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crushedbyhyperbole · 2 months

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Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Three

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: You're cornered and chased by Bartholomew's minions. Separated from Sam and Cas, you and Dean make a run for it. Lust finds you both when you're finally safe. Dean rocks your world.

Words: 3.4k

A/N: This is smutty part 3 of what's now looking like a longer series since I've settled on a cute, fluffy and smutty part 4. At this point I don't think I'll ever be sated in my need for this man but Im so not sorry about it 😂

I do hope you enjoy part 3. If you haven't read parts 1 and 2 check out the Cherry Pie Kiss Masterlist. As always, I value your comments and feedback. Drop a dime and let me know what you think.

Warnings: Smut. Canon-typical action/adventure. Running for your lives. Bit of angst.

*** 18+ Minors Do Not Read or Interact ***

Dean Winchester. You hate him. His stubbornness and stoic grace. His tenacity and faith that, no matter what, you guys will get it done if you stick together. The way his eyes pierce you down to your soul when he stares. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself, hoping that others will believe it too. Truth is, you’re just as stubborn as he is, holding onto this façade when hatred is so far from what you feel.

Dean sits behind Baby’s wheel, having stormed away from the Gas’n’Sip in frustration. His eyes follow your every move and your body language as you and Sam try to convince Cas, for the umpteenth time, to come with you. Dean had taken it personally when Cas had refused, and after several attempts at reasoning, bargaining, and begging, Dean had given up, choosing to sit out any further attempts at persuasion.

You look over at the black Impala with its radiant chrome and glossy darkness. The man inside looks away out to road not wanting the hurt, so plain on his face, to be seen.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” you say to Sam, touching his forearm gently as he continues to reason with the fallen Angel.

You feel compelled to at least try to comfort Dean. Since you two had talked that night in the dingy room-only motel out in Crocker, you had maintained a stable yet strained connection. You had still been pissed at him for using you and Sam as bait so you had sent him back to his room with another kiss and the promise of “when I’m ready”. Since then, you two had never been alone for more than a few minutes; there was always Sam, or witnesses, or monsters.

Dean’s head snaps your way when you pull the door open, his face schooled into that smooth mask he wears when he’s hurt but unwilling to be vulnerable. Cas’s decision has really hit him hard.

Sliding in the passenger side, you angle yourself towards him and reach to take one of his hands which is picking at the fingernails of his other. Ordinarily, you wouldn’t risk such a gesture but with Sam a couple of hundred meters away and the height of the dash to obscure it, you’re not worried.

Dean allows the contact, his head hanging. “Cas made his choice.” His voice is low and gravelly with emotion.

“Doesn’t mean he can’t change his mind.” You reason, trying not to throw fuel on the fire.

“He knows where I am if he does.” He states, matter of fact. “I’m not wasting another breath on him.”

“He’s your best friend.”

“You’re my best friend.” Dean looks at you and squeezes your hand which is entwined with his, resting on his thigh. “You and Sam.”

“I’m just some girl you want to fuck.” You chuckle, and Deans lips quirk a subtle smirk briefly before he replies.

The words don’t come out, however. Dean catches movement at the side of the Gas’N’Sip, and he drops your hand to turn over the engine, thrusting the heel of his other hand on Baby’s horn as he does so.

Sam and Cas look in your direction and then see the four figures walking quickly and with purpose, coming between them and the Impala. Shit! Angels. Bartholomew’s minions, no doubt. How have they found you again?

“Son of a bitch!” Dean hisses, cranking the car into drive, kicking up stones in the gravel lot as the wheels spin, gaining traction to take you to Sam and Cas.

You fumble your seatbelt, sliding on the seat and right into Dean with a grunt as he swerves to avoid a blacked-out Escalade that grinds to a halt between you and your friends.

Sam and Cas are already on the move, running fast towards the gold Lincoln pimpmobile Cas had somehow acquired, Sam waving Dean off as they scramble into the car and peel out of the lot before the Angels could reach them. You, however, are stuck. With the Escalade and four fallen angels between you and the lot exit, Dean turns the wheel, locking it out and put his foot on the gas, spinning the car around with an horrific noise from the tyres. At the back of the lot is a chainlink fence with a gate that leads to a dirt road which split in two, one branch heading to the highway, the other into scrubland that precedes a dense-looking woodland. You can lose them in the trees.

Dean winces as he ploughs baby through the chainlink gate, lamenting the damage that is sure to be done, and turns the car towards the highway.

“We can lose them in the trees,” you cry, point to the woods.

“Baby doesn’t have the ground clearance for it,” Dean says roughly, manoeuvring the car through a side-on skid with the heel of his hand on the wheel and his other hand gripping the side of the seat to stop himself from sliding as the car spins. Once straight, he slams his food on the gas and burns rubber onto the tarmac, heading in the opposite direction to Sam and Cas.

You know he’s right about the car. The Escalade is 4x4 and sits high which gives it the advantage off road in the woods when the trail inevitably turns to a glorified hiking path. You’re not even sure the highway is a much better option given that Baby is an older, classic car, but you know Dean keeps her in tip-top shape and she’s got a lot of power under her hood. That being said, the Escalade could be seen in the rearview, weaving through traffic to catch up to you.

The shrill ring of your phone makes you jump as you try to focus on the road and on what’s behind. You need to be a second set of eyes for Dean while he’s pushing Baby to create some distance from the Escalade.

“Hey, Sam!” You sigh with relief, reading his name on your display, putting him on speaker.

“This is Castiel,” the former Angel’s flat tone carries from the phone. “Sam is driving. He said I’m too slow.”

You grin big. That’s a classic Winchester brother thing to do. From the corner of your eye you see Dean smirk.

“Just tell them we’re headed west and haven’t been followed.” Sam sighed with mild frustration.

“Damn it’s good to hear your voice, Sammy!” Dean spoke loudly in that extra deep tone he uses when he is running on adrenalin. You know he left Cas out because he is still hurt, but you also know he’s glad Cas is safe too.

“We’re headed in the opposite direction,” you explain. “The vehicle followed us and we’re trying to shake them but they’re keeping up.”

“Pretty soon we’ll run out of traffic, and on the open road we’ll never lose them.” Dean frowns as he hunts in the rearview for your pursuers.

“Maybe you can head into the wilderness, hole up and set traps.” Sam offers. “We can turn around and try to catch up.”

“No!” Dean snaps. “You’re both safe. I want you to stay that way. Get someplace and lay low. We’ll get this done and I’ll call you, ok?”

“Dean…” Cas begins to speak but Dean is having none of it.

“I said No! Okay? For once, just do what I say. We’ve got this.”

You hang up the phone without waiting for a response. You can see how worked up Dean is, his brain running overtime as he tries to figure out a plan while he’s trying to evade Bartholomew’s lackies on a road full of other cars.

The satellite map on your phone shows a complex set of junctions several miles up ahead where this road meets and crosses with two interstates, branching off in multiple places to service a small city surrounded by a cluster of smaller towns. It looks promising and Dean agrees.

The junction of the roads has raised on and off ramps that weave in and around the support structures of the main interstate, with frontage roads servicing the branches at intervals. Traffic is heavy and Dean follows a newer model black Cady onto the interstate by one of the on-ramps, only to cut across the lanes harshly and slip onto a skewed off-ramp, hoping the Escalade will follow the newer Cady. Slowing down at the end of the off-ramp, he turns to take the frontage road in the opposite direction, heading slowly up the on-ramp for the interstate carriage way going back in the direction from which you had come, so as not to rejoin too soon and be spotted on the other side.

You check all around as soon as you crest the on-ramp back onto the road, praying you don’t see the black government-style vehicle. Dean doesn’t wait to find out, he puts his foot down and puts a few eighteen wheelers between you and whatever is behind you.

“I think we’re clear,” you say after about fifteen minutes of hypervigilance.

“Don’t jinx it, sweetheart.” Dean keeps his eyes on the road, the wheel clasped in two white-knuckled fists.

Switching from the interstate to a smaller road and then to another road but still taking you away from where Sam and Cas had headed, Dean starts to relax. He chances a look at you, to find you looking right back. The tension in his neck and jaw haven’t melted away yet but he doesn’t have that hard look of focused fury that he usually does when in fight or flight mode. He doesn’t say anything and neither do you, but the glances between you become more frequent as though you’re both checking on each other to make sure the other is okay, needing to visually check each time.

A sign by the side of the road identifies the beautiful landscape to your left as Black Water Natural Forest, and with the sun beginning to set behind the mountains in the distance, it seems a good place to wait out the sunset. You point to the sign and Deans nods. He doesn’t argue, knowing you need a place to park-up off road away from prying eyes to get your bearings and make a plan to meet up with your friends.

As the road gets narrower and the trees get more dense, Dean slows the car, casting furtive glances at you. It’s making your skin burn, the way he looks at you now, with that hunger in his eyes. You feel it too. Weeks of tension built between you, and todays threat to your lives now culminating in a deep need for some kind of release. You lick your lips, breathing shallow and quick as you try to regain your composure, but Dean isn’t doing much better. You look at him fully and he all but moans when he sees the look in your eye.

A turn off presents itself that leads to a small muddy lot where hikers can park their cars when they venture out into the forest. Dean brings Baby to a stop so hard your seatbelt catches you, then he yanks it into park and fumbles for the seal lever. You unclip your belt as the front seat slides back fully and he reaches for you, helping you straddle his lap.

You waste no time, kissing him fervently as you unbutton your shirt while he tries to push it from your shoulders before it’s open. Breaths are gasps released between kisses, tongues touching, tasting and tempting more passion, and you succumb to the frenzy of heat that’s born of your need to feel something other than fear. Your need to feel him.

You’re both a mess of fumbling hands and sloppy kisses as clothes are shucked and skin exposed. You try to stand, your legs either side of his as you unbutton your jeans and he unclasps his belt.

The loud sound of the Impala’s horn echoes out amongst the trees, startling birds so they take wing and both of you into stillness and silence.

Dean looks at you with panic but then grins and laughs, reaching to tug your jeans down your legs until they’re bunched up around your boots.

It’s awkward but you can still straddle him like this and, as you kneel back onto the black leather seat, he lifts his hips to grind himself impatiently against you. The desperation in your eyes is matched by the eagerness in his. He is rapt, eyes absorbing the sights and sounds of your body and of your pleasure as you grind yourself against him. Your slicked pussy drenching his cock as you slide yourself along his length but deny him entry just when his tip catches at your entrance.

Dean fondles your breasts, trailing open-mouthed kisses across your skin until he reaches your hardening peaks. His kisses become more suckling then, nibbling them and flicking them firmly with his tongue until you’re almost shaking above him.

“You ready for me?” You ask, breathless.

“Sweetheart,” he treats you to his classic sultry smirk, “I’ve been ready for you since you moved in.”

You grin, knowing he’s been jonesing for you for that long. Truth be told, you’d wanted him for longer but the hate you made yourself feel for him was an adequate distraction from it.

Biting your lip, you reach between you, taking his wet shaft in hand and positioning it at your entrance. Your eyes meet as you begin to skink down on him, inching down in a shallow rocking motion with Dean stroking your hips and waist as you work at it. He resists the urge to thrust up into you at first, allowing you to get accustomed to him.

When you bottom him out, he presses down on your hips firmly, lifting his just enough to give you a deep pleasurable pressure that has you groaning and your eyes rolling back.

You are tight despite being very wet, and the way you squeeze him has him twitching heavily against your walls.

“Fuck…” he groans as you begin to move, leaning back slightly so he hits all the right spots inside you.

“I’m not going to last long,” you laugh breathily.

“No problem,” Dean says, his hands gripping your hips hard, helping you ride him a little faster now. “We’ll get you for two.”

He doesn’t even have to reach down to stroke your clit, you come all by yourself, grinding on him with a sexy roll of your hips he knows should be good for you, your clit rubbing against his soft hair. He can feel you spasming and clenching around him and it feels like heaven, even better than warm cherry pie hitting his taste buds.

“You feel freaking amazing.” He growls, pulling you forward to suckle on the delicate skin of your neck.

“Right back at’cha,” you sigh against pleasure.

He rolls you to the side, and lays you on your back on the seat, still buried in you to the hilt. Looking down at your heated face, your skin glowing from your orgasm, Dean thinks you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen, with a possible exception of Baby. Okay, you’re the most beautiful living thing he’s ever seen.

Looking up at Dean, his brow creased in concentration, his eyes dark with lust, you don’t think you have ever been turned on by anyone as much as this man. Damn, he’s hot! Riding the adrenaline of the chase, you had been desperate for an outlet. Now that is out of your mind, you lose yourself in the man between your thighs, you’re focused solely on the feeling of him buried deep, and the rising tide of pleasure. The windows steam up as you grind and roll your bodies together, and you think you might combust from the heat of him.

When he meets and holds your gaze, your heart almost stops. There you see more than just lust, more than just the passion between you. It’s deep and hidden, secret almost, and it surfaces as affection that softens his eyes. You reach up to stroke his face as his grinding hips keep their measured pace and he leans into your touch, kissing the palm of your hand, closing his eyes with a tender sigh.

His vulnerability in that moment lances electricity to your core and you spasm powerfully around him. His eyes flash open and he sees you’re close again but he doesn’t grin cockily like he might have done earlier, instead he leans down to kiss you, leaning his forehead on yours as you grip the back of his neck and look into his gorgeous eyes. With your other hand on his hip, sliding round to his ass you guide the speed and depth of his thrusts and you roll your hips to meet his.

As you guide him to slow down he thinks he’ll lose the pleasure he’s cultivated so far but he can now feel more of you and it’s more intense because it’s slow and prolonged. He almost laughs at how it changes everything and he gasps with surprise when he starts to feel his orgasm coming. He knows he needs to pull out but you hold him on place with your hands and your heels.

“Give me everything,” you moan as you feel him swell. “I need to feel you, nice and deep.”

Dean groans with pleasure watching your eyes sparkle with heat for him.

“I want it,” you almost beg. “Want you.”

He nods, biting his lip as bends to your desire.

Spurred on by your permission, Dean thrusts deeper until he bottoms out, moaning your name as he comes deep inside you. Your walls contract as he fills you, your climax a deep rolling pleasure that courses your whole body. Everything feels so right, he feels right. The way you two fit, the way he makes you feel. It’s like a low-key destiny you’re more than willing to succumb to.

Dean doesn’t just pull out and get off you once you’re both done, he flips you so your lay on his chest. There he holds you and strokes you back and hips, your hair and your face until you lift your head to look at him. Then he smirks cockily and you swat his chest.

“You don’t have to look so smug about it,” you chastise him.

“Hey, I keep my promises,” he says with that trademark smirk playing on his plush lips. “Would’a give you more but we’re kinda on the run here, sweetheart.”

“You can owe me, how ‘bout that?” You push yourself up and try to find your clothes.

He grins at the confirmation that this isn’t just a one-time deal. “Hell yeah! Sign me up.”

You clean up with wipes from your travel bag as Dean calls Sam. You watch the relieved interaction from the front fender of Baby while Dean paces in the dirt a few meters away. You apply some flavoured lip balm to your kiss bruised lips as he works out the logistics of meeting up and what to do about Bartholomew.

After the call, Dean beelines straight for you, sliding his hands around your waist and burying his face in your neck, kissing playfully.

“I take it we’ve got a few hours at least until we can meet Sam and Cas.” You thread your fingers through his messy hair, trailing your fingernails over his scalp which he seems to really like.

“Several.” He says against your delicate skin.

“Whatever are we gonna do to pass the time?” You smile as you picture the pair of you fucking all over his car.

“I can think of a few things,” he surfaces with a hungry look, leaning back in to kiss you.

Your soft lips claim his once more as you melt into his arms, the kiss heated and full of need. Dean kisses you with such force it steals your breath and makes your knees weak, and when he pulls back he looks at you thoughtfully. Licking his lips and tasting you on them, he grins.

“Cherry,” his eyes go to your lips again, “I like it.”

Dean’s talented tongue makes you forget any quip you might have said, as he lifts you onto Baby’s hood and keeps his promise.

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oftenwantedafton · 10 days

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the long way home | steve raglan x female reader

inspired by @arkarti ’s ongoing fanart series

rating | explicit

words | 4.7k

cw | sexual content

ao3 link

It’s the worst sort of luck, breaking down in the middle of nowhere.

The only saving grace is that it happens in the early morning, just after sunrise. You walk that dusty interstate road for what feels like hours. You have cowboy boots on that are meant to be flashy, not really proper footwear. Your heels are killing you and the sand that decorates the barren landscape feels like it has seeped into every pore and crevice. You can taste it, feel its grit in your hair and on your skin. The sun beats down and you’re grateful that you at least have sunglasses to shield your eyes. You’ve got your hair pinned up but it doesn’t really help with the heat much. You’re drenched in sweat that makes your tshirt cling to an even wetter bra and your skirt drags against damp thighs with every step. Sheer misery and yet you plod on, because you can’t—won’t—go back where you came from. There is just the promise of something more, moving forward.

You think you hear an engine and turn your head. The road has that shimmery haze to it, making it difficult to discern if there is anything moving over that lift of pavement you’d navigated awhile back. It’s getting larger, closer, so you decide it’s not a mirage after all. The vehicle is the same color as the ground you’ve grown to detest trodding over, a bland beige shade with a slightly darker interior. You grind to a halt and the sedan slows and pulls onto the shoulder, the tires dipping off the asphalt and onto the dirt.

You’ve been taught never to pick up hitchhikers, but not what to do when faced with the prospect of being one. Your steps are cautious as you approach the parked car. You haven’t gotten a good look at the driver yet, not that that was any clear indication of their intentions. Looks could be deceiving. Anyone could be dangerous.

The man—you can see it’s a male now, behind the wheel—leans over and cranks the handle of the window around, the glass descending and disappearing from view. He’s got a long sleeve shirt on which seems a poor choice given the climate, but you can feel the cool waft of air that emanates from within. The car has air conditioning. You find yourself taking an involuntary step closer towards that promised land. To be away from the sun. To feel a cool breeze. You’re not sure you can resist that kind of temptation.

“Need a ride?” It seems a foolish question. Of course you did. You’re hardly out for a leisurely stroll. “That was your car back there, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, she quit on me.”

“That’s a shame.”

The man’s voice is pleasant. You like the sound of it. There’s a rasp to it, combined with something else that’s difficult to describe. You notice he’s wearing a tie to go with the shirt. A traveling salesman, maybe? He’s got that demeanor. Smooth talker. Neatly trimmed facial hair, the same blend of salt and pepper as the rest. Glasses. Friendly smile that makes the lines around his eyes crinkle, becoming more pronounced. Dimples, too. You know you’re staring and you know it’s rude. You shuffle your feet, kicking up a little cloud of dust.

“I’m happy to give you a lift somewhere. I promise I’m not a serial killer.” He chuckles softly and you join him, relaxing slightly. The driver seems innocent enough. Maybe you’re just being paranoid.

Still you hesitate. You glance back the way you came. You look ahead. It all looks the same. So far to travel on foot. It was almost midday. The temperature was rising. It isn’t just about discomfort; it’s dangerous to your health, being out here like this.

“I’ve got water. Ice has melted by now, but…”

It’s the final shove you need. You lift the chrome handle and settle inside, cranking the window back up. The shift in the temperature is incredible. The shade. You murmur your gratitude. A thermos is pressed into your hands.

“Make sure you put your seatbelt on. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.” You finish gulping down the drink he’s gifted to you. Best damn thing you’ve ever tasted. You hastily jerk on the nylon strap, securing it over your shoulder and across your waist, the buckle settling into place with a satisfying click. You offer to return the drink, secretly glad when he insists you finish it.

You drain that container so fast your stomach aches. The ice hadn’t melted that much, actually. You keep the leftovers in your mouth, allowing them to dissolve. You squirm a bit, your feet still uncomfortable.

“Take those off, if you want.”

“Thanks. I’m sorry if my feet stink. I wasn’t planning on walking so much in them.” You bend and tug each one off, sighing in relief. Your bare feet curl against the shallowly carpeted floor mat. Sheer bliss, except those tender spots you’re pretty sure might be forming blisters. You’re not going to prod them just yet to verify.

“Thanks again for giving me a lift.” You introduce yourself.

“No problem. I was heading in this direction anyway. No reason not to. Put the radio on if you want. Or take a nap.”

You’re not sure sleeping is the best idea right now, as weary as you are. The man is still a stranger. So you opt for the first choice, fiddling with the dials until you find a station with a decent signal. Not really your type of music, but at least it’s background noise. You let your head tip back into the cradle of the head rest. Your eyes shut. You’re only going to rest them for a moment.

You fall asleep.

***

You jerk awake, suddenly aware the vehicle has stopped.

There’s a definite trail of drool leaking from the corner of your mouth. You swipe at it hastily, straightening in your seat, your eyes darting around frantically. You’re suddenly thinking of the drink you’d been offered. Drugged? How stupid and careless can you be?

No. You’re mistaken, surely. Just tired. You can see you’re at a gas station. He’d stopped at a gas station. Nothing wrong with that.

You struggle to shove your feet—yes, those are blisters, a matching set for each foot—back into your boots, depressing the button to release the seat belt’s buckle, the restraint making a little whining sound as it retracts back into its plastic casing mounted on the side of the car. You push the passenger door open and it creaks in protest. You’re not about to pass up a chance to use the restroom, as vile as it probably is, and grab yourself a drink and a snack.

The man giving you a lift emerges from the store, and you realize then just how tall he is, mostly legs that go on forever. He’s got a rolling sort of walk that draws your attention to his hips. Your cheeks flush and you force yourself to look at somewhere safer, fixing back on his face. There’s a piece of cherry licorice between his teeth, shiny red twined ropes tucked through a barrier of even white, the pocket of his shirt bulging with what looks like a pack of cigarettes, a bottle of soda in hand. “Hey. I was going to wake you, just wanted to give you a chance to rest a bit more. You were really worn out.”

“Yeah, I guess I was.”

“Want something from inside? My treat.”

“No, I…I got it. You don’t mind waiting?”

“Not at all.”

“Th…thanks. I won’t be long.” You duck inside the shop to get a key for the restroom. It’s attached to a comically large piece of scrap wood. You unlock the restroom door and push it open with trepidation. Okay, not terrible. Seems relatively clean. Certainly not the grossest you’ve seen. No paper towels in the dispenser, but at least there was toilet paper. Even soap in the pump on the wall. Definitely could have been worse.

You return the key and peruse the aisles quickly, aware the man is still waiting for you. You decide water is still the best for hydration, opting for a package of mini powdered donuts for a snack. Not the healthiest option, but hey, you think you’ve earned it considering the day you’ve had.

Back inside the sedan, you slide the seatbelt back into place. You shove your feet free of the boots again and crack the plastic wrapper off the water bottle. It’s one of those ones with the nozzles you pull up and down to open and close it. You take a long pull and get started on the donuts. Your companion has made short work of the candy, chewing and staring at nothing in particular. He reaches for the pack—cigarettes, just as you’d suspected—in his shirt pocket and pulls the bit of red plastic tab that marks where to unravel the wrapper. He glances over at you as if to ask if you mind and you shrug. It’s not really your place to tell the owner of the vehicle you’re in if he can or can’t indulge.

He leans and pushes in the cigarette lighter on the dashboard, slotting one of the paper rolls between his lips while he’s waiting. For a time you sit in companionable silence, you nibbling on your donuts, your fingers and lips already dusted in powdered sugar, while the older man lights the end of his cigarette and takes a deep inhale, sighing the smoke out of the open window. You’re surprised he’s a smoker, honestly; his teeth look too pearly white for that. Maybe it was something he only did rarely, when the mood struck him. Traveling with a young female hitchhiker, perhaps.

You demolish the contents of the package in your lap embarrassingly quickly. You’d been starving. You lick the white coating off your fingers and lips and feel the man’s eyes on you as you crumple the plastic packaging in a tight ball. He points to the center console, where the lone vacant cup holder holds spare change and a faded looking receipt, the other occupied by his soda. You deposit your trash there and take another sip from your bottle, staring out the window. The engine rumbles to life. You hear the window crank being rotated and you copy the man, closing your own. The cool air soon returns, drafting welcomingly over your skin. The car is moving again. You’re on your way once more.

***

When the sun starts to go down, things feel different.

Maybe it’s because the radio signal has finally gone out of range. You tire of working your way through bursts of static and finally shut it off.

You wonder if the driver is getting tired at all.

He doesn’t seem it, his eyes focused on the road his headlights reveal, his posture still straight and upright. You don’t know how he maintains it. You can’t stop squirming, trying to get comfortable. Your ass hurts and your legs are cramped and you just want a shower and any even remotely flat surface that can serve as a bed.

“You never mentioned where you wanted to go.”

His voice startles you. It’s been so long since either of you has spoken. You’d forgotten how his sounded. That pleasant gravel drag.

“Hurricane. But I know that’s still a ways ahead. I don’t expect you to take me all the way there.”

“What’s in Hurricane?”

“Not what. Who. My sister.”

He grunts. “I’m going to Hurricane as well.”

“Really? Why?”

“That’s where I live. Where my business is.”

“What business is that?”

“Restaurant.”

“Really? Which one?”

“What do you think about stopping here for the night?” He gestures and you look through the windshield, seeing the lights of a motel glowing like a beacon against the growing darkness.

“Uh, yeah. I guess so.”

The turn signal taps in a rhythm that sounds a little too rapid, matching your elevated heart rate. You’re feeling nervous again. Mistrustful, although if the man had wanted to take advantage of you, he certainly could have done so before now.

He pulls into one of the empty spots in front of the office that shares a similar bit of crimson neon to match the motel’s vacancy sign. You speak before he exits the car, feeling pressured to say something before this continues any further.

“I’m grateful for the ride, and I know you’ve been nothing but kind this far, and I appreciate it. I might…I might just see if my sister can come pick me up tomorrow. I hope you’re not offended.”

He pauses, his fingers still curled around the door handle. “If that’s what you want.” You nod. “Alright, then. I guess this is where we part ways. Good luck to you, miss.”

“Thanks. You, too.” You’re suddenly feeling guilty. He really was just a nice guy trying to help a stranded woman out. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. “Maybe I’ll visit your restaurant, leave a generous tip for—” The door shuts and you cease talking. Well. That was one way to end a conversation.

You pull the boots back on and exit the car for what you think will be the final time. Your traveling companion is already inside, speaking to the man behind the counter. You can see the rows of keys with red tags hooked on the wall behind him. The man turns and pulls two down while the driver scribbles into a book on the counter. There’s a faint jingling of bells to announce your arrival, and the man passes you without a word.

“I need a room please. Single.” Your eyes glance down at the log book. You can’t read the signature of your benefactor. He still hasn’t told you his name.

“You’re all set, miss. Paid up by your friend there.” He waggles his eyebrows and nods towards the door.

“Oh, he’s not…”

“No?” The smile on the man’s features is far too suggestive. You grab the key off the counter, turning to leave.

“Sign the book, please. Then you can go to your room. Or your friend’s. Both paid for, so it’s all the same to me.” Another smug smile. You hurriedly scrawl your signature and exit the office, feeling your cheeks burn.

Your heels are loud on the decking that lines the front of the motel rooms. You glance down at the number printed on the tag, a chipped white six greeting your vision.

Your steps slow when you reach the correct door. The sedan is parked in front of the door beside yours. Of course the motel manager has given you rooms next to each other. Of course he has.

The man is apparently already inside the room, the car empty. You insert the key in the lock and shut the door, sliding the chain across. You close the blinds and turn to survey your surroundings. About what you’d expected. Dated furniture that felt straight out of the seventies. A carpet that badly needed to be replaced. You hoped there weren’t bed bugs. Gross.

You stride over to the bathroom. Chipped sink. Chipped toilet. Chipped tub too, but you don’t really care. You crank the faucet and let the water pour out, hastily reaching to plug the drain. You’re finally back out of that accursed footwear. Your clothes pile on the floor. Maybe not the best idea, but you’re too desperate to get into the tub just then.

It’s heaven. Sheer bliss, submerging yourself in that basin. You spend a long time soaking, letting your body temperature decrease. Scrubbing away the dirt that has clung so stubbornly to your skin. Rinsing your hair twice. You linger until your fingers prune and then you unplug the drain and turn on the shower, rinsing off a final time. You don’t have anything clean to sleep in, but you’ll survive. You’d wash your clothes in the sink, but it will take time to dry them. So back on the shirt and panties go. You leave your bra and skirt draped over the shower curtain rod. Fuck those boots.

You put the television on low volume and flip back the flower patterned coverlet. Well, it seemed insect free, anyway. You sink onto the mattress and pile the pillows together behind your head. You don’t hear any noise from next door. The room on the other side looked unoccupied, and the driver’s…well, maybe he’d just gone to bed.

He’d paid for your room. You had to thank him, at least. Damn it.

You slide back out of bed, returning to the bathroom to slip on your bra and skirt, cringing when you view those hated boots again. Fuck it. You’ll risk going barefoot. Knowing your luck you’ll step on a rusty nail and get tentanus, but fuck it.

You open your door, startled when you see the man standing outside. He’s leaning against one of the deck posts, smoking again. The end of the cigarette glows in the darkness.

“Thank you for paying for my room. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“I’m aware.” He barely spares you a glance, blowing a stream of smoke and flicking the ashes from the end of the cylinder pinched between his fingers.

“You should let me pay you back. There’s a liquor store just down the road.”

“I noticed that.”

“I’ll treat you. Pick your poison.”

His eyes focus on you again, his gaze lingering on your bare feet. “I don’t think they’ll let you inside like that.”

“I’ll put the boots back on,” you grumble.

The man hums thoughtfully. “Tell you what. I’ll go get something and bring it back here to share.”

“But then that’s you doing me a favor again.”

“Yes.”

“So then I’ll owe you even more.”

“I’m not keeping track. That’s you doing that.”

You chew your bottom lip. “Why did you pay for my room?”

He shrugs, taking another drag. “Seemed like the right thing to do.”

You don’t have a response for that. Everything the man did just made you feel more and more ashamed for doubting his intentions.

“What do you want to drink?”

“I…beer is fine.”

“Then beer it is.” The remains of the cigarette land on the pavement and the man steps off the deck, grinding it beneath his heel. “I’ll be right back.”

You nod, settling into the one of the cheap plastic chairs beside a small circular table that served as a patio set. You can hear the faint hum of insects, or maybe it’s the neon signs. It’s still hot. The pleasant effects of your bath are already fading.

True to his word, the man returns with a case, setting it on the table and sitting across from you. He’s loosened his tie so that it drapes in a lazy knot around his neck. It doesn’t look like he’s sampled the motel’s plumbing just yet. He rips a hole through the carboard box and hands you one of the bottles before taking his own. Chilled, and already sweating. You wrap the hem of your shirt over the cap and twist it off. You take a sip and hear the satisfied sigh of your companion as he does the same.

“You didn’t tell me your name,” you say, fiddling with the metal cap with the crimped edges, spinning it on the table’s surface. There isn’t much room with the beer case there.

“It’s Steve.”

“Steve,” you repeat. “Steve what?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“In case I decide to look you up. You know, to pay you back.”

He waves a hand in the air dismissively. “You didn’t see what I wrote in the logbook?”

“Your handwriting is atrocious.”

Steve clutches his chest, sucking in his breath dramatically. “I’m deeply offended.”

“You’re not. Why won’t you tell me? Is it a big secret?”

“Maybe. Maybe I’m a celebrity, just trying to live like the common folk.” He takes a pull from the bottle.

“Yeah, sure. Just like the rest of us losers.” You pause. “You’re handsome enough to be an actor. Got the voice for it. I can kind of see it, actually.” The compliment slips from your lips before you can think better of it.

“Flattery, now? I don’t think my heart can take this much stress.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Probably.” He finishes the bottle and reaches for another.

“So out with it, Mister Movie Star. What is it?”

“Raglan.”

“See? Was that so difficult? Nice to meet you, Steven Raglan.”

“Not Steven. Just Steve.”

“Okay. Just Steve.” You finish your bottle and colllect another. “How come you’re so chatty all of a sudden? You didn’t say five words to me all day. Are you that much of a lightweight?” You gesture with the beer bottle.

“Hardly. I was concentrating on the road.”

“You could’ve talked more.”

“I apologize for not making your ride more entertaining.” He stands, resuming his position leaning against the post again. You rise as well, noting you are the actual lightweight, already feeling a bit lightheaded. Blame the empty stomach. You pad over to stand beside him. “I thought you wanted privacy. It’s not my place to ask for details about your life.”

You consider that. “You think I’m being nosy.”

“No. Not really.” He swallows another mouthful of beer. “You don’t trust me.”

“I…I’m being cautious. A woman stranded in the middle of nowhere should be, don’t you agree?”

“Of course.”

“If it was your wife, or daughter…”

He smirks. “Clever way to source the information you want. I’m no longer married. Children are grown. It’s just me. The handsome movie star, all alone.”

“Okay, okay.” You nudge his arm playfully.

“What about you?”

“Single as a Pringle,” you quip.

“That’s a new development, isn’t it? What you’re leaving behind.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“I’m good at reading people.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

You pull the now empty bottle from his hands and place it along with yours down on the table, selecting two more. You hand one to him and take a long sip from yours. They’re going down so smooth. You don’t even really like beer all that much. It’s making you feel warm and you hate that, but you like the buzz and you like the company, too.

“Okay, since you’re so insightful, tell me what I’m thinking right now?” You fold your arms across your chest, smirking after issuing the challenge. You’d meant it to be playful, but the look he gives you as he turns to face you holds no humor. Those blue eyes capture yours and trap them.

“You’re hoping your sister is more welcoming than you remember, because when you left, you weren’t on the best of terms. You’re hoping you can find a job soon and get back on your own two feet again. Relying on your ex so much was a mistake. You hate asking for help, even if you need it desperately. You—”

“—Stop.” You cut him off. “Don’t…don’t say that. You don’t know that. You don’t know me.”

“Alright.” Another shrug. He swallows more beer.

“How do you know so much?” Your voice is soft.

“I told you. I have a way with people.”

“You should be a fortune teller. Or one of those televangelists. Spouting prophecies that are actually real.”

“I despise religion. And I don’t predict the future. I just…understand people. Their motives. Even the ones they’re too ashamed to admit to.”

You’re not sure how to respond. The conversation is shifting, no longer light and comfortable and teasing.

“That’s why I don’t talk much. People don’t like hearing the truth,” he concludes, polishing off the rest of the alcoholic beverage he’s clutching. “I’m going to say goodnight now. It’s been a long day. Again, good luck.”

“Wait.” Your hand clutches his sleeve. “Let me…let me try it. What you just did.”

“You think you know all my secrets? Okay, I’ll indulge you. Go ahead.”

You lick your lips. “You’re coming back from somewhere you didn’t want to go, but you’re not exactly eager to get home, either. You’re tired of your business. You’re probably good at it, but it’s boring. Monotonous. You’ve always played by the rules. You long to break them, just once. See how the other half lives.”

His mouth curves slightly. “A nice attempt. But way off. Goodnight.”

He’s back at his door, hand reaching for the brass knob.

“You’re name isn’t really Steve Raglan.”

His fingers freeze. You see his shoulder blades stiffen beneath the dress shirt. He turns back to face you. Smiling again, but this one is darker, less friendly. “Good. That’s good. Clever girl.”

“What else have you lied about?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

You take a step closer to him. “Tell me now.”

“Why don’t you just ask for what you really want instead of playing this tedious game?”

Your mouth gapes, then snaps shut. “I don’t know what you’re…”

“This,” he breathes, dragging you to him, his lips touching yours.

Any protest you might have murmured dies. You melt against him, sink hands into hair that feels as dusty as yours had earlier, clutch handfuls of the rumpled fabric of his shirt that had undoubtedly started out the day crisply pressed and neatly tucked. He tastes like the beer he’s just consumed and the cigarette from earlier and you savor it all, letting him lick your mouth open for discovery. You’re shoved against the door and it strikes you again how tall he is, how much he towers over you. Those large hands already display more finesse than anything you’ve previously known, stroking over every curve, mapping each sensation. You hear the doorknob rattle as he fumbles it open, keeping you secured, not letting you tumble back into the sudden void at your back. His room is dark and he shoves you down onto the bed that’s still made. You wonder what he’d done while you’d been lingering in your own bathtub for all that time.

He’s at your neck and you’re at his pants and somehow you manage the belt and the fly while your skirt is lifted, panties tugged down. You’re not thinking about anything other than the need screaming between your legs, hot and damp and urgent, whimpering when you feel his cock pressing against your entrance. You’re not even sure if he’s shut the motel door in his haste to be at you.

He slides out of you almost as soon as he’s begun—you’re so wet and slippery—and he grabs your hips and shoves you back, leaning his body weight against you, and this time he fills you to the hilt. You wrap your legs around him and roll your hips to match his momentum, your mouth brushing facial hair before reconnecting with his lips. You’re fucking a stranger that lied about his name and you don’t care; it makes it better somehow, not really knowing. You don’t want to get caught up in details, in feelings again this soon. This man can be anything and everything and if it only lasts for tonight that’s fine, too.

His mouth tucks beside your ear and he whispers to you in that wonderful rusted voice of his, the hand slithering between your bodies stroking you just right, lighting those nerves up. He’s urging you to let go and you do, your body taut and then ragdoll limp as he pumps you full of his own release. You’re sticky, sweaty, pressed against him but you remain there, tucked now beside him, panting and spent and feeling better than you have in a long time.

You’ve nearly drifted off to sleep when you hear his voice again, or perhaps this is merely a dream, asking if you need a ride for the remainder of your journey.

You offer an affirmative answer, then inquire the last of your drowsy thoughts, asking if he might take the long way home.

You don’t hear an answer, already asleep. But that’s alright.

You can ask again in the morning.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan x you #divider @cafekitsune

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wheelsgoroundincircles · 20 days

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Cadillac was founded in 1902 by Henry Leland, who named the company after Antoine de la Mothe Cadillac, who happens to be the founder of Detroit. Just 6 short years later Cadillac brought the idea of interchangeable parts to the automotive industry and laid the ground work for modern mass production of automobiles. As a result, Cadillac became the first American car to win the prestigious Dewar Trophy from the Royal Automobile Club of England. After earning such high praise Cadillac adopted the slogan "Standard of the World."

In 1910, Cadillac became the first company to offer a passenger car with a fully enclosed cabin, a major change from the vehicles of the time. Two years after that, in 1912, the company released the Model Thirty, the car with no crank, which was the first production car to feature an electronic self-starter, ignition, and lighting. By dropping the crank starter, Cadillac opened the door to women drivers, and was able to bring the prestigious Dewar trophy back to Detroit, making Cadillac the only car manufacturer to claim the award twice. Nearly three years later, Cadillac brought the world the V-type, water-cooled, eight cylinder (V8) engine, which would become the signature of the Cadillac brand.

The Roaring 20's was not only a big decade for the country but was also important for Cadillac. In 1926, Cadillac branched out and offered customers more than 500 color combinations to choose from. As the famous Henry Ford saying goes, you can have any color you want, as long as it's black. Cadillac changed this mentality. That same year, the company brought in designer Harley Earl to design the 1927 LaSalle convertible coupe, which made the car the first to be designed from a designer's perspective rather than an engineering one. What Earl created was elegant, with flowing lines, chrome-plate fixtures, and an overarching design philosophy, that made the Cadillac brand known for beauty and luxury.

In the middle of the 1930's a midst The Great Depression, while most companies and families were struggling Cadillac created the first V-type 16-cylinder engine for use in a passenger car. This engine would go on to be one of the most iconic engines in Cadillac history. Shortly thereafter, Cadillac released a V12 version to give buyers something between the already popular V8 and new V16 engines.

Cadillac went quiet in the 1941's when they suspended automobile production to help produce planes for the war. After the war ended Cadillac adapted some of the aircraft technology and created the first ever tailfin on a vehicle. This feature is now found on almost every car and was one of the biggest reasons that Cadillac was given the first ever Car of the Year award in 1949.

The tailfin took off rather quickly and by the mid to late 1950's it was being featured heavily in the design of nearly every vehicle. Also in the 50's Cadillac began developing power steering, which helped the automaker take third, tenth, and eleventh places at the 24 Hours of Le Mans. After Cadillac's stunning "victories" power steering quickly became the new standard of the industry.

Small but meaningful innovations filled the 1960's for Cadillac. In 1963, the company made front seatbelts standard in their vehicles, which lead to the eventual passing of a federal law requiring front seatbelts in all vehicles just one year later. Then, in 1964, Cadillac brought to market automatically controlled headlamps and redefines luxury with Comfort Control, the industry's first thermostatically controlled heating, venting, and air-conditioning system. Over the next few years, Cadillac introduced variable-ratio power steering, electric seat warmers, and stereo radio.

While the 1960's were fairly quiet, with only some smaller, luxury items being introduced, Cadillac started out 1970 with a major bang. Cadillac opened the decade by unveiling the 400 horsepower, 8.2-liter engine Eldorado. With its completely redesigned axle this model boasted the highest torque capacity of any passenger car available at the time. Closing out the decade, Cadillac brought to market the 1978 Seville which used onboard microprocessors in its digital display. This started the era of the computerized automobile.

Throughout the 1980's Cadillac laid low, working on some new technologies that would come to market in the early parts of the 1990's. The first feature to debut was an electronic traction control system on front-wheel drive vehicles. Cadillac began offering this as a standard feature on the 1990 Cadillac Allante. This same year Cadillac would go on to win the Malcolm Baldrige National Quality Award. Two years later, in 1992, the company developed a feature that allowed the engine to run for up to 50 miles without coolant, and a unique induction system for near-perfect fuel distribution. The Seville Touring Sedan of that year would become known as the "Cadillac of the Year" thanks to features such as an all electronically controlled Powertrain, traction control, anti-lock brakes and speed-sensitive suspension. Closing out the decade, Cadillac introduced the, now iconic, Escalade SUV.

CELEBRATING 100 YEARS AS 'THE STANDARD OF THE WORLD'

Coming up on the 100th anniversary of the Cadillac brand, the company had to do something big or the decade, and they did not disappoint. Cadillac started off the 200's by introducing the F-22 stealth aircraft inspired Cien Concept, which ended up winning a few design awards. Later in the decade, in 2008, Cadillac expanded the Escalade SUV by making it the world's first full-size luxury hybrid SUV. In the same year, the company redeveloped the CTS Sedan. This redesign has been incredibly popular and even won the coveted 2008 Car of the Year award. A short year later, the performance edition CTS-V, becomes the fasted V8 production sedan in the world, establishing a record lap time of 7:59:32 on Germany's famed Nürburgring.

#cadillac #cadillac eldorado #cadillac fleetwood #cadillac deville #cadillac coupe de ville #Cadillac escalade #car #cars #Cadillac Escalade SUV

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commodorez · 4 months

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Do you have a favourite rotary telephone?

Excellent question!

Yes, I have a favorite:

The Northern Electric Pyramid phone from about 1935. I had this on my desk at my old job, tied into the telephone system. Its distinctive ring made it really easy to discern if I was the one being called instead of my coworkers. The chrome dial and the area code indicate that this unit came from Canada.

Coming in second place is my Northern Telecom 500-style set with official Commodore branding -- also from Canada. These were sold with VICMODEMs in a special bundle exclusively in the Canadian market. The VICMODEM requires that you detach the cord from the handset, plug it directly into the modem, then dial for the computer.

Problem is that you can't do that here, because the handset cord is permanently attached! Solution? The little white adapter box called the VIC 1605. Very hard to find, but I found one.

Coming in third place would be the Contempra from Northern Electric/Telecom from 1967 (why do these keep being Canadian?). Beautiful colors, angles. Great phone, but sadly I don't have one. Atleast not one like this... NT made these into lineman's test sets (commonly called butt sets because they hang on a lineman's belt by their butt/you use them to butt-in to a call when testing things).

I bought one and turned it into the NT2017 Rotary Cellphone, a real working 2G cellular telephone. It's got an Adafruit Fona board inside with an Atmel 32U4 microcontroller, a little screen, and zero ability to send/receive text messages. It didn't work very well, but it was really fun to build and use before it broke. Construction was very fragile, and my code running it was hot garbage. Since the discontinuation of 2G cell service, it's just decorative at this point.

The last one of my favorites is one I certainly don't have: a late 19th century Skeleton Telephone from Ericsson. Technically not a rotary phone, but it does have a crank that you rotate!

These are expensive, really hard to find, and obviously rather difficult to use without having an operator to ring up when you turn the crank. However, they are stunningly beautiful, and all of the functionality is on display arranged in such a way to accentuate the elegance of its industrial design.

How about you? Do you have a favorite rotary phone?

#rotary phone #northern electric #northern telecom #contempra #commodore #ericcson skeleton phone

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scrapheapchallenge · 2 months

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Ok so this post is about the starting crank handle, I completely forgot while I was visiting Jeremy to demonstrate where and how it's used for you all, as it's a common question I get asked, but fortunately I remembered later in the day while visiting my aunt and uncle with a very similar vehicle (Rolls Royce Silver Wraith, only a few years apart in age from Mary). So instead, I used her to demonstrate. While the Wraith's starting handle is a slightly different design to Mary's (a bit longer) the procedure and positioning is identical.

First, rotate the little chromed disk that sits under the central headlamp (if fitted), and lift the little flap at the bottom of the radiator. Next, insert the crank handle through both. Then give it a vigorous turn, keeping your thumb away from the top (poor form demonstrated here - that's asking for a dislocated thumb, oops!). It usually only takes half a turn to catch, so in the Wraith's instance, it doesn't really matter that the bumper is in the way. (She has a different front bumper to some, with a special sprung design for extra impact safety). Ideally she could probably use a slightly longer starting handle. Neither car NEEDS this to start however, as both have electric push-button starter. It would only be if your starter motor failed that you'd need to hand crank, but most of these will never get used. I even had one in my old 1969 series IIA Land Rover, but mine was a couple of feet long and held in clips behind the driver's seat against the bulkhead. Never used it, but it was a nice long heavy bit of metal to have around in case you ever felt threatened ;) (Or in case you ever need to kick start a universe of course). Hope this helps!

#crowley #goodomens #good omens #crowley’s bentley #mary the bentley

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veetri-bitcrush · 10 months

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A few key gotchas to get stuff to look retro in EEVEE:

Physically rendered materials realistically trade Diffuse energy for Specularity.

Crank the roughness to 1.0, reduce Specular to 0.0 to get the rawest possible diffuse.

Alternatively just replace the shader with a Diffuse BSDF.

If you want speculars and not the realistic kind, you can do this kind of shader setup to get more control and stylized results.

For classic 2000 style chrome reflections (Half-Life, Twisted Metal 4, MGS2/3) you can plug a texture that uses the Reflection vector from the Texture Coordinate node into the Emission input of the BSDF.

You can even mask that reflection using another texture to get a more complex look without straying too far from what could be achieved with fixed function GPUs back in the day.

One of the importantest things is to change the color management settings to use the Standard view transform.

This causes Blender to render color "the old way" and you instantly get a more saturated and contrasty look.

An unlit textured object would look exactly "as is" in this mode.

#blender #blender npr #retro graphics #rendering #3d #blender eevee #playstation #ps1 #ps2 #2000s #n64

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brunchable · 2 years

Text

2319 : Chapter 3 Florentine Valley || Young!Stephen Strange × F!Reader.

Word count: 5.1K Genre: Innocent Love, Diary Entries, Fluff. Special mentions: Donna Strange, Victor Strange, A/N: This story is inspired by the Korean Drama called "2521"

***Strictly to not post, translate or copy my works to other websites!!*** Masterlist || Previous | Next

June 16 1999

The next morning I wake up to find Dad in the kitchen and on the phone with brands offering sponsorship for my training.

They say once you turn eighteen, you can have all the freedom you want because you are officially an adult—but not me. I’m stuck with my parents forcing me to live their dream.

To be honest, mom and dad weren’t this ‘strict’ before Kirra passed away, well at least that’s what I can remember when I was six. . . but we don’t talk about that. They don’t want to remember and it makes me sad because it feels as if he didn’t even exist. I still secretly keep Kirra’s photos in my wallet though, I like to believe he keeps me safe. My older brother who’s stuck at the age of thirteen.

June 20 1999

"Not again!"

You tossed the pen onto the desk and stood as the roar of a motorcycle filtered upward through the floors of your room. Your eyes narrowed and your hands clenched.

Stephen was being a jerk next door, that guy somehow suddenly decided it was a great idea to 'check' his engines everyday—was down there making way too much noise and thoroughly crushing your concentration.

Irritated by the racket, you stalked to the door and then went out then down the stairs.

You took the shortcut toward the garage to get to his house quicker. You emerged from the sliding doors mad as a hornet. How dare he crank and throttle those chrome and steel machines like that? His household could die of carbon monoxide poisoning or something for all he knew!

As soon as you stepped out onto the pavement, the heat hit you like a tonne of bricks, which not only made your mood even more miserable but also caused your carefully arranged wavy hair to become unruly. You were even more irritated as a result of the unruliness of your hair, you repeatedly slammed the table in the garage to get Stephen's attention, you were prepared to fight.

You noticed that Stephen had the exhaust of the motorcycle facing away from the house. There went your carbon monoxide death argument, you thought as you stormed farther in, to come closer to Stephen who was bent over his motorcycle.

Your footsteps slowed.

Jesus. The jeans he wore were, as usual, slightly clinging to his skin. The faded denim clung to his well-rounded ass, highlighting just how high and firm it was. In addition, the jeans cut down on the length of his legs and accentuated the narrowness of his hips. Furthermore, the waistband of the jeans was tucked around a tight waist, which further contributed to this effect.

The unbidden heat that surged through you distracted you from checking this man out behind his back— the heat irritating you even more. You took one more step forwards, your fists clenching into tight balls as your nails scraped across the palms of your hands.

You yelled, "Hey! Hey!"

Stephen stood up and turned with a grin on his handsome face. His bright blue eyes, a striking contrast to the messy black hair that swept over his high forehead—latched right onto your face then swept downward in a cocky and arrogant way that not only ticked off the last box that held your anger in check but made you suddenly and painfully aware that your stomach was producing its butterflies again.

He purred, "Can I help you, neighbour?"

Your lips went flat. His eyes landed right on your lips when he said that too.

Fuming now you said, "You know that I'm trying so hard to make art. I need you to stop being an a-hole right now."

He cut the bike off. Silence echoed through the large garage. He leaned against the bike and his sweaty tee shirt clung to the washboard abs and broad shoulders below it.

He lifted an eyebrow. "How am I being an 'a-hole?'" Stephen quotes with his fingers.

"I can't hear myself think up there!"

"I see."

Your teeth ground together so hard you heard her molars squeaking, "I am sure that you do. Now how about you keep it quiet for a little while?"

Stephen laughed, "You do know that I have to run my motorcycle in order to make sure that they run?"

You grunted as your eyes narrowed to slits, "You do know that I'm trying to get a scholarship and my future is at actual stake here?"

Stephen pushed away from the bike in one long and lither motion that sent your heart crashing around your chest. Your tongue quickly crosses your lips. Your legs went liquid as he walked toward you, his body moving with a feline grace that made you wonder if he moved like that in—STOP IT (Y/N). HE'S DONNA'S BROTHER.

Goddammit! The man had been the bane of your existence since he had moved in next door and now here you were, dealing with him all over again when you damn sure had too much to handle as it was that day. Not just that, now your concentration would be shot for at least an hour even if you did get the stubborn jerk to stop making all that racket.

"I'll make you a deal."

You gaped at him, "A deal?'

"Yes, a deal. Surely you understand the art of making a deal."

The man was infuriating! Sexy, and totally infuriating!

"I absolutely understand deals," you said stiffly, "I try to never make them because someone always ends up on the losing end of something."

He chuckled. That chuckle was low and rumbling, it sent little streaks of fire running along your skin.

Stephen pushed a lock of his dark hair off his forehead. His blue eyes swept over you again. He said, in that throaty growl of his, "Oh I doubt either of us would lose anything at all in this deal."

Your foot tapped into the concrete of the floor. Your eyes narrowed. The last thing you wanted to do was make a deal with him. Hell, just coming down there and even bothering with him was a huge waste of your time and you knew it.

"What is it?" The sharpness in your voice didn't make his stupid grin diminish a single bit. He tucked a thumb into a belt loop. His finger pointed downward, and naturally your eyes had to follow that pointing finger to the front of his jeans.

You jerked your eyes back up and glared at him. Stephen's smile not only got wider, it held a mischievous edge that made your pulse careen upward into a hard and fast rhythm.

He said, "I'll keep it down if you agree to go to St. Claire Mountain."

Was he nuts? He had to be!

No way was you were going to agree to go hiking alone with him. Your father will ground you until the day you get married.

Your arms came up and crossed over your chest, "Alone with you in the middle of nowhere? No."

"I didn't say anything about being alone—but you seem to always jump into that conclusion"—Stephen narrows his eyes—"suit yourself but I have to warn you, I really need to get this bike finished and I'm going to need a damn good reason not to."

"You're blackmailing me?" The incredulity in your voice was real.

"I call it bargaining."

Your cheeks went scarlet as anger and a thrill you did not want to admit to feeling coursed through you. "I call it illegal."

Stephen roared laughter, "I'll keep that in mind, so are you in or out?'

"You're serious? I mean, you're really serious! You honestly think I am going to agree to go hiking with you just because you promised to do the right thing, the thing you should be doing anyway?"

Stephen dusted his long slender hands off. "Yup."

"Ugh! You're so annoying!" You grunted and stormed out and back to your house, muttering the whole way.

The nerve of that guy! To think you would go out with him just because he would keep down the level of noise, which he should be doing anyway?

Your shoulders tensed as you got back into your room and right when you sat back down at your desk, Stephen began his racket again.

"Ah! Seriously! I'm going to lose it!" You covered your ears and flailed around on your chair.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

June 21 1999

You were grounded from driving your car for a while even though it wasn’t your fault the stupid fuel line dislodged—your father used the reason ‘it’s because of the treacherous terrains.’ What treacherous terrains? The campsite wasn’t even in the mountains.

You had no choice but to use your sky blue cruiser bicycle, of course with a cute basket at the front to put Figaro in whenever you take him out with you for errands. You just finished your shift at LYLY’s and in your basket an assorted bouquet of flowers, consisting of pastel pink peonies, hydrangeas, magnolias and baby’s breath.

You parked your bike in the opened garage, carefully carrying the bouquet in your hand as you passed through the laundry room and into the kitchen, “I’m home.”

“Hey honey! Welcome home.” Vanessa greeted you back and instantly noticed the bouquet in your hand, "Oh my, what beautiful flowers you got there. Who gave them to you?"

"Mom! No one, it's from LYLY's I thought I could bring some home to liven up the place." You went around the counter and gave your mom a kiss on the cheek.

"Have you had afternoon tea?" Vanessa asked when suddenly the doorbells rang, "I'll get it."

"Okay." You crouch down to find a vase for your flowers. You then separated the hydrangeas from the rest and soaked its petals in cool water.

"Donna's here, love," Vanessa announced as she walked back into the kitchen with your friend, "Do you want any drinks, love?" She asked Donna.

"Oh no, I'm fine. Thank you Mrs. (L/N), I'm just here to pick up (Y/N)."

You whirled around, "Huh? For what?"

"Did you forget? I booked us both for an art workshop this afternoon." She says very casually which causes you to question your own thoughts.

What workshop?

Donna could notice the confusion on your face and when Vanessa turns her back on Donna, she mouths, "You-me-hike," she points at you, then herself and makes her fingers walk in thin air. Vanessa turns back around and Donna flawlessly acts innocent in front of your mother.

“Oh! Riiiiight, the workshop! Yeah, It totally slipped my mind because of work.” You clapped your hands and nodded exaggeratedly, causing Donna to thin her lips and widen her eyes at you for being so obvious.

“Will you be back before dinner or will you be eating outside with Donna?” Vanessa asks and turns to you.

“I don’t know, we’ll see. Well I better get ready, Donna, do you want to come with me?” You asked as you dried your hands on the kitchen towel.

“Sure!” Donna beams, “Don’t worry Mrs (L/N), I’ll return (Y/N) before curfew!”

“Alright, be careful both you and enjoy!”

You dragged Donna up the stairs and into your room, only addressing your friend after you closed the door, “Hiking?!”

“Yeah! You, me and Stephen to be more specific,” Donna curiously goes around your room before dropping down to sit at the edge of your bed.

“I don’t think I’m even built for that.”

“Sure you are, you’re an athlete, aren’t you?” Donna raised her eyebrows and pointed at your trophy case and medals that hung on the wall, “Don’t worry, it’s not going to be pure hiking, they’ve built trails for us to walk on, you don’t need to get changed. You look cute in that dress.”

“It’s not going to be cold?”

“We’ll be walking, you’ll get hot.” Donna stands up, and grabs the backpack that was leaning against the foot of your desk, “Grab your stuff and draw—You can steal Stephen’s jacket if you get cold.”

“Hey!” Stephen’s muffled voice filtered through your window, “Are both of you ready?”

“Speaking of the devil.” Donna chuckles and turns around to see her brother putting on his dark sage waterproof jacket, “YEAH! Hurry up and pick us up! It takes one hour to drive from our house to (Y/N)’s place, you know!”

Stephen chuckles and spins his keys around his finger before waving at you from his room, as if he was teasing you, “Meet you there in five.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The peaks of St. Claire Mountain are visible from Devonport on a clear day, and after looking at them through the window of Stephen's car for so long, you could no longer resist the fascination of the lush green cathedrals that St. Claire Mountain is known for. You put your hand out the window to get a feel for the wind as the vehicle started to make its way slowly through the winding roads leading out of the Devonport Valley. At the back of the car was filled with art supplies, probably for you and Donna.

The walk begins in a parking lot that is located. There is just one dirt route, and that's it. There are no other options. This is the point at which you will first become aware of the presence of nature. At first nature has to adjust to your presence. The squirrels scatter away as you walk towards them, and scurry up atop the trees. The birds silence their chirping simultaneously. Nature is hiding and watching, as an outsider is near, but it isn’t long before Nature continues what it was doing.

As you go down the trail, you will see that a group of birds have gathered together and are chirping in a variety of pitches and tones. The sound of the streams flowing slowly and steadily is soothing to the ears. You may experience a wide range of scents thanks to the abundance of plants and trees in the area. The aromas seem to be mingling with one another, producing a clean atmosphere that makes it appear as if it is simpler to take a breath.

It is when you get to the larger boulders that you know you are getting closer and closer to the top—but before you could follow the trail, the siblings prompted you to stop as they told you to follow them through the uncharted looking woodland.

You both gave them a look of reluctance.

“C’mon (Y/N), me and Stephen’s been here lots of times—We’ll take care of you.” Donna smiles and urges you to come, “The view this way is much prettier than the lookout, I just know you’ll love it.”

“It’s not that—it’s just. . .”

Stephen could see that you were struggling to find the words, “If it’s personal then don’t pressure yourself to say it if you’re not ready—Trust us, you’ll feel inspired when you see it.”

You look at Donna who smiled at you encouragingly, and reached her hand out for you, “Oh what the hell?” You shrugged and took her hand.

“Did you just say a bad word? That’s the spirit.” Stephen chuckles as Donna pulls you past him.

With Donna leading the way, she never let go of your wrist to make sure you don’t go astray even though Stephen was right behind you.

As the terrains get a bit rockier, Stephen both helps you and Donna walk through uneven terrains. Climbing up the small cliffs gives a bit of an exercise, but not an excruciating one. While Donna effortlessly jumps through a shallow rocky creek, you on the other hand need Stephen to assist you. You regretted wearing your converse instead of your runners since the soles didn’t have the best grip.

“Whoa!” The slightest misstep caused you to lose your balance and fall off a rock, but Stephen's quick reactions and strong hold ensured that you didn't even have the opportunity to fall to the ground. With Stephen's hand pressed firmly around your waist, you were sure that your heart will combust in any minute.

“Whoa. Have I got you trippin’ now?” Stephen asks teasingly while he pulls you up to your feet.

“Oh please, don’t flatter yourself—but thanks for catching me."

"Anytime."

“Alright you two, we’re almost there.” Donna chuckles, helping you get to her side of the creek and when you weren’t looking, Donna gave Stephen a suspicious gaze for his endless teasing of you.

"What?"

"I'm watching you." Donna squints her eyes and points two fingers at her brother, "Alright (Y/N)! It's just over here." Donna skips towards you and hangs her arms over your shoulder.

Once you get to the end of the tree line you know all of you have arrived there, but you don’t want to rush because you want to experience every bit of Nature possible.

The moment you and Donna stepped out of the forest, your eyesight was met by a meadow that looked as if it had stepped from the pages of a storybook. The grass was Eden-green and thigh-high to a thrush. The mountains in the distance had twin peaks that looked like Figaro's ears. It completes the view, as if the meadow and the rocky mountain in the background was a match made in heaven. It was paradise.

The aesthetics were not the only thing that appealed to the senses. Even the noises, scents, and tastes were completely out of this world. The sky that hung above the field was a beautiful sight to see. It was as far as the eye could reach, covered in a cocktail-blue dome that was punctuated with fluffy clouds. Squeaking swallows engaged in a game of life and death by chasing after whirling dragonflies. A lake the colour of neon blue was located somewhat off the centre of the meadow, and in it was a family of egg-yolk yellow ducklings who were swimming about after their mother.

The music of the meadow came to your ears above the sound of the water: the dawn chorus, buzzing midges and the whispering of the wind. You could smell the sweetness of wisteria and the caramel soft scent of wild flowers in the air. Your breath was stolen as well as the words you wanted to express.

"What do you think?" Donna asks, looking proudly at the scenery in front of you.

As soon as you took in the breathtaking scenery in front of you, Stephen couldn't help but crack a faint smile since he could see a gleam of delight in your eyes. When compared to the times when he sees you upset in your room, crumpling paper after paper on your overflowing trash can, it is almost as if he saw you become filled with life.

You cover your mouth, "I. . .I love it—saying it's beautiful is an understatement. I want to see this every day."

Stephen, who carried your backpack, pulled your sketchbook and stationery out and offered it to you, "Draw it then."

"Let's go to university together and be roomies." Donna locks her arms into yours and leans her head on your shoulders.

Donna brought a large quilt which she spread over a flattened grass area where all the two of you can sit and draw while Stephen enjoys the solace and takes a nap.

"What’s the name of this place again?" You asked while your focus still remains in sketching.

"I believe it's called Florentine Valley." Donna replies. She was setting up her new polaroid camera and she did the honours of snapping a photo of you candidly.

You gape at her, "Thanks for the warning."

Donna laughs softly and fans the film to quicken its development, "Don't worry, I never take any bad photos."

"Liar, you can't even take a photo of me properly." Stephen mumbled with his eyes closed.

"It's not the photographer, Stephen, it's all in the model. Unfortunately, you look like a hammer-head shark." Donna says through a giggle.

You burst out into a boisterous laugh as you leaned forward and back clutching your stomach, "A hammer-head shark!" You look at Stephen who looks nothing but amused and bursts out laughing again as you can sort of see the resemblance until tears are running down your cheeks.

Donna lightly hits your arm as she finds your laughter very contagious, "S-stop!"

"I-I can't—I," You look at Stephen again and fall on your back, "I can't breathe!"

"Glad my face brings joy into your souls." Stephen says sarcastically.

Donna calms down and wipes the side of her eyes, "Oh look!" She hands you the square film for you to look at. If you were being completely honest, Donna has shot a great candid photo of you.

"See, I told you." Donna utters as she leans close to you after noticing the softly smile on your face.

You looked at the image more closely, and then you discovered that Stephen was included in the picture as well. He seemed to be having a restful sleep with his hands folded behind his head, giving him a very handsome appearance.

"You can keep it if you want."

"Really? Thanks!"

"Hey sharkboy! Can you take a photo of us please?" Donna asks Stephen but gets ignored, "Stephen!"

"Hm, were you asking me?"

"Duh, who else?"

"I don't know. No one here's called sharkboy so. . ."

"Oh stop being a sulk and just take a photo of us." Donna shoves her camera onto Stephen’s chest and scoots beside you, putting on a wide toothy grin.

Stephen obliges to his sister's requests and peaks through the lens until he notices you with nothing but a tight-lipped smile, "(Y/N), smile. Look at Donna, she's smiling like a horse."

"HA-HA, shut up and take the photo." Donna threw some grass towards her brother.

Stephen chuckles and peaks once more before counting down, "(Y/N) big smile! 5. . . 4. . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1. . ."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

A polaroid slipped out from the pages of the diary and onto Sasha’s chest as she flipped onto the next page. It was you and Donna, sitting at a beautiful meadow with a big smile on your faces, just as you described in your diary.

"Oh so that's Donna." Sasha tells herself, after seeing Donna in most of your photos. Sasha flips the diary in search of the candid photo Donna took but nothing else falls out.

June 24 1999

Donna and Stephen took me home right on time that evening. Mom just finished cooking dinner and Dad. . . Well he was home late again. It's kind of a bummer though, I seemed to have lost the photo Donna took of me. It probably slipped out of my pocket when we were making our way back down. Such a shame.

I really owe those two a lot. They were right, after spending time out of this room and this house, I felt much more inspired and with a rough sketch, I can finally start painting. Ever since I came to St. Claire Mountain with them, Stephen never made that annoying racket again. . . and it makes me wonder. . .

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

As Stephen enjoys his late breakfast, Victor ambles into the kitchen while he is still only half awake and plops down on a chair.

"Morning Vic. Are you sleepwalking or are you awake?" Stephen asks Victor who lazily pours froot loops in his bowl.

"I'm awake."

"I have a question and I think I need expert advice on this one."

Victor rubs his eyes before opening them with a big yawn, "Go on."

"My friend wants to help out this girl but the girl is a bit hesitant to go out, he wants to ask her again but she always stays at home. So what can he do?"

"Just knock on her window again and ask her."

Stephen scoffs, "Knock on the window, who are they? Romeo and Juliet?"

Victor blinks and looks at his brother dead in the eyes, "I'm not stupid Stephen, I heard you and (Y/N) talking when I got a drink in the kitchen last night."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Just."

"Ugh," Victor threw his head back, "Then annoy her into coming down to see you, that's what I do to all of you." He shrugs.

"Annoy her? Hm. . ." Stephen thinks while Victor takes a few spoonfuls of his cereal, glancing at his older brother from time to time. A cunning smile grew on Stephen’s lips, "I know just what to do. . ."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪

Stephen and Victor are the only ones who aregoing to be at home for the next four days while the rest of them are at work, so Stephen decided to only purchase one pair of earmuffsto muffle the noise that he will be making forVictor's benefit.

For the past four days in a row, at the same hour, he has gone to his garage and revved the engines of his motorcycle in the hope that you will come down and show yourself so that he could ask you whether you have made up your mind.

And it worked.

Soaked in his own sweat because of the heat, he ignored you when he heard you slamming on the table behind him. 5. . . 4. . .3 . . .2—

"Hey! HEY!" You yelled at him, so he turned around with a victorious grin on his face which, to you, came off as cocky and arrogant at that time.

"Can I help you, neighbour?" Stephen asked innocently while his eyes raked over your irritated features and noticed your lips twitch as well.

"You know that I'm trying so hard to make art. I need you to stop being an a-hole right now."

He chuckles and reaches for the key to cut off the engines which was rewarded with complete silence in return while he leans against the motorcycle, hands pressed down on the seat, veins protruding against his skin because of the heat.

"How am I being an 'a-hole?'" Stephen raised his brow quizzically while quoting with his fingers.

"I can't hear myself think up there!"

That's the point. Stephen thought to himself.

"I see." He shrugs nonchalantly which seemed to have ticked you off some more.

"I am sure that you do. Now how about you keep it quiet for a little while?"

He laughed as if it was the most ridiculous thing you've asked him to do, "You do know that I have to run my motorcycle in order to make sure that they run?"

You grunted as your eyes narrowed to slits, "You do know that I'm trying to get a scholarship and my future is at actual stake here?"

I know. Stephen lets out a chuckle as he pulls himself up from the seat of his bike. He was able to tell that you were suddenly nervous just by observing the way that you batted your eyelashes. All because he approached you without breaking the connection between your gaze as he moved closer and closer to you till the very moment that he halted a half metre away from you.

Why did he feel such a strong desire to help you? Even he was at a loss for an answer to that question. It's possible that he was doing this because he wanted Donna to have a close friend when she goes to college, but it's also possible that he didn't want anyone else to be forced to do something they don't want, just like he had been forced to study medicine.

"I'll make you a deal."

You gaped at him, "A deal?'

"Yes, a deal. Surely you understand the art of making a deal."

"I absolutely understand deals," you said stiffly, "I try to never make them because someone always ends up on the losing end of something."

Stephen chuckles as he smoothes a strand of his dark hair away from his forehead. Once more, his icy blue eyes wandered over you. He said, in that throaty growl of his, "Oh I doubt either of us would lose anything at all in this deal."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Present Day — 2013

Stephen went through his closet looking for the stethoscope that his father had given him when he graduated from medical school. He had misplaced the stethoscope that he had purchased for himself, and he refused to use the one that was provided by the hospital. When he opened the next box, the contents appeared to be things that had been hidden away ever since he had moved into his lavish apartment. The stethoscope had been placed inside of that container.

When he opened it, he was surprised to find some memorabilia inside, as well as a polaroid photo adhered to the side of the box. Stephen took it out with great care and examined it. As a wave of relief washed over him, he slumped to the floor; he never imagined that he'd see this photo ever again.

While you were drawing a view of the valley, he traced his hand over the candid photo Donna had taken. It's been fourteen years since this picture was taken, and since he decided to keep it after you left it in his car after he and Donna dropped you back off at your home.

His reminiscent thoughts were interrupted by his phone ringing, "Hello, Doctor Strange speaking."

"Good morning Doctor, this is Luke from Hastings Real Estate, is this a right time to speak with you?"

"Yes, yes definitely."

"Awesome. My assistant received your inquiry about a house in Devonport and I'd love to let you know that the property is for sale—"

"How much?"

"Er— It’s for sale via auction, Doctor. The auction will be held in a weeks time–"

"Do you have a date?"

"23rd of July, Doctor. Would you like me to put you down as one of the buyers?"

"Give me one second. I'm just going to check my schedule." Stephen gets up, keeping the polaroid snapshot he was holding in his hand as he makes his way into his study to check his journal. As he turns the page, he notices that he is scheduled to have dinner with his colleague Christine, "Yeah, put me down as one of the buyers please. What's the time of the auction?"

"4PM, Doctor. I've listed you down. We'll see you on the 23rd of July, 4PM. Do you need the address?"

"No need. I know how to get there. Thank you."

"Alright, Doctor. Thank you for your time."

"Thank you. Bye, bye." Stephen hung up the phone and instantly dialled his colleague's number, "Hi Christine, listen, something very important came up,"—Stephen looks at the image of you in his hand—"and I'm going to have to cancel next week—I don’t know when I'll be available next. I will let you know. Bye."

He lets out a sigh and continues to look at your photograph for a little while longer before placing it on his desk. When he caught a glimpse of the time, he realised that he was going to be running behind schedule for a medical meeting, "Shit!"

SERIES TAGS: @goldencherriess @lokislov3 @strangesweetheart @mydearalmira @veryladyqueen @seasonofthenerd @artsherlocked @bobateadaydreams @classicrebound @holygalaxyprincess @dumbbitch04 @sobeautifullyobsessed @winsteria @allie131313 @gaitwae @sherlux @the-royal-petals @keistange @omgstarks @evelynrosestuff @withalittlehoney @strangeions @gwephen @cemak @patbrdac @siredlust @downtownshabby @nicoletk @lilithskywalker @youcantseem3 @samisubi @strangelockd @bloodyxsaint

#stephen strange x reader #stephen strange #doctor strange #stephen strange x you #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x reader #benedict cumberbatch x reader #dr strange x reader #benedict cumberbatch imagine #stephen strange imagine #stephen strange fanfiction #doctor strange fanfic #Spotify

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bellygunnr · 1 year

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Butcher Block

Set somewhere in early season 1. TW for stabbing, whump, hurt/no comfort, but positive-ish ending.

The sun beats hot onto city concrete, bleaching everything in its light and exposing the cracks in a gently swaying shop sign. Asphalt shimmers in the black gaps that people and cars don't occupy, the illusion of water and the promise of burning. Cars putter along despite it all, carrying with them the scent of gasoline and hot metal, a tangible smog that Michael can taste in the back of his throat. It's a stark difference to the cool interior of the deli-- almost enough to drive him back inside.

But across the street is his destination. He turns onto the sidewalk, careful not to rub elbows with any of the many passersby. People of all kinds trawl the narrow paths, collecting at corners to brave the crosswalk or flowing in and out of stores. He eyes one throng of women piling into a '70s Ford, noting the rust eating its fender before looking over its roof, to where his own car is parked and waiting. It hunkers down balefully between two chrome behemoths, wheels already cranked outwards for a quick getaway.

His thoughts drift to the accessory strapped to his wrist. It used to be a watch, but necessity has turned it into a type of phone. He toggles it on with his off-hand, lifting the tiny black device to his mouth, hoping it's near enough to excuse the hubbub of a city at high noon.

"Lookin' a little squashed there, KITT. Those big, mean land yachts haven't been bothering you, have they?" Michael says, an honest question with a playful tone.

"Hardly, Michael. They're not nearly as brutish as you."

KITT's voice emanates from the device-- a commlink-- just loudly enough to be heard. His tone matches Michael's snide affectation, yet lacks meanness.

"How was your excursion?" KITT prompts, not waiting for an answer.

"Oh, I think we can call it a success," Michael murmurs, glancing around himself. The best place to hide might be plain sight, but he still felt self-conscious talking to KITT like this. "This brute just got the evidence we need to put our new friend behind bars."

The evidence-- a bundle of documents in an envelope-- sits heavy over his heart, hidden by his jacket. A cassette containing verbal confession joins the envelope, though he made sure KITT also possessed a recording before leaving. All he has to do now is show his boss the materials and he'll be home free. For now, anyway.

"That's wonderful news," KITT says happily. "Though I am surprised Miss Evelyn is not with you," he adds, more teasing.

Michael scoffs. "Miss Evelyn has a husband. You're not encouraging me-- augh!"

Pain explodes across the back of his shoulder, spreading out from a blunt strike. Michael instinctively reels his elbow back and pivots, shuffling back to avoid the stream of people. What-- who-- hit him is evident, a stout man in flannel and jeans, lunging after his quick retreat with a flash of silver in his hands.

"Michael!" KITT cries.

Blood rushes in his ears, drowning out the raucous cry of pedestrians and screeching tires. The man is heavy, strong, and fast, resisting Michael's attempts to disarm, seamlessly diving into his ambush-turned-scrap. He's trained, Michael's brain screams at him, you're in danger.

The knife switches hands faster than Michael can redirect. Serrated steel lashes out again, snagging at denim and leather. Michael rears back, pushing through spectators, stumbling off the concrete curb onto asphalt.

The man follows, but KITT is there. When he overcorrects, caught off-guard by Michael's own fall, Michael twists around to grab the back of his neck and smash his face against KITT's roof.

"Quickly, Michael, get in!" KITT urges.

KITT pops the passenger side door, throwing the man back and nearly taking Michael with him. Panicking, Michael scrambles across his hood instead, inciting a deep burn in his stomach. He throws himself into the cabin.

Silence follows the slamming of car doors. Michael grabs at the controls, forcing himself to turn shock into action--

"KITT, give me the wheel!" Michael snaps. "What are you doing?"

"You're injured, Michael. I'm taking you to a hospital," KITT says coolly.

"I'm what?"

Michael lets go of the yoke, baffled. Gradually, sensation returns to his brain-- sweat and adrenaline, the high whine of an engine, and fire. Heat on heat, fabric sticking to his gut, his belt cut in two--

"Ohhh," Michael breathes out. "He got me!"

He stares down at himself for a moment. It's not a clean stabbing, if the damage to his clothes is any indicator. There goes his nice leather belt and jeans. Maybe the shirt will be salvageable, should the blood wash out.

"Michael, you need to apply pressure to the wound," KITT says.

Michael looks away from his torso and stares blankly at KITT's flashing red voice indicator. KITT's voice is perfectly even and calm, the kind of implacable cadence he's heard from army medics and first responders. It’d be comforting if it wasn't so unsettling emanating from KITT.

Michael presses his hands firmly against the wound. He can feel the initial shock fading; fear and pain threaten to overwhelm, but he forces himself to ignore it.

“How bad is it, huh, KITT?”

“Michael, please retrieve the IFAK from the side compartment. Your injury is shallow but near an artery. It may not clot properly,” KITT replies in that cool tone.

He wordlessly leans over to fumble with the latch to said compartment, a hidden nook in the driver’s door. His body can’t seem to decide if he’s in pain or not, but the feeling of blood is real, hot against his hand as he spares one to grab the unlabeled bag. Dark green, firm to the touch. Familiar Army utility.

“Bonnie’s gonna be mad,” Michael mutters. “Real mad…”

The necessity of applying pressure makes peeling open the IFAK a slight hassle. It comes apart eventually, exposing gauzy innards and unmarked plastic bottles. A sharps kit, too, a part of his brain identifies. He ignores it in favor of pulling open a package of gauze with his teeth, grimacing at the slick of blood against his chin.

“I would not lift your shirt,” KITT intones flatly. “It is staunching the flow.”

“That’s gonna be a bitch later,” Michael quips absently. “All stuck to it. Gross.”

The gauze rolls and clings to him. Michael forces it into submission, jamming a good portion of it against his sweater. Honestly, he should be better at this, what with the training he’s had, but hospital signage is already bearing down on them.

And, despite all his will to live, bleeding out slowly isn’t such a bad way to go. Shame even he can tell it’s slowed significantly.

Tires screech and rebound in his skull as the yoke saws sharply right, canting them into a painted circle drive. Michael leans his head against the window, watching a couple shuffle out of the wide glass doors, their expressions haggard.

Behind them, medical personnel burst out, gesticulating amongst themselves. One of them points in his general direction– no, directly at him.

“Michael,” KITT pleads. “You’re going into shock. I cannot follow you into the hospital. Please cooperate with the nurses,” he urges.

Well, if KITT was going to ask so nicely…

Michael lets himself be taken.

#knight rider #k.i.t.t.#kitt #michael knight #gunny writes

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noloveforned · 6 months

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no love for ned is back on wlur tonight from 8pm until midnight. i took last week off to catch a couple of my favorites bands from the nineties live in dc- velocity girl and tuscadero!

speaking of the nineties, two weeks ago i did a best of 1993 show that's now on mixcloud. as always i played a couple songs that turned out to be a year off due to the damn copyright dates listed on the cd. i know the sdre was actually 1994 and the portastatic might be too! we'll still be doing a 'best of 2003' show in a couple weeks!

no love for ned on wlur – november 24th, 2023 from 8pm-midnight

artist // track // album // label the lemonheads // down about it // come on feel the lemonheads // atlantic the juliana hatfield three // spin the bottle // become what you are // mammoth teenage fanclub // the cabbage // thirteen // dgc belly // dusted // star // sire the posies // dream all day // frosting on the beater // dgc liz phair // never said // exile in guyville // matador cracker // get off this // kerosene hat // virgin the boo radleys // there she goes // so i married an axe murderer soundtrack // chaos the cranberries // dreams // everybody else is doing it, so why can't we? // island unrest // make out club // perfect teeth // 4ad velocity girl // crazy town // copacetic // sub pop tiger trap // puzzle pieces // tiger trap // k the apples in stereo // tidal wave // tidal wave 7" ep // elephant six even as we speak // love is the answer // feral pop frenzy // sarah the pastels // thank you for being you // truckload of trouble // seed dqe // twister // but me, i fell down // feel good all over crayon // the snap-tight wars // the snap-tight wars 7" // harriet bratmobile // cool schmool // pottymouth // kill rock stars guided by voices // shocker in gloomtown // the grand hour 7" ep // scat the breeders // divine hammer // last splash // 4ad the flaming lips // be my head // transmissions from the satellite heart // warner bros. letters to cleo // here and now // aurora gory alice // cherrydisc catherine wheel // crank // chrome // fontana ned's atomic dustbin // saturday night // so i married an axe murderer soundtrack // chaos the smashing pumpkins // hello kitty kat // today ep // hut dig // believe // dig // radioactive moth macabre // two days // moth macabre // interscope eve's plum // i want it all // envy // epic sand rubies // your life story // sand rubies // atlas drop nineteens // all swimmers are brothers // national coma // caroline radiohead // ripcord // pablo honey // capitol walt mink // subway // bareback ride // caroline dinosaur jr. // start choppin // where you been // sire thrush hermit // marya // marya 7" // genius the spinanes // spitfire // manos // sub pop the afghan whigs // what jail is like // gentlemen // elektra morphine // candy // cure for pain // rykodisc evan dando // frying pan // sweet relief- a benefit for victoria williams tribute // columbia barbara manning // joed out // no alternative compilation // arista matthew sweet // time capsule // altered beast // zoo entertainment mazzy star // fade into you // so tonight that i might see // capitol east river pipe // make a deal with the city // goodbye california // sarah portastatic // naked pilseners // i hope your heart is not brittle // merge witch hazel // just don't try // just don't try 7" // bubblegum smile his name is alive // drink, dress, and ink // mouth by mouth // 4ad yo la tengo // sudden organ // painful // matador suede // animal nitrate // suede // columbia u2 // stay (faraway, so close!) // zooropa // island red house painters // new jersey // red house painters ii // 4ad grant lee buffalo // fuzzy // fuzzy // slash godstar // forgotten night // sleeper // half a cow buffalo tom // sodajerk // big red letter day // beggars banquet james // laid // laid // fontana the lucksmiths // adolescent song of mindless devotion // the lucksmiths cassette // banana noise addict // i wish i was him // i wish i was him 7" // fellaheen lambchop // nine // nine 7" // merge sunny day real estate // seven // diary // sub pop shudder to think // animal wild // sweet relief- a benefit for victoria williams tribute // columbia sugar // feeling better // beaster ep // rykodisc superchunk // precision auto // on the mouth // matador archers of loaf // web in front // icky mettle // alias seaweed // kid in candy // four // sub pop bikini kill // rebel girl // pussy whipped // kill rock stars fastbacks // hung on a bad peg // zücker // sub pop pavement // unseen power of the picket fence // no alternative compilation // arista neutral milk hotel // everything is // everything is 7" // cher doll

#wlur #radio shows

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hangmanstigerlily · 1 year

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The Sky, The Shore, and The Sea (Part 2)

I am a new writer here on Tumblr. I used to write and never post my writings....and here we are. Please let me know what you guys think!

Pairing: Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Named OC (Callsign is TigerLily)

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, blood

Jake has a serious thing for Bianca, an old friend of Rooster and Maverick. But what will he do about it? Bianca is definitely hiding her past from everyone except Rooster who knows why. Rooster tries to help get them together and of course, may lead to messing up his friendship in the process.

Here is a link to Part One

Bianca was curious about Bradley's text. A surprise for me? She agreed and went to bed, her alarm cutting through her dream with a shrill sound. She shot up, groaning slightly at the early hour, getting dressed in her swimsuit, she used her waterproof makeup to cover the jagged scar running up her left arm and peppered scars on her chest and stomach. Most days she didn't have to cover up the scars because of her shirts, only on beach days. A honk broke her from her thoughts as she grabbed her beach bag and ran outside, hopping in Bradley's bronco. "Hey Bee, good morning" he smiled, wearing his usual Hawaiian shirt over cutoff jeans and a white shirt combo "morning Bradley, looking like it's a vacation all the time as usual" she laughed and got in. "You know it" they drove and sang to the radio, first stopping at her restaurant as she picked up some of Jake's favorite pastries.

"I…uh promised I would get some for him last week" she blushed as Bradley smirked at her. "Uh huh, sure TigerLily" he stopped, realizing what he had said, glancing at Bianca. She froze, but the moment passed over her face. "So you had a surprise for me?" She changed the topic, pretending that the use of her callsign didn't bug her. She cranked the radio up as Elvis Presley came on, singing loudly to it. "You really love that song" Bradley laughed as "Can't Help Falling In Love" ended. "What can I say, Bradshaw, I'm a hopeless romantic" she laughed as they pulled up to what looked like an abandoned hangar "uh…well this isn't creepy and far away from civilization. You're not a serial killer are you?" She looked at him. "No no. Come on, we gotta be fast or else we will be late getting back to the Hard Deck" he hopped out and she followed, jogging to the slightly open door.

Wait, wasn't that Mav's motorcycle? Well one of them at least. She stopped dead as the sun glinted on silver and chrome. The Tempest. Written in cursive across the side of the plane. My F-18…but how. "I found her one day, Maverick said it was a surprise for your birthday." Bradley didn't want to see her expression, hearing her sandals calmly hit the ground and echo as he heard her sniffle. Bianca had walked closer, a mix of emotions filling her as she laid a hand on the cool metal. She took a steadying breath as flashbacks moved through her head. "Why…did you…" her voice was only a whisper as she moved her hand away "I thought you would be happy it wasn't lost" he finally looked at her, she was distant and pale. "It happened today…3 years ago today" she teared up and made her way back to the hangar door. Bradley's eyes widened, he had forgotten and really screwed things up. Of course, how could he forget? "Hey wait Bee, I didn't…" he trailed off as she wiped her eyes and glanced back at him "Just…take me to the Hard Deck" she wouldn't look at him or speak to him the whole trip back to the bar.

"Please Bianca, talk to me" Hangman heard Rooster and two car doors slam as he saw Bianca turn and glare at Rooster, he was holding her arm as they made their way into the bar, she pulled her arm away from him, something about her body language and the look on her face made Hangman want to punch Rooster "Absolutely not, what was the point of showing me that? To hurt me? Especially today. So listen asshole, and I cannot stress this enough, go to hell Rooster" she turned and stormed across the bar, walking up to Hangman, dropping everything on one of the nearby tables and wrapping her arms around him, catching everyone off guard including Hangman, who dropped his cue stick on the pool table and wrapped his arms around her. What was that whole conversation that he had witnessed about? What was today? It clearly had made her very upset. He rested his head on hers. "Hey…." she mumbled into his chest. “Hey yourself….you okay there darlin’?” He whispered in her ear, his breath making her shiver slightly, she still was thinking, her body felt rigid to Hangman almost clinging to him. “I got you, don’t worry.” He said quietly so only she could hear, her body relaxing and snapping her from her own thoughts. She hummed and breathed in again. There was that dumb cologne again. The smell was mixed with the smell of salt, suntan lotion and sweat. Jake held her as long as she needed. Breaking the hug first she realized that everyone and she meant everyone was staring at them. "Sorry guys, am I holding up the game? I brought your favorite pastries.…" She said quietly, Hangman had never seen her like this, like her light had been diminished. "Ah no, we are all waiting on Mav to get here" Coyote cleared his throat, answering her question.

Phoenix came over and punched Rooster in the shoulder. “What the hell did you do?” He rubbed his arm, “Doesn’t matter what the hell I did. It pushed her to Hangman, didn’t it? What more did I need to do?” He looked at her and shrugged, trying to not seem like the day hadn’t gone way wrong. Phoenix shook her head and walked off, Bob, Payback, and Fanboy following her. Maverick walked into the bar with Penny and stopped, the room seemed tense. “Okayyyy so what happened in here? Who died?” He tried to crack a joke but went quiet as he looked at Bianca, holding onto Hangman’s arm, anger and sadness flashed across her face as she met his gaze. So that’s new. Rooster looked like he had lost something important “Well time for dogfight football” He clapped his hands together and walked out onto the beach, the Dagger squad following him.

Hangman started walking out to play, but Bianca stopped him on the deck. “Aren’t you playing sweetheart?” He quirked an eyebrow, she shook her head no, the distant look coming back to her eyes. “Here” he pulled off his black shirt and handed it to her, “You can hold onto that, I know it has my cologne smell on it. I wear it ‘cause I know it’s your favorite smell. Will that keep your pretty blue eyes from being so haunted?” He had tilted her head to look at him, she blinked a couple times and nodded. “Y-yes, Jake…I. It means a lot to me” She stammered out, meeting his gaze. “I’d do anything for you, my tiger.” Her eyes widened slightly at him using the same nickname for her when they first met in such an affectionate tone “anything for me?” she echoed his words as he backed up, giving her a wink and smile, running to meet with the guys.

Bianca sat in one of the beach chairs, Hangman's shirt was laying across her lap as she messed with the fabric, so far she had remained grounded, not tossed back into the events of three years ago. She waved back at Jake ever so often when he waved at her, smiling her way. Does he actually feel about me how I feel about him? Does he know that I was head over heels for him? She had just relaxed in her beach chair and closed her eyes when she heard someone flop in the chair next to her "Hey Bee, you okay?" It was Maverick, she knew just from hearing his voice. She looked at him, searching for any sign that he knew what Rooster had done. "You almost lost me three years ago Mav." She said quietly. He looked at her, his jaw clenched. "Bee…I.." she held up her hand to stop him.

"Bradley showed me the plane" Maverick took his shades off "he did what?" He looked mad, glancing at Rooster, who was playing. " That's why I was clinging to Hangman when you came in, I feel I'm stuck there sometimes Mav. When you asked if someone had died, I feel like it was part of me on that day, left in the ocean like the others. I was doing well today. I thought I would make it through without being sucked back into the past but Bradley made sure I was still there, anchored to ghosts." She looked towards the game, watching Hangman for a bit. "Bee, I had no idea he would ever do that to you. I was going to give you the plane for your birthday, I worked so hard to restore it for you. But I'm so sorry that you saw it today of all days. I never meant for the plane to cause you so much pain." Maverick said quietly. She looked at him after a few moments, resting her hand on his arm. "It's okay Pete, I know you wouldn't do that intentionally." She leaned over and hugged him tightly. "You think I'll ever be able to fly again?" She whispered quietly after breaking the hug. "I fully believe you can do anything you want Captain" Maverick said quietly, a smile being shared between the two.

Hangman glanced over at Bianca and Maverick, seeing her smile made his heart leap in his chest. "Hey look out!" Payback yelled too late as Hangman got hit hard by Rooster, the football landing a short distance away. The wind was knocked out of Hangman, he groaned, his arm stinging slightly as he shoved Rooster off, glaring at him. "What's your problem, Bagman?" Rooster asked, putting his hands on his hips. Hangman got up slowly, dusting the sand off his arms "I should punch you in the face, Bradshaw!" He pointed at Rooster "What's the matter? Finally realizing your feelings for someone?" He sneered back. "Watch your mouth, whatever you did to Bianca was uncalled for" Rooster scoffed slightly "like you care about someone other than yourself"

That sent Hangman over the edge, he charged at Rooster. Bianca and Maverick looked up in time to see Hangman charging Rooster. "Hey! Hey! Stop that!" She jumped up and raced over to them, gripping Hangman's arm to stop him before he punched Rooster "Just because you don't give a damn about anything around you Bradshaw doesn't mean you get to hurt someone I care about!" Bianca managed to pull him away. He was going to fight Bradley about me. "Hey, hey. Jake! Look at me" his eyes softened as he looked down at Bianca. "Come on, your arm is bleeding, let me take care of it" she took his hand and led him back into the bar.

"Go on, sit down" she pushed him onto one of the barstools gently. He finally looked her over, she had his shirt on and boy did that only make him fall more. She watched him for a moment, pulling out a first aid kit and smiling slightly “see something you like there Seresin?” she raised an eyebrow as she applied some antiseptic to the slice, noting the slight jolt in his arm. “Yeah, I would ask for my shirt back, but I like it so much more on you” He hummed, winking at her. She laughed and covered the cut. “Well maybe I want to wear your clothes more often” she winked back and felt her cheeks grow warm from her sudden boldness. He was speechless for a moment, studying her. “Can I…” He asked quietly, looking at her. She stepped closer, between his legs, and put her arms around his neck, his hands wrapping around her waist.

The moment felt more than the usual hugs, it was something more. She leaned back, her breath hitched as his hand ran under his shirt and against her skin, leaving a trail of fire. She had her swimsuit on still, but she felt his hand near the scars marking her stomach and side. “J-jake…” She looked at him as he stopped and dropped his hand “Sorry darlin’, I don’t want you to think badly of me” She shook her head “No it’s not that…I want nothing more than you to touch me” She stopped talking abruptly, looking at him. He flickered a smile, but not the same wolfy grin he would with other women. “Maybe one day…you can tell me about that haunted look you get in your eyes sometimes” His hand brushed her cheek, and she looked at him and nodded.

A throat-clearing noise broke the moment as they both looked at the door. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything” I heard Penny chuckle softly as she made her way behind the bar. “Hangman here almost started a fight with Rooster in my honor and got cut up by the seashells on the beach” Bianca laughed and nudged Jake. “Well, that’s very white knight of you” Hangman shrugged and smiled brightly “What can I say, ma’am, I hate seeing those I care about being hurt by others” Bianca smiled and looked at Penny, “So where did you go off to?” Penny paused and looked at Bianca “Oh, Maverick asked me to take flowers out to…” she stopped and glanced at Hangman.

He felt Bianca tense up and wrapped his arms around her waist again. She relaxed. “Flowers to their graves” she finished her thought “it’s okay. Jake should know some of why I freeze up all the time and keep my distance from others” Hangman looked quizzically between the two. “Graves? Bianca?” she looked at him “my friends…they died about 3 years ago. They were pilots…Penny and Maverick have been putting flowers on their graves because I can’t bring myself to go visit them.” she looked down and rubbed her eyes, feeling the tears prickle at the edges of her eyes. Jake glanced at Penny, worry, and sadness crossing her face. He pulled Bianca tighter to him, his hand gently resting on the back of her head, he felt the tears on his shoulder.

“Shh, shhh. I've got you tiger” Penny raised an eyebrow this time. Like her callsign. She pulled back after a few minutes and sniffled, wiping her face with the edge of his shirt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you before.” She shook her head, looking at him for any sign of rejection and all she saw was adoration and care, maybe even worry. “I’ll always be here. I care about you. Whenever you are ready to share anything, I’m ready darlin’” He smiled and rubbed her back. “I think I’ll go back home….” she stopped mid-thought and sighed “Bradley brought me here in his Bronco, said he had a surprise for me out at Mav’s old hangar” She trailed off and sighed again “I’ll give you a ride home” Jake spoke up “Really? You don’t have to. I can ask Phoenix or Bob” She motioned to the beach. “You make it hard to sweep you off your feet” He chuckled and grabbed her stuff and his off the table. Penny smiled as she saw Bianca take his outstretched hand and walk out of the bar.

So there is part 2 of this storyline. Let me know what you guys think!

Tag List (I hope it's cool): @topguncortez @notroosterbradshaw @roosterforme

#jake seresin x named oc #new writer #uhhhh #part 3?

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