It’s Friday night, half-past seven p.m., and the saloon is lively and bright. He’s been people-watching since he arrived, settled alone in his little corner. Marnie and Lewis still haven’t figured out their shit, Robin is attempting to teach Demetrius to dance without stepping on her toes once again, and Elliott is lamenting his writer’s block to Leah at the table over.

Same old, same old.

“Evening. This seat taken?” The Farmer asks, a nearly-empty drink in hand and a knowing grin on their face. 

Except for this. This is a relatively new development.

Kent smiles up at them. “You know it isn’t.”

“Just in case.” The Farmer settles down on the stool next to him, the legs of their newly claimed chair screeching terribly against the worn down hardwood of the saloon. His heart tries to leap out of his throat and into their careful, calloused hands, but he swallows it down with another sip of liquor. It burns his throat terribly, but he welcomes the distraction.

“I haven’t seen you at the saloon in a while,” Kent says, his voice rough from the alcohol. They take a sip of their own drink—something deep red and fruity, with a cherry sitting at the bottom of their glass.

“I try to take a little break at least once a week, but last week was hectic as hell.” They sigh, a satisfied smile on their lips as they sit back.

“Yeah? You get a lot of work done on the farm?” Kent asks, openly checking them out as they set their drink down and stretch their arms high over their head. A few months ago he would’ve been more discreet, but now he’s given up entirely on subtlety. The Farmer never notices anyway. The face they make as they stretch has his mouth going dry, and he drinks a too-large sip of his scotch, trying not to make a face about it.

“Before the snow hit, yeah, but now there isn’t really anything for me to do. Winter doesn’t make it easy for crops, so I’ve been collecting other things to sell. Animal products, gems, that sort of thing.” The Farmer settles down, done with their stretching, and Kent silently thanks the universe for giving him a break. “Actually, I was in the desert today. I haven’t been to the skull caverns in a while, so I spent most of the day down there.”

He immediately rescinds his gratitude, and sets his glass down with a sharp thunk.

“You went to the caverns?”

The Farmer nods, shrugging a bit as their mouth twists into a frown. “Yeah, but it wasn’t a great run, if I’m honest. A few gems and geodes. I wanted iridium ore, but there was basically nothing. I only got three nuggets from what was there because I spent so long beating back monsters.”

That last bit has Kent’s blood running backward, and he taps his fingers on the table-top, the beat agitated and quick. “That’s unfortunate.” 

The Farmer snorts. “Yeah, tell me about it. I could’ve gotten more done if I just stayed home, honestly. But it’s my fault for going on a bad luck day.”

He doesn’t know what the fuck that means, if he’s honest, and he’s not particularly superstitious himself, but he’s learned not to question them. Except now the thought of the Farmer being overrun by monsters won’t dissipate, and it’s making his stomach turn. He clenches his jaw. 

“You should bring me with you next time.”

The Farmer looks up at him, their eyes wide and stunned for only a moment before they’re chuckling into their glass. “Yeah? You wanna be my good luck charm, Kent?”

Yoba, he does.

The Farmer licks their lips clean, and whatever juice Gus mixed up with their alcohol has stained their lips and tongue a ruddy red.

He leans forward, propping his chin up on the palm of his hand, and smiles. “I could be.”

They laugh outright, bright and delighted. Kent absently notices the quick glances they’re receiving from the other patrons. Nosy.

“You know, I was talking with some of the ladies at Caroline’s aerobics class on Tuesday,” the Farmer starts, rolling the stem of their glass between their pinched fingers. Their smile is soft. “They said something interesting about you.”

Kent raises an amused eyebrow. “You gossiping about me, Farmer?”

“It was against my will, I assure you.” They deadpan, and Kent laughs, covering his grin with a wide palm.

“Enlighten me, then: what trivia did they bestow upon you against your will?” Kent asks.

“They said you never smile unless you’re with me,” The Farmer says quickly, rushed out in one breath like they can't say it fast enough. Kent’s eyes widen, and he’s pretty sure there’s steam rising from the top of his head, but the Farmer doesn’t catch any of it because they refuse to look at him. “And that I’m the only one who’s been able to make you laugh, since you came back.”

They were gossiping like roosting hens, the lot of them. Kent sighs heavily, harsh and a little embarrassed. How can they see it, but not the Farmer?

Still…

“They’re wrong, actually.” Kent straightens up, pushing his near empty glass aside. 

“Yeah?” The Farmer asks, and Kent doesn’t try to think too hard about why they sound so disappointed, or why they’re fighting back a frown.

“Even before getting drafted, I wasn’t like this.” Kent admits, and he can feel the tips of his ears flushing hotly at what he’s about to confess next. “I’ve never been like this with anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” The Farmer blinks owlishly, their hand stilling on their glass. “Really?”

Kent shakes his head, humming an affirmative. “Just you.”

“So… I’m special?” They ask, and it’s obvious they’re joking, the tilt of their lips just a little too teasing, but he doesn’t care. It’s obvious, and they’ll figure it out for themselves eventually.

“Are you going to the caverns again tomorrow?” Kent asks instead of answering, flagging down Emily for the bill. She notices immediately, and Kent knows it’s because she was staring. Everyone is always fucking staring.

“Um.” The Farmer picks at a loose thread on their shirt, even though there isn’t one. He doesn’t mention it. “Yeah, I was—I was thinking about it, if the day’s luck is good.”

“You don’t need to check if it is.” Kent watches Emily walk out from behind the bar, the bill and a pen in hand. “I’ll be your good luck charm, remember?”

The Farmer opens their mouth to respond, with the prettiest blush on their face, but Emily finally appears at their table, effectively cutting them off.

“Here you are,” Emily says, a curious smile on her face as she hands him the bill. 

He sets the bill on the table and reaches into his pocket for his wallet. “Thanks, Emily. How’s business tonight?” 

“Fridays are always busy, so it’s going well, I suppose. What about you two? How’s your night so far?” She asks, mischief sparkling in her calculating blue eyes. Even if Kent didn’t know her and Haley were siblings, the way they look at the world would give it away immediately. Haley’s eyes are far more cunning, but still. Two peas in a pod.

Kent places a few heavy coins in the tray, making sure to tip her a few extra than usual, and passes it back. “Great, but we’ve got plans to go into the desert early tomorrow, so we’re gonna head out.”

“Calico Desert?” Emily asks, and Kent is almost surprised she doesn’t push for more info. “My friend Sandy lives over there!”

Ah. That’s why.

“I’ll make sure to say hi to her for you,” The Farmer jumps in, making deliberate eye contact with Emily. The smile on their face is polite, but distracted.

“Would you?” Emily smiles gratefully. “Thanks, Farmer. I appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome.” The Farmer’s returning smile is genuine this time, and Kent’s heart thumps heavily against his ribcage. If they make his heart race any more, he’ll have to check in with Harvey for potential bruising.

“Well, you’re all set, so y’all have a good night,” Emily says with a smile, reaching out to pluck their empty glasses off the table.

“You too.” Kent stands up, pushing his chair in and waiting for the Farmer to get up to their feet. “Are you ready to go? Got everything?”

The Farmer nods, and Kent follows them with his hands shoved into his jacket pockets as they walk out. He takes one hand out to hold the door for them as they step out into the frigid winter air, and almost immediately his fingers are numb. He’s never been able to handle the cold very well. It’s in his best interest to head home, to get out of it and into some central heating, but…

“Can I walk you home?” Kent asks quietly, after the door swings shut behind them. The Farmer stops short, and he can’t tell if the flush is from the cold or from something else.

“You’re welcome to, but don’t you hate the cold?” The Farmer gestures vaguely at the snowflakes floating around them. “Shouldn’t I be the one walking you home?”

Kent smiles, his chest suddenly light. “Maybe, but your place is farther, and I don’t wanna say goodnight to you just yet.”

“Like my company that much, huh?” The Farmer asks, cocking their head to the side as they slip their hands into their pockets. The collar of their winter jacket pulls against the back of their neck, and Kent steps onto the icy path. 

“Let’s get you home, Farmer.” Kent starts walking, expecting them to follow. He smiles at the sound of their boots crunching against the frosted grass and gravel, and starts heading for the farmlands.

“You ignoring my questions on purpose, Kent?” They ask, but he knows it isn’t a question.

“Yep.” He nods. “We’re taking the bus tomorrow morning, right? What time should I meet you there?”

They sigh, playfully irritated, and he grins to himself. “Pam usually gets there at 9, so I should be good to head out at eight-fifty? If that works for you?”

“Eight-fifty it is, then. Anything in particular that you’re looking for down there?”

They sigh, looking up at the cloudy sky as they walk past Marnie’s. “Same thing as today. I really need iridium so I can get Clint to upgrade all of my tools before the new year, and I need my hoe upgraded desperately if I want to make a profit off of strawberries next spring.”

“Thinking that far ahead, huh?” Kent glances at the sketchy caravan beyond the trees next to Cindersap, and purposely puts himself between it and the Farmer. 

“Not by much, but I have to if I don’t want to go bankrupt. Strawberries are good for a lot of other stuff, too. I can make jam and wine with them, which are both pretty profitable.”

“Are you going to grow anything else, or just strawberries?”

The Farmer shrugs and unlatches the south gate to their property. “I grow some things year-round in my greenhouse, but I think I’ll only plant strawberries in the fields, since they’re the most profitable.”

“How do you know?” Kent asks, genuinely curious. He doesn’t know shit about farming, truthfully.

“I’ve done the math,” they say, pulling a small notebook out of seemingly fucking nowhere. Kent glares at their jacket in confusion. “They’ve got the highest profit ratio, based on how much I drop on them at Pierre’s stand and how often they grow. Strawberry plants fruit every four days once they’re fully grown, so I can get the most out of them if I start them early.”

They hold out their notebook, flipped to a random page with a smattering of bullet points and notes in their handwriting. There’s a silly doodle of a strawberry at the top of the page, and Kent smiles fondly.

“You’ve got this shit down to a science, Farmer. I’m impressed.”

They snort, and their notebook practically dematerializes as they shove it into their jacket, but he doesn’t see a pocket—where on earth do they put it?

“Two years of fucking up and not planning ahead has taught me to think about the future a little more.” They shrug. “We’ll have to see if I can actually pull it off, though; planning ahead won’t mean anything if I can’t get the iridium ore for it.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. You’ve still got two months left.”

“Two months goes by pretty quickly, though.” They sigh, and Kent watches as the lampposts in front of their house begin illuminating their face.

He swallows hard and averts his stare. He shrugs, forcing himself to be casual. “Well, between the both of us and a little luck, I think we’ll manage it just fine.”

They hum, and he catches their smile through his peripherals.

“Maybe.” The stairs on the Farmer’s porch creak under their weight as they step up to their front door, and Kent knows he has to say goodnight now, but as they go to pluck their keys out of their pocket, he grabs their wrist.

“I know I’ve been kinda pushy, but I want you to tell me honestly.” Kent knows without a shred of doubt that his fingers are nearly frozen against their skin. They look at him, chin angled down with their sudden height difference. He won’t go up their front steps to even it out, though. That’s a boundary he won’t cross, not unless they ask him to. “Is it really alright that I come with you tomorrow? I don’t want you to force yourself to be okay with it if you don’t actually want me there.”

The Farmer’s lips part, and he sees rather than hears their breath of surprise—a cloud of vapor in front of their face, glowing orange in their porch light.

“Why have you been so pushy?” They ask, and now it’s his turn to get ignored. “Why do you want to come with me so badly?”

Kent lets go of their wrist, and his palm burns. He doesn’t have it in him to lie. “Because I’m scared of what might happen to you if I don’t.”

They’re quiet for a long moment, recognition passing over their face, and Kent loves the fact that pity is never something he’ll have to see along with it. Not with the Farmer.

They walk forward, placing a sturdy hand on the banister as they lean in close. “I have one more question for you, Kent. Answer honestly, and I’ll let you come with me.” 

Kent nods stiffly, his eyes flicking everywhere but their own. “I’m great at honesty.”

They hum, and Kent watches, frozen solid as they glance at his lips. “Am I special to you?” 

He bites his lip, the back of his neck burning. “Yeah—yes. You are.”

They nod once, and then step away. Kent watches, a sudden panic thickening in his chest.

“Good.”

Wait, 'good?'

The Farmer unlocks their front door, and opens it wide. They turn around before stepping inside, and their smile is giddy. Kent’s panic subsides. He’s imagined rejection more times than he can count, and he’s pretty sure that’s not what it looks like. “I’ll see you at eight-fifty, okay? Don’t be late—I’d hate to have to leave my good-luck charm behind.”

“Cross my heart.” Kent nods, his own smile just as giddy. 

They close the door, just a bit. Their eyes twinkle. “Goodnight, Kent.” 

“G’night.” He waves, and the cold isn’t nipping at his fingers as much anymore.

When he collapses into bed that night, his skin is flushed and cold, and his heart is thumping erratically in his chest. His smile doesn’t subside, even as he falls asleep.

[usafphantom2]

My father was picked by a computer in 1964 to become a candidate for a new position, called the reconnaissance systems officer in the new SR-71.

He was picked because of his outstanding bomb record in the B-58. He was the first man interviewed by Doug Nelson at Little Rock Air Force Base home of the 43rd wing of the B-58 because he had walking pneumonia; Colonel Nelson interviewed him first, took him into a small closet, and asked him these questions: would you be willing to fly over Russia or China and are you a volunteer?

The Sheffield family was the first SR 71 family to arrive at Beale Air Force Base March of 1965. My Dad was picked not because he knew someone important. He didn’t know anyone. He came from a small town in Ohio called Rootstown. His father worked at the Goodyear rubber plant in Akron, Ohio. The first group were all like Dad, and they knew what an honor it was to be selected. This was a noble calling. They put the love of their country first in their life. These men were sincere, and their word was so honorable that you knew it was a solemn promise that they would rather die before they revealed it. You could just feel feel the goodness of these men trust honor, faithful, noble, confident, and humility. The tradition of selecting, the very best was continued throughout the whole program.

I would go to basketball and baseball games to watch my Dad and his coworkers play. I was shocked at how aggressive Daddy was. He didn’t act like that at home. They were all aggressive men .

These men knew how to handle social situations expertly. I would go to the officers club with my parents occasionally. Who could turn down a colored TV in the lobby near the bar at the Beale Air Force Base officers club with all the Shirley Temples (7-Up with grenadine ) with cherries on top that I could possibly drink. My friends lived near by they were mostly SR 71 pilots and RSO‘s children. I spent a lot of time eating dinner with them, watching TV , going to the bowling alley, going on picnics, running down the street to Ryan Park. Stopping by the Vicks, the Jarvis’s, the McCallum’s and Payne’s last, but not least I practically lived at Janet Payne’s house.

When I was a teenager, I hung out with Kent and Sherry Collins I would babysat for the younger kids in family. I didn’t know that their father Ken Collins’s was an A-12 pilot turned SR-71 pilot until many years later. I’m sure the postman was confused as an another Collins lived across the street. Charles “Pete” Collins SR-71 Pilot and his wife Shirley and kids Petey, Kim and Kathy they moved back after being away for a year, and now lived across the street from us.

The neighbors and my parents all came around with bottles of liquor. It was getting kind of late and they were getting rather noisy. I thought it would be funny to call the police on them. Just to see what they would do. I had my friend Jeff Anderson, deepen his voice and call the police from my kitchen. The police quickly came. I didn’t know that the phones were bugged. The base police assumed that the call came from my father not from one of his daughter’s friends . Jeff and I and a few other friends that had stopped by were hiding behind the bushes . The police said I heard there was a disturbance up here. As the two young police officers looked at the sidewalk with spilled liquor and bottles everywhere and four couples sitting in the grass !

Ken Collins quickly gets up approach the police car I said “You can move on now we took care of it.” I waited about 25 years before I told my mother that I was the one that instigated the call to the police. I think she was still thinking about putting me on restriction. Linda Sheffield

@Habubrats71 via X

[alwayschasingrainbows]

I think that Lucy Maud Montgomery used the references from a poem "Rubaiyat" by Omar Khayyam, to build a love story between Emily Byrd Starr and Teddy Kent in Emily's Quest, by using the symbolism of a book, a rose and a wine.

THE BOOK

"If I had a tail I'd lash it," groaned Ilse, casting herself on Emily's bed and hurling one of Emily's treasured volumes—a little old copy of the Rubaiyat Teddy had given her in high school days—across the room. The back came off and the leaves flew every which way for a Sunday. Emily was annoyed." (Emily's Quest).

First of all, we learn that it was Teddy who had given Emily this book, during their childhood. By saying so, Montgomery might imply that he understood (and perhaps, shared) Emily's love of poetry and beauty. While Perry Miller gives Emily more practical gifts (a hen, a typing machine), Teddy gives her "an old copy" of a poem - a gift Emily loves, even if others might not find it it worth-while. The gift is a symbol of their mutual understanding and similar approach to life.

It is important to point out that Emily cherished this book, partly because it was a gift from Teddy. Their friendship was strong at this point, slowly starting to blossom into something more.

Another moment in their relationship is symbolized by Ilse destroying the book. An act of throwing it across the room might refer to the way Ilse was casually throwing comments about Teddy, and in doing so, she shatted Emily's perfect image of Teddy. Perhaps the ruined book is a symbol of Teddy and Emily's failing relationship.

The quote "The back came off and the leaves flew every which way" might be a reference to noticing the side of Teddy Emily was not aware of.

THE ROSE

On the day of her twenty-fourth birthday, Emily opens the letter to herself, written at the age of fourteen and finds old rose petals inside the envelope (another gift from Teddy):

"A whiff of old fragrance came with it. Folded in it were some dried rose-leaves—crisp brown things that crumbled to dust under her touch. Yes, she remembered that rose—Teddy had brought it to her one evening when they had been children together and he had been so proud of that first red rose that bloomed on a little house rose-bush." (Emily's Quest).

It might be read as a reference to these verses: "Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say: Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday?"

"Rose of Yesterday" might symbolize a love that once was, especially in connection with these verses from "Rubaiyat": "One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies; The Flower that once has blown for ever dies."

Similarly, the quote from Rubaiyat: "And look—a thousand Blossoms with the Day Woke/and a thousand scatter'd into Clay/ And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose/ Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away."

might refer to Emily and Teddy's happy summer, after she broke her engagement with Dean:

"A wonderful month followed. A month of indescribable roses, exquisite hazes, silver perfection of moonlight, unforgettable amethystine dusks, march of rains, bugle-call of winds, blossoms of purple and star-dust, mystery, music, magic. A month of laughter and dance and joy, of enchantment infinite. Yet a month of restrained, hidden realization." (Emily's Quest).

Just like in the poem, after the happy month has passed, Emily and Teddy's relationship is strained again, after he leaves (seemingly) with no goodbye.

THE WINE

When Emily finds out about Ilse and Teddy's engagement, she says: "I've spilled my cup of life's wine on the ground—somehow. And she will give me no more. So I must go thirsty. (Emily's Quest)

It is, possibly, a reference to these verses of Rubayiat:

"Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry, "Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry." (Rubaiyat).

"Wine" might refer to the joys of life and the contentment of the present time. It is Dean Priest who uses a "wine" as a symbol of life and happiness: "Emily, do you know I'm a little drunk to-night—on the wine of life. Don't wonder if I say crazy things." (Emily's Quest).

Similar meaning is to be found in the Rubaiyat: "Ah, fill the Cup:—what boots it to repeat How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: Unborn TO-MORROW and dead YESTERDAY, Why fret about them if TO-DAY be sweet!"

For Emily, at this point, her own "today" is unbereable. After learning about Ilse's plans to marry Teddy, Emily "did not feel either pain or surprise—one does not feel either, I am told, when a bullet strikes the heart." and "it seemed to her that she was suffering everything of death but its merciful dying" (Emily's Quest).

The message of Rubaiyat is a devastating one:

"Then to this earthen Bowl did I adjourn My Lip the secret Well of Life to learn: And Lip to Lip it murmur'd—"While you live, Drink!—for once dead you never shall return."

By saying "So I must go thirsty" Emily might mean that - without the wine - her own life is going to be empty of all the hopes and dreams - that there is no return to who she used to be. Her biggest regret, though, is not the fact Teddy doesn't love her at this moment, but the fact he seemingly never had. When she learns about his letter, she feels like a changed person:

"Bitterness—humiliation—shame had vanished from her being. Teddy had loved her. The sweetness of the revelation blotted out, for the time at least, all other feelings. Anger—resentment—could find no place in her soul. She felt like a new creature." (Emily's Quest).

The references from the poem are seen through the last book. The poem Teddy had given Emily, seemingly shaped their entire journey together.

[kentavewine]

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[pulpman2]

Dirty Angel

“Oh, Mikey honey, you really are a sap!” laughed Candy Nolan, notorious liquor store thief and former leader of all female gang the Dirty Angels, as she pointed his own gun at aghast prison officer Mike Driscoll. “Do you really think I would ever kiss a loser like you? Now, keys, quick!” Mike cursed himself as an idiot. How often had the hookers and woman coke heads come onto him as he locked them up, hoping for favours or even cash if they flashed him their boobs? Mike was wise to such female chicanery, but Candy had seemed different- intelligent, ironic and super sexy and she genuinely seemed to like him. Now here in solitary, he felt they could at last get to know each other better during his night shift. However, it had all been a scam, a cheap lousy trick. Infuriated, Mike looked down the barrel of his gun and then into the cold brown eyes of the female criminal. He had been well and truly trapped, he realised, with no other guards on this block and no other inmates - it was called solitary for a reason. Candy allowed herself a slight smile as she seized the cell door keys from the hapless man. “Good boy.” she told him mockingly. “Now turn around and put your arms through the bars toward me.” Mike sighed heavily . “Witch!” he spat out bitterly as he turned round.

Candy had prepared well for this night. She reached for her bunk on which were several strips of material she had torn from her uniform dress. Once Mike’s arms were safely through the cell bars, the woman put the gun down and then pulled Mike’s wrists towards her before swiftly and expertly tying them tightly together. “You’ll never get away with this, you lying tramp!” the anguished officer told the sardonically smiling woman while she bound him. “No?” replied Candy with a smug chuckle. “Just watch me, lover!” Then she cleave gagged Mike with another strip of her torn dress and then opened the cell dooor while the officer looked on in helpless impotence. Once out of the cell, Candy stood in front of the tied and gagged Mike, and ran her hands down her dress, smoothing it over her curvaceous figure. “You like the shorter style, Mike?” she taunted her captive, the ripped uniform revealing her nyloned legs way above her knee. “I figure this look will get me a ride across the state line, along with your gun of course!” She laughed, leaving the bound man fuming at his own uselessness, knowing his keys would let Candy out of every door in the block. “See you in another life, sweetheart.” was Candy’s parting shot.

My interpretation of the story behind the cover to Cell Cutie, Larry Kent Detective #96 (1961).

[cosmicfruits]

Random Fallout 4 headcanons I've made

Preston needs glasses

Hancock was a dirty blonde before he became a ghoul

also his hair had a strawlike texture + was long

Isabel loves drawing with Shaun, and taught him how to draw the Mechanist :D

SS has so many pictures hung up in their old room made by Shaun and Isabel

SS used to go to Nuka World with their nieces and nephews, they got sprayed in the eye on accident from kiddie kingdoms sprayers and that's how they met Oswald (He was the only one who came to get them at the time lmao)

Kent and SS often like to talk about the unstoppable and have more than one heated debate about The Silver Shroud vs. Grognak

Preston and Piper are close friends and goof off a lot more than you'd think

The group got drunk the day they got rid of the Insitute, they somehow went from sanctuary to the castle, nearly broke Preston's arm on a swingset (????), and then got back to sanctuary before promptly passing out in a pile

Codsworth and Ada, the only two still sober seeing as unlike Nick they can't even try consuming liquor to fuck up their sensors, genuinely considered calling DIMA to stop these adults who act like teens

Sanctuary has a school ! Shaun goes there and one day, MacCready hopes to bring his son there too

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Shut and/or Room and/or Drink

Thank you my impressive friend <3

Shut from an untitled Rebecca bit. It was originally an introspective with her relationship with her father vs Rupert. But the part with her father has spun to a Bad Dad's Universe story so not sure where the Rupert bit will end up, but here is some:

And the worst part was he was right. At least half right. She didn’t have anyone. Not really. Not in a way with any importance. She shut everyone out for him. For Rupert, who didn't care enough, who didn't love her enough, to put her first. He never would. 

Room from all that you can take with you is that which you have given away aka Roy Kent's it's a wonderful life:

The hallway stretched out in an endless amount of doors once they exited the lift. He followed Ruth as she counted off the room numbers to herself. The lights were dimmed in the room they arrived at. Roy’s heart almost stopped beating at the site of Jamie.

Drink from thought i wanted love ('til you showed me what it was):

“Jamie, are you even fucking listening?” He was pulled from his thoughts again. Shit. “Sorry, Dad, maybe had a bit too much to drink at the end of the season party.”  If there’s one thing James Sr could understand, it was too much drink.  “Could never hold your liquor, could you, son?”

[libidomechanica]

Untitled (“Burned like a fire doth changed eye finds a joy”)

Of a thousand lines and near my     vow! The shift, the garden wears dropt off gorged from afar—     what could so precious friends, to make a break all the Cumner     ground, darkness, we are. Then said another with blood-red heath,     the reason; these birds be

calling up into the Road; but     the same: new needle-points, but find some officious torments     ease me mair to the red- ribb’d ledges drip with the Dusk an     Angel with heavy measuring the next, like salt over     a should spade to boil and

butter, which I ate like fruit dost     bear. As just sleeps when he think what you mean! Sooner or later     I too creep to the Air, as not a soul with him. Sleep     on: it is gone with the struggle grow in the city. For     thro’ the slender cloth he

seeks, shy to illumine; and the     lines of the perseuer, tho’ they suppose it is to kill no     eye with thee? Or that taste her beautiful, unanswerable     questions they measure; all tongue would fall. Gold cup, a rose,     fluttering in shade. Without

his failins, ’twill all best exceeds?     With a thousands dead are shaking dream of life and blear-     eyed Will the Kings this powerful might with the frivolous     a baby man would it near. But do not with waking dried     before Life’s Liquor in

its misery my spirit and     power, for, dead, tis nigh! Doctor! When the stains the girl, who     by the high stars blacken’d, Man’s knead, and think I’ve done my Credit     in Men’s Eye much work, children’s cries, Giue me some fair sun     of all the indent of

Plumeria, and those rancid dreams,     that Spring the wounds; see lines and Noes, but find some old dull     murder works of the year, in them my passion rooted in     her noblest mood has yielded: she, my love. Is certain, that     know they saw Cupid bitter

Cistern forc’d his heart less bound     up with joy thee—cheerless as amber, translucent Arno-     vale for the longest day— when garden darke, where birds do love     her? Time and spoken, that winds that today a coffin for     thee. The least encumbered

consolation and traces, in     bullets from the wet fields, she needs not June for dowry will     bitter, Fruit. Dancing, a beauty of Maud; I play’d the Potter     that holy dream—that hath love, this upland dim. Are needful     at the pangs of loue

in aire of wonder more subtle     and speak and raged deep in my lips to grow: and thus of old     thy current pour’d, fair Venus! Burned like a fire doth changed eye     finds a joy above the river-grass, and blest were to make     your wisedoms heau’n the

Sky, where they come. This should not traveled     by, and not be solved. Not entering bare truth live withoute     rinde? In the trophies home to the foam, that this head. The     dandelion greens I picked in mine armour beare; sicke, thirst     to speak thy tears shed would

haue made it an oath from me I’ll     remove. And blossom: a thing of the loved ones, anyone     who will wring us at length into whiffs of cloud, so     sorrowes eloquent, is well, while they quicken. Aggressive     neighbor whose Doorways are

alternate Nighting a little     ones, and so beat sleep’s heavy god grown lights faintly! Why, all     these are knuckles shine to wait on their lives inseparable     from out my inner sight he seems nothing all Things end     in love talk, I’m kent thee.

[catierambles]

Public Relations Ch.7

Pairing: Clark Kent/Superman x Charlotte Danvers (OFC)

WC 1003

Warnings: None? Domestic fluff

@kingliam2019 , @greensleeves888 , @peaches1958 , @brattymum96

Clark’s coat and bag were hanging up just inside the door when she got home a bit after 630 and a wonderful smell was wafting through the house. Kicking off her shoes, she walked towards the back into the kitchen, seeing him at the stove, bags of groceries on the kitchen island.

“Hey.” He said, looking up at her briefly with a smile. “Welcome home.”

“Nice apron.” She said and he snorted, “You going to tell me what you’re making now?”

“Beef burgundy with mashed potatoes.”

“Where’d you learn how to make that?”

“Mom made sure I knew how to cook before I moved out.” Clark said, “And cooking shows are great for when you can’t sleep.”

“Smart woman.” She said and he smiled. Going over to the island, she looked through the groceries, pulling out the bottle of red wine from the liquor store bag. “You know I have a wine cellar, right?”

“I’m not using your ultra-expensive wine to cook.” Clark said, “But feel free to pour yourself a glass, I won’t use all of it and you should never cook with wine you wouldn’t drink.”

“Good advice.” She said and uncorked the bottle, grabbing a wine glass and pouring herself some. “Want one?”

“Please.” He said and she poured him one too, setting off to the side so it wasn’t in the way but he could still reach it, giving him a quick kiss before she moved away, sitting at the kitchen island with her chin in her hand. “I can feel you staring at me. What?”

“You’re going to make someone a wonderful wife someday.” She said and he laughed, making her smile.

“How was work, honey?” He asked and she snorted.

“It was good.” She said, “There’s an acquisition that I gave the green light on that’s going to be moving forward. Well, less an acquisition and more a trade.”

“Of what for what?” He asked, turning around and starting to chop mushrooms.

“Can’t say yet, not until all the fine details are ironed out.”

“You know I wouldn’t tell anyone, right?” He asked, looking at her, “I mean, I am a reporter, but we are strictly off the record here.”

“Oh, I know.” She said, “It’s a legal thing, but trust me when I say that you will know when it happens.”

“Okay, then. Be mysterious.” Clark said, “Instead of watching me cook, why don’t you go relax? If I need anything, I’ll give you a shout through the intercom.”

“Okay, sure.” She said, sliding off the stool, “I’ll be in my study.” Walking around the island, she gave him another kiss before leaving the kitchen, heading up the stairs to her study, and getting on her computer, starting up World of Warcraft.

Several quests later, the intercom beeped at her before Clark’s voice came over it.

“Hey, Charlie?” He sounded pained.

“Yeah?”

“I broke a knife.” Clark said and she looked at the intercom.

“How the hell did you break a carbon steel knife?” She asked and there was a pause. “Clark?”

“It slipped when I was chopping potatoes and hit my hand.” He said and she was out of the chair, running down the stairs and into the kitchen. He was still standing at the island, looking sheepish.

“Forget about the knife, is your hand okay?” She asked, going to him.

“It’s fine.” He said.

“Really, Clark, carbon steel is pretty damn sharp and--” She stopped as he held up his unwounded hands, turning them for her consideration.

“It wasn’t coated with glowing green space rock, I’m fine.” He said and there was a pause. “Did you forget?”

“I forgot.” She said and he barked a laugh. “Shut up! It’s not exactly at the forefront of my mind at all times, okay? There aren’t constant reminders so yeah, I forgot.”

“You really rushed down here thinking I cut my hand open?”

“Yes.”

“All set and ready to call 911 if need be?”

“Were you not nigh on indestructible, you probably would have needed stitches.” She said, “So yes.”

“Come here.” He said and pulled her against his chest, rubbing her back. “Thank you for being worried about me.”

“Although I didn’t have to be, clearly.” Charlotte said against his chest.

“Still, the fact that you were means a lot.” Clark said, “I’m used to people who know not being worried about me or my safety because yeah, I can handle just about anything. The fact that you panicked because you thought I had a kitchen accident means a lot to me. More than you know.”

“Well, yeah,” She said, “I care about you. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. You’re important to me.” He pulled away a little, reaching up to hold the side of her jaw, his thumb moving over her cheek.

“You’re important to me, too.” He said and stooped at the shoulders, pressing his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. She responded to him instantly, pressing back against him as her eyes closed. Her hands sliding around his waist made a shiver go up his spine and he pulled her tighter against him, his lips moving harder against hers. Picking her up easily, he sat her on the island as they adjusted their holds on each other, her arms resting on his shoulders as he wrapped his hands around her waist. Her legs around his hips made him groan into her mouth and he pulled away, resting his forehead against hers.

“Turn off the burners?” Her voice was breathy, needy, and he nodded with a sound, twisting around and turning off the stove before turning back to her and kissing her again, his lips parting hers and his tongue delving into her mouth, her back aching against him as her legs tightened around his waist.

“Hold onto me.” He said, “Tight.” Her arms wrapped around his neck as he picked her up off the island, moving at blurring speed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Batdads thanksgiving feast is so good naturally it makes everyone who possibly can come come cause the food is so good. Clark, Ollie, Barry, Dinah, Every member of the batfam

Clark loves it, but nothing will compare to Ma and Pa Kent's thanksgiving feast.

So imagine the Thanksgiving Cookoff, with three teams - Ma and Pa Kent, Batdad and Alfred, and Jay and Joan Garrick. They feed their families and whomsoever decides to come, and everyone helps out and enjoys themselves. Pa Kent is lured out of the kitchen by Arthur who's brought Atlantean liquor, and Clark takes his place, being the perfect kitchen assistant.