#phone charging station near me | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

091400 · 2 months

Text

BAD IDEA, RIGHT?

PAIRING: han jisung x fem!reader.

CONTAINS: 18+, afab!reader, exhibitionism, voyeurism, perv!jisung, masturbation, inappropriate behavior, ji being a creep in public spaces, starts non-consensual and ends being consensual by both parties.

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

AUTHORS NOTE: hey! this is a repost of an old work of mine from 2022! i fixed a few mistakes so here it is! let me know what you think :) please read the warnings above this paragraph! you're in charge of your own internet experience <3

It was almost time for the train to arrive at the station, he checked his phone impatiently, he had some 3Racha business to attend in the big city so he got up from his bed too early for his liking, grumbling his way out of the apartment. He had recently bought some brand new headphones with noise cancellation, so they were perfect for his one hour train ride, hoping the fucking train wasn’t that full that early in the morning.

He was still half asleep when the train arrived, jumped in and took off to go to the second floor of the train. It was empty, thank god, he smiled to himself. It was almost eight stations to his final destination so he relaxed in his selected seat and put some music on.

The train stopped in the first two stations and people got on, Jisung was seated on the window seat, he had one free seat beside him and two in front. People started going up to the second floor and he sighed, goodbye privacy.

You appeared from the stairs, making your way towards the free seats in front of Jisung, making him gulp hard, his hands tightening against the soft fabric of his hoodie.

He thought he had his urges under control, but the way you were sitting with your legs crossed, and your skirt slowly riling up your legs, his sight was glued to your upper thighs.

He felt himself growing hard, and he tried fixing his bulge by slowly moving his legs to make some space but it was not complying at all. He looked at you again but you weren’t paying attention to him, not that he deserved it. You were just looking at your phone, typing at lighting speed, probably texting someone prettier than him and someone who was not staring at your legs and chest right now.

Jisung was deep in thought, thinking how pretty you would look sucking his cock right now, in front of everyone else on the train. You could probably take him all in your mouth (not that he was small, mind you) and make him come fast and hard just as he liked it. Or maybe he could fuck you in front of everyone and make you his, marking every part of your body with his mouth, leaving bite marks and hand imprints on your soft body.

Perhaps he could eat you out on the disgusting train seats, and make you come only with his tongue and fingers, you would scream his name and make everyone look at you two, causing an scene worthy of calling the authorities.

He was leaking, all his thoughts making his brain fuzzy as he felt his thigh getting wet, pulling him away from the best kind of thought he could have in his pathetic life. He subtly looked down at his jeans, the wet spot growing bigger with each second that passed.

He covered the spot with his hand, his gaze back at you again just to see you with your eyes closed and headphones in place. Maybe he could get away with it if you weren’t looking? He quickly scanned his surroundings to see if anyone was sitting near him, but he realized the two seats that were occupied fifteen minutes before in the other side, parallel to his seat row, were now empty.

Jisung breathed deeply, thinking hard about the thing he was about to do, but he couldn’t help himself, he just needed a release soon. It started with his hand slowly rocking on his bulge, looking like he was caressing it, he laughed softly at the thought of that. He felt like a teenager again, rocking his hips up to meet his palm and add more pressure.

He shakily sighed, his hand on top of his jeans not being good enough. Maybe if he could slide them off a little bit, and if you could spread your legs a little more for him, that would be great.

If God was hearing his thoughts, Jisung was grateful as fuck because you uncrossed your legs opening them a little, your white panties making their appearance for him. Your face looked relaxed, your eyes were still closed and your head leaning against the window.

Jisung’s face went red, not doubting this chance, his hand instantly rubbing his bulge on top of the jeans harder.

Quickly, he opened the zip of his pants, as he did his best to slide his boxers a little downwards to free his erection and maintain the jeans in the same place. At this point he couldn’t care less if someone was watching him jerk off to your figure sleeping, but he tried still to be careful, sitting in a way his thigh was covering his cock, so he was hidden between his leg and the window.

He started slow, spitting in his hand silently and grabbing his now very hard cock. He tried his best to not make any kind of sound, slowly jerking himself off, his eyes traveling from your chest to your panties, imagining what he could do to you if you allowed him to touch you.

What he didn’t expect was your eyes opening, looking directly at his cock.

Jisung also didn’t expect your devilish smirk.

He stopped abruptly, his brain hadn’t processed he fact that he got caught with his dick in his hand when you opened your legs further, his eyes instantly going to the wet spot in your panties.

Was Jisung having an hallucination?

“Go on.” Your voice was soft, and he was not stopping now.

You quickly observed your surroundings, Jisung’s eyes wide open while you did it. When you were sure no one was watching you both, you lifted your hips slightly and took your panties off, your underwear in your hand.

Jisung was completely speechless, he couldn’t believe this was happening to him after being the creepiest guy ever, his luck in life ended here. Your smile caught him off guard, because you threw your panties towards him and they fell on top of Jisung’s hand, that was still wrapped around his cock.

“You can use them if you want.” He straight up whimpered at that.

He didn’t waste any time and wrapped the fabric around his cock, and the combination of his leaking cock and some of your fluids made him shiver, jerking off with them.

He was close, you knew that by the way he whimpered with each movement of his hand, getting erratic at the point of making you laugh softly at him.

Jisung’s eyes were rolling back at this point, he only wanted one more thing, but he was afraid to ask you. He kept touching himself with your panties now wet from his leaking cock. But he made sure to look at your eyes, that weren’t looking back at him.

You were staring at his cock.

He felt himself blush at this, how embarrassing of him, getting caught with his dick in hand (hm?) and you encouraging this behavior giving him your underwear. How could you do this to him? Maybe you were a mind reader because the next thing Jisung noticed was your legs spreading further, showing your cunt in all its glory.

Jisung came in your panties at the sight of your pussy with a low moan, spurts of cum ruining the fabric of your underwear. He felt like he was ascending through heaven and being dropped back to earth with a thud as you spoke to him.

“You can keep them, I’ll be going now,” You hummed, grabbing your belongings and fixing your skirt as you gave him one last look, “Lucky for you that you’re cute, don’t you ever do this again.”

091400 © do not copy / plagiarize / repost or translate my work on any other platforms.

238 notes · View notes

girlkisser13 · 2 months

Text

lover

"can i go where you go?" "can we always be this close?" "forever and ever"

pairings: mark sloan x fem!reader

warnings/tags: none. tooth rotting fluff.

summary: mark has something special planned for your three year anniversary.

the hospital buzzed with the usual mix of organized chaos, but something felt different today. you could feel it in the air— a charge, a sense of anticipation that had nothing to do with the day's surgeries or patient charts. it was your three-year anniversary with mark, and while you tried to keep your expectations grounded, there was a part of you that couldn't help but wonder if today would be the day he asked you the question you'd been dreaming of.

mark had been acting strange all morning, and your suspicion only grew when you found him in the locker room with derek and jackson, who hastily shoved something behind his back as you approached.

"hey, what are you guys up to?" you asked, narrowing your eyes at mark. you knew him too well to miss the guilty look that flashed across his face.

"nothing," mark replied, his tone overly casual, which immediately set off alarms in your mind. "why would you think we're up to something?"

you crossed your arms, leaning against the locker. "you're terrible at lying, you know that, right?"

jackson smirked, clearly amused by mark's struggle. "i'm gonna... head out," he said, giving mark a knowing look before slipping past you.

"yeah, me too," derek added, giving mark a pat on the back as he followed jackson out of the room.

now alone with mark, you raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to crack. "mark, what's going on?"

"nothing," he repeated, this time with a bit more emphasis. he was trying too hard to sound nonchalant, and it only made you more suspicious.

"uh-huh," you said, not buying it for a second. "are you sure there's nothing you're hiding from me?"

mark leaned in, his face close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. "nope. Not hiding anything," he said in that exaggerated tone that made it clear he was hiding something.

you opened your mouth to question him further, but before you could get another word out, he was already walking away. "mark!" you called after him, but he just flashed you a grin over his shoulder and quickened his pace.

with a sigh, you started to follow him, determined to get to the bottom of whatever he was up to, but then your pager went off. you glanced at it, seeing derek's name and a priority code that made your heart skip a beat.

you hurried to the nearest phone and dialed derek's extension. "derek, what's going on? is everything okay?"

there was a pause on the other end of the line, and then derek's voice came through, sounding suspiciously amused. "yeah, everything's fine. i just need your help with something."

"really?" you said, skepticism lacing your tone. "this couldn't wait?"

"nope," derek replied. "it's urgent. meet me on the fifth floor, near the ors."

with an exasperated sigh, you hung up and headed toward the elevators. the fifth floor was bustling with activity as usual, and as you turned the corner, you saw derek standing by the nurses' station, looking far too pleased with himself.

"okay, i'm here," you said, slightly out of breath. "what's so urgent?"

derek smiled and gestured for you to step closer. "look down," he said.

you frowned, confused, but did as he asked. and that's when you saw them—a trail of rose petals scattered on the floor, leading away from the nurses' station and down the hallway.

your heart started to race as you looked back at derek. "what's going on?"

he simply grinned. "follow the petals."

you hesitated for a second before following the trail. the petals led you down the hallway, around a corner, and to the door of the hospital lounge. your breath caught in your throat as you slowly pushed the door open.

inside, the lights were dimmed, casting a soft, romantic glow over the room. more rose petals were scattered across the floor, and there were candles flickering on every available surface. the scent of roses filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee.

and there, standing in the middle of it all, was mark.

he turned as you entered, a smile spreading across his face. "hi," he said, his voice warm and inviting.

"hi," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper as you take in the scene around you. "what... what is all of this?"

mark took a step closer, his eyes locking onto yours. "do you remember this place?"

"of course," you replied, sarcasm dripping from your voice. "we come here to make coffee and change before work. so romantic."

mark let out a laugh, the sound warm and genuine, and shook his head. "okay, fair point. but it's more than that." he smiled, a hint of nostalgia in his eyes. "this is also where we first met."

you blinked, your mind racing back to that moment three years ago. you'd been in a rush, fumbling with your coffee mug and trying to pull your scrub top over your head when mark had walked in. he'd made some cheeky comment about your lack of coordination, and you'd shot back with something sarcastic. it had been a fleeting encounter, but it had sparked something between you—a connection that had only grown stronger with time.

mark's voice pulled you back to the present. "you were definitely checking me out," he teased, his grin widening.

you laughed, the sound filled with affection. "i was not!"

he chuckled, reaching out to take your hand in his. "don’t deny it, babe." you rolled your eyes as he winked at you. "as soon as i saw you, i knew that you would change my life forever. i'd follow you anywhere."

your heart fluttered at his words, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "mark..."

he squeezed your hand, his gaze never leaving yours. "after that day, i knew that i always wanted to be close to you. i always want to be where you are."

before you could respond, he let go of your hand and reached into the pocket of his doctor's coat. your breath caught in your throat as he pulled out a small velvet box.

"mark," you gasped, your voice trembling as he slowly got down on one knee.

he opened the box, revealing a stunning engagement ring that sparkled in the dim light. "i would follow you to the ends of the earth if it meant i could always be near you," he said, his voice filled with emotion. "i've loved you for three years now, y/n. but now, i want all of your years. i want to spend the rest of my life with you. every day, every moment— i want it all. y/n y/l/n, will you marry me?"

for a moment, you were too overwhelmed to speak, your heart pounding in your chest. but then, with tears streaming down your cheeks, you managed to nod. "yes," you whispered. "yes, i'll marry you."

mark's face lit up with joy as he slid the ring onto your finger. he stood up, pulling you into his arms and kissing you deeply, as if trying to pour every ounce of his love into that one moment.

when you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his, your fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw. "i love you," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

"i love you too," he replied, his voice just as tender. more than you'll ever know."

the two of you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, the world outside the lounge fading away. in that moment, it was just the two of you, standing at the beginning of forever.

132 notes · View notes

fluentmoviequoter · 6 months

Text

It's Your Life, But Let Me In

Requested Here!

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!reader

Summary: You overhear Chris and Molly giving Street a hard time and ignoring his boundaries. When you encourage him to make his own decisions and remind him that you are with him, he realizes how different you are.

Warnings: spoilers for and dialogue from S.W.A.T. 4x7 "Under Fire", angst to fluff, Chris and Molly, love confession, kissing

Word Count: 3.8k+ words

Picture from Pinterest

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

“Luca needs to get back from Germany,” you bemoan. “I’m starving.”

“There’s this crazy new thing called cooking for yourself. You should try it sometime,” Hondo replies with a smile.

“I have tried and it’s not the same.”

Hondo rolls his eyes and pats your shoulder as Lieutenant Lynch enters S.W.A.T. HQ.

“What are you doing here so early?” she asks you.

“Nothing better to do.”

“Wow. Thanks for that,” Hondo interjects. “I’m not going to let you visit Street anymore if you’re going to treat me like this.”

“You should blame yourself for sending Luca away. I’m irritable because I’m hungry.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Across town, Street is facing a similar problem of being hungry in Luca’s absence. He’s taken a different approach: less complaining and more cooking for himself and Molly.

“Maybe not as tasty as Luca’s special breakfast burritos, but, uh, as long as he’s in Germany, it’s gonna have to do.” He sees the time and adds, “I’m running late. Would you mind plating these? I’ll be right back.”

“Plating?” Molly repeats. “Think maybe we need to stop binging those cooking shows.”

As she moves the food from the pan onto the prepared plates, three plates she notices but doesn’t stop to wonder why, Jim’s phone begins vibrating on the table.

“Babe, your phone!” Molly calls. When she doesn’t receive a reply, she looks at the caller ID: State Prison Lancaster. “I think it’s your mom!” she adds.

After two more vibrations, she answers and says, “Jim Street’s phone.”

“This is a collect call from state prison inmate Karen Street. Will you accept the charges?” an automated voice asks.

“Yes.” When the line connects, Molly begins, “Mrs. Street, my name is Molly. I’m Jim’s girlfriend.”

While Molly answers his phone, Street gathers his things and thinks of you. You’re supposed to stop by the station this morning to visit, and he’s planning to take you some food because he knows you miss Luca’s incredible meals as much as he does. Upon returning from the bedroom, he sees Molly on the phone and asks, “Is that my phone?”

“Yes,” Molly answers, covering the microphone. “Just a sec, Mrs. Street. Here’s Jim.”

Street takes the phone and ends the call before sliding it into his pocket. He returns to the kitchen and shakes his head at his mom’s antics.

“Jim, what are you doing?” Molly asks. “That was your mom.”

“Yeah, I know. Why would you answer that?” Street replies.

“What if it was an emergency? Which it was. She’s really sick. Says they’ve got her at the prison infirmary.”

“She’s fine.”

“She didn’t sound fine.”

“I promise you it’s just another one of her scams to suck me back into her life.”

“If you’d talked to her, we’d know for sure, wouldn’t we?”

“There’s a reason that I never mention my mother to you. I’m done with her. She’s out of my life. I don’t want her anywhere near me, and I definitely don’t want you anywhere near her. Believe me, it’s for your own good.”

Molly stands in her place, unable to see where Street is coming from. She doesn’t understand why he is so comfortable leaving his mother alone, especially when she calls to tell him she’s not doing well.

“You know,” Molly says after a moment, “I’m going to be late. I’ll grab breakfast at work.”

“Molly,” Street calls after her. “Just wait a second, Molly.”

He sighs as the door closes behind her and sets the empty pan to the side. Street has never been great at relationships, but after Molly ignores his reasons and wishes, he’s not sure she is the woman worth fighting for, anyway.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“Good morning,” Deacon says as he looks over your shoulder.

You turn quickly and smile when you see Street walking toward you. He extends a covered bowl of food, and you gasp excitedly before thanking him. His close-lipped smile immediately clues you into the fact that something is wrong.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

“Yeah, I’m good. Enjoy the food.”

You nod and thank him again before he walks away with his team. After their morning meeting, you hope to spend a few more minutes with Street and get to the bottom of whatever bothers him. Years of friendship have brought you incredibly close to him, and you want him to know that you support him, no matter what he is going through. However, you also know that he is with Molly, so you respect that boundary, too. While you want to hug him, hold him tight, and promise that everything will be okay, that isn’t your place. Until he invites you in, you are happy being an onlooker in Street’s life.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“You made breakfast,” Chris muses as she shakes her head. “Guess that means Molly stayed over.”

“How’s that going?” Deacon asks. “You planning to settle down sometime soon?”

Street inhales before he shrugs. “I guess we’ll see how it works out.”

“Hey,” Hondo calls as he gestures for Street to hang back and talk to him. Once the rest of the team is out of earshot, Hondo says, “I haven’t heard much about your personal life recently. Your mom’s not still giving you trouble, is she?”

While you look for Street to thank him for the delicious breakfast, you accidentally stumble upon him talking to Hondo about his mom. You stop in a nearby hallway, and prepare to turn around to let Street finish his conversation privately. He tells you a lot about his life, and though you don’t know how big that is for him, you think you probably already know what he’s going to say: he has everything under control, even if he doesn’t, because he has trouble asking for help.

“I got it all handled," Street answers as expected.

“That’s not an answer. Talk to me,” Hondo replies.

“She tried to call me this morning from prison. Molly answered, she didn’t know any better.”

On that note, you do turn and walk away. Molly is not your friend, Street is, so now that the conversation has shifted, you feel wrong about eavesdropping further.

“That doesn’t sound handled. Your mom still locked up?”

“Yeah. Violating parole should’ve been just a year, max, but she’s still there, so it can only mean she’s still screwing up.”

“You don’t talk to her?”

“No. I mean, I did, early on a couple times. But it’s always the same old BS with her… How she’s a victim, how the C.O.s or the other prisoners aren’t treating her right. Nothing’s ever her fault.”

“She’s still blaming you for being there?”

“Probably. She was never exactly the forgiving type.”

“All right, look, kid. I’ve always tried to have your back where your mom’s concerned. Now, we banged heads over it early on, but when it comes down to it, you got to do what’s in your heart.”

Street nods, but lately, what his heart wants goes against what everyone around him thinks is right.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

“C’mon,” Chris says, “I have to do the boring part of the job and I could use some company.”

You nod and follow her into the kitchen and dining area of S.W.A.T. HQ. Technically, you were supposed to leave a while ago, but you’re still worried about Street and want to stay close in case he needs a friend. Yes, his teammates are also his friends, but since you don’t work with him daily, it is easier for him to open up to you. Or, at least, that’s the reason as you see it.

Chris gives you a few directions so you can help her and make the project go twice as fast. You work side-by-side and talk about your plans for the weekend. Even though you aren’t on the team, Street’s teammates always make you feel like part of the family when you stop by.

“So, any big weekend plans to tell Street how you actually feel?” Chris asks.

Luckily, the door opens before you can reply.

“Oh, hey,” Street says when he enters.

He smiles and asks what you’re still doing here, but you don’t get to answer before Molly walks in.

“Molly, what’s up?” Street asks.

You return your attention to your task, and you and Chris speed up to get out of the room as quickly as possible.

“I know you’re busy, but I called the prison to check on your mom.”

Once you hear that Molly crossed such a clear boundary, you freeze momentarily before growing desperate to escape this conversation.

“You did what?” Street demands.

“She wasn’t lying, Jim. I talked to a doctor, it’s something with her liver. They’re transferring her to a hospital for tests. It’s bad.”

“I told you, I want nothing to do with her. You know our history. Her- her drug abuse, alcohol, violence.”

“Every one of those things is consistent with her being abused,” Molly argues.

“Do not go making her a victim.”

You finish what you’re working on and look at Chris. She picks everything up and points hurriedly at the door. A tiny part of you wants to hear where this is going, but you and Street are too close to throw away your relationship over something he will tell you when he’s ready.

“Well, that was…” you begin as you walk into the hallway.

“It’s going to be a long day,” Chris sighs.

“Not what I was thinking,” you murmur.

You look back over your shoulder at the door and wish you could go in and encourage him to do whatever he wants, whatever he thinks is right. But Molly is in there, and you trust Street will always do the right thing no matter what she says.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

Street watches you leave and wants to follow you, but Molly continues arguing.

“Babe, your mom is a victim. I deal with women like your mother all the time, their lives destroyed by the trauma of being abused and never getting help. Twenty years ago, she needed treatment, and all she’s had is a life of black eyes and incarceration.”

“This is my fault for having her locked up again?” Street questions.

“No. But, Jim, this is the woman who gave birth to you.”

“And dragged me through hell every day since. She betrayed me, she lied to me, she stole from me, she almost cost me my career at S.W.A.T. I can’t believe you’re taking her side on this.”

“I’m not taking sides.”

“Don’t you think maybe you should be? You know what? I can’t do this right now. I’m at work, okay? I just…” Street turns and walks toward the door as he finishes, “Can’t do this.”

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

You leave the station soon after Street returns from his conversation with Molly. You plan to visit again when he gets off and remind him that you’re here for him, but he is at work and has more important things to focus on than his mom, girlfriend, or you. There’s a brief moment where you consider calling Luca and asking him to talk to Street. You decide against it because Jim probably doesn’t need anyone else in his business right now.

When you arrive at the station, Deacon sees you in the parking lot and insists you go inside. He noticed Street’s off attitude, too, and thinks you're the cure.

“Are you sure?” you ask quietly.

“He needs a friend. That’s you.”

You nod and walk into HQ. Street isn’t around, so you sit beside the locker room and are soon unintentionally eavesdropping for the third time today.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

At the end of the shift, after a long day of saving firefighters and finding a shooter, Chris and Street are in the locker room and preparing to leave. Street wants to go home, maybe call you, and then enjoy some alone time without anyone asking him what he is going to do, or worse, tell him what he should do.

“You figured out how you’re gonna make it right to Molly yet?” Chris asks.

“How I’m gonna make it right? I’m not the one who needs to apologize," Street replies.

“We got out of there as fast as we could, but I heard enough to know, you… You’ve got some fences to mend.”

“You also heard how she totally went behind my back with my mom.”

“Her motive being, what? Compassion? Giving a crap about women who’ve had a messed-up life?”

You pull your phone from your pocket and press Street’s number. He doesn’t answer, and you frown before standing. You don’t want to hear more than you have to, so you walk to the parking lot and wait beside Street’s bike. He exits the building alone and is clearly in no mood to talk, but you must ensure he knows that Molly and Chris are wrong. They have no say in his personal life and are never willing to be there for him.

“Hi,” you greet. “I know you’ve had a crazy day and you’re ready to get home, but I need to say something first.”

“Let me guess,” he begins defensively. “You’re going to tell me that I should go see my mom or apologize to Molly. Why not make it better and say both?”

You fight down a smile at his response. At least he hasn’t lost his personality in the day he’s had.

“Actually,” you reply, “I was going to tell you that Chris and Molly overstepped. None of these decisions are theirs, and, in the end, it’s your choice. Because your life is the one being most affected. I just thought you could use a reminder that no one gets to make these calls for you. It’s your life, Street. I, for one, am with you no matter what you decide to do.”

“What if I make the wrong decision?” he whispers. Every trace of defensiveness is gone in his clear doubt about the choices he faces.

“Then you’ll find a way to learn from it. I don’t think there is a wrong decision here; unless, of course, it’s not yours.”

“I really don’t want to talk to my mom.”

“Then don’t. You know you and you know her, so you know what is best for you and your relationship with her. If that’s no relationship, that’s your choice.”

“I don’t know.”

“But you will,” you promise. “You’ll make the best decision for the right reasons. You choose for you, not for anyone else, okay?”

Street nods slowly, and you wish him goodnight before you turn toward your car. Suddenly, you remember he is facing one more decision and spin to face him.

“One more thing, Street. You didn’t do anything wrong, you just stood up for yourself, so don’t apologize unless you think you need to. Don’t let anyone that’s not in your relationship into your relationship.”

“Thank you,” he calls after you.

You don’t see Street’s smile return as you enter your car, but your statements help him more than you thought they would.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

When Street texts Molly and asks her to come over, he fully expects her to say no, so when she knocks on the door a few minutes later, he’s surprised.

“Thanks for coming,” he says as he invites her in. “I wasn’t sure you would after today.”

“I’m here, so…” Molly begins. She trails off and waits for Jim to do something.

There’s an apology somewhere inside Street, where he says he was a jerk and makes excuses for his actions. However, your words are fresh in his mind, and he decides not to apologize. As he looks at Molly and compares what she said and did today to your words and actions, Street realizes something.

Whenever he thinks of taking the next step with Molly or one of the guys asks where he sees the relationship going, he can’t get past this point. Hondo joked that it was his inner playboy, but Street sees now that the issue was never him or a fear of commitment. It was Molly the whole time.

Since the beginning, Street knew that Molly wasn’t the right one, but he’s finally ready to admit it. Molly was never really there for him, never listened to him – still doesn’t, Street thinks – and she has never been respectful or careful of his boundaries.

“You may be expecting an apology,” Street says, “but I don’t think I need to give you one. I asked you to leave it alone, and you didn’t. I know you mean well, Molly, but I can’t keep doing this if you’re just going to go behind my back and ignore everything I say.”

“She’s your mother!” Molly argues. “You still have time to fix things with her.”

“That’s just it, though. I’m- I’m not sure I want to. Listen, Molly, I know that you lost your mother, and how devastating that was for you, but it’s not the same situation for me.”

Street’s mind drifts to you. He remembers what you said earlier and realizes it has always been you. You are the only person in his life who has always been with him, listened to him, supported him, and respected his feelings. You respect him and his boundaries no matter what. Unlike Chris and Molly, you’ve never tried to decide for him or make him see your reasoning, but you’ve been there to talk or listen when he needs it.

“Molly, look. I love you; I do. But not in the way that you deserve to be loved, or that I need to love whoever I spend my life with,” Street explains. “You will always be special to me, but I have to make my own choices.”

Molly wipes a tear as she asks, “Like what?”

“When to go get the girl,” Street answers quietly.

Molly nods and rushes out of Street’s house. He sighs before he follows her.

✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯

A loud knock pulls your attention from the book in your lap, and you set it to the side before you slowly walk to the door.

“It’s me,” Street says from the other side.

You release a breath and open the door. It’s late, and you’re confused about why Street is knocking on your door when he’s supposed to be with Molly, but you let him in anyway. When he stops beside your table and stares at the book you left on it, completely silent, you grow less confused and more concerned.

“Street,” you say. You lay your hand on his arm and ask, “You’ve been different today. What’s bothering you?”

“You,” he whispers.

After you pull your hand away, shocked and heartbroken at his answer, he rushes to explain himself.

“No, listen,” he begs. “What you said earlier changed everything. You told me that it was my decision and that I didn’t have to do anything I didn’t want to, all that. But, when I was talking to Molly about how she doesn’t respect my decisions or my boundaries and tries to force her opinions about what I should do without knowing my reasons, I remembered you.”

You furrow your brows, and Street raises his hands to hold your shoulders.

“I appreciate you, so much. Not just for telling me what I deserve but for being that and so much more. You are the only person in my life that just lets me do what I need to do, and you’re by my side through all of it. Everything that you said I needed, I have in you. Thank you.”

“Of course. It’s your life, Street,” you reply. “But that doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”

“You-“ Street begins again before trailing off. He doesn’t know how to express his feelings because he’s slowly realizing what he feels for you.

“Spit it out, Street,” you say with a smile. “I’m here to listen.”

Street shakes his head but lowers his voice to do as you say. “I loved Molly, but- but Molly didn’t just love me back. She tried to tell me how to love. And Chris- I don’t even know what Chris’s problem is; some days she wants to love and others she just wants to be loved, but never at the same time. It’s exhausting to deal with, but then she argues about what love looks like even though she can’t possibly know.”

You nod along, not sure what Street needs or wants to hear. Staying silent seems like the best option while he works through these thoughts. He’s saying the word love a lot, but never in the present tense or as an active feeling, you notice.

“But you… with you everything is shared. You love without expecting love in return, and you listen and remember. There has never been a moment with you where I felt pressured or ignored, and I love that about you.”

You smile and open your mouth to tell Street you’ll always be here for him, but he cuts you off.

“I love that about you,” he repeats. “I love you because you are everything I don’t deserve, but you make me feel deserved.”

After your eyes widen, you make a noise that sounds like a sob and a laugh. Street waits for you to say something, but you can’t beat the speech he just gave, so you raise your hands to his cheeks and nod. His eyes widen to match yours when a tear slides over the bump of your cheek as your smile returns.

“You said it’s my life, but I don’t have to do it alone, right?” Street murmurs as you step closer to him.

“Right.”

“Then, I think that I’d like to make you a bigger part of my life.”

You don’t hesitate to kiss him, and as he meets you in the middle, you think about how long you have wanted to be part of his life. Being near him was beautiful, but being by his side through everything will be an entirely new and perfect experience. You love Jim Street, and now that he loves you, too, you feel like a part of his life, not an accessory to it.

“I love you,” you say against his lips.

Street’s arms tighten around your waist, and he tilts his chin to kiss your forehead before standing.

“Did you break up with Molly before you came over here?” you whisper.

Street nods, and you bite your bottom lip before saying, “So, you’re giving me her position?”

“No,” Street promises with a laugh. “I’m giving you the position I should have given you a long time ago.”

You kiss Street quickly and laugh when he tries to follow you for more. “I promise to fill my position well, and to always listen to you, respect your boundaries…”

Street ducks his head, and his nose brushes against yours as he replies, “Maybe we could remove a few of our boundaries.”

He kisses you again, and you find that you like your new position in Jim Street’s life more than you ever anticipated.

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

209 notes · View notes

thedroneranger · 9 months

Text

Need a Favor

Rhett Abbott

Synopsis: Rhett does more than hurt his shoulder when he's bucked off a bull during competition. While his wellbeing is in question, your biggest hurdles are his family and his pesky ex that constantly call you into question.

Notes: My first foray outside Top Gun. I've had this kicking around for quite a while and finally got the inspiration to finish it. It felt Rhett-Outer Range coded, so here we are! Influenced by the Jelly Roll song Need a Favor.

Warnings: Bull riding, religion; religious inaccuracies; medical inaccuracies; mentions of blood.

Word count: 5.3k.

The arena was electric. The cheers of the crowd, the clattering of the chutes, the grunts of the bulls. There had to be more people in this arena than in all of Wyoming.

Then it died.

The silence was deafening. My eyes never left his slumped form as I charged down the stands. People parted like the Red Sea, allowing me the most direct route. My legs were gracious, bracing me as I dropped the eight feet into the arena and then sprinted toward him.

The medics had yet to arrive and the wranglers stood back as I approached. I dropped to my knees at Rhett’s side. His body was contorted in an unnatural position. His hat on the ground beside him—crumpled. Blood trickled from his hairline.

It would be a miracle if he didn’t break his back. “Rhett? Baby?” My fingers trembled as I reached out to touch his shoulder. He didn’t move. My vision began to blur, and I did my best to contain the tears threatening at my waterline. Still shaking, I pressed two fingers on his neck just below his jaw. My entire body untensed as I felt a thready pulse. “He has a pulse,” I stated to myself.

Then I saw it.

A sizable puddle of blood. Panicked, I pushed him over to find the stain on his shirt blossoming near the bottom edge of his vest. Without a second thought, I shoved my hand between his vest and shirt until I felt a tear in the fabric and then jagged flesh the wound.

The medics arrived and pulled me out of the way. One of the chute hands held me by the elbows as we watched Rhett be braced and loaded onto a stretcher. Then she handed me off to a paramedic who helped me into the ambulance.

I sat quietly and watched the medic fuss over Rhett. He was stable—for now. “Do you want to hold his hand?” The man offered. All I could do was stare at him as I balled my hand—the drying blood pulling at my skin. Clad in rubber gloves, the medic tucked Rhett’s hand in mine.

Sitting in the ambulance, clutching his hand, my vision began to blur again. Warm streaks painted my cheeks, and I felt the droplets as they leapt from my jaw. Tears dotted my jeans.

The medic was doing his best to soothe me while monitoring Rhett. His voice was white noise as I gazed at Rhett. He hadn’t moved. His mouth didn’t twitch. His eyes didn’t dart behind his lids. He didn’t squeeze my hand.

Thankfully they had slowed the bleeding, but he was steadily soaking through gauze.

It all felt surreal as we arrived at the hospital, exited the ambulance, and I stood in the hallway as his gurney disappeared through the emergency surgery doors.

A breath left my body I had no idea I had been holding. Feeling was returning to my fingers and toes—reality setting in. All that was left was to wait. Wait to hear if Rhett made it out of surgery. Wait to hear if or how this would alter Rhett’s life.

Remembering I had a hand caked in blood, I looked for the nurses station. One of the nurses kindly took me to a bathroom and helped me scrub clean. She also pilfered me a scrub top. We put my stained shirt into the biohazard bin.

Back in the waiting room, still shaky, I dug my cell phone out of my pocket. Just as I was heading to find a seat, I heard a familiar voice. “Hey! Hold on!” I turned to see the medic hurrying toward me. I kept eye contact as he approached. “I wanted to make sure you got these.”

At his side, Rhett’s vest hung in one hand and my rosary sat in the palm of his other. Once it registered it was my rosary, my eyes widened. I looked between him and his palm. Then I then held out mine and he deposited the beads into it. “Thank you.” I had the smallest smile.

“You’re welcome.” He nodded, handed me the vest, and then continued back to his rig.

I clutched the beads as I turned to continue further into the waiting room. Finding a somewhat secluded corner, I tucked the vest beside my chair and pulled out my phone. My eyes trained on my screen, scanned the list of Abbotts in my contacts. Ultimately, I decided to call the house in hopes Cecilia would pick up.

My heart rate increased with each ring, and then…voicemail. Quickly, I punched the end button before dropping my phone in my lap. I plopped my rosary on top of it, and used both hands to rub my temples.

What was my next move?

Coffee.

Coffee was the next move. Then maybe I would have the gumption, and the gusto, to try Cecilia again—or call Royal.

This hospital was too small and too archaic for those fancy coffee vending machines. So I headed to the nurses station where the charge nurse pointed me in the direction of the cafeteria.

Nearing 10 p.m., the cafeteria was sparsely populated. A doctor here and there trying to conceal themselves, hoping for 15 minutes alone. A few workers were in the serving area, refreshing the limited offerings. A smile pulled my lips as I spotted the coffee.

While I paid for my drink, I heard the rain. Not just a light drizzle but a steady drumming of water. I stepped into the dining area and noticed the far end was a solarium. The rain streaked down the glass, distorting the view. Soothed by the sound, I walked over.

Sipping my coffee, I stared into the distance. I bet on a sunny day, it was a beautiful garden. Patients milling around with their visitors or their therapists coaching them through their post-op movement quota.

Maybe Rhett would be out there soon. Wobbling around with a cane or a walker under the watchful eye of a nurse or PT. Cussing under his breath because he “doesn’t need any help” but too polite to say anything aloud. I chuckled to myself as I turned to head back to the waiting room. The coffee was helping, but I still didn’t want to talk to Rhett’s family.

Somehow Cecilia was the least threatening Abbott. Hilarious, considering the first time I came to meet the Abbotts and have dinner Cecilia wouldn’t let me into the house. She and Rhett had a standoff—whisper bickering on the front porch and all. It was only when her granddaughter Amy grabbed my hand that she, begrudgingly, let me in.

The Abbotts didn’t strike me as overly religious. There were the usual hints here and there—a crucifix on the wall in the dining room, a bible in the end table drawer beside the couch.

Cecilia proved to be the most faithful Abbott. She clearly believed in good and evil. Heaven and Hell. And to her, I was the devil. Brought into the Abbotts’ lives to test Rhett—lead him astray.

If I were to succeed, Rhett might move off the ranch. Maybe leave Wabang, entirely. Desert the family. Lord knows if he could stay healthy, he’d be one hell of a bull rider.

No matter what Cecilia thought of me, I needed to get a hold of her. Looking around the empty hallway, I stopped and pulled out my phone to try the house again. Still no answer. That woman really needed to get with the times and carry a cell phone.

Royal and I didn’t see eye-to-eye much, but Rhett was his son. I tapped his name and put the phone to my ear. I did my best to remain calm when he answered. Not wanting to waste anyone’s time, I first made sure he hadn’t already been contacted by the event staff or hospital.

Of course, Royal made a point to remind me Maria was listed as Rhett’s emergency contact and ask where she was in all this. I never knew how Maria managed to fly under the radar with the Abbotts. After all, we wanted the same things for Rhett. We both knew he could be doing so much more than mending fences and getting into bar fights.

Hell, the thought even crossed my mind to call Maria, but I couldn’t stomach her being here at the same time as the rest of the Abbotts and them doting on her. Plus, Rhett got quite warm under the collar when his family pitted us against one another.

Still unsure who would appear at the hospital, I was just glad that some of the Abbotts were en route. Feeling a little more at ease, I sipped my coffee as I pocketed my phone and wandered back to the waiting room.

My butt hadn’t even hit the cushion when someone was calling Rhett’s name. Immediately, I stood back up and made eye contact with whom I presumed to be the surgeon. “I’m here for Rhett Abbott!” I nearly tripped as I scrambled to the doctor.

“Next of kin?”

“Fiancée.” The lie rolled off my tongue so naturally. I backed it by giving my full name.

My heart felt like it was in my throat as I stared at the surgeon, waiting for him to continue. “That bull really did a number.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and crossed my arms.

I did my best to listen as the surgeon explained. They were following concussion protocol since Rhett bashed heads with the bull and packed dirt. And getting gored how Rhett did was a freak accident—competition bull horns were always filed blunt.

Overall, the damage to his internal organs appeared minimal. The bruising pain would take longer to subside than for the abrasions to heal. The only hiccup was Rhett still losing blood, so a vascular surgeon scrubbed in to assess him.

Willing myself to be more hopeful than disappointed as the trauma surgeon disappeared, I sighed and shuffled back to my seat.

It felt like an eternity as I finished my coffee and then stared into the bottom of the cup. Still no sign of the Abbotts, I decided to occupy myself by trekking back to the cafeteria.

The rain was still pounding as I, again, took time to fantasize out the window. As I turned to leave, I nearly bumped into an older man. We exchanged pleasantries as he profusely apologized.

“Coffee wouldn’t be the worst thing I wore today.” I tried to lighten the mood.

He eyed my scrub top and chuckled as he knelt on the floor for a second. “Does this belong to you?” He opened his palm to reveal my rosary. I shook my head as he deposited it into my hand.

“How many Hail Marys to forgive dropping it on the floor.”

“Well, that’s not my rodeo. I usually phone a friend.” I laughed softly at his response and thumbed the beads. “There’s a chapel on your way out if you want a few minutes to yourself. Or, if you want company, I’m happy to join you.” He paused. “I can also phone that friend.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a genuine smile. “I think I’ll spend some time one-on-one.” He nodded as we parted ways.

The chaplain wasn’t kidding when he said the chapel was hidden. The door was the same color as the sterile hospital wall. The only giveaway was the stained glass window, which read as a painting if you weren’t paying attention.

It was quaint. The front of the room was the focal point with a trio of stained glass panels. Raindrops ricocheted off the panes. I slid into the middle pew of the five rows. Still fiddling with my rosary, I stared at the windows.

Clutching my beads, I folded my hands in the back of the pew in front of me. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought about Rhett.

“Religion is more Ma’s thing, but the Sundays she does get me to church, it doesn’t seem to matter how you worship.” Oh, Rhett. The thought of his voice was comforting.

Suddenly a tear hit my wrist and I sucked in a breath. “Please don't let me lose him.” I mumbled between sobs. My forehead rested on the backs of my thumbs as I let my tears freely fall.

Once I felt empty, I sat back on the bench and slid each bead between my index and middle finger as I said the corresponding prayer. It was amazing what you could remember when it was beaten into you. A smile curled my lips as I thought about the first time Rhett realized the scarring across my knuckles and wrists were from rulers.

A single tear rolled down my cheek as I thought about the tenderness he showed as he kissed each of my knuckles and then my wrists. He made his way up my arms as he pulled me into his lap. Eventually my lips were on his with my arms wrapped around his neck.

“Fuck,” I said as tipped my head and rolled my eyes to keep the tears from continuing.

Just then, I heard the door. I turned to see Cecilia, of all people. It took all my might not to let loose a barking laugh.

I was more shocked when she slid into the pew beside me, leaving just a few inches of space between us. “Surprised it’s still standing? The altar isn’t on fire?” I joked.

She eyed the beads in my hands. “Isn’t that Rhett’s necklace?”

“It’s mine.” I paused for a second. “And it’s not a necklace, it’s a rosary. And I lent them to Rhett to protect him when he rides,” I added. She turned her head to look directly at me. “Blessed at the Vatican.” Her eyebrow jutted up the faintest bit.

I leaned slightly over toward her. “It’s the fallen ones that need a savior most, isn’t it?” I listened to the rain for a few seconds before continuing. “And we only talk to God when we need favors?” Rhett would hate that I was needling his mother but also be proud I was standing up for myself.

Cecilia broke eye contact as she thought about how to respond. Instead of words, she placed her hand over mine that was holding my rosary. I looked at her with a raised eyebrow. “Some of our prayers are the same.” She squeezed my hand as we bowed our heads. I followed her lead as we softly recited a prayer aloud.

We were through our first set of Hail Marys when Royal walked in. “There’s news.” We jumped up, hand-in-hand. Royal noticed our physical attachment but he didn’t say anything as he turned to lead us out.

Perry and Amy were standing in the waiting room with the surgeon I spoke to earlier. Royal had to support Cecilia as the surgeon delivered cautiously optimistic news. Instinctively, I squeezed the beads in my hand. “When can we see him?” I blurted out.

“He hasn’t woken up, but you can visit him one at a time.” Amy bounced on the balls of her feet. “You can go accompanied by an adult,” the surgeon added, looking at her with a smile. He then turned to look at me. “Fiancée first?” All the Abbotts exchanged looks but no one challenged the title.

“Yes,”I said quickly and then herded the surgeon away.

A hand on the door knob, he looked at me. “Are you ready?” Silently, I nodded. Then he pushed the door open, allowing me through first.

The room was soft lit and the only sound was Rhett’s heart monitor. Slowly, I walked to the bed. He looked peaceful. Tired but peaceful.

Taken with Rhett, I didn’t even realize the surgeon let himself out. Quietly, I walked to the bedside. Rhett didn’t move, except for the rise and fall of his chest. His breaths were deep and even.

They did their best to clean up his face. When he collided with the bull, it was face first so he ended up with a broken nose. The bruising was already apparent under his eyes. The stitches at his hairline were hardly noticeable.

After a few minutes, I softly sat on the edge of his bed and gently tucked a curl behind his ear. His eye twitched and my hand stilled. He didn’t respond further, so I slipped my hand into his and rubbed the back with my thumb.

I sighed, continuing to watch his face. Selfishly, I wanted to stay here all night with him. However, at the very least, his mother and Amy needed to see him.

With one last squeeze, I gently got off the bed and headed for the door. I looked back one more time before leaving.

After everyone had a chance to see Rhett, Royal and Perry decided to drive over and get Rhett’s truck from the arena.

Amy and I stayed in the waiting room while Cecilia sat with her son. Amy was in good spirits, although Rhett had yet to wake up. She succumbed to curiosity and asked a million questions about Rhett. I did my best to answer every one.

Finally, Perry and Royal returned. Trailing behind them was Maria. I stood as Amy ran over to greet her father. “I figured you would turn up here,” I said coldly to Maria as she stood directly in front of me.

She shrugged. “Well, they called me directly, so I figured I should stop by and check in.”

“Where’d you come from? The moon? How are you just arriving if you were the first call?” I asked. “Did you even bother to call the Abbotts?”

“Of course, I called Cecilia,” she explained. “But she wasn’t home, and Royal didn’t pick up.”

“And Perry?” I pressed her.

She lowered her voice. “I don’t call that piece of shit for anything.” She glared in his direction. “Isn’t it kind of weird Rhett hasn’t changed his emergency contact?” She looked back at me. “Maybe he wants to make sure it’s someone he can trust.” She smirked.

Before I could say anything, Perry approached us. He dropped Rhet’s truck keys in my hand. “Assuming you’re going to want to stay, being his fiancée and all.” I could feel the heat in my cheeks as he winked at me.

She tried not to appear obvious, but Maria’s eyes widened slightly and her gaze dropped to my hand. I could see her relax when she realized I wasn’t wearing a ring.

Just then, Royal, who had excused himself to say good night to Rhett and collect his wife, returned with Cecilia. “Maria!” Cecilia opened her arms to embrace her.

However, Cecilia was focused on me during the interaction. “You’ll update us as soon as you hear?” Royal held out Cecilia’s coat, coaxing her to part with Maria.

“Of course.” I nodded.

“We’ll plan to come back tomorrow afternoon,” Royal stated.

“I’ll swing by, too,” Maria added.

“Ooh! We can come together!” Cecilia added.

“Perfect.” Maria smiled.

It took all my energy to not roll my eyes. My attention was diverted when Amy threw herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist. I smiled and hugged her back, kissing the top of her head.

I waited for them to disappear through the doors, and then made my way to Rhett’s room. Light was beginning to peek through his blinds. He was still sound asleep. I tried my best to be quiet as I pushed the little cushioned sitting chair as close as possible to his bedside. Once seated, I sipped my coffee and told him about the night with his family.

Eventually, I moved onto reminiscing about some of our shared memories. Feeling a little stiff, I changed positions, folding my legs under me in the chair and leaning forward so my stacked arms rested on the edge of his bed. With my chin resting on top of them, I watched him.

Just being there gave me a sense of peace. The adrenaline was wearing off. My eyelids felt so heavy, which reminded me that I was coming up on 24 hours without sleep. It wouldn’t hurt to rest my eyes…

Rhett and I were laying in one of the pastures on the Abbott ranch. A beautiful day, the sun was warm on our faces. The back of Rhett’s fingers stroked my cheek, and I leaned into his touch. He kept saying my name as we looked at each other.

My eyes darted around behind my eyelids, and then shot open to see Rhett staring at me—he really was stroking my cheek and saying my name. Basking in his touch, I leaned into his fingers. The tiniest smile pulled a corner of his mouth.

“Rhett.” I sounded groggy. He rasped my name in response. Leaning into his fingers one more time, I pulled away to get him his water cup beside his bed.

After a few timid sips, he was damn near chugging. “Whoa, slow down. It’s not going anywhere.” He smiled as I put his cup back on the bedside table and sat down. Rhett brushed his finger along mine. In response, I put my hand over his.

I could feel the tears building. “I’m so glad you’re ok.” I leaned down and kissed the back of his palm.

“Me, too.” He did his best to hold my hand. After a minute he said, “What’d I miss?” Clearly, his sarcasm hadn’t been broken. I couldn’t help but smile.

We enjoyed each other’s company until a nurse came to check his vitals and realized he was awake. Then I stood beside his bed and held his hand while nurses and doctors poked and prodded and questioned him. Rhett remained calm throughout the entire process—might’ve been the morphine.

Once the doctor was satisfied, the nurses continued to work, so I stepped out to get another coffee and call Cecilia, as promised. Again hoping to reach her directly, I called the house line. She answered on the first ring. She was holding back tears as I updated her. It was the first time I heard sheer happiness in the woman’s voice.

I soaked in every minute I could alone with Rhett. I was torn between giving Rhett a heads up about Maria or letting him find out when she sashayed into his room. “Rhett?” I was cross-legged in the chair, leaning against the side of his bed and holding his hand.

He looked at me, waiting for me to continue. “Maria is coming to see you.”

“What?” Surprise was evident in his voice.

I took a deep breath before continuing. “She’s still listed as your emergency contact, so she got a phone call to notify her you were injured,” I explained. “She showed up last night well after visiting hours.” He scoffed. “And Cecilia invited her back today.”

Rhett groaned and shifted a little. “I can’t believe her.”

My thumb soothed the back of his palm. “Maria is always trying to win you back.”

“I’m talking about my mother. She has to cut this shit out.” Rhett’s voice was tense, and I could feel it in his fingers.

“Don’t worry about them, Rhett.” We locked eyes. “It’ll be fine. I only mentioned it so that you weren’t completely caught off guard.”

“Thank you,” he said quietly. A smile pulled the one corner of my mouth as I placed my free hand over our clasped ones.

We sat in silence until Amy bound through the door. “Uncle Rhett!” Both their faces lit up as she ran over. She hugged me after she came around the bed. Amy was small enough, I hoisted her onto Rhett’s bed to carefully hug him and then hold his hand.

She was chattering a mile a minute when Cecilia and Royal came in. After greeting them, I excused myself to get a coffee.

As luck would have it, Maria was arriving. “Too scared to be in a room with me?” she asked.

“Mhmm, I don’t like the smell of trash.”

She audibly laughed. “Your insults mean nothing” We held eye contact. “The Abbotts love me. And I know them like the back of hand. I can play ‘em like fiddles.” She scanned my face for a reaction—I remained stoic.

“Cecilia thinks you’re the devil,” she continued. “Trying to lure her baby off the ranch.”

“And what exactly is it that she thinks you’re doing?” I retorted.

Maria smiled and shrugged. “I had my heyday. I wouldn’t possibly want to move away now. I’m ready to find a husband and settle down. I know there’s no place like Wabang.” Sarcasm colored her tone.

I laughed. “That’s for damn sure.”

“Good luck overcoming that.” She huffed and bumped my shoulder as she passed.

Just as she was about to cross the threshold into Rhett’s room, Cecilia popped out the door. It felt like slow motion as they collided. The lid popped off Maria’s coffee and scalding brown liquid dyed her baby pink blouse.

“Oh my goodness! I’m so sorry!” Cecilia cried. “Let’s get you cleaned up!” Cecilia took Maria by the elbow down the hall in the direction of the restrooms. Maria held the fabric away from skin as Cecilia muled her along.

A shake of my head, I continued to the cafeteria for my own beverage.

On my way back, I stopped in the almost hidden chapel. During my previous visit, I’d noticed the bowl of holy water and wanted to splash some on my rosary to cleanse it before giving it back to Rhett. It was the best I could do without a priest.

When I returned to Rhett’s room, Cecilia was sitting at his bedside. They were whispering in harsh tones. They immediately stopped as I entered. “I can leave.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder.

“No, no!” A smidge of desperation in Rhett’s voice. “Ma was just leaving.” Cecilia stood and leaned down to place a chaste kiss on Rhett’s forehead.

She looked at me as she left. Her expression felt softer somehow. I waited until she completely exited the room before venturing over to my usual seat. Rhett immediately extended his hand.

“I have something for you.” His interest was piqued. “Hold out your hand.” He did as he was told and I dropped the beads into it.

“I was getting ready to ask the nurse about this.” He rubbed his thumb over the beads and closed his hand, bringing it to his heart.

“The EMT saved them,” I added.

“I think they saved me.” Rhett looked at me.

“I think modern medicine saved you.”

“Don’t go all evolution over creation on me, now,” he shot back. “You gave these to me for a reason.” He was right. I rolled my eyes and moved to press my lips to his. “Mhmm, you shut me up like that more often,” he said as we parted.

“Based on how hard you’re roasting me, it feels like you’ll be discharged any minute.”

Sure enough, by the end of the day, Rhett was being wheeled to the passenger door of his truck.

Once he was home, Cecilia became his caretaker. She and I did come to an understanding that included me pre-cooking meals for Rhett. I was skeptical when she extended the use of their kitchen to prepare them. However, I gladly accepted, and the very next night, we all sat down to a meal I cooked for everyone as a thank you.

“Before we dig in, how about we say grace?” Cecilia looked at Royal, who nodded in agreement. Everyone folded their hands around the table and bowed their heads. Cecilia called my name, and I looked up to meet her gaze. “Would you do the honors, since you made this meal?”

Rhett’s hand settled on my thigh. I could feel his eyes on me. “Of course,” I agreed with a small smile, which Cecilia returned. We all bowed our heads as I said grace. Amy was the first to join me, then Rhett and the rest of the Abbotts.

“Amen.” We all said in unison.

“Thank you.” Cecilia looked at me with a genuine smile.

“You’re welcome,” I replied. Rhett squeezed my thigh as we exchanged looks.

Dinner felt like a dream. Or a trap. Although I was waiting for the other shoe to drop, I felt oddly comfortable. Standing beside Cecilia washing dishes while she dried them seemed natural. As if we had been doing this for years.

I was wiping down the empty sink when I saw a vehicle approaching the house. There it was: the trap springing closed. Silently, I took a deep breath to brace myself. I didn’t say a word to Cecilia. Besides, she was likely expecting Maria.

Knocking rang through the house. Cecilia poked her head out of the kitchen as Amy shouted, “I’ll get it!” and ran toward the door. Everyone seemed surprised by Maria’s presence, but Royal politely invited her to stay and enjoy the dessert she brought.

“Let me slice it up!” I waited for Maria to catch sight of me. “Oh, you are here.” The light left her face as she sat a pie on the table.

“Doing your best to suck up to Cece and Royal?” she added as she walked toward me. I didn’t move as she got in my personal space and reached around me for a pie server. “Excuse my reach.” She withdrew, tool in hand, and walked back to the table.

“Just making sure Rhett gets fed during recovery.” I leaned against the sink with my arms crossed. We briefly made eye contact as she made the first incision. It was silent as she put monstrous portions on each plate.

“Oh!” Maria feigned surprise as she looked at the empty tin. “I wasn't expecting you to be here.” She loaded pie plates on her arms and disappeared into the dining room.

Maria came back and grabbed the final plate. “If there is any left, you can have my sloppy seconds.” She winked and turned to head into the dining room.

As she spun around, there was Cecilia. Before she knew what hit her, she was covered in pie. “My goodness, Maria!” Cecilia looked her up and down, and then motioned for me to pass a kitchen towel. In no rush, I tossed one in their direction.

Cecilia fussed over Maria and tried to clean her up but really just smeared it more into her shirt. “Well, looks like you have to settle for crumbs!” Cecilia added as she dropped some pie bits into the waste bin.

Maria’s eyes narrowed as she looked between us. “I said I wasn’t going to stay long, and this feels like a sign that I really should get going.”

“I’m sure we’ll see you next time we’re at the bank!” Cecilia ushered her out. While she was herding Maria to the door, I found the broom and finished cleaning.

Cecilia came back as I was emptying the dust pan. When I turned around there were two plates of pie on the table. “She practically served that pie in quarters.”

“Thank you,” I said as I came toward the table.

“Finding the snakes in the garden can be tough,” she responded and handed me a plate. “You can call me Cece.”

“Ok, Cece.” I tested it out as we made our way to the dining room. Rhett pulled my chair close to his as I sat down. Cecilia watched us as she folded her napkin on her lap.

She cast an unnoticed glance at my hand as we ate—a reminder to make sure he knew where she kept his maternal grandmother’s wedding band so he could get it resized when he was ready.

Royal ran his finger along Cece’s, pulling her back to the present moment. Her mind ran from wedding rings to homesteads. Then she had a moment where she thought about having two daughters-in-law. “Please don’t let me lose her,” she whispered under her breath.

With that favor, she returned her attention to those around the table.

Visit my masterlist for more | Sign up for my tag list!

A kind reminder: Likes work hard, but reblogs and comments work harder 😈

Tagging a few friends I've seen interact with Rhett content: @cherrycola27 @roosterforme @beyondthesefourwalls @mak-32 @attapullman @withahappyrefrain @sunlightmurdock @ereardon @bobfloydsbabe @sebsxphia

#rhett abbott #outer ranger #rhett abbott x reader #religion #need a favor #jelly roll #Spotify

264 notes · View notes

simp-ly-writes · 8 months

Text

Office Love (pt.3)

Can be read as a standalone. What if you quit one day and became an author instead? What would make your paths cross again and would you go back to the Vee's, to Vox?

Pairing: Vox x ex-employee!Reader

Warnings: 2155 words emotional angst, mention of blood and canon-typical language.

A/N: okay, maybe this will be the last chapter.... hahha! (thank you all for the support!)

Masterlist | Taglist | un-edited.

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist (PT.2)

"I quit!" you yell, ripping pieces of your hair out in frustration, as you shove your belongings into a cardboard box from around your office. Vox stands there shocked in the doorframe before quietly closing the door behind himself, moving to stand in front of your desk as he leans forward into your personal space.

"You what?" Vox asks with a low voice, you hear the wood of the desk creak from underneath his vicious grip yet you do not allow his threats to get to you. His screen threatens to blue as black and white bars appear where his mouth usual is projected.

You throw a finger towards his face before shoving him out of the way, box in arms as you kick the door open and storm down the hall, Box-tie now undone and sleeves rolled up, Vox chases after you, heart racing as you near the elevator.

One of Vox's assistants comes running up the stairs, back early from a meeting with Velvette, her mouth opens and closes as she whips her head between the two of you. Vox's hands are bloody, bits of wood are stuck in his palms while he shouts after your departing form. Numerous cubical workers look up from their stations at the noise.

"Amanda!" You turn on your heel, eyeing the woman and the buzzing phone in your hand, you feel the one in your own doing the same. Dropping the box at your feet, you quickly open the device as Vox debates weather or not to use his powers on you, they would only hate you more if they found out you did...

Your phone was blowing up with various texts in the group chat. Valentino and Velvette were sending a waterfall of messages, your phone was heating up between your hands as did the stare from a quickly approaching Vox. Clicking the phone off even though your heart ached form reading the prior messages, you threw the phone towards Amanda who scrambled to catch the device in time.

"You are in charge!"

"W-What?" Amanda looks up from the phone with wide eyes before beginning to protest, "No, no, no what are you doing! I don't have a death wish- wait, where the fuck are you going?"

"I quit," you say with a wide smile, picking up the box just as the elevator pings open. Velvette and Valentino stumble out and in this commotion and the various shouts of your protesting co-workers. "You what?!" the other two Vee's shout as Vox shoves them aside, stopping the elevator, leaving you stuck as Amanda blocks the stairwell.

"Whoever bought out your contract, I will pay double- fuck it, triple. You just tell me what the hell is going on," Vox voices out, looking down at you. Velvette stands beside, "You would be stepping back on your career if you went with the other guys, stick with us-"

Your smile turns to a large scowl as you shove Amanda aside, whispering a sorry while handing her your agenda from the top of your box as Vox rips the book out of her hands, following you down the stairs, only stopping to shout down to you, "Tell me, please darling. What has you like this? You are not one to quit just like this..."

You huff out, continuing to stomp your way down the flights, "Thats the thing, Mr. Vox." You start saying as the TV man's heart aches at the title and tone. "It's been a long time coming, I like working for you, shit- I LIKED YOU! But I can't live like this! I can't live with having to be bossed around the clock, in and out of the office. It feels like I never got the opportunity to switch off, to take a moment to step-back and freeze, breath, and enjoy those nights with you. I'm just so tried, I'm done boss. Please..." your voice trails off as you reach the final flight of stairs.

Vox had moved through the wired security cameras in the area to stand just behind you. His hand started to move towards you, wanting to pull you closer to him for one last time yet his hand died at your tired stare, your energetic and playful mask slipping as he cursed to himself. I should have know, the lack of touches, lunch breaks, shitty pranks...

He watches as you exit the building and the camera's flashing wildly in his face. Velvette is spamming call after call, he feels himself drowing in the dull buzz that rings in his ears, deciding to walk up the various flights of stairs in his thoughts before Valentino pulls him back into their apartment.

"Okay, Vox-baby," Velvette snaps, eyes casting between the viral #SingleV covering her home page and the sullen-faced overlord. "What the fuck did you do?"

Vox only shakes his head, continuing to internally curse himself internally as Valentino blows a cloud of smoke in his direction. "I warned you, pleasure and business do not mix unless you are in my neck-of-the-wood, darling~"

"Fuck you, Val," Vox states while kicking off his dress-shoes and throwing off his vest. Valentino only chuckles before a sadness finds it way across his spider-like features, "I will miss them truthfully, they complete our little team here but oh well, that Amanda bitch will do just as fine I'm sure. Do you think I could borrow them for a shoot?"

"Do whatever you want," Vox states before teleporting himself into your shared room, his face falling into your spot as he wallows. Velvette and Valentino look between one another with worried glances, this was not good for business.

↳ In the next few tears you would to take up work under a pen-name, becoming a famous author under one of Hells biggest publishers. You kept an anonymous identity, only sending your assistants under strict contracts to meetings- worried that a certain group of overlords would still be hot on your heels

↳ You had secretly kept in contact with Amanda, having become close friends when she gained time off work, updating you on everything going in and out of the Vee empire

↳ Amanda told you that she barley saw Vox, he would make his public appearances for cable television networks and Velvettes publications yet various gossip websites just as Amanda admitted to you- he kept to himself

↳ On her first week of being fill-in you, she stated how many times Vox would unconsciously yell out your name from his office with a hand open and spot cleared on his desk. Your heart ached at this information and yet these growing pains only got worse as she told you more and more throughout the years.

↳ Amanda was getting sick of always being compared to you, for good work that was never enough and bad work that you wouldn't dare present to him. You, you, you, in everyone's minds within that building as you hugged the poor girl who cried and whispered about quitting as well

↳ You ended up offering her a position with you and soon you both were never apart. Your next book release was your biggest hit yet, your mailbox was stuffed full with various offers yet your hands shook at the triple V emblem pressed onto a pad of paper

Calling on of your assistants in, their jacket flapped behind them with the speed as they tipped their hat to you with a grin, "What can I help with you boss?" "Be a doll and call the Vee's on my behalf- I would love for my book to go to the silver-screen!" you announce as editors cheer behind you

Smiling while popping a bottle on your balcony, your thumb rubs over Vox's signature with a smile, the various times you had to forge this exact print. A knock on the french doors behind you has your wine threatening to rock over the side of your glass as you allow Amanda to join you

Pouring out an extra glass for her, you nod through the daily report and all the answers your assistants have provided in their meetings, yet your eyebrows rise as she slows her speech and her voice becomes higher pitched. "Just get to it dear," you wave a hand at her while taking a sip out of your glass as Amanda chugs her own and you chuckle lightly at the performance. "Mr. Vox refused to talk to me or any of the other assistants- he insisted on talking to the author directly for their "creative input" or something like that"

Shaking your head with a small smile, you whisper control freak, underneath your breath as Amanda throws her head back in laughter before agreeing, "A pity he won't be talking to me still... in the morning call back and say you are reading from a script I have provided." Amanda nods her head before calling you both inside for dinner.

↳ The next morning when you are preparing yourself for a first date back on the town, your robe is falling off your shoulder as you squint into the misty mirror while addressing your hair. Your record player sings a tune from the attached bedroom as you hum along

↳ Soon a pair of footsteps are calmly walking into your room as you call out from the washroom, cursing softly about product falling int your eye, "you look wonderful," Vox claims with a breathy tone as you freeze in your spot, craning your neck to the side to observe the man leaning against the door frame, "as wonderful as I dream of and remember each and every day."

↳ You are unknowing of how to feel, a cocktail brewed in your system of perfectly mixed horror and affection. The line just threatening to be shoved. "Hello, Mr. Vox" you state with a professional smile watching as Vox's eyes keep flickering to your exposed skin

↳ A rapid pair of footsteps and hurried breathing call from the other side of your door, "I tried to stop them boss!" Amanda cries out as you yell back, "Its alright dear, I have things handled from here- tell Evan to take his lunch early today!" "Will do!"

↳ "Quite the company you have built here..." "Yes, and I am quite proud of my work as well if you are ever wondering for my return still," you voice while shoving the man aside, walking into your closet to the various suits that line the walls. You feel Vox's stare on you as he swallows loudly and strides after you, sitting on a bench within the large room

↳ "Please, baby," Vox calls to you, his palm facing upwards atop his thigh. "Please come back, you don't have to work, fuck lift a finger, I-I..." Vox's voice cracks as you pan your eyes over to him, "We are going to be working together, are we not?" you question with a raised brow

↳ Vox stumbles to reply quick, "Ah, Y-Yes, we are- I just... I miss you, miss us-darling-I am in love with you," "Vox" you reply in a breathy tone, dropping the shoes you were torn between wearning as you walk to stand in front of the man. His hands ache to pull you closer to him as you notice this pain flickering in his wires and hold his hands

↳ "Vox-dear, I love you too- just not enough to go back to us being like that, I need this film, Vox. I don't need a relationship with wires attached again..." "Well it's a good thing that Velvette is going to be head of production and producer with you as director of course. I have no hands on his project," he states while squeezing your hands.

↳ "you drive a hard deal," you tease out, dropping his hands to sit beside him, leaning your head against your shoulder as you hum out in contemplation, looking at your fingernails that deserve a new design. "I will need a promise on your side" "Anything." Vox states while resting a hand against your knee, "promise me that if I spend another night with you that we will be equals when the sun rises each morning."

↳ "Thats it?" Vox says as sigh out heavily and begin to stand, rolling your eyes, "No, No, No! That I can defiantly do, yes, yes, yes," he says while grabbing your hips, pulling you back down to him. Twisting to place your hand in his, you both shake on the deal with a laugh before a horrifyed assistant of yours comes stumbling into the room like a deer in headlights, "Get the fuck out," Vox yells in their face, chuckling as they flee and you slap his chest, "Don't talk to my employees like that Mr." You laugh, watching as his hands rise from your hips to up as if he were getting arrested

Hazbin Hotel Masterlist (PT.2)

↳ Taglist: @jtcat305 @amarokofficial

#hazbin #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #vox x you #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #hazbin hotel x you #vox x y/n #hazbin hotel vees #simp-ly-writes #simp-ly

178 notes · View notes

saltysultry · 4 months

Text

Untouched: Part One

Pastor Lemuel Childs x OC

Synopsis: Pastor Childs has been lost this past year after what his family and the parish went through. But when a young woman comes into town, aimless and without guidance, the Pastor takes it upon himself to be her shepherd, and lead her out of the darkness... And into his arms.

Warnings: older man x young woman, religious exploitation (kinda), religious trauma, eventual smut, angst, OC is a virgin, Pastor Childs is not a great person but he sure is hot as hell, I apologize for any spelling errors

@justme12200 @its-in-the-woods @hiddlebatchedloki

Word count: 6.2K

315 miles between here and there. 1,663 feet between the home Virginia knew, in the town of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, and the old house in West Virginia, where her uncle used to live. If dwelling like a hermit is considered living at all, she mused.

By the 302nd mile, her rusty old truck, another inheritance by her father, had ceased to run, sputtering and spitting as it slowed to a stop on the side of a road in the middle of nowhere. Virginia hadn’t been reckless, she had paid attention to the meter and was heading towards the nearest station when the tank was near-empty. She knew better than to overestimate the distance an empty tank could take her.

“Crud.” She muttered, hopping out the side of her car and slamming the door shut. She had a spare gallon in the back, but when she picked up the red jug only to find it empty, she cursed and threw it back into the truck’s bed.

Her phone was well-charged, though the lack of service made the attempt of contacting any help impossible. And so, Virginia knew she was stranded. Stranded somewhere in the woods of West Virginia, on the side of the road with the sun going down faster and faster. Damn autumn, why did the daylight have to go so quickly these days?

She would have to wait out her isolation inside her truck and flag down the nearest car. Virginia must’ve seen something like this in a horror movie before, a young woman stuck in the woods, at the mercy of the nearest stranger or strangers. It was getting colder by the minute, and after half an hour, she was shivering.

“I’m gonna die in West Virginia… Great.” She shuddered.

The house her uncle left to her ought to be a damn mansion if merely getting there cost her life. It should have impressive architecture, fountains, a zoo of lions, tigers, and bears. The toilets should be made of gold and the food imported from all over the world. The harder she shivered, the more Virginia cursed her uncle’s house.

Then, there they were. A pair of twin headlights floating between the trees far off in the dark. Perking up, Virginia sighed in relief and hopped right back out, waving her arm at the oncoming vehicle. It was another truck, rusty and old like her’s. Perhaps even the same year.

“Thank goodness!” Virginia said, pulling closer at her pathetic excuse of a coat.

The truck pulled over to the side, just a few yards ahead of Virginia’s. The driver parked it but didn’t shut the engine off. Soon, a figure exited the driver’s side and shut the door before slowly walking over to her.

“Are you alright, ‘mam?”

She couldn’t see him at first, but the voice suggested her hero was male. He was relatively tall, looked like he was dressed warm, and had a thick Appalachian accent. Must’ve been a local.

“Uh, yeah, but my truck’s outta gas. I was heading to the nearest station when it crapped out on me.” Virginia said, standing close by the driver’s door. “If it isn’t any trouble, would you be able to take me to the gas station? Or maybe to-”

“No trouble at all, miss.” The man said, waving his hand. “I can drive you to Slaughter’s, she’ll assist yah.”

Slaughter’s? Virginia paused. What kind of a name was that? Perhaps she was inside of a horror movie.

“Thank you, sir.” She said, forcing a smile. “Let me get some things.”

“Take yer time.”

Virginia grabbed her satchel from the passenger seat, The one possession that contained all forms of ID and basic needs, such as her phone, a couple of spare pads, her wallet, and a tiny booklet of sermons, a gift from her father.

She followed the stranger back to his truck and climbed into the passenger side, shutting the door carefully while he slid into the driver seat. Getting a better look at him, the man was rather handsome looking. He had a proud forehead, dark hair that grew only just past his ears, combed back over his head neatly with slivers of gray here and there. His cheekbones were defined, lips soft-looking and sun-kissed skin aged with lines. He must’ve been in his late forties or early fifties.

“Thank you so much, sir.” Virginia said as he put the car in drive, slowly merging back onto the dark road. “I was afraid I would’ve had to wait all night for someone to come along.”

“You’re lucky it was I who came along, miss. These woods aren’t exactly kind to standed women.” He said. While it was a warning, his soft-spoken voice suggested he didn’t mean to scare Virginia, merely inform her. “The name’s Lemuel, by the way. Lemuel Childs.”

Virginia repeated that name in her mind. Where had she heard that name before? Surely they had never met before. And yet, Lemuel Childs plucked the chords of her memory, as if she was trying to recall the tune of a song she used to know.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Childs. I’m Virginia Godwin.” She said,

“Godwin?” Lemuel’s brow furrowed as he stared ahead at the road, illuminated only by the lights from his truck. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Joshua Godwin, would you?”

Virginia perked up. “He’s my uncle! Well, he was.”

Poor uncle Joshua had suffered a sudden stroke only two months ago. He was buried in their family plot in Gettysburg, but he had lived in this backwater town in West Virginia most of his life.

“We heard about that. My condolences.” Lemuel said, glancing over at Virginia with a sorry expression. “He may not have been part of the congregation, but we always kept him in our prayers.”

A religious man? Of course he was, Virginia thought to herself. She had nothing against men of God, being a Christian woman herself who knew her good book well enough. But she always felt weary around the type who felt the need to announce to others about their good will, always praying for those who didn’t ask for it.

After Joshua’s wife, Virginia’s aunt Grace, had passed about fifteen years ago, he had pulled away from God. It was a stark turn around, being that Joshua used to preach himself at his local Methodist church. But Grace’s death had stripped him of his faith and confined him within his humble home, no longer interested in the outside world or what God did with it. In a way, Joshua had already been dead for years.

“You’re with his church?” Virginia asked Lemuel.

He shook his head. “We’re a small congregation, but we’re firm believers in the Full Gospel.”

So they were Pentecostals, Virginia realized. Being raised a Methodist, she understood the importance of one’s personal relationship with God. But speaking in tongues and divine healing always seemed borderline occult to her. She wasn’t one to judge how others express their belief in the Bible or God, given those who did weren’t dangerous to others. But she had reservations about those who preached against modern medicine and rejected man’s ability to reason outside of the word of God.

“I assume my uncle was rather unfriendly towards your congregation, then.” Virginia said. The last memory she had of her uncle Joshua was when he ripped her mother’s Bible out of her hands and threw it against the wall, cursing God. “He was very, erm, critical of religion.”

“Yes, he was.” Lemuel chuckled. “Unfortunately, those who’ve lost their way are more prone to slapping God’s hand away than accepting his love. But we aren’t the ones who should pass judgment on them.”

Hate the sin, love the sinner, Virginia remembered. It wasn’t for man to judge man, but for God to judge man. Of course, man did so anyway, because who else would carry out the word of God? Virginia liked to believe that God had forgiven her uncle and saw through his grief before he passed onto the other side. It was better than believing in the alternative.

“And you? Have you accepted Christ as your personal savior?” Lemuel asked. It was a loaded question, sure, but Virginia wasn’t shy of expressing her love of God and his Son.

“‘He who believeth in me though he was dead, yet will he live.’” She recited.

Virginia hadn’t attended church in years, but she still knew all the sermons she sat through and read growing up. All the times her mother made her sit at the kitchen table and memorize each page of the Old and New testament weren’t for nothing. It didn’t matter if Virginia understood what she was reading, just as long as was reading it. Knowing the good book front to back gave one credit amongst their congregation, according to Virginia’s mother.

“I take it you’re a Methodist like your uncle was?” Lemuel said, not at all impressed by Virginia’s quote. Reciting the Bible didn’t indicate one’s faith. Merely that they knew how to read.

“Well, I’m… Sort of figuring that part out myself.” She confessed.

Truth was, Virginia was a Methodist in association only. It was the only denomination she had been familiar with her whole life. But after leaving church and keeping her faith all the more personal, she had found herself lost. That aimless wandering was what brought her to West Virginia, to this mountain where Lemuel and her uncle lived. She believed that God had sent her on this path, to accept the inheritance and shack up in her uncle’s house, away from her parents.

Lemuel was intrigued by Virginia. “Ain’t no shame in being lost, so long as you’re open to pathways revealed to you.”

Virginia knew a veiled statement when she heard one. Lemuel, like many other preachers and priests, believed their way of worship was the correct one. She had believed the same thing when she was still a practicing Methodist.

“May I ask what brings you to our side of the mountain?” Lemuel continued.

“My uncle left me his house in his will.” Virginia sighed. “His will stated, ‘do what you will with it. Sell it, burn it, live in it if it’s still habitable by the time of my passing.’ I’m checking it out to see which of those options are more probable.”

“I see.” Lemuel chuckled. “He did have an interesting sense of humor from what little interaction I had with him. Now, I know we’re little more than strangers, but if I may, I believe that the Lord’s given you an opportunity to start something here in this community.”

A bold statement from a stranger, yet his shockingly accurate presumption of Virginia’s motivation for leaving Gettysburg touched her. She believed the same thing, that this opportunity was the Lord’s way of opening a door for her, urging her to find whatever she was looking for in the mountains of West Virginia.

Lemuel also had noticed the chain around Virginia’s neck, the pendant hanging from it a small, silver Jesus on the cross. She was a woman of god, she must understand the importance of God’s mysterious will. Or perhaps, he was just searching for a reason for this young woman to stay. It had been a while since a new face came to their remote town. More people had died or left than moved in, which Lemuel never resented until recently.

“I believe so too.” Virginia agreed with him. “I’m a little nervous about this whole ‘move’ though. I know absolutely nobody here.”

“Well, how about I tell you a little about myself. I'm the pastor at my parish, a small but dedicated congregation. We’re always welcome to newcomers, if you ever find yourself in need of some guidance or just want some company.”

Virginia wasn’t itching to go back to church anytime soon, but seeing that she was inside a preacher’s truck and he saved her from freezing to death… “How could I say no to my rescuer?” She said,

“See, now you know the local preacher. Not a bad start, eh?” Lemuel smiled at her before turning his eyes back to the road.

“If the others are as kind as you, my anxiety won’t be so bad.”

“I should warn you ahead of time, though, our way of loving Christ might come off as intimidating.” Lemuel confessed. “It might seem intense or scary, but our methods aren’t dangerous, despite what others might say.”

Virginia didn’t know what he could possibly mean. Speaking in tongues, while might seem odd, wasn’t scary. Unless they were sacrificing virgins and eating babies, they couldn’t have been that intense. She smiled politely and shrugged. Whatever their methods were, Virginia believed if their love of God was evident, it didn’t matter how they showed it. Right?

Lemuel brought Virginia to Hope Slaughter’s gas station soon enough. The place was still open, thank goodness, and an older, worn-down woman in a coat was inside, standing at the counter with a vacant expression as she flipped through a book.

“Hey Sister Slaughter.” Lemuel opened the door for Virgina, who thanked him under her breath as she stepped inside the shop.

Hope looked up from her book and closed it, shoving it under the counter before standing up straight. She didn’t smile, she didn’t even say hello back. She wore a cross around her neck, and while Virginia assumed she was part of Lemuel’s parish, this woman didn’t seem happy to see her preacher.

“Pastor.” She replied dryly before her eyes landed on Virginia. “Who’s this you got here?”

“This here’s Virginia Godwin. Her truck’s on the side of the road just fifteen minutes up Wind Whisper.” Lemuel explained. Virginia noticed he had trouble keeping eye contact with the older woman, who’s eyes bore into his soul.

“Couldn’t call a service yourself?” Hope asked Virginia.

“I would’ve but there was no reception.” She answered, put off by Hope’s glum attitude. Whatever beef she had with the preacher wasn’t her problem, so why was Hope gruff with her? Especially since she needed help?

“Alright. I’ll have my husband Zeke retrieve your truck and bring it here, fill ‘er up, and get yah to wherever it is yer goin.” Hope said. “But you’ll have to shack up at this here station until it arrives.”

“Oh, that’s perfectly fine!” Virginia said, relieved that this cold woman was at least helpful. She turned to Lemuel, who had been standing beside her, keeping his head down. “Thank you again, Mr. Childs. You really saved me tonight.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Godwin.” He smiled, the lines around his mouth and eyes deepening. “Again, you’re always welcome at our parish.” Lemuel placed a gentle hand on Virginia’s shoulder, squeezing it briefly before leaving her at the counter, waving goodbye before exiting through the front door.

Virginia was a little sad to see him go, finding his company far more warm than Hope’s. But just as promised, her truck was delivered to her, filled up, and she was finally back on the road to her uncle’s. The whole time, Virginia thought of Lemuel, his deep, hickory-smoked voice, and those hazel eyes that looked at her with the feeling of pure belief, as if he already knew she would say yes to him and show up to service.

But before Virginia left the shop, Hope had said something to her. Something ominous, darkened by the withered grunt of her thick accent, like she was a witch in an old, mountain tale. Virginia couldn’t remember exactly what it was, being she was itching to leave the gas station, but she recalled the mention of Lemuel’s name.

...

Just as Virginia suspected, the house was mostly vacant. Uncle Joshua wasn’t one to hoard or collect. It was exactly the same as it was when Virginia was there last, The floors were all carpeted, save for the tiled kitchen, which was tiny. The walls were made of wooden paneling, the one couch and armchair were made of brown velvet, and the entire place still smelled of cigarettes, despite being vacant for months.

There was a stack of mail by the door that Virginia had to push aside to get in, most of the letters coming from banks, local shops, and even some from her own mother, Helen. Virginia didn’t know why they still communicated, given they hated each other.

There were no plants, no paintings or picture frames on the walls, save for the single frame on the side table next to the armchair, which was of aunt Grace. There were no instruments either, which was odd because Virginia remembered her uncle being an impressive cellist and pianist. Perhaps he sold the family piano and his prized cello after Grace died.

There were two bedrooms, one was converted into what used to be Grace’s art studio, sketch pads, canvases, and supplies strewn about the room messily. The other bedroom was plain, with the one queen sized bed, two bedside tables, one with a lamp sitting atop it, the other used as a bookshelf. There was a wooden dresser against the wall furthest from the door, and a chest at the foot of the bed, a folded afgan resting on it. Virginia remembered that afgan, aunt Grace had knitted it.

The one bathroom was grimey but bare, with only a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, a comb, and a single bar of soap sitting on the sink. Uncle Joshua didn’t even have shampoo or body wash. He did look very hairy when Virginia saw him in the casket, which aligned with the fact she couldn’t find a razor.

She was grateful that the dwelling was bare enough for her to make small improvements upon it. Virginia didn’t need much, just a few potted plants, an air freshener, a radio, and maybe even a television set for the living room.

But the first thing she did was mount the wooden cross she took from her childhood bedroom onto the wall above her late uncle’s bed. While he might’ve forbade God from his home when he was alive, Virginia was eager to welcome Him back in with open arms.

“Lord, bless this house and may its previous inhabitant find peace in your love and grace. Amen.” She whispered to herself during her prayers that night.

And in her dreams, Virginia found herself once again seeing the preacher’s face. His enigmatic smile hadn’t left her mind ever since the ride to the station. There was something about it, how the way he looked at her gave way to the most confusing feelings within Virginia.

She dreamt that Lemuel was leading her down to a stream by the hand. When they got down to the edge of the water, he turned to her, smiled, and placed his hand over breast. His smile was as tender and kind as it was in the truck. It was as if he believed his touch was purely innocent and sweet. Virginia wanted more, but Lemuel didn’t move.

The next morning, she decided that day was all about distraction.

A woman’s ability to turn a house into a home was revered for a reason, and she would continue that tradition. It meant having to go out into town to get some things, but Virginia welcomed the adventure. She was curious to see what this small town had to offer. And it would give her the chance to meet more locals.

There was an antique store, a market, a nursery, a second-hand store that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the 90’s, a tailor, some small family-owned restaurants, an auto-repair shop, a butcher, and a barber shop. While Virginia wandered around, familiarizing herself with the town, she couldn’t help but notice how tightly-knit all the people were when conversing. It seemed everyone knew everyone and everyone knew that Virginia wasn’t one of them.

“You the new inhabitant at Old Joshua’s?” The old lady at the antique shop asked her when Virginia purchased some paintings and a basket of fake ivy to place over the fridge.

“Yeah, he was my uncle.” She told her. Guess word gets around very quickly in this tiny town.

“My condolences.” The old lady grunted. She wasn’t going to miss Old Joshua for sure. “He was… Well, I’m glad he’s resting peacefully.”

“Thank you, ‘mam.” Virginia said with a forced smile.

If this was how every conversation in this town was going to start, she’d rather shut herself inside and follow her late uncle’s lead. She took her purchases under her arms, along with the receipt, and bid the woman goodbye before heading for her truck parked outside,

In her haste to escape the shop, Virginia had collided with a figure. “Oh, sorry!” She sputtered, dropping the fake plant onto the sidewalk.

“Oh, hello again, Miss Godwin.”

It was Lemuel. Of course it was. He bent down, picked up the fake ivy basket and smiled politely at Virginia. She awkwardly smiled back up at him, believing this moment was a test set by God to see how she would handle herself in Lemuel’s presence.

“Pastor Childs!” She cringed at herself, feeling stupid for running into him like a mindless bull. “I’m really sorry, I was just about to throw these into my truck.”

“Redecorating, I see.” Lemuel commented, walking with her to her truck. “Bet that empty house has been desperate for a woman’s touch.”

“You have no idea.” Virginia agreed, placing the collected paintings into the truck bed. “Here, I’ll take that.” Lemuel handed her the ivy basket, which she placed on the passenger seat.

“It’s nice to see you out and about. Bet our town seems incredibly small and unimpressive compared to wherever you're from.” He said, resting his hands in his pockets.

“Well, I never really liked overly-populated areas. Too much noise.” Virginia crossed her arms over her chest, trying to warm her hands under her arms. “Also, the mountain’s incredibly beautiful in the daylight. I could take or leave the woods at nighttime, though, it’s pretty scary then.”

“Well, I hope you don’t have a habit of wandering around in the woods at night.” Lemuel joked.

Virginia shook her head. “Just when my truck isn’t running.”

Lemuel hummed, amused by her quip. In truth, a traditional man like he preferred it when women were driven, not driving themselves. Not that he believed women were incapable of the skill, just that they were meant to be taken care of, especially by their family. This lonely woman, without a man and without her parents in a new town… What was her mysterious past? Why did she come to their community alone?

“Have you thought about my offer?” He asked.

Virginia, in her loneliness and need for something to warm her body, had only thought of Lemuel in terms of satisfying her needs. She didn’t like the idea of attending a service where she’ll only be reminded of her lustful dream. She was already struggling with repressing the memory at the sight of him now.

“When’s the service?” She scratched the side of her neck.

“Tonight, just outside of town. I can write down the address for you.” Lemuel offered.

“Oh no, I can just look up the location.” Virginia said, taking her phone out of her coat pocket.

Lemuel sighed sheepishly. “It wouldn’t be on any GPS, I can guarantee that.”

“Oh, really?” Virginia’s brow furrowed. “This place exists, right?”

Lemuel laughed. “It’s a small dwelling, but it is real, I can assure you, Miss Godwin. It’s just remote.”

“Okay.” Virginia wondered what wasn’t remote on this mountain.

“How’s about I drive you there myself? I can pick you up this evening.” He offered.

Virginia wasn’t one to turn down a polite offer, and she wasn’t in the position to further distance herself from the people of this town by denying their preacher’s kindness. She would accept his offer and go home to her cross that hung above her bed and pray for strength.

Lemuel kept his promise, his truck driving up the gravel driveway. Virginia had spent the rest of the day cleaning things out, rearranging furniture and scrubbing down every inch of the kitchen and bathroom. By the time the preacher arrived, she had just plopped herself down on the velvet couch, which had been vacuumed, and was resting. She didn’t even have time to change into nicer clothes. In fact, after all the grinding, Virginia didn’t feel like going to service anymore.

“Hello, Mr. Childs.” She greeted him at the door. “Please give me a few seconds, I’m not yet dressed.”

Lemuel could see that, as she was in dirty jeans, an oversized t-shirt, and without shoes. “You didn’t forget, did you, Miss Godwin?”

“Oh, no! I lost track of the time. Please, come in. I won’t be two minutes.” Virginia opened the door to Lemuel and stepped aside, letting him enter.

He looked around, admiring how clean the space was. The floors were cleared of the dust and scattered mail, the walls were nicely decorated with scenic paintings of the mountainside, and of course, the familiar ivy basket sat atop the fridge in the small, but well-organized kitchen.

“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll just be in my room.” Virginia said before rushing down the hall, closing the bedroom door behind her.

Lemuel didn’t sit down. He was too curious about Virginia’s new home. And while it was small, smaller than his own house, it was comfortable. It smelled nice, seeing that she had purchased a vase of flowers and set them on the kitchen table. Lilies, fragrant and white.

There was little to nothing in the kitchen, save for some apples, a loaf of white bread, a jar of peanut butter, and some canned corn. This couldn’t be all she had to eat, could it? Lemuel figured she had stocked up when she got here. Perhaps she didn’t have time with all the tidying up she had to do.

Virginia emerged quietly from her room, her feet light and silent on the carpeted floor. She spotted Lemuel in her kitchen, looking around but not touching anything. She liked watching him, admiring his side profile. He was a simple preacher yet there was something regal about the way he stood.

“I’m ready when you are, pastor.” Virginia spoke, breaking Lemuel’s concentration.

He wouldn’t say it, but he was pleased with how she freshened up. She wore a long deep blue skirt paired with a baby-blue blouse that covered her modestly. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back into a braid that hung down over her left shoulder, with some loose strands falling around her face, framing her cheeks.

She was young and beautiful, Lemuel couldn’t deny that. He had put to bed his feelings of attraction after his wife passed years and years ago. His eye wasn’t known to wander, focusing his heart on the Holy Ghost. But Virginia, this mysterious woman from outside the mountain, standing before him in blue the Virgin Mary, bashful in his presence, gave him that familiar sensation he was once familiar with.

Lemuel smiled and escorted her out to his truck, opening the door for her like a gentleman. On the drive, Virginia remained silent, looking out the window while Lemuel drove. He wanted to compliment her, tell her she looked nice and that he was happy she was accompanying him to service. After the loss of multiple members within the past year, including some close to home, it felt nice to bring someone new and willing into the church.

Then, he remembered her bare kitchen. “I’d like to have you over for dinner after service, if that’s alright with you.”

Virginia was happy her face was turned away from Lemuel, for her cheeks were flushed. Dinner? She reasoned that it was merely a polite gesture. Lemuel had only been kind to her since he rescued her from the side of the road. But dinner, presumably alone with him, was so intimate.

“It ain’t forward at all, pastor.” She said, her hands fiddling with the tips of her braid. She then ceased the child-like tic and placed them flat in her lap. What was she, a shy school girl? “Thank you for inviting me. For everything you’ve done, really.”

“Everything I’ve done?” Lemuel glanced over at her. “Now, I didn’t do what any other man wouldn’t have done, Miss Godwin.”

“You’re the only one in the community that’s been so open and so welcoming.” Virginia said. It was true, most other members she had interacted with while running her errands were rather distant, especially when they knew of her relation to the late Old Joshua.

“Well, I know what it’s like to feel alone and in need of a kind soul.” Lemuel said. “Our church has suffered hardship. We understand what it’s like to be thought of as strange and unusual by others. And I’ll admit that history has made us hesitant to accept outsiders. But make no mistake, we’re just as devoted and loving as any other congregation.” Lemuel said, turning the truck onto a narrow dirt road that led deep into the woods.

Ahead was what looked like a shed with a neon cross above the sliding doors. Next to it was a sign that glowed “Holy Ghost Church.” Lemuel was right, it was a very remote and small dwelling. The lights were already on inside and Virginia could see some men arranging chairs.

“This is it.” Lemuel shut the engine off, turning to Virginia. “I’ll introduce yah to the boys.”

Virginia wondered if ‘the boys’ meant the gruff, burly men that came out to meet them. She recognized one of them, Hope Slaughter’s husband Zeke who said a polite “hello again” to her. The others were Hank, Aaron, and Otis, all fellow parishioners who were obviously fond of Lemuel. Zeke, however, seemed rather demure in the pastor’s presence, exhibiting the same hesitation to engage the same way Lemuel shied away from Hope Slaughter at the gas station.

“This here’s Miss Virginia Godwin, Joshua’s niece. She’s moved into his place on Pinewood.” Lemuel told them.

“Nice to meet y’all.” She smiled to each of them. “Your pastor was kind enough to invite me to your service. I hope that’s okay.”

“We’re always open to newcomers.” The oldest man, Hank, told her, offering his hand to her. She took it and he squeezed it between his calloused palms. “You’re very welcome, Miss Godwin.”

“We was sorry t’hear ‘bout yer uncle.” Otis said. “Was no believer, but still…”

“Thank you.” Virginia was tired of all the condolences, even if she had to accept them.

“Well, let’s get to fixin up. Can’t have this church half-set when the others get here.” Lemuel said, gently slapping Hank’s shoulder before leading them inside.

Virginia’s eyes were instantly drawn to the crates at the other side of the church. There were red lights illuminating the crates, which had mulch inside them. Getting a closer look, Virginia then saw that these crates contained snakes!

“Woah.” She stepped back away from the sight of them.

The other men were casual, gathering around them to observe the animal. Lemuel looked over his shoulder, seeing the look of shock on Virginia’s face. “Don’t worry, they ain’t gettin out.” He assured her. “Not until we handle them.”

“Handle them?” Virginia asked, stepping closer to Lemuel’s side as they approached the crates. The snakes were being fed live quails, their tails rattling before they struck their prey with a hiss. Virginia flinched at the sudden bite, sad to watch an animal kill another. “These are part of the service?”

Lemuel didn’t expect Virginia to immediately accept their form of worship. It was only natural for newcomers to feel fear and confusion at the sight of a dangerous animal. He and the other parishioners had handled the snakes for so long now, it was second-nature to be around them.

“We show our devotion to the Holy Ghost through our unyielding faith. Faith that even in the presence of serpents, we are protected in his love and strength.” Lemuel explained while they watched Aaron, a man no older than thirty, lead another quail into one of the other crates. “We respect them, but we do not cower to them.”

Virginia hoped that whatever this service entailed, it wouldn’t involve her having to go near one of those things. “Snakes terrify me.” She confessed, looking away from the animals. “Forgive me, pastor, I-”

“We do NOT cower before them, Miss Godwin.” Lemuel moved in close, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder while he leaned in, lowering his voice. “Look upon these serpents and give not into fear. But feel the embrace of the Lord’s protection, for his love is greater than any evil.”

Virginia felt pulled to him as he comforted her, his lips close enough to her cheek that she could feel his breath wash over her warm skin. She wanted to curl into his side and listen to him while he preached softly, assuring her of the Lord’s will.

Lemuel walked her over to the crates, allowing her to hold onto his arm as they went. It was natural she didn’t want to go near them. But if she wanted to understand the people of this community, she had to see how they expressed their faith. And in Lemuel’s care, she would be safe. Or so he believed.

Virginia looked over the crates and watched as the snakes consumed their prey, squeezing the quails before unhinging their jaws and devouring them bit by bit. It was violent yet peaceful, for the snakes took their precious time as they ate. They didn’t seem bothered by the presence of the others who watched over them, too distracted by their meal.

“You will not suffer, Virginia.” Lemuel whispered, the first time he ever referred to her by her first name. “If you accept Christ as your personal savior and allow him to guide you on your path, you will be made clean again in his image.”

“Clean again?” Virginia breathed, eyes fixed on the coiling creature beneath them. What did Lemuel mean? Was Virginia being a Methodist really so sinful in his eyes?

Lemuel had made an incorrect assumption about Virginia. He assumed, given she was so beautiful and young, that she had not been a virgin. Most unmarried women these days were open to sexual experiences, whether they believed in the consequences or not.

“I didn’t mean to imply-” Lemuel stepped away from Virginia, feeling foolish. “My apologies, it isn’t my place to make such presumptions.”

“It is not.” Virginia frowned at the pastor. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I am not unclean.” She lowered her voice so the other men wouldn’t hear. She got closer to the pastor, who now looked incredibly guilty. “I was raised a Christian, pastor. My methods of worship might not live up to your standards but my devotion to Christ is no lesser than yours.”

An unsoiled woman? Lemuel thought as he looked at Virginia. Her face was red, from anger or embarrassment he didn’t know. But he had overstepped the line, not just as a pastor, but as a new friend.

“Forgive me, Miss Godwin.” Lemuel tilted his head forward, an apologetic bow.

Virginia chose to sit close to the stage during the service, though she immediately regretted it when Lemuel called on her, asking the other parishioners to welcome her. The others said their hellos and warm welcomes, offering her kind smiles and words of encouragement. Virginia spotted Sister Slaughter a few rows back, sitting next to her husband Zeke, whose head was down. That couple always seemed to appear on edge, especially in the presence of Lemuel. What had happened between the couple and their pastor?

During the evening, Virginia would soon learn of Lemuel’s style of preaching. He was loud and passionate, just like any pastor she had seen before. He jumped up and down, riling up the congregation with his sermon, lifting his arms up to the ceiling as he shouted out “Amen!” The others responded to him well, raising up their arms, moaning and crying as their pastor continued, evoking the Holy Spirit.

Virginia couldn’t deny she felt elevated, as if she could rise off the ground and ascend to Lemuel’s preaching. His energy was contagious, his voice genuine and proud, and his words moving. She couldn’t help but shout “Amen” back at him, her eyes closed and mouth agape.

Then, Lemuel bent down over the crate to the side of the stage and opened it up, reaching in and picking up the snake gently. He held it up in the air as he continued to preach, his body shaking with excitement while the congregation collectively raised up their hands and praised the Holy Ghost.

Virginia felt as if time slowed while she watched Lemuel handle the snake. He looked right into the animal’s eyes without an ounce of fear in his body. She had never seen such an act of true faith before. He was so certain that God was protecting him from the dangers of the snake. And while Virginia was skeptical before, now she was starting to believe that maybe… Maybe Lemuel was right.

#walton goggins #them that follow #lemuel childs #pastor childs #the ghoul #this was supposed to be a one shot then i kept writing #walton goggins was so hot in this

93 notes · View notes

typicalopposite · 1 month

Text

DAY THREEEE!

For @bucktommypositivityweek! Prompt: meeting the family. Now you may be wondering can something be positive and yet have a deeper meaning that is actually kinda angsty. 🫣🫣 well the answer would be yes. iykyk…

🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

Buck lets himself in with the spare key Tommy gave him. He lifts up on the door as he pushes it open to soften the creak so Tommy doesn’t hear him come in. There’s a heavy scent of paint when he steps inside and he can hear Tommy’s muffled voice coming from somewhere towards the back. He slips off his shoes and tip toes further, gleefully anticipating how good he’s about to scare his boyfriend.

The door to the last room is cracked open: The guest room. Buck knows Tommy was planning on releasing his artistic creativity there today. It was a huge shock when Gerard took over the 118, and even if that doesn’t directly affect Tommy, it’s affecting Buck and that seems to bother Tommy worse than if he was back under Gerrard himself. So he needs an outlet. Art is his outlet.

If Buck startles a little accidental paint splatter out of Tommy… he’s just helping. Or something like that…

Buck nears the room, ready to throw the door open screaming like a banshee… when he hears a second voice; a woman’s voice.

“—and I haven’t seen you in almost half a year,” she says.

“I know,” Tommy sighs; Buck hears his crinkly footsteps walking around on the plastic covered carpet. “I’m sorry, it’s just been— it’s been busy.”

“Oh you hush apologizing,” she says, so lighthearted Buck can hear the smile in her voice. “I know you can’t just drop your life to come up here, and besides with that old—” she stops and Buck swears she growls; he has to cover his mouth to muffle the startled laugh it causes. “—that old dirty rat in charge of your old station… I can imagine your mind is all over the place worried about Evan and your friends.”

So she knows who Buck is, but who is—

“It’s already so bad, Mama…” Tommy sighs. Ooooh, Buck thinks. “He is being so awful… I hate it.” Buck lifts his hand and gently knocks on the room's door— deciding not to scare Tommy's next abstract masterpiece out of him— and Tommy startles anyway. “Evan?!”

“Evan?!” His mom repeats. “Hi Evan— wait, am I on speaker? Tommy put me on speaker…”

“You’re on speaker mom…” Tommy says, his face starting to turn a light shade of pink.

“Hi!” she says again, bright and cheery, Buck can’t help but smile.

“H- Hey, Mrs. Kinard—”

“Oh goodness! Call me Mrs. K,” she says. Everyone does, all the way back to when Tommy was in school.”

“Yes ma’am,” Buck laughs.

“Oh and he’s so polite!” Buck smirks at the eye roll Tommy gives his phone. “How are you doing, sweet pea?”

Tommy hands Buck the phone, mouthing ‘have fun’ with a quick peck to his lips. He goes back to his opened can of paint and dips his brush in, pulls it out and flings the paint at the wall, making random streaks of color across the white background. “I’m good, thanks. How about you?”

Buck talks to Mrs. K for almost an hour; he doesn’t even mean to, she’s just so easy to carry on a conversation with… just like Tommy. He hears embarrassing stories (that have Tommy threatening to drop the phone in a paint can), and shares some with her (that have Tommy threatening to drop a paint can on Buck). “Well, I better let you go before Tommy gets too jealous,” she teases. “Tell him to bring you up here so we can meet properly, okay?”

“I’d love that,” Buck says, and promises he’ll talk with her more another time before hanging up.

By now Tommy is covered in paint and the room is as well; both looking like chaos, Buck wants a part of that… So he finds an extra paint brush and dips it in the nearest can, pulling it out and swiping it across Tommy butt while he’s working on a design. He yelps and turns, taking his own brush across Bucks forehead with a playful “Simba”.

They quickly go full on paint fight, and Buck can’t help but make a mental note to thank Mrs. K for raising such an amazing human, and to mention a trip up to NorCal as soon as they can get some days off together.

#bucktommy #bucktommy ficlet #bucktommypositivityweek #evan buckley #tommy kinard #Mrs. K (OC)#Like a little prequelette to angst fic

55 notes · View notes

scaly-freaks · 3 months

Text

inmate 13453

okay don't get excited, i just felt like writing a bit of a drabble to feel out the atmosphere of a potential start to this au (clicking the tag will give up the other stuff i've posted for it btw)

btw check out the playlist and the pinterest board made by @theageofsilver and @allicentsallure bc they're fab

cw: kidnapping

Soft seventeen.

Bambi eyes, bambi legs.

There’s a certain edge to the way people describe the age she’s at. Not quite eighteen, not quite legal, tangible as cherry juice on greedy fingers. She isn’t sixteen, sweet and tender. It’s a soft first step into adulthood, skirting the border, the in between, the unknowable horrors that lie ahead.

She fucking hates being seventeen.

It’s a shit number first of all. Odd numbers make her want to spew. They feel like nails on a chalkboard, polyester static on leg hair. She can’t even dance, so whatever ABBA are singing about doesn’t apply.

Amara sticks out her tongue and tastes the air as the breeze blows west. She swears she can get a sense of the world when she does.

Her stepfather mocks her for it. That blue-eyed, blonde maniac with the ugly Buick Electra he treats like a brand-name Italian from the southern coasts of Europe. He used to treat her mother the same. Until he began to tell Amara you look just like her when she was young. He leaves his porn tabs open on his computer, as if he wants her to know. ‘Teen’, ‘Latina’, ‘Stepfather’, ‘Rough’, ‘Face-fucking’, ‘Breeding.’

She doesn’t have a drop of Hispanic blood in her.

She really wants to tell her mother, but there is a chance her mother will look right through her instead. She’s been doing that a lot more nowadays. They can’t afford her meds anymore. She just sits on the porch and watches and waits. For what, is anyone's guess.

>> can you pick me up?

>> its dark

>> pls

>> sorry ik its inconvienant

'Step-Daddy' always replies quickly when it’s her. He has a heart next to her name on his phone. She never agreed to that.

>> it’s spelled inconvenient

“Suck my dick,” Amara tells the screen and switches her phone off before he can message again.

She can walk.

The route back runs dangerously close to the edge of the forest. All kinds rot away in there, but she doesn’t like to think of them by name. They’ll become real if she does. She wishes her mother had found a man who lived in the wetlands, and not here at the cursed border between life and the realm beyond. Marshes are easier to understand. Forests are cursed.

Still, life is horribly simple here. Her high school is placid and filled with the dull-eyed children of dull-eyed adults. The gas station where she works didn’t bother to interview her. She walked in and the guy behind the counter stared at her breasts until he remembered she had a face. Her breasts aced the interview for her.

Can I work here? Just until I graduate.

Sure, grab a nametag.

Four months later, and she doesn’t mind it anymore. Her brain shuts off. Her customers are a ragtag mixture of suspicious, ferret-eyed locals and the occasionally buoyant hiker from out of state. If she doesn’t look like she belongs, she’s pretty, and that usually gives people like her a pass. At least until the sleazy comments become ethnically charged. But even then, Amara has a way of making her eyes go ‘dopey’ and just smiling like she’s too slow to understand. Displaying discomfort is what eggs them on (kind of a nasty realisation she opened her eyes to one day).

An engine growls some way down the road.

Old Chevy pickup, faded gold.

She recognises it from the parking lot at the station near the end of her shift.

A guy stepped out, young, early twenties, with a shock of hair that looked white until she realised it was just really, really blonde. She remembers thinking it was odd. The range of blondes in town runs from deep and dirty to the artificial bleach rattled out of holographic boxes of dye. No one has hair like his. She’d have noticed.

His eyebrows were a little darker, and his lashes were darker still. He had a funny way of walking, and he looked at her like she had the head of a fish and the body of a human being. Amara did her best dopey eyes. She asked him if he’d had a good day, pointed out the offers they had on pork rinds. He didn’t say a word. His skin had smears of black grease, glistening with sweat and bronzed by the sun.

Deep blue eyes.

Horribly deep.

Not the kind you’d want to swim in. She likes a softer blue, blue like chlorine, reminiscent of the safety of swimming pools. His were anything but.

She picks up her speed, and for some reason, puts her phone to her ear as if mid-conversation. Nothing about him said he was dangerous at the time. At least not from the way he’d barely said a word or looked down at her body. He was just there, and then he was gone.

And now here he is again.

The Chevy hits the horn. He is creeping closer. Amara turns and waves at him to go on. She doesn’t want a ride. Why isn’t he rolling down the window to offer one though?

It slows to a crawl. Her throat closes up. She has a feeling speeding up will give him what he wants. He’s obviously trying to be a prick. But if she goes back to talk to him, that would be exponentially worse. She switches her phone back on and sees her stepfather’s message telling her to get back home herself after she didn’t reply to tell him her location.

She quickly shoots him a message, and prays he’ll respond.

He doesn’t.

Fuck it.

She walks faster. The Chevy matches the increase. Sweat blooms on the back of her neck.

Every woman has that oh fuck moment. That I’m going to be on the evening news moment. The please god if he catches me let him kill me before he gets to raping me moment.

None of that goes through her head. She keeps thinking of her mother’s cooking. Her mother hasn’t cooked in a year and a half, not since her mind began to slip. But Amara can taste the spices on her tongue, the way the rice was perfectly simmered, the cinnamon in the back of her throat, the smell that clung to the walls, the heat of it.

I wanna come home, Momma.

Her mother’s face gathers into shape in her head, built with sand particles and saltwater. When the Chevy roars, she starts running. Her mother vanishes.

The lights of the truck blink across the tarmac. It’s a signal. But it isn’t for her.

She looks over her shoulder, and she can’t see him.

Run me over. Leave me like carrion on the road. Let the maggots eat me. Don’t cut me up first.

He slows when she starts to tire out. Picks up when she tries again. No other car has graced this road since she first turned onto it. A sign points her to the right, ushering her deeper into the backwoods. The town is to the left.

He figures out where she’s going when she suddenly makes a dash for the bend in the road.

There’s no time to dodge the pickup when it goes for her this time. The wheels skid as he yanks it at an angle and blocks her way. The door flies open and misses her by an inch. His arm grabs for her. She dodges, animal fear and rust on her tongue. He still doesn’t say a word.

A heavy fist connects with the small of her back and she drops like a stone.

The pain is electric. Air turns her lungs into taut balloons, but she can’t make a sound. She twists around and the bruise forming over her spine grates. Adrenaline quickly numbs it as she lashes out with her arms and legs. Kicking, punching, scratching, biting. Her teeth hit home. A mouthful of tattooed flesh, car oil and sweat. Still no sound from him.

She never sees the fist coming, just like last time.

A blow to the head and lights out, nancy.

#inmate 13453 #aegon ii x oc #house of the dragon #modern aegon #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x amara #modern hotd

57 notes · View notes

orangameelectronics · 22 days

Video

youtube

Power bank outletThe Ultimate Guide to Mini Small Portable Charger Power Bank 5000mAh with Built-in Cables

So you're in the market for a mini small portable charger power bank with built-in cables, huh? Well, you've come to the right place! In this guide, we're going to dive deep into the features and benefits of the 5000mAh power bank that you've been eyeing. Let's get started!

## Support Display, But Doesn't Support LED Light

One of the standout features of this power bank is the support for display. This means that you can easily check the battery level and other important information at a glance. However, it's worth noting that this power bank doesn't support LED light. While an LED light can be handy in certain situations, the display more than makes up for it with its convenience and functionality.

## Input Interface: Type-C; 5V/2.0A

The input interface of a power bank determines how fast it can recharge itself. With a Type-C input interface and a 5V/2.0A charging speed, this power bank can juice up in no time. This means that you won't have to wait around for hours on end for your power bank to be ready to go - just plug it in and you're good to go!

## Function: Quick Charge Support, Wireless Charging

Another standout feature of this power bank is its support for quick charge and wireless charging. Quick charge support means that your devices can be charged up to 4 times faster than with a standard charger. Wireless charging, on the other hand, allows you to charge your devices without the hassle of cables. With these two functions combined, you can enjoy a seamless charging experience wherever you go.

## Magnetic Wireless Charger Power Bank

Last but not least, this power bank comes with a magnetic feature that allows it to double as a wireless charger. This means that you can easily attach your devices to the power bank for a quick and convenient charge. Whether you're on the move or at home, this power bank has got you covered with its versatile charging options.

And there you have it - the ultimate guide to the mini small portable charger power bank 5000mAh with built-in cables. With its durable material, high-energy battery, convenient display, fast charging speeds, safety features, and versatile functions, this power bank is sure to be your new go-to charging companion. So why wait? Get your hands on this power bank today and never run out of battery again!

2 notes · View notes

solarpunkani · 1 year

Text

Solar Powered Community Fridges - Concept Art

So one of my grad school classes is a 8 week long group project to essentially come up with an artistic solution to a problem. Of course, my pitch was solarpunk in nature, and my group actually really liked it! Basically, the concept is to design a series of solar panel-powered community fridges, to help address food insecurity and build community in different areas without having to rely on a specific host building to provide power. What better time to show my concept art than Solarpunk Aesthetic Week?

Originally, I was just drawing up ideas with what usually comes to mind when I imagine fridges--upright fridges. Here's my concept art!

In these sketches, my main concern was imagining how these fridges would fit into the community alongside their power sources--I didn't want them to be too bulky, but I also wanted them to be available for easy access. I also figured they'd need shelter for the fridge's longevity, as well as to protect any users from the element. It'd also be nice to have them alongside other mutual aid sources like little free pantries, little free libraries, the like. One of my favorite designs is the sheltered community space on page 2, with the fridge, the seat, the pantry, and the library all in one protected structure with solar panels on the top. Having a table near the community fridge would also be nice to give people a place to rest as well.

However, around this time, I started trying to find out just how big of a solar panel would be needed to power a fridge like this, and the results were... a bit discouraging. Until! I was informed that chest freezers use way less energy to keep cool--cool air sinks, so opening an upright fridge releases most of the cold air that's been building up and makes the machine work harder to keep cool, whereas a chest fridge doesn't lose nearly as much cold air. In addition, some people have converted chest freezers into chest refrigerators for as little as ~$30 USD. Due to the insulation in a chest freezer, converted chest fridges use way less energy than their upright counterparts to keep cool, making it way more feasible to power them with solar.

So of course, I had to get to drawing again!

Since I'd already concepted a variety of structures for upright fridges, for the chest fridges I mostly focused on their design and possible convenience/accessibility concerns I had been worried about, one of the main being having to reach inside vertically instead of horizontally--several of my family members have difficulty bending, so I was worried having a chest fridge would make things more difficult for others like them. There are likely other ways to address this concern that I haven't thought of, but for now I've concepted putting a grabber tool inside of every fridge so people with trouble bending can still get things. How well it'd work in reality, I'm not sure...

Buuut these are my concepts so far! I hope you like them, I hope they're cool? Let me know what you think! I think these would be cool to have in a solarpunk future--whether they're entirely possible today or will have to wait until a somewhat-distant, 'solar panels can generate more energy with less size and fridges are also way more energy efficient' future I can't say, but it's cool to think about!

[Image 1: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. An arrow points to a magnet caddy on the freezer door with markers and stickers, saying "Markers + labels for dating donations". An arrow points to a battery-structure at the base of a solar panel system saying "Doubles as charging station for phones & stuff". An arrow points to a slanted roof structure over a fridge saying "Bus stop-esque structure." An arrow points at a glass door grocery store-style fridge saying "any kind of fridge, any size."

Image 2: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. An arrow points to a fridge under a slanted roof structure, saying "Paintings on the fridge itself." Over a portion of a brick wall is written "Murals can be on accompanying walls or on the shelter structure for the fridge." An arrow points to a wheel-mounted solar panel saying "solar panel". A community space is named at the top "The Free Community Space: Open 24/7" An arrow points to the outside wall of a community space structure saying "mural on outer walls". Items inside are labeled 'Freedge, Little free Library, Seeds, Pantry'. An arrow points to a couch, saying "Maybe a bench instead?" Written on the inner wall is "mural inside." An arrow pointing at the space says "Community built space w/ lights, solar panels, little free library, freedge, seed library, little free pantry, couch (???). Solar battery stored behind or on top. Plastic magnet door to protect from elements? Like those magnet curtains?"

Image 3: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. An arrow points to a slanted structure over a mini fridge, saying "Solar panel on roof?" Another arrow points to the side saying "Chalkboard paint--anyone can art here." Underneath says "variety of sizes/energy needs mean wider availability". At the top of a curved shelter on a pole is written "solar panel", along the sloping sides is "curved solar panels" and "Or solar voltaic glass?" On the underside of the structure is a label saying "Could be in a park or smth (something)". An arrow points to a box at the base of the structure, saying "charging station" and another arrow labels a table and chairs.

Image 4: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. Along the top of a slightly-curved roof structure is an arrow saying "curved solar panel roof. renogy curved 4ft x 2ft for example". To the side of the roof is written "4 panels each side, 0.45 kWh x 8 = 3.6 kWh/h". A chest fridge is labeled "converted chest fridge", and a glass-front box is labeled "Old cabinet/case now Little Free Library". A box sitting between them is labeled "I hear car batteries are good solar storage for cheaper?" A standalone chest fridge has the following labels: "Could paint on fridge exterior" "solar panel on top of fridge?" "most chest freezers are 22-28 in wide &24-38 or 54-68 in long. The longest wattage panel needed would be ~50 in long & ~26 in wide"

Image 5: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. The inside of an open lid has an arrow pointing to a grabber object saying "Grabber for accessibility for those w/ trouble bending". A label points at a strap fastened to the inside of the lid saying "straps to help shorter people pull the lid closed." A variety of arrows point to a drawing of an open, decorated chest fridge saying the following: "Counter-balanced lid" "Baskets/crates for storage -> can slide or be removed to access underneath" "Murals on front & sides (not back)" ]

#solarpunk #solarpunk aesthetic week #community fridge #freedge #concept design #solar panels #solarpunk community #sustainability #ani rambles #out of queue #one could easily argue they'd be more Aesthetique if I had colored them and i totally agre #i just couldn't get the colored versions to give off the Vibe I wanted on digital so pencil sketches we go #my art #solarpunkani art

261 notes · View notes

stusbunker · 11 hours

Text

Spotless: Cambiare

Chapter Thirty Five

Featuring: Dean Winchester/Reader

Other characters: Both bands and crew, Madison, Alice and Max Miller, Cas' brother Jimmy mentioned, Alastair

Word Count: 3241

Warnings, etc: Mutual pining, still unbeta'd, drinking and mild drug use, smoking cigarettes , Kevin is still a shit and we love him for it, fundraiser fluff, first show in Vegas then somebody shows up to ruin Dean's winning streak. SAFE House is a real organization, but all information about them in this fic is fictional, including locations, organizers and fundraiser protocols.

Series Masterlist

The desert sun shined down, even in mid-March, you were grateful for sunglasses as you walked across the parking lot of the furniture store that was hosting the fundraiser. Part of the core principles of SAFE House and organizations like it was its discretion, so nothing that night was taking place near the actual houses where families escaping domestic violence resided. The main office was tucked into a back corner of a row of single story businesses and also a good distance away.

Behind you was the band in ball caps and sunglasses, Bobby and Annie, while Benny, Cesar, Jesse and Chief followed behind. Charlie and the rest of the crew were setting up at the venue for the following nights’ performances. Victor and SPS had other plans for the night before their Vegas debut, but that was understandable. Plus, they sent their support both in person and via social media.

Alice Miller, the Director of Outreach, met you at the registration booth and gave you a bundle of volunteer badges and tickets for the food stands as well as a map of the grounds.

“We are so grateful for you being here and helping spread the word. We’ve barely been able to get away from the phones since you mentioned the event on the radio this morning. We’re expecting a record breaking year for the carnival.”

Careful to not seem too unsurprised, you downplayed what you expected to be a very busy night. “It’s the least we could do. Now— where did you want the band?”

“Max?” Alice called a younger man over. “Max is my stepson, and he’s in charge of volunteer assignments. While I’ll be around, Max will be able to answer any questions better than I would.”

The guy seemed a little awkward, but he also seemed to at least recognize who he was talking to. “Alright, guys, glad to have you. I have the band assigned two two hour long stints at the Dunk Tank, the Photo Booth, and the Face Painting stand. Your call on if you stick to one station or switch it up. I’ll leave the list with your publicist. Breaks are expected, but please let somebody know when you need one so we can make the swap as seamless as possible. Your team members are welcome to participate, or just stand guard, but please remember we are as low contact as possible with crowd control.”

You had clocked a good chunk of guys you suspected to be plain clothed police officers donning security vests at the next table. You kept your thoughts to yourself on that matter, as long as the families and participants were safe, you were happy.

“Thanks, Max. I gave them the spiel on the ride over. Can we get some group shots with you and the other employees before we get into our stations?”

“Of course, give me ten minutes and we can get everyone together. I’ll give you a walkie, too, just in case. Though we don’t have enough for everyone.”

“Understood.”

You gave him a firm nod and clipped the communicator to your back pocket. He ducked out of the small tent, while you stepped back towards the group you came with, so the line of other volunteers behind you could get signed in. You glanced down the clipboard with the empty blocks of scheduled time at each of the stations.

Kevin and Dean were on you in an instant.

“Please put me anywhere but the face painting. I can’t draw for shit,” Kevin begged.

“Sam either, don’t do it, Trouble. It will be a mess,” Dean warned.

“Okay, well, Dunk Tank is going to have to be an all or last stint because nobody is going to be able to pose for pictures or do face-painting when they’re soaked to the bone,” you reasoned out loud.

You turned and spoke louder. “Alright, Pam and Annie, let’s have you do the face painting. If nothing else you can just do exaggerated makeup looks.”

“Sounds good to me,” Annie said. While Pam sort of cocked her head and considered if this was the best course of action.

“Lee and Sam are getting the Photobooth first, if you get bored or overwhelmed we’ll swap you guys for the Dunk Tank. But what we really need are hecklers, and I think these two assholes would be best for the job.” You gestured to Dean and Kevin, the two devils over your shoulders.

“You know there are easier ways to see me with my shirt off,” Dean murmured, but didn’t argue with his assignment.

You turned and looked up at him, your reflection shining back at you in his sunglasses, which only made you more defensive. “If I wanted to sell skin, I’d send Sam over there first. But just for that, you’re booked all night. Happy chafing, Dean-o.”

Kevin cackled. “She just pwned you so bad!”

“Shut up, Kevin,” you and Dean said at the same time.

You tried to see if Dean had just been teasing, but your annoyance and curiosity were short lived when Bobby walked up and took the envelope of lanyards out of your grip, and started handing them out.

Somewhere beyond the entrance and registration booths a megaphone sounded, gathering everyone together for the pictures you requested and a quick information session.

The carnival was scheduled from four to nine, hitting the afterschool and afterwork crowds, but still reasonable for a weekday. Even in Vegas, locals had normal schedules most of the time. You took turns with the SAFE House’s media director taking pictures and gesturing people into position. Carefully you had them frame the band, Annie, Alice and the rest of the board in varying shots of size and distance. You should have brought a real camera, but your phone would have to make due for this event. There were over fifty people volunteering in addition to the security team. And every one of them was smiling at you, it was infectious.

It was going to be a good night.

You patrolled the grounds, gathering pictures of the band at their different booths in various poses and levels of embarrassment. Dean was the first one in the water and once he sunk, the crowd went nuts. His line snaked around the Fun House and back towards the Port-o-Potties.

Kevin had more success heckling Dean than those throwing at his target, but he, too, was drenched before long. It only added to the care-free atmosphere. Even though you knew Dean would have paid a pretty penny to be the one tossing balls in Kevin’s direction himself.

Sam and Lee started off pretty stiff with the Photo Booth, but once a group of preschoolers busted out the feather boas and other accessories, they caved like a house of cards. Neither man could deny kids, especially ones that might have been hurt at some point in their young lives, so they turned up the charm and silliness and had everyone in stitches before they took their dinner break.

Pamela and Annie had the quietest station. It was rather amusing, and a little surreal, that round after round of kids waited in line, picked out their designs, and sat still for the whole process before their parents, guardians, or grandparents recognized Annie Hawkins as the artist behind the butterflies or dragons now at their sides.

Pamela’s entire being screamed rockstar or badass. But as the drummer of the band, she was the least known by name, which never seemed to bother her. No, her confidence was unique in that it was a genuine, god-given, lack of shame. Something you had envied for a long time. So when only a handful of people asked for her picture along with her creations, she didn’t bat an eye. She just winked at the kids as they went about their nights and waved.

By nightfall, the crowd had reached capacity. The sounds of the various rides and games were constant and the bright lights kept the area surveyable. However, the temperature started to drop and the Dunk Tanks themselves weren’t well lit, which equated to Kevin and Dean’s station beginning to lose some of its luster.

“Okay! Let’s see what you got! Come on folks— this is for a great cause!” Kevin spouted.

“Freezing my nuts off of here! Hey big guy, think you could dunk me?”

You stage whispered, “this is a family event— keep your flirting to your own time!”

“Har-har!” Dean mock laughed.

You took another picture, but your flash really wasn’t the best with the Fun House lights offsetting it. Dean was dunked again and you asked Max over the walkie if you could end the line. It was a little after eight at night and between the cooler night air and the remaining people waiting, they deserved to see the finish line.

After a few seconds, you got permission to send Benny and Jesse to curtail new customers, “yeah, okay. We’ll start closing up those stations first, ease out of the night.”

You texted Bobby to start warming up the bus before making your way through the crowd to let the rest of the team know to wrap it up. Sam and Lee actually were already closed up, their tent had been packed up and they just sat sipping on flat beer from the one kiosk with a liquor license. Annie and Pamela had turned into more of a selfie and autograph booth then a face painting stand, but no one seemed to mind.

“We’ve got the all clear, meet at the bus in ten,” you let them know. Casually, you headed back to the Dunk Tanks to ensure the soggy bottom boys weren’t mobbed once they were back on solid ground.

Cesar, brilliant man that he was, showed up with a pair of fleece blankets from the bus just as the final set of balls were handed to Benny and Jesse. You grinned at him in gratitude, but had to film the final dunks for prosperity’s sake.

“Come on Benny! Let ‘im have it!” you bellowed as the head roadie wound up.

Jesse immediately sent Kevin into the depths, forfeiting the remaining two throws, and letting his husband help the smaller man off the platform and into a blanket.

Benny missed the first two balls, which Dean was not going to let him live it down. “Oh, he’s on the ropes! Look he’s not gonna make it, I should just climb down. That blanket is a-calling to me!”

“Just shut your trap, will ya?” Benny muttered.

“Make me, big boy!”

“Does he always flirt when he’s nervous?” you asked, knowing full well it was being recorded.

“Nah, darlin’. He’s showboating. He only flirts like this to make up for something.”

“Oh yeah? What am I making up for Benny? Cuz your aim is the only thing lacking here!”

With movie magic precision, Benny sank Dean on his last throw. The remaining crowd erupted and you scanned the area before sneaking closer to get Dean’s grumpy face as he crawled out of the tank and down the ladder.

“About time!” He called over his shoulder before Cesar could wrap him up too. Crouched over and shivering, Dean grinned for the camera before you hit the stop button on the video. Everyone laughed and joked while Dean and Kevin tried to dry off. After gathering their hats, phones, wallets, and socks and shoes, everyone left for the parking lot and the bus back to the Strip and the hotel.

You stopped at the entrance, dropped off the walkie talkie and your lanyards with Max’s crew. You made your way across the parking lot to the corner that Bobby had claimed for the bus, turning on your notifications for the first time all night. It was going to be a long night of scrolling and posting, but it was a good kind of busy to be.

The bass pulsed through the amps and across the floor, like an omniscient earthquake. You felt the heat from the stage effects across your skin. Pamela was taking the end of A Reaper’s Offering and taking over for her solo. The lights dimmed along the edge of the stage and everything focused on her. You felt the buzz of an incoming message on your hip from the walkie, but you couldn’t hear a single word.

“There she goes!” Dean rumbled somewhere amongst the shadows. The crowd responded then hushed itself just as quickly, awe-inspired.

Charlie has so much more at her disposal in this set up and she used everything she could to empathize the epicness of Pamela’s prowess, each drum was focused by its own color light. Pamela kept Charlie on her toes as she hopped from one to another, sometimes hitting three or four at a time. It was mesmerizing.

Your voice was hoarse already and still you screamed as she ramped it up to the big finale. Even in the wing off stage, you couldn’t hear yourself over the racing beat.

Lee whistled with two fingers in his mouth, shrill and celebratory. And still Pamela rocked on.

Sam slid down his E string, pulsing beneath her. You noticed how the others drifted back into position, four more measures and Kevin joined in. As the notes blended together Pamela pulled back, like a band of horses behind well-worn reins.

“Lead the way, Pammy!” Dean broke the spell and Pamela thumped into a familiar opening.

They weren’t stopping and slowing down for Vegas. ‘Abandon All Hope’ was left out of the first night’s setlist and the suggestive ‘Twigs and Twine’ swapped in instead. If you had to bet, ‘Brother’s Keeper’ wasn’t going to be featured either. And you were right, instead they played ‘Give Me My Ax’ for Lee to completely annihilate.

Charlie dropped the lights on them as Dean finished ‘Not Mine’ and the crowd did not stop for a full five minutes. You felt like you were tethered to a comet, soaring and burning alongside those brighter than you could ever hope to be.

The encores flew by and SPS joined them on stage, bowing and waving and blowing kisses to the insatiable masses. You knew the venue had photographers in the pit and along the box seats, but you couldn’t wait to get your hands on some fan shots. This was a show banners and websites were made of, raw and glistening.

Everyone descended the stage and flooded the wing you were occupying. The moment Dean’s eyes caught yours, his entire face changed and you both went to each other. Unthinking, two magnets across the mess of stagehands and band members just as he bent down to grab you into a hug, you hesitated, feeling unseen eyes in the upper levels.

You grabbed his elbow and drew him in further into the belly of backstage.

“What’s up?” Dean’s face was worried now.

“Nothing, just didn’t want somebody to see us.”

Dean’s brow pinched and he sighed, but stayed at your side. “How was it? Have fun?!”

You rolled your eyes. “I think I’m as sweaty as you are!”

“Well, I’m gonna hit the dressing room. If you need a shirt, I’ve got extra. Because there’s no way we’re stopping soon. Those high rollers ain’t seen nothing like the Winchesters in a hot minute.”

“Fine! But I’m capping you at 50k for the night, young man. Somebody has got to rein you in, especially since Jimmy isn’t on retainer anymore.”

“Ugh! Well, we’ll see about that.” Dean winked and threw his arm over your shoulder and walked you both to the pandemonium that was the dressing room.

You were very careful while out with the band to stay on the vertical side of inebriation. It was equal parts fear of embarrassing yourself and fear of losing control of one or more of the band. After Dean and Cas’ explosion in Chicago last spring, you rarely mixed substances, especially while somewhere as heavily monitored as Vegas.

A little No Doz and a side of vodka and tonic would carry you most of the night. If nothing got too crazy. Eventually, you’d snag a cigarette, but casino-hopping would have to wait. Dean was on a roll, literally.

Dice in theory was an easy game. The tables with all the Pass and Don’t Pass bet bullshit made Craps hard for you to follow, especially when you were too busy keeping an eye on everyone. Madison and Sam were getting handsy at a Blackjack Table. Pam had found her machine for the night and was racking up a nice total with just penny slots. While taking shots of whiskey in stunning regularity.

Lee and Dean were both rolling dice, but the tables faced the opposite direction and you were almost certain one or both of them were trying to hustle somebody. The house always won, but sometimes people got cocky and they thought these cornfed boys from Nebraska were easy prey. It was fun to watch.

If nerve wracking.

Dean’s eyes danced over his dice, everyone gathered held their breath as the dealer called out the victory. Dean jumped up, punched the air, and crowed with abandon. He was untouchable in his brilliance. It made something inside you shiver. Sometimes you forgot he was real.

“Alright, time to head out!” Dean decided, gathering his chips and heading to the teller line to cash out. You nodded to the rest of the band, with an annoyed eye roll from Pamela, but everyone followed suit. Benny and the Chief had drawn straws for that night’s detail, which meant Jesse and Cesar would have your backs the following night. It still felt weird to be Tiny and Bela-less, but it was also one less thing for you to keep track of.

The crowds outside of Cesar’s Palace were full of tourists as you stepped back out onto the strip. A rush of waiting photographers gravitated to your group the second Sam’s head cleared the exit. Fucking Sasquatch was too easy to spot.

“Guys! Fantastic show tonight!”

“Dean! Dean! Where’s Bela? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, huh?”

“Pamela! Lee! Are you guys back together? Will we see another Vegas wedding from you two?”

“Sam! Who’s the lucky lady?”

Everyone ignored them the best you could, keeping your heads down and letting Benny hold them off.

“There he is! The coward has returned!” A nasally voice made its way through the chaos and Dean stopped in his tracks. You dropped back and tried to drag him forward, while ignoring the jeers from the other paps.

“That’s a good girl, follow your mommy. Don’t want to get left behind,” the voice said senselessly.

“Dean?” you said, nerves dialed up to eleven.

Dean shook his head and scanned the crowd until he spotted a cameraless, beady-eyed face. “Benny! Keep that fucker away from us,” Dean yelled as he about-faced and took the group in a different direction. Benny fell back and stepped up to the taller creep, clearly making a point of starting a conversation as the other paps scrambled to keep up with you.

Dean dragged you and Pam by the wrists, keeping you at his sides until he decided you were in the clear outside the next stop. You had no idea who that guy was. After twenty minutes, Benny finally caught up with you guys and something in his eyes told you it wasn’t over.

Tagging:

@deans-spinster-witch

@mrswhozeewhatsis

@cosicas-cuquis

@fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like

@suckitands33

@ladysparkles78

@deans-baby-momma

@stoneyggirl2

@sassy-pelican

@leigh70

@globetrotter28