#I just want a stable income for once in my life

[sweebat]

Have an interview in an hour. Normally I’d be excited about considering 90% of my apps them even make it this far, but it’s my first online interview and my moods been dampened after being rejected every time this year

Feelin Quueeesyyyyy

[lieutenantselnia]

Actually I think it's a bit unfair that I can't be an astrophysicist and a historian and a game developer and a marine biologist and an archaeologist and an author and a seamstress at the same time

[nomairuins]

and also it doesnt even matter if i miraculously get a job tmrw bc we don't have a car . and im too out of shape to walk anywhere bc everything is far away . so i genuinely dont jnow what to do

[calliopesdiary]

i wish i were heather...

synopsis: you were under the impression that you were stable in your secret long-term relationship with three of the four marauders, until it becomes clear that you aren't the girl they want anymore. (so you think). will you lose them before its too late? or have you already?

pairings: fem!reader x poly!marauders ` poly!marauders x lily evans

warnings: NO LILY SLANDER!! SHE'S PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL AND ITS NOT HER FAULT!!, cusswords, ANGST, depressing, a blip of reader skipping meals on the radar but it's srsly nothing crazy, insecure reader, the marauders besides peter are dicks, reader is a little naive, the marauders borderline cheat on you, no happy ending, there might still be one thoughhh, possibly slytherin!reader if you squint?,

part one in the conan gray series

A/N!!: In some of the fic i use colors to represent a certain character! Orange is Lily, Red is James, and Green is Barty :3

wc; 2.4k

LIFE WAS AMAZING, which is not usually how stories begin.

You felt so safe and secure in your secret relationship with Hogwarts' once most eligible bachelors... The Marauders.

The rush of excitement that coursed through your veins every time you shared a hidden glance with Remus, or hiding in the showers of the Gryffindor boys locker room with James after his quidditch victory, and sneaking off to empty classrooms where anyone from anywhere could catch you with Sirius.

It was heavenly, these boys were all you would ever need.

until... now.

You were in Remus' sweater, he said it looked better on you than it did him. If only he knew how much you liked him...

The fireplace erupted with a citrine glow, illuminating the Gryffindor common room beautifully.

Most impactfully, it lit up Remus' scar-kissed features.

His freckles looked as if they were painted onto his face with careful hands by a renaissance painter.

His eyes half-lidded from his lack of sleep from the incoming full moon that was slowly approaching, it pained you to know how much they hurt him.

For once, Remus wasn't in a sweater. Since his was rested comfortably on your body, as your scent comforted The Wolf greatly.

And his scent comforted you, too.

Remus' book had suddenly landed on your lap, and though it startled you a bit. You didn't bother to ask why, until you sat up.

Remus was locked in a passionate conversation with Gryffindor's resident golden girl, Lily Evans.

"Evans, it's lovely to see you."

"Same to you, Lupin."

Godric, was she beautiful.

"I just stopped by to see if you had gotten any of the Defence Against The Dark Arts homework done?"

Lily Evans was as radiant as an angel who blessed anyone with her presence.

"I have; actually, I just finished my paper."

Remus seemed mesmerized by her, the golden gleam from the fire painting her features gorgeously in that same citrine glow as Remus'.

"Could I have a look of it? Not to copy it- obviously, I just want to see how others are wording the question."

You weren't even half as pretty as Lily.

"Of course, and I know you'd never cheat."

"You're the smartest witch in our year."

You tried not to mind other girls flirting with your boys.

Just because you knew that later that night they'd be back to your boys again, and only yours.

As she was about to go, she planted a soft kiss on the side of Remus' cheek, leaving him blushing softly as he bid her goodbye.

Your heart clenched, it was merely a pleasantry. You were being dramatic.

"Are you alright, dove?" Your head perked up at the sound of Remus' voice.

"Hm? Yeah, I'm fine." You mused, albeit a bit absentmindedly.

"Are you tired?" He asked carefully.

"I am, actually..." You forced a sweet smile onto your lips, as he leaned down to kiss them softly.

That kiss was the last one that felt anything more than a chore, an obligation.

That was also your last kiss with Remus.

Cheering James on at the quidditch pitch was just the thrill you needed after that melancholy moment with Remus.

He soared through the field like he was on top of the world, the players scattered around the pitch for one common goal: to win.

Gryffindor had won the game with 60 points, and James had caught the snitch like usual.

This game was also a rain game.

Just as you were about to head down to showers when you spotted Lily excitedly trailing after James.

You knew full well that James chased Lily tirelessly since they started school, that was also well before you came into the picture.

You also knew that she wanted nothing to do with him or the other marauders, so what was with her infatuation now?

Why your boys? She couldn't find her own boys?

But maybe she was just being friendly, right? The boys would never ever cheat on you... right?

You heard Lily giggle as James so graciously held the curtain open for her to enter the locker room, and your heart clenched.

You followed them in, jealously.

"James?" You called, as James poked his head from the changing area. Sweat glistening off his abs.

"Hi, Y/N." He shut the curtain behind him, as if he had something to hide.

Also; he barely just called you by your first name.

"You didn't come to see me after the game?" You questioned, grazing his cheek gently as he spoke."

"Sorry, Y/N. It was a long one." He excused, as he clearly looked a bit flushed.

"You look red, are you dehydrated?"

"Godric, y/n. you are hardly my mum."

You giggled as if it was a joke, yet he seemed quite stone faced.

You cleared your throat embarrassingly once you realized.

"I... just wanted to congratulate you on another win." You forcefully smiled again.

"Thank you, I really appreciate that." Then, he flashed his classic grin at you.

The grin he hadn't flashed at you since he realized he genuinely liked you.

What the fuck?

"Victory kiss?" You asked quietly, with some false hope mixed in.

"Of course." He pecked your forehead quickly, before hurrying off back to his changing area.

And with that, you had also left the steamy tent and outside into the cool, soft rain once more.

A forehead kiss? whenever he used to give you victory kisses they'd be full-on make outs in that same changing room or the showers.

James was falling out of love with you, and you knew it.

Luckily, you could easily disguise your tears with the excuse of it raining.

"Victory kiss?" Lily mewled, from her position on the stool in his changing spot.

"Just on the forehead, lovely."

You stopped showing up to breakfast, as the one time you decided to go Lily was sat in your spot next to Sirius.

Dorcas was nearly at her wits end with the boys and their antics.

The motley crew of Slytherins were the only ones who knew of your relationship, and they were pissed off.

"Treasure, surely they aren't fucked enough to know that you are the best thing they've ever had!" Barty explained, laying upside-down on his bed across from you.

"I-It's no use, Jr." You cried softly, mirroring his position yet on your bed instead. The tears (and blood) rushing to your hairline instead of your face because Dorcas said 'Your makeup is too pretty to ruin, love.' .

"There is a use, Y/L/N. we'll kill them-"

"Jr, absolutely not." Regulus chided, rubbing your shoulder. "She's clearly upset, I don't see the issue."

"Murder is never a good option, Barty." Dorcas scolded gently.

"So what are we gonna do then? My Treasure can't go on like this!"

"You said you've already talked to James and Remus? Maybe you can go talk to... eh... Sirius." Clearly, that name was hard for Regulus to get out.

"*Sniff* yeah, yeah- I'll go talk to him..." You sat up half-hazardously, and strutted out of the dorm-room to go (hopefully) save your relationship.

You still remember the third of December.

Sirius lounged on the couch while speaking with the other marauders, about some sort of prank on the other group of Slytherins.

"And then, we'll-"

"Hi, Siri." You sat next to him, beaming up at him (hopefully).

"...y/n." He greeted casually, before continuing to talk.

Your smile faded, as he continued to talk to your other boyfriends friends about this horrible prank.

Instead of leaving, you sat quietly next to them, as if you were some decoration or trophy wife.

This was truly your breaking point, as you saw Lily sit down on the couches of the common room as she caught all of their attention, you hadn't seemed to do that for ages. Though, she was wearing something familiar...

Remus'... sweater...

Remus'- YOUR Remus' sweater.

"How's it look?" Lily asked, giving them a twirl. Their eyes locked on her.

"Gorgeous, doll." Sirius flirted, shooting her a wink.

"Truly a sight for sore eyes." James grinned.

"It looks better on you than it did me." Remus took her hand and helped her sit down on the couch in between him and James.

That's exactly what he said to you...

He put his arm 'round her shoulder,

suddenly you got colder.

She's got them mesmerized... while you die.

But how could you hate her?

She's such an angel...

But then again you wished she were dead.

"Why would you ever kiss me?" You asked impulsively.

"What?" James looked up from Lily, all eyes on you.

"I mean- I'm not even half as pretty."

"Y/n, You're overthinking it-" Remus started it.

"You gave her your sweater!" You shot back.

"It's just polyester!" Remus defended.

"But you like her better." You felt the tears rush to your waterline.

"We're done." You whispered, leaving Lily looking so confused and the common room dead quiet.

"What does she mean by that...?" Lily seemed horrified.

"We... weren't really dating.." Sirius attempted to defend.

"Yes, we were, you tosser!" James shoved him.

"You said yourself that you were bored of her!" Remus stated matter-of-factly.

"Was I seriously the other woman?" Lily mewled, her hands clutching the sides of her head.

"Nonono- No, we were planning to break up with her but- because we all wanted you-" Sirius tried again.

"Then don't fuck around with her feelings just to get me!" Lily yelled, standing up quickly.

"I appreciate the admiration- but I need time to process, okay? You all were absolute... arseholes to her, I'll admit." Lily started,

"Are you saying no?" James quickly cut in.

"...No..." Lily ended.

After crying your eyes out to Barty and Regulus over your breakup, December 7th rolled around.

The day that students were meant to be studying for their OWLS and other end of term exams.

You would usually be in the library 24/7.

Lily, had finally come around and accepted the boys' proposal, and their relationship became public quickly.

Lily obviously still felt this bitter taste of guilt in her mouth, as did all of them.

So today, Lily had convinced them all to apologize to you for borderline cheating and lying and manipulating and gaslighting-.

But, you were nowhere to be found.

"Regulus! Regulus, wait up!" Lily ran through the hallways to get to her.

"Evans, Brother.. Potter... and Lupin.." She said those last three names with utter disgust.

"We're trying to find Y/n, have you seen her?" Remus asked quietly, he was definitely feeling the most guilt.

"Y/n? Well, If she was here, I think she'd completely refuse to see you lot." Regulus explained bluntly.

"W-What do you mean "If she was here"?" James questioned.

"I mean, Her, Junior., and the Rosier twins completed their OWLS early and hightailed it to Junior's holiday house for the rest of the break." He explained casually.

"What?" Sirius scowled.

"What the hell is my girl-... Y/n doing with them?" James had the same expression as Sirius.

"They are simply better friends then you were to her, hm? I don't blame her."

"When will she be back?" Lily asked breathlessly.

"End of December, If she ever returns." Regulus strolled away, potions book in hand.

"...We fucked up."

Fin.

[blushstories]

you hide an injury from joel after your patrol shift | hurt/comfort, slight angst

i had two versions for this and they will be split with a —— so please enjoy either or both!

five runners. five bullets. the run down store’s only light came from broken windows and missing roof tiles, and you’ve backed yourself into a corner so that nothing can sneak up on you. your torch casts shadows behind them and they approach in a line. you send a bullet through a head, a kneecap and its head, a neck. you duck one clawing at you and shoot up once from the floor. the screeching doesn’t end, and you pull the trigger again to hear an empty click. your heart stutters, your breath hitches, and you kick at the runner’s leg to send it to the floor, and aim another at its head as you scramble to your feet. you holster your gun and reach for your flipknife. but your pocket is empty. you dig into it a bit more, stepping backwards as the runner recovers, but it’s not there.

you want to scream. not in fear, in fury. a glint catches your eye and your torch has caught the blade of your knife on the floor. the runner charges, and you launch yourself next to your knife, slamming into the floor at full force. you grab it, roll onto your back and catch the incoming infected as it jumps on top of you. gripping it at its shoulder, you stab the knife into its chest, its neck, its temple, until it ceases its movements. its blood seeps through your fingers, dripping onto your chest. with a cry of relief you shove it off of you and wipe your knife on your jeans before pocketing it. its only when you try to sit up that you feel it. a sharp, hot pain in your side, forcing you to lie back again. you glance at the lifeless runner next to you, a distant pang entering your heart at the person they used to be.

you wince as you try to sit up again, inhaling sharply as you peel your shirt away from your side. and there it was, a neat shard of glass wedged into your skin.

—————— track 1 starts here ———————

“oh, fuck.” you sniff, blinking up at the sky. deep breath. removing it might make you bleed out, and you know maria could help you. not tommy; he’d blab to joel, who’s already not keen about you going on patrol on your own. but he has things to do in jackson, you couldn’t let him risk his life out here. it only takes one wrong move.

you lie back, and gently roll over until you’re on your knees, trying to keep your torso as straight as possible. using a nearby shelf, you pull yourself up. it’s fine. it’s not bleeding too much, just leaking here and there. you check again and swipe it up with your thumb. you’re not too far from jackson, you think as you reach your horse. riding on horseback would definitely fuck up your insides, so you decided on a gentle walk. you don’t have much daylight left though, so you try to get a move on.

the sun is kissing the horizon by the time you see jackson again, and the doors open as you approach, as if they had been waiting for you. your feet feel numb, and you’re trying to stand up as straight as you can without wincing. the intruder in your side causing a deep, aching throb. you let go of the reins and let your horse run off towards the stables, right before you hear your name echoing across the courtyard. tommy slips down the ladder from the watchtower like it’s slick with grease, his boots barely touching one rung before it’s met the other.

he bounds towards you, forehead glistening, and slams into your good side with his arms around you. you bite your tongue at the force, feeling the glass slicing into you more. but you mustve let some sound out, becaus tommy pulls away and holds you at arms length.

he breathes your name, eyes assessing you. “jesus. you look— joel’s been about to send a search party for you.”

“it’s not my blood,” you lie. then you sniff, briefly breaking eye contact. “not all of it. where’s maria?”

tommy freezes for a nanosecond, eyes boring into yours. he knows, but he doesn’t ask, using two fingers against your forearm to nudge you into following him. he doesn’t pay any extra attention, as you walk past jesse, dina, and ellie, he probably doesn’t want any sort of rumour to find its way back to joel. and for that, you’re grateful. you smile at ellie on your way past, hand hovering over your wound to hide the bloodstain that was yours. she smiles back, you think. you’ve turned the corner before you and tommy are alone.

“you can’t tell joel.” you say. just then, your foot lands in a hole of land a lot deeper than you’re expecting, sending a painful jolt through your right side, exploding into the wound. you catch yourself on a nearby porch as your knees respond poorly to the shockwave through your body.

“woah,” tommy grips your arms carefully, avoiding your wound. “you’re kidding. he’ll find out when you tell him.” he helps you walk the little bit further to his house.

“no way. he’ll never let me patrol solo again!” tommy looks at you, eyebrows raised.

“is that such a bad thing?” he pushes the door open and shouts for maria to clear the table for an emergency. you hear a clattering and tommy shifts beside you. “sorry, darlin’,” he murmurs, swooping beneath your knees to pick you up and place you on the table. you wince and swallow your cries of pain, hearing his whispers of “i know, i know. shh.” in your ear.

you feel a soft towel beneath you and maria’s supplies are spread on a small table nearby. she’s quick to business, slowly pulling up your shirt just enough to reveal the glass, which to your horror has dug itself deeper into you.

“it’s not that big, right?” you breathe lightly. but you eye tommy in the doorway, whose hand is covering his mouth, raking through his scruff.

“christ.” he says into his palm.

“i need your shirt off,” maria says calmly, and with that tommy spins on his heel and leaves, the door closing quietly behind him. you hold your arms up and allow maria to pull your bloodsoaked shirt off of you, before you hear a flannel being wrung into a bowl of water. it’s warm against your skin, the blood and dirt disappearing. but she’s delaying the inevitable.

she has a pillow under your head, and passes you a dry flannel.

“put it in your mouth,” she says. “i don’t have painkillers.” you do as she says as she readies two pairs of medium tweezers, a lot of gauze and some thread. you feel sick at the sight of it and prefer not to look. so you watch the ceiling as maria counts down, and on two, your skin feels as if it’s being ripped through by a chainsaw. you have to bite your scream into the cloth in your mouth, slapping a hand on top to muffle the sound even more. you’re gripping your own face with such force that you know you’ve left marks behind when maria pauses. she wipes at your forehead with the wet flannel and says she’s giving you a break. you shake your head as a tear slides down your temple and dissolves into your hairline.

“just do it, don’t care. hurts enough,” you mumble, head feeling as if it’s floating away.

“you could pass out. i am not having joel at my ankles for that,” she says, with care. she strokes your head lovingly, and purses her lips. she asks you if you’re ready and you nod.

“the whole thing,” you say, not daring to glance down. maria doesn’t reply, but she readies the tweezers. she takes a breath. and the pain returns. your body shakes as maria tries her best to steadily extract the glass, and you feel something dislodge. maria swears, and somewhere far away, you hear an argument.

the door slams open. the jolt in the room sends a searing pain through to your head, and your throat feels shredded.

“shit, joel!” maria shouts. he’d heard your screams due to the open kitchen window, and fought tommy while he was standing guard at the door.

“what the fuck happened?” joel shouts, stalking towards the table. tommy slips in front of him, hands on his chest shoving him back.

“wait; let her finish. you don’t want this to be worse. trust me.” there’s something serious in his tone that would even make you shut up. joel freezes, and watches maria dump the shard onto the table before starting on plugging the gushing of blood that’s just left your body.

with a deep throbbing ache remaining, you’re too tired to keep your arm up, dropping the cloth away from your mouth as you try to catch your breath. you consciousness is floating away, your eyes unfocused, breaths fractured. joel bats tommy’s arm away and he’s on his knees next to your head, smoothing the hairs away from your sticky forehead. you hold your breath as maria increases pressure on your wound, and joel takes your hand in his.

“that’s it, sweetheart, take it out on me,” joel mumbles into your temple. you squeeze his hand and groan in pain, feeling nausea creep into your throat.

maria’s recruited tommy. he opens a bottle of alcohol and douses a clean rag in it, muttering an apology as he sets your wound alight. joel watches in horror as your body convulses, sees the oozing wound and hoping the blood is only making it seem worse. your forehead is slick with sweat, and you’re only half conscious, murmuring his name while existing on a different planet.

“oh, baby,” he whispers, shoulders hitched high. you’ve started breathing heavily, and he doesn’t relax until maria begins stitching, then eventually wrapping your body. joel helps to hold you up enough, cradling your head and keeping your shoulders up. when maria cleans you up as much as she can, joel whisks you from the table to the couch, pulling up a blanket to your chin to protect your dignity.

when you come to, he’s on the floor, back to the coffee table. he’s kept his head up with his arm braced on his knees as he dozes. you stir, and he snaps to attention. your breath catches in your throat, and you can’t stop yourself blabbing, “joel, it was an accident, ‘m fine, please don’t worry.”

he wants to be mad, he really does. he wants to hit you with a “what were you thinkin’?” but you’re so tired, and your voice is all pebbly, and he doesn’t have it in him. he’s soft on you.

so all he says is, “i know. but i will. and we gotta talk about this soon.” you swallow the rocks in your throat, but you nod. maybe it’s time to stop being a lone wolf. an extra gun could save your life, after all.

———————— track 2 starts here ————————

you stare at it for a few moments in disbelief. heat pools behind your eyes and you take a sharp inhale. the runner twitches next to you and your heart flies into your mouth. you think your wound isn’t hurting as much as it should do, but you’re putting it down to adrenaline.

“fuck me, i guess,” you mutter to yourself shakily, pulling yourself onto your knees and hauling yourself up. should you pull it out? maybe it will fall out itself, it doesn’t seem lodged too deep. you wince with each step you take, and consider using your walkie talkie to call for backup. but you want to deal with this yourself.

the route back has a noticeable lack of infected, which you’re grateful for. your horse, gale, nudges at your shoulder when you seem to slow down, but the pins and needles in your feet can’t be reasoned with.

“‘s fine, gale. we’re almost there,” you say blearily, watching jackson appear dead ahead.

your feet drag against the ground, and your hand is slick holding onto gale’s reins. there’s a strange smell in your nose. pain. it’s metallic and stale, and your eyes feel too heavy for midday.

you don’t know how you find the strength to shout for the gate to open, but you do, and you slide in — they only open it a crack for patrols. you jolt slightly, thinking you’ve nicked the shard on the side of the gate, and with your next step you realise you have. your smile turns wonky, and instead of greeting tommy as usual, you settle on a wave.

you leave gale with the rest of the horses and stumble towards your house, where joel is working in the front yard. his muscles flex underneath his flannel as he moves a bucket of something to one side. he catches a glimpse of you approaching as he sets it down, and you try straightening up. heat rushes from the wound to your face, and you sniff away any cry of pain.

“hey, sweetheart,” he says, voice dripping with honey. he pulls off some heavy gloves and turns around with a smile, wiping his forearm across his forehead. it drops as soon as he sees you. his eyebrows set and his eyes narrow.

“what happened?” he asks, the words stale. you shuffle forwards, aming to dodge him.

“a successful patrol, if you must know. ganked a bunch of infected. i want a shower though,” you say, a little too fast. joel chucks the gloves to one side and doesn’t break eye contact.

“you’re standin’ funny,” he says. you try to play it off.

“you think i stand funny?” you feign hurt.

“knock it off. are you hurt? i need to know, baby,” his mask cracks. there’s a stab in your heart, and your side.

“i’ll get back to you on that,” you begin, sliding past him and climbing the stairs of the porch, using your arm more than your legs to pull you up. but you’ve crunched your side too hard, and you feel the shard begin to pop out. you’re glad you’re facing away from joel as your face crumples in agony, the electric hot wound sending prickles through your entire body. “but right now—“ you wince halfway, “i need a shower.”

the toe of your shoe catches the tip of the last step and you fly forwards, onto your hands and knees. you hear your name behind you and then you feel him. hands. on your shoulders, on your hips. you’ve frozen as the pain rockets through you, stealing your breath and your composure.

“fuck. jesus, fuck.” he’s turned you over and has spotted an angry red patch on your shirt. and it’s growing. he’s so mad. but your eyes are drooping and your eyebrows are all creased. so he bites the inside of his cheek in panic. he taps your cheek with his fingers. “stay with me, now. hold on sweetheart,” he says. you’re whimpering because you need to bite your tongue in case you scream. “you gotta—“ he sniffs harshly through his nose, “you gotta let me help you.”

his hand grasps your shirt and pulls it up. with wide eyes, he whips his head around to scan the immediate area, spotting ellie and jesse emerging nearby. he shouts for help even though his tongue feels numb. he can’t put pressure on the wound — for obvious reasons — but blood’s pooling onto the porch and he feels sick because if you don’t pull through, and the wood is stained forever…

footsteps thunder through your head, and there’s a murmuring that buzzes through your consciousness and you’re falling from joel, further and further.

you wake up in your bed. the sheets are soft and you feel clean. even though joel sleeps next to you routinely, he’s now slumped in a chair, arms folded tightly across his chest and chin falling into his neck. you lift up the sheet covering your body and eye the neat bandage around you, with only a faint patch of red seeping through. your throat is dry, and you feel so tired; a dry crackling at the back of your throat sends you into a coughing fit. the action jerks your wound which in turn remixes your coughs into cries of pain.

joel stirs, then, and his head snaps up. his eyes are bleary until he realises that you’re awake, so he reaches for a glass of water on the side and stumbles over to you. he slowly tips it into your mouth and the cool liquid tastes like gold. you tap his wrist twice so that he doesn’t accidentally waterboard you, and he listens. your coughs die down and you put pressure on your wound in case it makes it hurt less. and then he settles next to you.

“how’re ya feeling?” he says. you nod.

“‘M alive.” you aren’t sure what to say. there’s an elephant in the room, and you’re too scared to address it. joel isn’t, though.

“i don’t know why you’re so reckless. why you try to hide it from me.” he averts his gaze, but it’s clearly planets away. “i’m not putting you on patrol again,” he says. your jaw falls.

“what? but it’s the only job i’m good at!” you insist. “i didn’t say anything because i knew you’d say that.”

joel runs his hand down his scruff. “you could’ve died. hell, you almost did and it wasn’t even a fuckin’ infected.” you know he’s reliving something that you can’t remember.

“exactly, it was an accident. c’mon joel. next time—“

“there won’t be a next time. don’t you get it? next time, a clicker eats your throat. next time, runners take you down. next time, a bloater rips your jaw open—“

“joel, stop—“ you cringe at his graphic monologue.

“no, i won’t stop. you’re a smart girl; why aren’t you acting like it? i’m not letting you out of my sight,” his voice cracks imperceptibly, “m not gonna lose you.”

oh. that’s why he’s lashing out.

“you won’t. okay? you won’t. can we please work this out later? i’m very good at compromising,” you say, your hand finding his jaw and pushing him to look at you. he does, and there’s care in his eyes. he squeezes your hand and inhales steadily, blinking back something.

“okay, fine,” he says. “do you need anything?”

you shake your head, biting back a smile, “just you.” you pat the bed next to you and wait patiently for joel — now suppressing a smile — to stalk around the bed, toe of his boots, and lie next to you. you lean up against him as much as possible, already drifting again into sleep. there’s a soft kiss to your head, and you’re smiling in your sleep.

[aliesbienish]

A study of wolves: chapter three

chapter one ✩ chapter two

Paul Lahote x Reader

- The previous day -

“Why did we even agree to this study, clearly she is going to notice signs that the wolves around here aren’t always of the typical gray variety?” Paul questioned the tribal council, pacing at the foot of the meeting table.

“Son we didn’t have a choice, the majority of the land you boys protect falls out of the reservation. It was going ahead anyway, so it made sense to at least have someone from the council always there to steer clear of anything suspicious,” Billy placated, hands up in surrender to the clearly riled man.

“Billy’s right Paul,” Sam chimed in “there wasn’t an option. Plus this way we get income from the cabin and a guide. You know we need this to complete the maintenance on the school.”

“So you are okay with us becoming a study? Because we all know between the cameras and her field observation training we’re fucked. There is no way we can always play it safe with these cold ones lurking around, a mistake is inevitable.”

“Son,” Billy continued “it’s not even like it’s an issue anymore. You’ve imprinted on her, so she is one of us now. It’s well within reason to tell her what is going on.”

“No” Paul growled. “That is my choice and it’s absolutely not happening. Some silly idea that she’s my soulmate doesn’t change the fact she is a complete stranger. We don’t how she’ll react, there is no way I’m risking it,”

“You might not have a choice if she catches sight of something she’s not supposed to.”

“This is my only choice, and I’m not letting anyone taking it from me. Not even you.”

Billy sighed, resting his head in his hands. The chief was well aware what Paul’s reservations were really about. “Son, I know you didn’t want this. But please understand this is a blessing from the spirits, fighting this will only hurt you,”

“I refuse to let my choice be taken away, and I refuse to let hers. I will help to keep our secret safe but once this project is over she will leave and life will continue. And I don’t want anyone to try to do anything to change that.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The sky was clear but the southerly winds whipped ferociously along the cliff face where Paul parked up. The great blue expanse of ocean was mesmerising, stretching out as far as the eye could see. It was in moments like this you felt solace, out of the noise and bustle of large cities. Just the sounds of birds, waves crashing and winds whistling amongst the trees. After taking the moment to ground yourself you made your way over to the truck bed to grab your gear, Paul doing the same with his own bag.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well the most recent report says the last sighting was off this trail here,” you said pointing across the gravel road and to the unsigned trail head. “It happened in a clearing about four miles in so I think we head out there keeping an eye out on the way.”

“Sure thing boss. Anything you want me to keep an eye out for?”

“If you wouldn’t mind looking for prints, the ground should be pretty muddy under the vegetation cover so anything that’s been here since the previous rainfall last week should have left a mark. I don’t think we’ll actually come across a wolf since they’re nocturnal. But hopefully we can find a good spot for at least one of the cameras,”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

For the past hour you had been hiking in relative silence. Paul lead the way, keeping a steady but maintainable pace. The trail itself was muddy but relatively flat, and wide enough you didn’t have to squeeze past any bushes. So far you hadn’t spotted anything apart from a wild rabbit that darted across the path in front of you.

Seeing a fallen trunk parallel to the path up ahead you decided now was as good a time as any to have a break.

“You keen for some morning tea?” You called to your companion, who gave you a nod and slowed down.

Perching on the thankfully stable trunk you pulled out the first of the sandwich haul.

“What’s your poison; PB & J or ham and cheese?”

“Whatever one you don’t want,”

“Na-ah, that wasn’t my question now was it. What kind of boss would I be if I just gave my worker scraps?”

“A standard one,” Paul smirked. Before grabbing the ham and cheese sandwich from the lunchbox. “Thanks”

“So Paul,” you began after a few bites of food, “what do you usually do besides leading clueless city girls around the forest ?”

“Thanks for making me sound like a serial killer. Plus I wouldn’t call you clueless,”

“I mean in the serial killer equation I think I’d rather be clueless. Would be worse if I willingly followed a killer into the middle of nowhere. Now answer the question idiot,” you laughed affectionately.

“Whatever the council needs really. Usually some form of construction or land maintenance,”

“Do you enjoy it? I imagine it’s nice to be working with your hands and doing something different every day?”

“I do. It’s not what I had anticipated doing, but it keeps me busy. I don’t think I could ever work in an office.”

“What did you think you’ll be doing?” You paused a second, and realised you may be getting too intrusive with someone you didn’t know. Something about Paul just made you want to dig into what made him…well him. “Sorry you don’t have to answer that. I’ll just shut up,”

“Don’t worry [y/n], it’s fine. But you have to swear you won’t tell anyone,”

“I solemnly swear,” you declared grabbing his left pinkie with your right.

“Child,” Pull laughed, before wrapping his pinkie around your own. “I also thought by now I’d be travelling the country. Maybe working with animals on my way, at a ranch or something like that,”

“Nothing wrong with that at all. In fact it’s smart, animals are obviously much better than people,”

“Obviously,” he snorted.

“May I asked what changed?”

“Ah just council things really, it’s my duty to the tribe.”

You could tell he was skirting around the answer, but you knew it would be beyond rude to pry any further.

“Well there’s still plenty of time to try something new,” you declared as you swung your backpack on. “Shall we continue future cowboy?”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Hope you all enjoyed xx

Next chapter

[siriuslysmoking]

Hi! I’ve never done an ask but I love your writing and I was just vibing to my autumn playlist and there’s this song by the backseat lovers, I don’t know if you know of them. But it’s called Maple Syrup and I guess creative part of my brain is on because I immediately thought of something based off of that song with Eddie. Like “I saw you dancing at the show tonight, I stood in the back and I think that we both know why” or “did it hurt? When I kicked you to the curb? Now I’m all alone. I guess I’ll never learn” has some pretty good lines. Sorry this is long I’ve never done a request before, but I hope you take a listen and it sparks something for you too! x

Cutting Ties

A/N: it's ex Eddie. Steve and Reader aren't dating, bu they are both there for each other on extreme levels. Also, I know that this trope is overused.

Pairing: Eddie munson x Reader | Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, she/her pronouns, talks of miscarriage, hurt/no comfort

Summary: When bad memories come strolling back into town you try to protect the few things that you hold sacred.

-Did it hurt when I kicked you to the curb? Now I'm all alone I guess I'll never learn-

He made it big, you always knew he would, you used to talk about it when you both were in high school.

It’s been four years since he left, not wanting to be tied down. Or whatever that means.

You were twenty when he left.

Now, you had your life put together, you had a job with a stable income, you had a roof over your head. You are able to support your daughter in anything she wants to do. She’s in gymnastics and she loves it, it’s a way to get her energy out during the day.

Steve… Steve is your rock.

From the start Steve has been by your side, supporting you in every decision you make. Holding your hand while you sit in doctors appointments. He held you as you cried when the doctor left the room after announcing that you might lose her.

He sat next to you during your twelve hour labour, rubbing your shoulders are you tried to breathe.

You made sure Wayne was in Mia's life, he deserved that much, Eddie doesn't call him anymore.

You didn't know he was in town, you wish you would've. Steve agreed to meet you at three to pick the both of you up after Wayne had made the both of you lunch. The three of you started a tradition, every sunday Wayne would pick you up and either take you out to lunch or one of you would make something.

It was nice. Steve worked sundays so he would pick you up after work.

You wish someone had told you he was in town.

But when there is knocks on the door at 2:30, you meet Wayne's curious eyes, "Did ya boy get off early?"

"I don't think so." You hand Mia her brownie that Wayne had made for dessert, giving her a kiss on the forehead while Wayne goes to get the door.

"Eds! W-what are you doin' here?"

"That's not the welcome I was expecting, old man."

"Wasn't exceptin' ya."

"That's usually what a surprise visit is." Wayne looks to you and it's not like you can't let him in, so you just nod, giving him permission.

Mia has noticed the disruption, stopping mid chew as a strange man walks in. You try to obscure Eddie's view of her the best you can.

Eddie walks in and meets your eyes. He opens his mouth say something but Mia interrupts him. "Mamma, I can't see."

Eddie's eyes go wide as you slowly move over to the side. "Hi! What's your name? Are you grampa's friend?"

"I-I don't understand."

You just sigh, turning to Mia, "Baby, I'm gonna go outside and you're gonna stay and eat this delicious brownie that Wayne made you, okay?"

"otay." and just like that she begins shoving her face once more.

You softly close the door behind you after motioning for Eddie to go outside. "What- Who is that?"

"That's my daughter." You cross your arms as Eddie moves to the picnic bench, you just sit at on the bench while he paces back and forth.

"How old is she?" He knows the answer, you don't have to give it to him, but you do.

"Three."

"You should've told me." Eddie finally meets you eyes, "You should've fucking told me!"

"How?! How was I supposed to tell you? Call you? I didn't have your number, I didn't get an address. You left and said you didn't want to be tied down. What more to tie you down more than a child?" You huff, rolling your eyes at his audacity.

"Even Wayne knew?"

"Once I had her, it was hard to keep quiet." You run your hands through your hair, "It didn't take him long to connect the dots."

"He didn't tell me." Eddie looks angry, he's completely fuming.

"You stopped calling!" You throw your hands in the air, looking at him from across the table.

"Does everyone know?"

"No, they think-" You get cut off by a door opening to your left, it's not the trailer door, it's a car.

"Hey hone-" Steve pauses, looking to you, then meeting Eddie's eyes, "Munson."

"Harington?"

"Steve, will you go get Mia?"

"Uh-yeah."

"Her name is Mia?" Eddie's expression goes soft at that.

That's when Steve walks in the trailer, the door open enough for the words Mia shouts to echo out to the two of them. "Dada!"

"Hey pumpkin."

Eddie meets your eyes, "Is that my daughter calling Steve Fucking Harrington Dad?"

"She's not yours."

"She isn't? So she doesn't have my hair and my eyes?"

"She was and will never be yours, you threw away that chance when you kicked me to the curb."

"I-" He doesn't know what to say and you have no more words for him. So when Steve comes walking out the door with Mia and your bag in his arms, you just turn and get into the car.

-

-

likes are reblogs are appreciated <3

[bekolxeram]

I swear this is the last time I bring up that air tanker in 2x14 voluntarily. The bottom line is, if you believe Tommy did fly that plane, that makes him not even superhero level cool, but Jonny Kim level cool. If you believe he didn't, then he's just as cool, always knowing a guy from all walks of line, ready to help out with whatever resource on hand the second Chimney says the word. At the end of the day, he saved the 118 and a bunch of civilians either way, and he did it again in S7 flying to that cruise ship. He'll always be our cool heroic pilot no matter what.

With that being said, I have some thoughts about the CAL FIRE line from the news reporter in that episode. If you're not interested, please read no further. And if you don't want to see this kind of posts at all but still want to read my other content, please block the tag #aviation realism.

I know Bobby said "217 incoming" when he saw that C-130, only the news reporter mentioned it was with CAL FIRE. That's why I suspect the CAL FIRE line was shoved in after the actual scenes were filmed, because they realized or someone explained to them how impractical and dangerous for an urban fire department to own a giant air tanker and just dump tons of water all over the city.

I saw the same technique utilized for the tsunami arc in S3. Anyone who has taken geography in high school can tell that in reality, there is no megathrust fault capable of generating Indian Ocean 2004 or Japan 2011 scale tsunami off the coast of SoCal. So where did the tsunami come from? In 3x02, before Sue asks Maddie to "triage" the dispatchers, you can hear once again a news reporter saying the tsunami is triggered by an earthquake off the coast of Alaska. This takes the fictional tsunami scenario from having zero basis in real life, to possible in extreme cases and greatly exaggerated for dramatic effect.

I thank whatever divine intervention or persistent technical advisor that made the CAL FIRE line possible.

2x14 was first aired on April 15, 2019. What you might not remember or realize is that something notable happened across the Atlantic on the very same day: the Notre-Dame fire. The entire world watched the cathedral burned for hours while over 400 firefighters all over Paris tried to contain the flame. A certain f...... former US president then suggested on Twitter that "perhaps flying water tankers could be used to put it out."

The French immediately responded by pointing out that dumping large amount of water from an aircraft at low altitude could "weaken the structure of Notre-Dame and result in collateral damage to the buildings in the vicinity." A retired FDNY battalion chief also told the media that water bombing would likely make the situation more dangerous, as civilians on the street might be hit if you miss the target.

The entire internet was clowning on that stable genius for such an innovative idea all afternoon. Imagine if 2x14 aired later that evening with not even a smaller single engine one, but a large 4 engine airtanker somehow belonging to the LAFD, that would come off extra stupid, even meme inspiring. But with the CAL FIRE line, they could at least claim that it was the extreme and rare circumstances requiring additional assistance from other agencies in the area, and it was not part of 911-verse LAFD's normal operation.

If the writers had done their homework beforehand and the CAL FIRE thing was always part of the script, good for them. If it was indeed shoved into the scene last minute, then they should thank their lucky stars.

I can already imagine the headache Bobby is going to have working on Hotshots as a consultant.

[erodasfishtacos]

Hurts Like Hell

prompt: first part of the ps au 😗 I hope you all enjoy

warnings: smut & angst, minors dni

If you would like to get two week early release, exclusive content/tropes, among other benefits - consider signing up for my Patreon for $3 a month :)

-

YN wasn’t nervous, she had never felt like that while performing in front of an audience or camera. She was confident in her curves and the beauty of her face, her quirky but sweet as honey personality.

She never thought she’d do porn - in all honesty but it was sort of a perfect storm when she broke up with her ex who she swore up and down was her soulmate that she was going to spend the rest of her life with and she got fired from her steady, reliable job that was getting her through graduate school.

The sudden lack of sex and money - well it made the most logical sense to her and once she realized how amazing the income was, she was hooked.

She was completely financially stable now, having paid off her school in full as well as her condominium with a pretty large amount in her savings.

YN mainly did cam work, making boatloads from private virtual shows and doing silly, basic things that got her tips generously.

She rarely did shoots with other actors, she wasn’t against having sex with strangers but she didn’t find that she enjoyed much either. 

She knew she didn’t necessarily have to love it because it was her job but it almost made her stomach turn too much to want to do it.

The thing was, despite how many scenes (which wasn’t many) she’s had with different men and occasionally women, they could never make her come, or even get her wet enough where they wouldn’t have to use lubrication.

Nowhere close.

YN never got that tight burning feeling in the pit of her tummy that signaled she was about to feel a burst of euphoria that she craved.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t able to, she knew she wasn’t broken, and before this she wouldn’t have said that it was ever necessarily difficult to find release but it just didn’t happen like before.

Instead it always felt like a build-up to nothing, no matter how much they rubbed her clit or teased her nipples - nothing simmered to the surface and every experience had fallen flat.

It was the main reason that she did web shows and OnlyFans because at least she could guarantee that she could get herself off and not rely on anyone to do it for her and fail.

No one had ever made her come but her ex.

-

“You need to give me one more,” He huffed outbetween pants as he rolled his hips in perfectly to hit her spot, his thumb unrelenting in her swollen bud, “One more than I’ll run you a nice bath and cuddle you t’sleep like the lil’ pillow princess you are.”

“S’too much,” YN sniffles with a frustrated whine as she wriggled her hips forward to get more friction than away when it was overwhelming - fat tears down her cheeks and her core was positively pulsing.

He leans down, damp forehead against her as he makes direct eye contact - not slowing his hips one bit before he’s gritting out, she was feeling every inch of how thick he was, “You know your safe word. Either use it or shut the fuck up and come on me again, you little brat.”

YN is embarrassed to admit those words toss her straight over the edge as she lets her final, weak orgasm wrack through her body - thighs twitching and center throbbing as her back arches up into his strong chest.

He follows right after, slowing down to a more manageable speed as he’s pressing his puffy pink lips all over her face, kissing the tears and licking at the salty wetness, humming out soft praises.

“So so sweet, melt right under me, darlin’. Never had someone so perfect for me,” He murmurs against her temple before moving to her jaw, “I’m going t’keep you forever. I’m so in love with you, baby.”

“I love you more,” She manages out weakly, hand coming to brush his damp curls off his forehead as he collapses playfully on top of her and she doesn’t complain, kissing his neck and massaging his back as he groans in a different type of pleasure.

“Impossible,” He titters with a frown, rolling off the bed and pulling her towards the bathroom, “I love you more than anything that has ever existed. I love you the most.”

-

YN wasn’t quite prepared for the scene today but rarely did she need to read a script on the set of a porno, everything was ad-lib anyways and usually there weren’t many words anyways - just obnoxious, exaggerated moans.

Instead she decided to laze around with Niall after she’d gone into hair and makeup, it’s a bedroom scene so it was all minimal with her hair pulled up into a loose messy bun and just a bit of blush to give the appearance of just waking up.

There was a twist of nerves in her stomach, she didn’t do this often and when she did, she usually wanted it to be over as soon as possible - it always crossed her mind multiple times before shooting that she could just go home, she didn’t need the money - OnlyFans was plenty but she was doing her manager a favor.

-

The breakup has been just freshly a year.

It still felt like an open wound, YN tried to go on a few dates but her heart belonged to her soulmate and it wasn’t fair to anyone else so she didn’t bother after multiple ones failed with hurt feelings.

Her heart, mind, and body still ached for him desperately.

It was an unexpected break-up that had flipped her life upside down in the worst ways possible, she wished she could be living in that naive bliss with him, and that they built the life together that they had originally planned.

Before she realized he had cheated.

-

It had started with him snatching his phone out of her hands when she picked it up to check the weather, in the four years they’d been together - he had never done that before and it made her brows furrow.

He had denied that it was anything like that, it was that he was buying a present for her, and he didn’t want her to accidentally see it - she was skeptical but he’d never given her reason before and she’s able to shrug it off.

Then he changed the passcode to his phone.

When she got suspicious, he got defensive and told her there was nothing to worry about - that she needs to relax and let it go before changing the subject like she didn’t just raise a red flag.

She arrives home from classes a bit early as soon as she walks in the door, he’s quickly hanging up his phone call and shoving the cell into his inner suit pocket - when she asks who he’s talking to, he says his mum but then why’d he hang up like he didn’t want her to hear the conversation?

Then the icing on the cake, she had been walking home from the gym one night, passing the front of a restaurant - he had told her that he had to work late at the office because of some type of merger and to not wait for him to go workout with her like he usually did.

Mindlessly, she glances through the window as she walks past but is skidding to a halt when she notices a familiar face in the dimly lit building and does a double-take to make sure her eyes aren’t deceiving her.

It’s her boyfriend.

But he has company.

He’s sitting in a booth with a woman across from him, she’s definitely older than him but not out of the realm of possibility that they could be on a date - secluded in a both to the far left with wine glasses in fron to them.

YN felt it in her bones that this was the woman, the other woman - she somehow felt hurt by the age of the lady, she had to be ten to fifteen years his senior, was that what his type really was?

She manages to get her feet moving before he would have the chance to glance up and notice her - she nearly runs back to their shared apartment with angry tears running down her cheeks as she finds a sticky note on the fridge that says ‘love you darling x’.

It’s his one opportunity to come clean.

And she wasn’t going to forgive him then either but god, she just wanted the truth from him - YN had always, always been honest with him, even when it was hard, even when it was embarrassing. She thought he’d always done that same but it felt like a knife to her heart that this was unraveling.

YN sits her bum on their kitchen island, waits and waits for him to come over from his date with someone who’s not her.

It makes her want to cry when her phone buzzes and his name pops up with an ridiculous amount of emoji hearts after it.

Be home in ten. I love you, sweet girl. Missed you all day x

“Fucking liar,” She hisses through clenched teeth, wiping harshly at the tears that are falling without her permission, and slamming her phone down against the marble hard enough that she would not be surprised if her screen cracked.

She zones out as she ponders the possibilities of how this conversation will turn out, there was a numbness already sweeping through her body, as a protective measure because her body couldn’t even acknowledge the hurt.

She doesn’t even register the front door unlocking and opening.

Not until he’s in the kitchen, dropping his jacket over the barstool, and smiling so fucking fondly at her, “Hi darlin’, your allergies acting up again? I told you that the off brand just doesn’t work for you. Your eyes are swollen.”

It was aching how beautiful he was, his face was soft and open with deep dimples decorating his cheeks, his eyes twinkling and happy, and he’s stepping towards her with his tattooed arms outreached.

YN bats off his hand when he reaches to thumb at her cheek, confusion wrinkling his forehead because she can’t remember a time where she’s every denied his touch like she just did, she seethes out, “Don’t act like you fucking care.”

He’s clearly startled by her hostility, lips turning down when he asks with an offended edge, “Why wouldn’t I care? What’s gotten into you, hm?”

It’s like he’s not sure whether she’s playing or not because sometimes she would be short, act like a brat, just so that it could turn into a fun night of punishment and pleasure but even Harry knew that it wasn’t this - not by how rigid her body language was.

“I know your secret, what you’ve been trying to hide from me, and trying to act like I’m insane when I questioned you about it,” YN responds with her arms crossed, making it clear she doesn’t want any physical interaction, and he struggles to take a step back because it’s obvious how much he wants to embrace her right now.

And well, the look on his face is all the confirmation she needs - the confusion twists into surprise, shock swirling in his eyes, and something else that she wasn’t able to point her finger on but it almost looked like disappointment.

“H-how did you find out?” He stutters on the first syllable, his already deep voice somehow even more gravely, his accent accentuated, and she’s never heard him trip over his words before - his pouty bottom lip quivering a bit.

YN scoffs in disbelief, she regrets it but she chucks the glass next to her on the countertop at him and he manages to duck before it hits him - the facade of shock made her unbearably angry and she’s relieved the glass doesn’t hit him but feels a satisfaction when it shatters against their floor.

“I-Darlin’,” He tries to reason, hands out cautiously, and he swallows hard, “I don’t think we’re talking about the same thing.”

“Five fucking years down the drain,” YN lets the tears fall in a slow dance down her cheeks, letting them form into droplets on her jaw, “You fucking cheater.”

His jaw drops in disbelief, the softness in his face dissipating when he hears her words, “We are definitely not talking about the same thing. That’s for fucking sure. You think I’d cheat on you?”

“I don’t think, I know,” YN slips off the marble counter and avoids the broken glass - shattered into a million pieces on the ground, just like her heart, “Don’t ever, ever speak to me again. You knew what I went through with my parents when I was growing up. I trusted you because I told you how my dad’s cheating affected me.”

“You’re wrong,” He states bluntly, interrupting her and disregarding what she’s saying - his eyes hardening and his back becoming ramrod straight, tense and offended by the words.

“Who were you at dinner tonight with?” YN pressed with an unhappy smirk, “Who was the woman you were with? Is she the reason you’ve been hiding your phone from me?”

His lips draw in a tight line, the muscles in his jaw twitching as he stares her down.

No words though. Not quick enough. She wasn’t giving him more than three seconds to respond.

“That’s all I needed to know. This, this is done,” YN motions with her arms, her chest beginning to heave with the reality that the man she thought she would marry wasn’t going to be hers anymore.

That he was sharing himself with others.

-

YN is mentally hyping herself up for another round of sex that wouldn’t lead to anything, sure it was fine to mess around with someone but it more so filled the loneliness rather than the actual pleasure.

She felt pathetic that she was still so fucking love sick for her ex, that he’d ruined her so sustainably for anyone else in every faucet of the word, love, sex, friendship - it was destroyed.

“Hey, five minutes and we’re starting, let’s go,” Warren, the director, pops in his head with a final warning, meaning she needs to get her bum on set right now.

“Wish me luck,” YN chirps with fake enthusiasm to Niall, pinching his cheek until he bats her hand away and pushes her towards the door - he won’t watch, nor would she want him to.

“Have fun getting dick, I guess,” Her friend mumbles in his a monotone huff, giving her a look because he is supportive but doesn’t necessarily approve as he barely looks up from his phone.

After navigating the hallway to the bedroom set where she’ll be filming, she sees her co-star for the first time - well, the back of him, tall, towering over the others that he’s around.

He was faced towards Warren, most likely preparing, his shoulders were broad, muscles defined on every inch of his body but not obnoxiously, tapering off into narrow hips and lean but strong legs - bum small but still plump.

She would know that body anywhere, the way her heart drops to the floor tells her who it is before it connects with her brain but that doesn’t make sense does it?

She wonders for a brief second if she’s had a break with reality and she’s hallucinating.

YN can clearly, distinctly remember what that skin felt like under her fingers, the way his abdominal muscles twitched when he was close, how those long arms would encompass her, hold her through all the good and bad.

She was split between running for the hills, canceling the shoot, and purely only doing webcam business from here on out - it wasn’t worth the money but it was magnetic and her mind was fuzzy with wanting to just touch him.

Her other option, which her heart is proposing, is running straight into his arms, letting him brush his lips against her forehead as his fingertips dig into her hips but that probably wouldn't happen, would it?

Instead of either choice, her feet are cemented to the floor, she looked like a deer in headlights with wide eyes and trembling lips, shaking down to her fingertips with frozen fear.

“There’s our girl!” Warren announces happily when he sees her past her costar’s shoulder, tugging his headset off one of his ears as he smiles at his star and waves her over towards them.

The other man turns around, their eyes meeting for the first time in a year - the forestry green she loved so much met hers and recognition, confusion, anger crossed them in a span of mere seconds - his lips in a tight line but he doesn’t look angry as much as he looked disapproving.

Who is he to fucking judge?

They both don’t move automatically, staring at each other, and not knowing what to make of it - the tension was palpable between them and YN could feel it all the way to her bones.

Harry budges first, he always has as he takes the familiar long strides - just in a pair of tight briefs that hug him perfectly, hugging his thighs and highlighting the hard cut of muscle leading into the waistband, the familiar trail of sparse hairs that start at his bellybutton and travel down out of sight - she used to love to run her fingers over it and tease that spot before ducking lower.

Her eyes can’t help but dart down to his right upper thigh, her real name (not her stage name) was still inked permanently and dark into his tanned skin - she’d wondered if he had covered it by now but it was still in all of its original glory.

Warren is oblivious to anything out of the norm, he’s slapping Harry on the shoulder and telling YN with a wide smile, “Meet Axel. Axel meet Starlet, your co-star You two are going to make a hot fucking movie.”

It was comical, the faux anonymity, they knew everything about each other down to their blood type, first ever pet, and so they fact that they were being introduced as these corny fake names just makes it even stranger.

Harry puts his hand out to shake, YN hesitates with her chest still rising much too fast to be normal as she shakingly meets his, and she thinks she’s about to have a panic attack because right now, she can’t decipher up from down.

It hurts her, physically, to touch him again.

She loves him so much.

Present tense.

It isn’t fair that this is happening, she has always been loyal and good to him, and it feels like a punishment that she’s in this situation right now.

Warren gets distracted by another staff calling his name as they mess around with a tripod for one of the bigger cameras - there was a decent amount of people around for this shoot.

“Breathe,” Harry murmurs, hand still holding hers as he notices how elevated her breathing, his gaze is intimidatingly intense as he observes her, he knows that she’s panicking, “It’s okay, I promise I didn’t know. I can back out right now.”

YN for some reason doesn’t let go either, her eyes watering as she whispers, “Why are you here? Why are you doing…this?”

She couldn’t say what they were really doing, she wasn’t ashamed but it was boggling that he was here too - it wasn’t like either of them had a history of doing porn before their relationship.

Harry sighs, his free hand pushing his curls off his forehead, “The start-up I was working for went bankrupt and didn’t pay out my last three months worth of work as well as my commission. I had to figure out something to pay my bills until I can find a new job and a friend suggested this.”

“Then you need this just as much as I do. Clover Tech laid me and three hundred other employees off,” She replies, finally dropping his hand and awkwardly wringing her wrists - her nerves were tingling and she wanted to keep holding his hand.

Harry looks torn before he settles, “I know you don’t want to do this with me. I…I can do the shoot with the backup girl and split half of the check with you so you’re not out money.”

It’s so genuine that it makes her stomach churn, how could someone this sweet ruin everything by cheating.

“That’s…no. It’s fine unless you don’t want to,” YN trails off with a twinge of embarrassment at the thought he wouldn’t want to have sex with her because she obviously hadn’t been enough for him.

It had never been a concern when they were together, they were magnetic, and he was obsessed with getting his mouth, hands, anything on her whenever she would let him which had been often.

“Unless I don’t want to?” Harry prompts, not catching what she’s hinting at, fuck, he was so handsome she couldn’t think straight - his brow was furrowed and she could tell by his body language that he was stressed out.

“You know…have sex with me,” She mumbles lowly, eyes darting down to her feet for a moment but she soon realizes that Harrys waiting for her eye contact to speak because he doesn’t say anything until she sheepishly meets his gaze.

“Until you broke up with me. I was planning on only having sex with you for the rest of my life,” Harry rasps much too bluntly and without any regret in his eyes as he watches her, “I will never turn you down.”

“You can’t just say stuff like that,” YN scolds because it’s getting too emotional for a porn set and she shouldn’t feel like he’s telling the truth but because of how firm his tone is -  the worst part is that she believes him and she shouldn’t.

Harry’s hand twitches like he’s about to reach out and grasp her jaw like he’d always done when he felt she wasn’t listening and she needed to, he’d bring her into his chest and whisper the words against her temple as he rubbed her hips.

“I’m telling the truth,” He states sincerely, hand moving instead to scratch at his bare stomach, “I’m only doing this on one condition. After we shoot, we need to talk. If not then I’m backing out and we’ll both be fucked for money.”

YN feels a bit of bitterness rise in her tone, who is he to make demands?

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about.”

“Oh but there is. This time you're going to listen and not storm out of my life again,” His tone has anger behind it, an unusual occurrence because he was much better at staying calm then her.

“Fine, we can talk,” YN relents because deep down she really really wants to be intimate again and despite her mild protesting, her body is wired because sex with Harry means orgasm, good orgasms.

Not the ones by a vibrating massager or her fingers, he’s the only person who knows how to work her body like a fiddle until she’s a teary mess that doesn’t know if she wants more or not.

-

We - oh, fuck. H, we shouldn’t,” YN gasps into his mouth, she was panting already and he takes her plump bottom lip in between his teeth as his hand works under her dress with direct purpose.

“Tell me to stop then,” Harry challenged cockily, two fingers making her feel full as he curled them up to pet her spot that made her legs quiver against the countertop, his body keeping her upright.

She needs to tell him but she can’t find it in her because she doesn’t want him to stop, they were at his parent’s house for an anniversary dinner.

He had said he wanted to show her something upstairs but what really happened was he crowded her into a bathroom and yanked her dress down until her tits spilled out and his hand pushed her underwear to the side.

“Gonna tell me?” Harry prompts as his mouth ducks down to nip at her hard nipples, switching back and forth quickly, taking his time to move lower and suck bruises into the supple curve of her breast.

YN shakes her head, giving in to the pleasure, and letting her legs splay open against him, “Don’t want you to stop. You make me feel so good, baby.”

It was a bit too sweet for the situation they’re in but it makes Harry crack a fond, boyish smile as he stands straighter to kiss her again but it’s intimate and loving before whispering, “You’re my whole world, sweet girl. Always going to make you feel good. Now come on my fingers, baby.”

-

She’s snapped out of the memory by the director coming back over to where they’re standing tensely with a good amount of distance between them.

“Alright, now that you’ve met!” Warren claps his hands together, oblivious of anything out of the ordinary, “Time to get this show on the road. An easy scene, more romantic than raunchy. You’re a couple who are waking up for some morning sex. It’s that easy.”

YN honestly liked how Warren directed his films, there weren’t a million scene cuts or positions, he let the actors follow the natural rhythm and rarely had to redirect a shot - almost giving off a homemade vibe with studio quality.

She feels a sick mixture of anticipation and an oncoming panic attack, her palms are sweaty as she shucks her robe - leaving her in a oversize tee that falls to her mid thighs with a sheer pair of bikini cut panties under.

“Alright, YN right side. Slip under the duvet but make sure to turn on your side, left thigh out of the blanket,” Warren directed, once she’s laid down, he messes with the blankets until the curve of her bum and leg are on display - easy to shove off once they get started.

Harry follows as well, turning on his side so he’s spooned up right behind her, bum right in the cradle of his pelvis, and he’s already hard against her - it made her flashback to their mornings when they woke up together and had slow, giggly morning sex.

“Hard up for it?” YN murmurs quietly, she wasn’t sure if she was joking or if it was a jab at him - maybe both at this point because most men needed more to get hard to film than this.

“Considering I have dreams about your cunt nearly every night, can you blame me?” Harry whispers in her ear, ignoring the bustle of the people setting up, his hand splayed on her tummy, “You’ve lost weight. I don’t like it, missed grabbing on to you. Miss you filling my hands.”

“Everything’s been shit since we’ve broken up,” She admits shakily when his hand naturally starts to pet at the skin near the band only her panties - he was right, she had lost weight, not intentionally, but eating made her stomach churn most days.

“I know. It’s been hell,” Harry agrees with no judgment, it felt too comfortable to have him like this again, and she felt no discomfort as he traced her skin - thumbing at a scar she had on her hip that he always kissed.

It’s like they forget that they're here for a reason as Harry already tries to move the process along before they’re even rolling - he had always been impatient when he was horny and had no shame in his body during it.

YN gently grips his wrist when he tucks his fingers under the soft silk of her underwear to tease at her mound and shakes her head, “Not yet.”

“This goes against every instinct I have to let anyone watch you get fucked. The only way I can manage is to know that it’s going to me owning this body again. Has anyone made you come like I have, sweet girl?”

YN also missed this part too, he was by far the best talker during sex, everything he said sent an electric zip through her, and he had a mouth filthier than any sailor when he was on her.

“I’m-, yeah,” YN lies lamely, she can hear his warm chuckle as he palms her tummy once again and pulls her impossibly closer - she didn’t want him to have the power that he truly had over her.

“Are you telling me nobody’s made you come since we broke up?” Harry asks but he already knows the answer, “Know your cunt’s aching for me. You smell so good, m’mouth is watering. This is my first scene with another person, I’ve just been doing solo shit. You’re the last person I’ve touched.”

She shouldn’t feel satisfied at that but she does.

“You already know,” YN huffs out with an annoyed edge, she knows he has a cocky grin that makes his dimples pop boyishly - one of the first things she fell in love with and one of the things she missed the most.

“Quiet on set!” Warren announces to all the staff who are making small talk or any type of noise, he has a marker in his hand and starts now that all the noise has disappeared, “Mark. And Axel, Starlet, you're on.”

The lights are dimmed, to give the illusion of the sun barely kissing over the horizon, the bedrooms styled in a modern farmhouse vibe making it cozy and realistic, and the bed was surprisingly plush and comfortable.

YN closes her eyes to feign sleep as does Harry for a good minute before he begins to rouse with a deep inhale and a low groan as he stretches, his arms rustling above his head.

She can’t obviously see what he’s doing but instead feels when he leans forward to kiss the nape of her neck - it’s a jolt of shock because she’s missed it so much and it feels nice.

This all just seems like a fucked up fever dream.

“Sweetheart,” He murmurs softly, his hand moving up to tug the collar of her shirt off her shoulder so that his lips could make line from her ear to shoulder blade, “Wake up for me, baby.”

YN fakes a whiny grumble as she wriggles back into him, feeling his sharp intake of breath with the friction on his center, and she tilts her head to the side to give him more room to roam his lips along.

“Tired,” She complains brattily but it warps into a squeak when he nips the cap of her shoulder before soothing it with his tongue, back up to her jaw to suck a spot into her skin as he pulls her harder back into his groin.

“Please, darling,” Harry drawls against her skin, he kicks off the duvet to display their bodies, his hand moving to the hem of her shirt before slipping in and upwards against her warm skin, “I need you.”

His fingers raise goosebumps against her tummy before he’s cupping both of her breasts, hidden under her shirt but his thumbs come to her nipples - they’re already hard for him as he rubs them in lazy circles as his lips don’t stay still for a moment against her skin.

YN lets out a hurt mewl when he pinches at them before thumbing over the acute pain and easing it with softer touches - it was something intimate that he was hiding this from the camera, it was just them for a brief moment, “So desperate for me. Let’s get your shirt off, need to see these pretty tits.”

It scared her because it didn’t sound like acting, it sounded like how he talked when they were living together, when they were in their bed.

“Stop teasing,” She mumbles as she lets him tug the shirt over her head, his right hand moves to her mouth, tapping at her plush lips.

YN opens automatically and he presses two fingers inside her mouth, stroking at her tongue before taking them out to rub the sheen of spit on her nipples - he watches curiously as they pebble even more before pinching at them again.

“You’re so grumpy in the morning,” Harry hums with a hint of humor because it was actually true, she was not a morning bird at all.

“M’not grumpy,” YN disagrees, her voice hitching at the end when he gives a particularly hard tweak as they become more sensitive and taut, “Just want you to do something.”

“Do something,” Harry mocks in that deep, gravel accent before he’s kissing the hinge of her jaw and rasps, “Just remember, you asked for it. So desperate for my cock, it’s cute.”

Before she can bite back, Harry’s hand moves into the front of her panties, thick fingers sliding down her folds before two are tucking up right inside and curl against her velvet, warm walls.

He knew her body like the back of his hand because he’s petting her spot with precision like he remembered right where it was and how much pressure she preferred.

YN let out a loud, surprised moan.

It was authentic, really one of the first she’s ever let out that was real on set as her toes already begin to curl and she was struggling to keep her eyes open as electricity zipped through her.

“Did I find your spot, baby?” Harry asks innocently despite his actions, he’s grinding himself into her bum to get some relief as his thumb moves up to swirl on her clit with harsh movements.

“There, s’good,” YN gasps kittenishly, spreading her legs further to give him more room and beginning to roll her hips down onto his fingers, riding them without another thought, she wasn’t even registering the cameras anymore.

“Yeah, darlin’. I know all your sweet spots, hm? Hit ‘em just right to have you dripping down my hand like a good girl,” He praises before nipping at her jaw and twisting his fingers with a harsh, steady rhythm - he smelled so fucking good, like pumpkin spice and cedar, strong and heady - it made her dizzy with want.

“I-I’m cl-close, baby,” The pet name slips out as her muscles begin to tense, walls contracting against him, she doesn’t know if she’s ever come this fast, definitely not in a long time because it took her aback.

She missed it so much.

She missed him so much.

It felt like a sick joke to her to have to act out what used to be, what she missed, what she craved.

It was like groundhogs day but amplified by a million.

“Then fuckin’ give it to me. I’ve earned it yet? Soak my fingers, pet,” He encourages as he speeds up and presses down harder on her button - his bicep flexing deliciously, straining all of his strong muscles.

It has her tipping over the edge, it’s the first mind-numbing orgasm she’s had in a year and it’s with her cheating ex-boyfriend who she thought she was going to settle down with, house with a white picket fence, babies running around, and this was what she got instead.

Her eyes are squeezed shut as her body tremors through it, his hand slowing but not all together stopping either.

Her body was conditioned to respond to him and it gave in to him so sweetly that people watching this would be blind not to see - no one could act this well.

“Perfect, did just what I asked,” He hums as she comes down, he’s pulling the shirt off her head and tossing it to the floor before doing the same with her underwear.

His hand moved up her belly, leaving a damp trail in its wake from her wetness until he cups her breast, lips back to her neck with slow, wet kisses.

“Plea-please, H,” YN mewls as he pinches at her nipple but he punishes her with a nip, whispering in her ear, “No names, pet.”

It takes her a moment to realize her slip because she wasn’t fucking acting - she couldn’t even find it in her to be embarrassed.

She wanted to get her mouth on him before they got to the main event and so she’s wriggling out of his grip to turn and face him.

YN straddles his thighs, his big hands automatically coming to grip her hips - indenting enough to bruise and Harry looks vulnerable for the first time today.

His eyes are wider than usual, his lips parted, and his stomach was sucking in and out revealing his ribs before disappearing back into the strong muscle.

YN goes to shimmy down, he shoots up and grips her jaw hard, bringing their mouths back together in a hard kiss - her breasts pressing against his bare chest.

When she finally has a moment to pull back for a breath, Harry murmurs too low for the microphones to catch on, “Missed your perfect little mouth so much. If you even wrap those lips around me, I’ll come. Let me fuck you, darling.”

YN can do anything but nod, trying not to preen from the compliment - he squirms around for a moment as he shoves his briefs down his thighs and kicks them off his ankle.

God, she missed everything about him.

He was as pretty, thick, long as she remembers.

Her heart flutters when she spots the soft pinkish scar on his pubic bone a few inches up and to the left of his base - she’d forgotten about that.

-

“Bloody hell!” Harry yelps out in surprise, sitting up from the bed and looking down at his groin, “S’definitely not supposed to hurt that much.”

“You made sure this was meant for wax play right?” YN asks as she puts the candle back on the bedside table before examining the little blob of lavender wax on his pubic bone.

“I didn’t know there were specific candles!” Harry whines out as YN picks the wax off, a small bubbling blister already forming on his delicate skin.

“Baby,” YN chastised with a giggle and a shake of her head, “We better put some neosporin and a bandaid on this so it doesn’t get infected.”

“It hurts so bad, need you to take care of me,” Harry’s pouts as she disappears to get the supplies from their bathroom.

“How are you still hard?” YN laughs as he winces in pain as she gently dabs the medication on the wound and unwraps the bandaid.

“Don’t make fun of me,” He grumbles as he tries to hide a smile, his hand moving to rub her plushy hip, and his nose nudging at her cheek, “You constantly make me hard. S’gonna nearly be impossible for me to lose a stiffy around you.”

“Who said romance is dead,” She rolls her eyes but it’s fond and she can’t stop giggling because he just makes her so happy.

“Never going t’be,” Harry murmurs, sex voice one hundred perfect back in motion, now that he has a purple bandaid on his burn, and he’s leans forward to begin kissing her belly and his hands coming to knead at her bum.

The candle long forgotten.

-

She runs her fingers over the puffy skin where she had accidentally burnt him - she didn’t know why it made her eyes prick with emotion.

When YN glances up at him, Harry is watching her so intently as she traces over the memory - the moment doesn’t last for more than a minute but it moves in slow motion for her.

YN snaps out of it when she remembers exactly where she’s at and what she’s supposed to be doing right now - in front of cameras because this wasn’t an intimate moment, it was all for the cameras.

At least, that’s she’s telling herself to save her sanity.

Harry could always sense her mood, her emotion, and now is no different, and so he helps her get back on track, asking, “C’mon, darling. You want my cock? S’aching for you.”

“Please, want it,” YN agrees as Harry adjusts their position, his length sliding between her folds and it has him tilting his head back and moaning - it was loud and beautiful, deep but at the same time desperate as his hips twitch up.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Harry hisses as he grips his base to paint the tip through her folds, teasing at her entrance before moving up to smack the weight of it against her swollen clit - repeating that cycle a few times as he mouths at her nipples.

“Stop teasing,” She huffs out in frustration because she wants him in, she wants to come again, but at the same time, she never wants this to end  - this right here is what she thought she would get for the rest of her life.

“Spoiled thing,” Harry chastises as he guides himself in, hands moving to her hips and pulling her down all the way onto him until she’s settled, it makes her feel so full, Harry must agrees because he’s groaning, “Darling, s’tight. Fuck, you feel good. Best thing I’ve ever had.”

It didn’t feel like he was lying.

“Ride me, baby,” Harry encourages as he leans back against the headboard, his strings hands moving her hips back and forth in a grinding motion, harsh circles that made her stomach tense, “Show me what a good girl you are.”

She wanted to show him what he fucked up, what he gave up.

YN rises up on her knees, pulling herself nearly off of him until his tip is just kissing at her core before sliding on the way back down, slow and purposeful as her hands move to cup her breasts.

“Stop tha’,” Harry scolds possessively, knocking her hands away and moving to grab them himself, fingers pinching at her nipples in the exact way she liked it, “Am I not doing good enough or are you just too greedy for your own good?”

YN lets out a wet mewl, falling forward until her chest is pressed against his, her forehead resting on his shoulder, “S’good, you’re so good. H, you’re so good, baby.”

Harry shushes her softly, wrapping his arms around her tightly and pulling her into his chest as close as possible before he’s thrusting up into her with full force, the sound of skin meeting echoing through the room as he kisses the side of her face.

“God, I’ve fucking missed you,” Harry whispers in her ear, just for her, he’s panting as he exerts energy into fucking her, kissing her, hugging her, and YN falls off the edge for another orgasm, sobbing in pleasure into his neck, “That’s it, that’s fuckin’ it, pet.”

He only thrusts up a few more times before he’s coming, keeping her still, deep in his lap as he works through it, lips moving to just press against her temple as he slows his hips and relaxes back more.

YN kept her head tucked against him, her cheeks were wet from tears, from a mixture of her multiple orgasms and heartbreak - she was sniffling and didn’t want the cameras to see this.

Harry hears the sniffle, the way her breathing is stuttered from trying to hold it back, and he’s looking up at the room of people, “Cut it. We’re done.”

The camera crew apparently doesn’t halt filming as quickly as Harry has asked and so he’s raising his voice loudly, “I said fucking cut it. Turn off the goddamn cameras. The scene’s over.”

Warren is coming over, a genuine concern on his face, “What’s going on? Is she hurt?”

The question offends Harry, he barks out, “I didn’t fucking hurt her. She’s okay. I got this.”

YN nods, muttering “I’m fine.” And wanting everyone else in the room to disappear.

Harry’s rustling them around a bit, having pulled out by now, and is shoving her big tee shirt back over her head to cover her up before moving them until he can wriggle her underwear and his back on.

“YN,” Harry’s voice is softer than when he was ordering everyone around a minute ago, “Baby, I need you to breathe. Everything’s okay. You’re okay.”

-

“You’re okay,” Harry coos as he holds her to his bare chest, “Everything’s okay.”

The water was cascading down on them, hot and steaming up the bathroom, as they stood under it - just embracing, unsure of how long they’ve been in there.

“I miss her,” YN cries into his chest, her chest hurt from how much she’d been crying - her eyes were swollen and sore, “It doesn’t get easier. I can’t believe it’s been two years. It feels like yesterday.”

“It does,” Harry agrees solemnly, he still remembers the day her mother was diagnosised with cancer, “I miss her too. She was an amazing woman. And she gave me you, the love of my life.”

“I couldn’t do this without you,” She says honestly, goosebumps prickling her skin even despite the temperature.

“Never have to do it without me,” Harry replies as he reaches to turn the water a little hotter, “S’a promise baby.”

-

“I’m fine,” YN spits out a bit harshly, shoving his hands off of her - he doesn’t get to comfort her like this when he fucking cheated on her.

She wishes she regret what she just did but she didn’t, however she needed a minute to breath and so she’s sliding off the bed and straightening out the shirt.

YN knows she’s running away but she doesn’t get far before Harry’s fingers are curling around her wrist and stopping her.

“Hey. We had a deal,” He reminds her firmly, his lips in a tight line - she has to ignore the blossoming hickeys she left all over his neck and chest, “We’re gonna talk.”

“Yeah,” YN lies breathlessly, “I really need to pee. Come to my dressing room in fifteen minutes?”

“Okay, m’going to shower real quick then,” Harry agrees, squeezing her wrist once more before he’s turning to go back to his dressing room.

YN is whipping open the door in a panic, “For fucks sake, Niall. We have to leave now.”

“Everything okay?” He asks from where he’s still lounged on the couch, “Do I need to kick someone’s arse?”

“I just did a scene with Harry,” YN whisper-shouts, tugging on her leggings and jamming her feet in her tennis shoes, “Let’s go.”

“Bloody hell,” Niall’s eyes go wide, he has so many questions but finally gets some urgency, shoving her shit into her duffle before swinging it over her shoulder and guiding them out the emergency exit.

-

Harry can’t seem to catch his breath on the shower, hard choking sobs wracking through his body as his forehead rests against the ceramic.

And he can’t stay in here much longer because she’s waiting to talk, he doesn’t know where to begin, how to apologize.

He’s tugging on a tee and running shorts before making his way back to her dressing room, his hands shaking with nerves - the confident pornstar long gone.

When he knocks, he doesn’t hear anything, and so he twists the knob, the room empty of anything beside the furniture - making it clear she was long gone.

“Fuck,” Harry hisses before punching his fist against the wall.

He wasn’t going to let her get away twice.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA if I ask my roommate to move out?

I live in a 4 bedroom house with 3 other roommates. B, C and D for this scenario. B & I are on the lease, C & D are not on the lease. C is my long time friend and disabled in a way that makes staying employed a struggle, so often I shoulder their financial burden for the household - an agreement from when we moved in because it was to keep them from being otherwise homeless. They do the amount of housework their disability allows, which is a reasonable amount. B is full time employed and primary breadwinner for the household (making up 75% of household income) and does minimal housework aside from putting their dishes in the dishwasher when they're done eating, per agreement that in exchange for paying 75% of household expenses and working full time they would do the least domestic work in the household. I'm part time employed, making up 25% of household income, disabled and do the majority of the housework.

D moved in two years ago under the agreement that they would help with housework because they're unemployed while they job hunt and then we would add them to the lease. D is a really good friend and has quite literally saved my life once but they haven't done any housework in the past two years and have yet to find a job as well as being actively detrimental to C & I doing housework (hoarding all dishes in the household in their room regularly despite repeated offers and requests to work out a system) and failing to communicate with us about any struggles they might be facing regarding housework or job hunting so we could try to help with it or at least know what was going on.

Recently D moved their partner who none of us knew into the house without asking or telling any of us (quite literally imagine just coming home and discovering a new person living in your spare room) and told their partner we would be able to house them indefinitely since they can pay a minimal amount of rent. Their partner isn't a terrible roommate but absolutely has to go because none of us get along with them or agreed to them being there and all of us have extensive trauma from a previous abusive roommate that is covered under this, turning this person into a walking PTSD trigger for us even though they didn't do anything wrong. D's partner has found alternative housing and has a move out date but D didn't help at all with it despite claiming they felt bad about causing this distress (and we do all genuinely believe they didn't mean to hurt anyone, but feel an apology without action - for example, promising to immediately start helping their partner find alternative housing, something that has fallen only on the shoulders of their partner and the rest of us - is meaningless in this situation). But we're also all on the same page that after two years of failing to follow through on promises or communicate with us about anything, the breach of trust and lack of any attempt to rectify it is a last straw for us and none of us feel comfortable continuing to live with D.

I know D struggles with their mental and physical health and they don't have anywhere else to go so we're in agreement that we shouldn't give them a hard move out date but we want to ask them to start searching for somewhere else to live, some other friends to stay with, maybe suggest they move to the city where there are more job opportunities and rent is lower. But I still feel guilty about us prioritizing our boundaries and comfort in a household over taking care of them and I'm sure that it'll unfortunately be the end of our friendship even though I wish there was a way we could navigate this and stay friends because I'm up to continuing to support D in the other ways I support them.

The three of us moving elsewhere isn't an option for a number of reasons (just renewed our lease, B's job is in this area and is very stable/pays very well and because of the high rent and stringent rental requirements in our area it would cost more than I make in a year for us to move to a significantly worse rental with significantly higher rent we can't afford - we currently pay half market rate for a similar rental. I'll admit there's also an element of it's my house, I lived here long before anyone else currently living here and I want to feel safe for the remainder of my residency here.)

Would we be the assholes if we told D we don't want to live with them anymore and asked them to start looking for other housing?

What are these acronyms?

[owenfelford]

Day 3 - Mushroom

Oh man I love Call of the Abyss 7

I started off this day with a lot of notes, I wanted to keep in mind some design choices that were made, why certain things the way that they were, and also how specifically Lord of Calamity works.

My conclusion?

Now Aesop and Norton, something you need to know about them is that they are complete opposites when it comes to wanting.

Aesop wants for nothing - not just because he's fairly well off under Jerry Carl's care, but because he doesn't want anything. The most he wants is quiet and to embalm another person, even that want is more something he feels he needs to do. Aesop Carl wants nothing because he is simply a vehicle for other's peace. He is basically not a person in his own eyes. That is who he is simply...

Even if he can't acknowledge his want to embalm is another form of grief, even if he can't acknowledge he has literally lost everything and has nothing to show for it.

Norton on the other hand, has never had anything and as a result wants so much. He wants riches, he wants comfort and a stable income, he wants to stop working in the shitty mines that presumably killed his father... He wants the people who wrong him to die and go to hell.

None of what he wants is unreasonable. It's all very. Human. Even if he uses extremes to actually get what he wants.

So then, to have the man who wants everything and goes to extremes to get it fall so easily to the Lord of Calamity and the man who wants nothing and only mourns to chase after him, once again losing someone else he cares for...

I'll tell you something it's too fucking easy.

So!

I got to work with that concept in mind. I changed around a few things for Norton in the final - such as the ribbon that was originally Aesop's going from an ascot to an arm band he wears on his lower forearm, but, everything is relatively the same.

Maybe Aesop fell into the Lord of Calamity's hands because he he continued to lose, because he thought it was his 'own time' or any number of reason - hell maybe he was a part of the initial scouting mission and just died.

Either way, Norton chases after him.

He'll meet him again in the after life.

Just as Aesop had always hoped for.

[thewritingofspencerrose]

Mamma Masterlist

Two Years Later

December 2022

"Eleanor Mae!" I find myself calling out, her chubby little legs carrying her faster than I expected through the exiting crowd of Rogers Arena. "Ellie!" I call again, my nerves spiking when her dark mop of hair disappears from my vision.

"Mom! Incoming!" Jack Hughes' calls to his mother, the Hughes family having flown in on mutual breaks to support Quinn, getting to watch his team win.

What Ellen hadn't known, was what Jack was referring to until a child crashed into her legs, Jim placing a hand on his wife's back to stable her.

"Oh! Well aren't you adorable," The mother coos, getting down onto her knees to be at the child's height as the little one looks over the boys, her dark hair falling in front of her familiar green eyes. "What's your name sweetie?"

"Eleanor Mae! Ellie!" A woman's voice can be heard, a panic to it that the Hughes parents recognize themselves. A panic you only have over a child.

"Did you run away from your mommy?" Ellen asks, the girl giggling with a nod. "What's your name?" She tries once more, now that the girl seems focused enough to respond.

"Ellie."

"I'll flag down the mother," Luke offers, being the tallest of the family while he waves in the direction of the woman's still panicked voice.

"How old are you Ellie?"

"Almost 2!"

"Eleanor, thank God," I want to cry, seeing her little body thanks to the waving hand, pulling her into my arms, my head ducked into her Hughes jersey.

The head of blonde in front of them is ever familiar, just as the girls eyes were, but no one had any connections until they saw the back of the little girls jersey.

Hughes 43.

Quinn, that's who's eyes they were reminded of.

"Holy shit," A voice, scarily familiar to my ears, mumbles from above me, my arms scooping Ellie up as I move to thank the people who found her.

Only to meet with the faces of my worst nightmare.

"Ruthie?" Luke is the one the question, eyes showing all the hurt that my heart feels.

"Hi Moose," I greet meekly, looking over the family. Jim and Ellen somehow managed to never age a day, while the boys seem like 2 years were really 10. Turning to Jack, I can't help but smile. "I saw you got drafted to the Devils, I'm really proud of you."

"Thanks Rue," He thanks, smiling himself, before his eyes move to Ellie, her babbles catching his attention. "And who is this cutie?" He questions, coming up and taking her hand, giving it a kiss and making her giggle.

"Uh," How do I tell Quinn's family that this is their niece and granddaughter? "This is Eleanor, although I really just call her Ellie."

"Hi Ellie," Luke is the one to greet, coming up to Jack and I with a little wave. "She said she was almost two?"

Of course she did. "I- I'm not exactly sure how to tell you all this," I explain quietly. Not noticing a brunette Canucks player approaching behind me, only thinking he is approaching his family and a fan. "Eleanor is my daughter, but she is also Quinn's. I found out I was pregnant the day he broke up with me," I explain. "I uh, based her name off of yours Ellen."

She sobs. The woman who I grew up having as a rock in my life starts sobbing, her arms being thrown around Ellie and myself. "I knew it as soon as I saw her."

"You knew she was pregnant?" Quinn's voice rings from behind me, making my entire body tense. He rounds me now, standing by his brothers as he gets a look of my daughter. Our daughter. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I had the pink onesie and the sonogram photos in my pocket to tell you when I walked out your door for the last time," is all I can think to answer. "I had a whole plan in my head, how I was going to tell you, how it was going to be a lot to handle, especially with hockey and school. And then you broke up with me."

"I broke up with you to make things less complicated!" His voice raises, making Ellie cover her ears with her hands.

"Quinn," I can't help but whisper. "Nothings more complicated than finishing college with a baby, I-"

"Momma," Ellie interrupts my rambling, "Is daddy?" She asks, pointing at Quinn, the tense of his shoulders releasing as he looks over her.

His hair, his eyes, my face.

"She knows me?"

"I wanted nothing more than you to be in her life. To be in our lives," I answer him, turning to my girl. "Yes baby, this is daddy."

"And I'm Uncle Jack!" Jack exclaims, clearly ignoring the magnitude of this entire conversation, something Jim seems to notice as he reaches for his middle child's shoulder, although Quinn shakes his head, watching with the smallest smile.

"Hey, you can't introduce yourself first, you'll be her favorite just based on that, and I need to be her favorite!" Luke complains, shoving up to where Ellie has hidden her head in the crook of my neck, her cheeks bright pink. "I'm Uncle Luke, and I'll be your favorite."

"I like Daddy," Is her response, still not peaking out, but based on Quinn's smile, he definitely heard her.

"Is that so?" Quinn asks, handing his equipment to father, looking hesitantly to me, silently asking if he can take her from my hip. I nod, him reaching over and her sliding into his arms without a second thought.

"She's always loved her Daddy," I explain, smiling at the interaction I've been waiting to see since I found out we'd be having a little us. "I've told her all about you all since she was little, stories of the lake house, school, Q's draft," I list, Ellen moving around the boys and wrapping me in a side hug.

"I can't wait to learn who she is," She mumbles, just to me.

"You said you knew... how?"

But she just gives me a mother's smile, all knowing. "I just knew. Just like I knew that you two would find your ways back to each other."

[granulesofsand]

Making a list of all things I’m looking forward to about having an apartment. It’ll be a while before we can actually afford one, but it keeps me motivated.

Morning chores make me sick. I know they have to be done with work his many bodies in the room, but having a time limit and little leeway forces me to overwork our body. (We do dishes, tables, and sweep and mop every floor space not behind a door. It’s never clean, but we have permission to only do it once a day — it takes us two hours.)

We can buy our own food. We have food stamps for our area, so we can at least make salads and stuff without getting in trouble. Utilities are something else, but we’re stingy at this point so it should be tolerable (AC and water scare me, but some places include that or estimate the budget).

Laundry. Fair chance that won’t be too soon, but I want to do my laundry whenever I feel like it and not have to drag it to the laundromat every time.

There’s a church around here that helps furnish apartments, so we could probably get something to sleep on soon. The beds here have actual mattresses, but one day we’ll save up and be able to afford our own.

Not having to clean the bathroom every day will also be so nice, provided future roommates aren’t too uptight about it.

Leaving and coming home whenever we want, not having to worry about missing jobs or putting lives at stake cause we just couldn’t make it to work.

Not getting booted for missing chores or not being dressed on time.

I wonder if we could get a microwave. Some places have kitchen areas, and we have our one pot that we defend like it’s made of gold. An oven! Roast meat and baked goods whenever I have the foresight.

We might have a room to ourselves. That would be so nice. We could maybe talk out loud and leave notes for each other. We kinda like sharing a room with multiple bodies, but just one other sets us on edge if we don’t know them. I can think of some other things I’d like to do with our own room.

We would have an income and an address. We could get mail without others going through it, apply for aid, start a savings account — the savings account would be as soon as we had enough money to avoid monthly fees, so probably before an apartment even.

We could have a real budget, maybe even have fun money for coffee and headphones and the like.

We could go to college again! Our plans are always changing on that because we need to be alive to go to school, but a permanent address in this county would enable us to take classes at the community college right here (and we could keep our friends!)

Driving lessons. There’s a place that offers them in the county, but we’ve not had the money for it. Once we have stable housing, we can start saving for goals. A car, eventually!

We’ve had some good interviews lately, and we’ll start applying again Monday. That income is a huge determiner for getting out of here and getting our shit together. Gotta look into the PCP again, find someone who’ll take our insurance. That’ll start the process for (re)documenting our disabilities, which we need for aid and accommodations.

I really want to prepare for apartment life instead of street life. I can see how I want it to come together. Please please please let us get a job soon

[transwaterbender]

I don’t usually post these but here’s something I wrote today while waiting for an interview for some sales job I don’t really care for but unfortunately need income so 🤷🏼‍♀️

Anyway here it is:

Capitalism Vs. Me

I feel my soul slowly leaving my body

Every single time

Putting on these clothes

Answering these stupid questions

Being stuck in a building surrounded by others dressed in a similar fashion

This isn’t me

This will never be me

What do you expect me to say?

When you ask me why I’m here.

What do you expect me to say,

When you ask me what I’m looking for.

What do you expect me to say,

When you’re asking me to look back at my past and look for specific moments that relate to your question so you can judge my character and my person by it.

This isn’t me

This will never be me

I just want to rip off the suit.

Put on something more comfortable

Run away before I’m let in

Inside of the other room

Surrounded by strangers I will never ever meet again

To be judged once more off of my character and my “flaws”.

I don’t want to be judged for being different.

You say you’re searching for different

But only a different that suits you.

Not my kind of different.

Not me.

What makes me different is what separates me from everyone else here.

But it’s not my determination or my patience or whatever else it is that I wrote.

It’s my passion for art.

My passion to create.

My passion to express myself.

My passion is what makes me different.

It’s not a passion for sales though.

Nor customer service.

Nor is it for retail.

It’s a passion for creativity.

A passion for music

For film

For artistry

I don’t want to be here.

I just want to earn more from my passions

The things I do in my free time

The things that make me smile

That’s the real me.

This is the version of me I have to create for you.

For them I should say.

This is the persona I put on

The mask I wear

In order to gain some stable income.

I can’t help the way my brain works.

I can’t help the way my body reacts

But I can help the way I use those things that make different

To do what I like to.

To enjoy things a little bit more.

Because this whole sales thing.

This whole customer service thing,

It makes me enjoy life a lot less.

It makes me hate life a lot more.

I’m not the type to sit in a room and write notes about what someone is saying.

Unless what they’re saying is about art and the industry I’m interested in.

I’m sorry but I can’t sit here and listen to you talk for hours about things that don’t interest me and pretend to care.

I hate all of this

And I’m tired of doing it over

And over

And over again

I’m mentally exhausted.

Get me out of here

Don’t waste your time or breath on me

I’ll just disappoint you later anyway.

By not living up to your expectations.

By not being the person you’re looking for

Someone you could control

A puppet of sorts

To listen to your every will

To put money in your pockets

To do everything you ask.

While you just sit there and make up more presentations to indoctrinate more poor souls into your company.

At least until most find their worth and decide to leave.

But that won’t matter to you.

Because you will just keep bringing more and more people in anyway.

Everyone is easily replaceable.

Just numbers.

Just currency.

Just strangers.

You may learn their names but you’ll never learn what really makes them

Human.

[mrhaitch]

Hello hello Mr. Haitch!

I am seeking advice or perhaps an outside perspective on a certain matter. I've always wanted to pursue a writing career but I'm currently taking education due to my parents' influence. It's not really my cup of tea but I take what I am given.

Should I still pursue a career in writing even though I'll most likely not have professional training or education when it comes to it? I've always had a knack for it but I'm afraid my skill isn't as refined as it should be to make a living out of it (I am into creative writing).

I'm incredibly grateful for you response! I adore both you and Haitch very much!!!

Hey Anon. So sorry for the delay - Tumblr ate my first draft and then life got busy.

I can only give you my perspective here, drawn from my own experiences and the things I've seen and heard from other authors.

By writing career I'm going to assume you're talking about fiction - in which case you need a reliable and stable income. I'm not saying that to be mean, or bitter, or to taint your dreams; the reality for most of us is that writing does not pay, and if it does it does not pay well. As my PHD tutor once said "if writing is the vehicle to a better future, the novel is a fucking jalopy".

It took me ten years to get my first publication. Ten years where I wrote four novels and far more short fiction than I can accurately recall, and I went through the submission gauntlet for all of them. Everything I sent out into the world came back with a form rejection, except on three occasions. For each novel I submitted to maybe 40 or 60 agents, and almost never received a personalised reply (I'm actually friends with one who did, very nice guy). It was ten years of shouting down a well without so much as an echo for my efforts. When I finally did get published (short story), there was no payment.

In fact, at this point in time, writing has earned me nothing.

Agents and publishers work through thousands upon thousands of submissions, and only take a small handful forward. You're in direct competition for the attention of a very select few, against a vast multitude - and to make matters worse you're also up against that agent or publisher's boredom and disaffection after reading reams and reams of dreck. So that first impression has to be stellar, or they won't linger. It's a form rejection and back to the drawing board.

You will be rejected, and rejected often. Definitely more often than you're accepted - it can take years, decades, to get so much as a single, positive reply. Even then it might not lead to publication - it might be them saying how much they liked your work but are unable to place it at present. You have to learn to swallow that rejection every time, without losing heart or your cool, dust yourself off and do it again.

And again.

And again.

It's a Sisyphean task where the bolder typically rolls back over you, and gets stuck halfway up just to add insult to injury.

Again - I'm not trying to wreck your dreams, I'm just showing you what's behind the curtain. Everyone is tired and stressed and a little bit disappointed, and there's not enough money for everyone. The love of what you're doing has got to be enough, for now, maybe forever.

So I'm a big fan of writers having full-time jobs and careers. Doesn't matter what it is, so long as you're comfortable and secure. Do not expect the novel to love you back. Its a selfish and evil bastard but you can't help but love it.

[slamminslamminmcgill]

Perrito: Chapter 1 - Lalo Salamanca/FTM Reader (NSFW!)

you were supposed to be doing 6 months in prison for drug possession and prostitution. that is, until you met lalo salamanca, and he decided to make you his puppy. for $10,000 a week, you were to wear a dog collar around your neck 24/7, and once he clipped the leash to you, you were to obey his every command. tags/warnings: petplay, dom/sub, bdsm, possessiveness, implied stalking, face slapping, praise kink, degradation/humiliation, oral sex, vaginal sex, squirting, needles/syringes/injections, medical exam, a few tiddlywinks of blood, non-consensual body modification (you'll see >:33) anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/hole, (t-)dick/cock words: 6,918 ao3 link author's notes: baby's first multichapter fic!!! had a LOT of ideas for this concept and im super excited to write more for this 🥺 y como siempre no soy un hablante nativo pero estoy aprendiendo. entonces por favor corríjame si se encuentra algo de errores :3

“Where do you see yourself in 5 years?”

A generic job interview question meant to gauge your desires and plans for the future. 5 years ago, you would’ve said the best case scenario would be a life of modest success and comfort. You would have never imagined that by this point in your life you’d be living in a lavish estate and making 10 grand a week. 

Let alone the fact that you were making 10 grand by wearing a dog collar for the drug cartel boss who owned said lavish estate. 

Whichever deity wrote your life story had a fucked up sense of humor. Your thread of life was being used to draw dicks on the tapestry of existence. You’d gotten great at lying to friends and family. As far as they knew, you were moving abroad to work as an on-call assistant for a shipping executive. You rationalized that it was technically true, but it was an egregious lie of omission. Don Eduardo Salamanca, or “Lalo” as he preferred, was a wealthy businessman; there was no denying that. Though your assistance was the furthest thing from business that anyone could fathom. It was a stable position that came with steady income, job security, and benefits. Sure, these benefits just so happened to include the best sex you’d ever had on the comfiest bed you’d ever touched, but that was neither here nor there. 

It all started how most job interviews go: prison. You were supposed to be doing 6 months for drug possession and prostitution, but Lalo took a liking to you the moment he saw you. He said that your skills would be highly valuable in an organization such as his, which was jobspeak for “I want to get my dick wet”. You thought he was talking out of his ass, but judging by the respect he got from your fellow inmates and even some of the guards, you took his word for it. He promised you a job when you both got out, if you’d take it. 

You agreed; it sounded a hell of a lot better than going back on the streets. He promised to set you up with his lawyer, who’d been working on a way to get him off. Luckily, the lawyer actually knew his shit. He had found some tiny loophole in your case and was able to get the charges dropped and your record expunged. Much to your surprise, Lalo was waiting outside the jailhouse to pick you up when you got out. He dropped you off at your place and gave you a week to get your affairs in order. Then, you’d be moving to his place across the border in Chihuahua, Mexico. 

The week after, he showed up at your apartment in a car that, if it could speak, would definitely call you poor. On the way to his house, you discussed the specifics of your position. 

“So!” Lalo declared in a cheerful voice as he adjusted the rearview mirror, “What do you remember from what we talked about?”

You combed through your memories, the many conversations you two had in the prison showers, cafeteria, and rec yard. “10 grand a week, I wear a dog collar 24/7, and when the leash is clipped to it, I’m working. When I’m working, you have full control over me, and I have to do everything you say. Is that right?”

“Yeah! There you go. That’s the gist of it.” Lalo affirmed, “But, you won’t have to do literally everything I say. If you’re uncomfortable, you have your signals, and I’m not gonna press your limits unless you say I can.”

That was one of the promises he’d made that had put your mind at ease. Discussing this over state-sanctioned lunch one day, he had asked you your boundaries, things that you would never ever do under any circumstances. He was receptive when you told him. Plus, he’d given you safewords to use: green for “I’m okay. Keep going.”, yellow for “Ease up a little bit.”, and red for “You need to stop everything right the fuck now.” There were also corresponding hand signals in case you couldn’t talk: 3 fingers up for green, 2 for yellow, and 1 for red. 

“Right, yeah. Thank you for that.” You said. 

“Ah, don’t be silly. You don’t have to thank me. I want you to enjoy this. It’s a lot more fun for me if I know you’re having fun.” He patted your shoulder, “And, if you want to really have fun,” and squeezed it tighter than you expected, “you can talk back once in a while. You can be a naughty little puppy, if you want, but you’d better be prepared for discipline. So make sure you know what you’re getting into, alright?” He put his hand back on the wheel.

That was generally good life advice, but you’d be lying if you said you knew entirely what you were getting into. “Alright, sure. Fair enough.” You gazed out the window at the desert terrain. Nothing but cacti and sand for miles and miles. You’d weren’t entirely sure which side of the border you were on anymore, or if it even mattered. “Question,” you posed. 

“Yeah?” Lalo prodded. 

“So, like… what am I supposed to call you while we do this? Just Lalo, or…?” Your voice trailed off, as if you were expecting a different answer out of him. 

“Oh, good question! I was actually getting to that. Such a smart boy.” He laughed and ruffled your hair, making you jump a little in your seat. His touch felt nice, but it was definitely something you’d have to get used to. You probably shouldn’t react that strongly every time. “You can call me Lalo when the leash is off, but if it’s on, you need to be professional. If you’re working, you call me ‘Don Eduardo’, ‘sir’, ‘master’, ‘señor’, ‘jefe’, or ‘patrón’. Those last two basically mean ‘boss’. Make sense?”

Sense was made. “Yeah, alright. Easy enough.” 

“Very good. And how’s your Spanish?”

You shrugged, “Mediocre at best. I can understand more than I speak.”

Lalo chuckled, “Well, I appreciate the honesty. I’ll have to teach you to speak it, then, no worries. Also, if the leash is on and I have you speaking Spanish, call me usted, not tú. That’s just when you’re working, though. Es formal, ¿comprendes? (It’s formal, understand?)”

Okay, sure, you could do that. It might take you a bit to figure out, but you’d get there. “Sí, yo comprendo. (Yes, I understand.)”

“Bueno. Now, what can I call you?” Lalo poked you in the arm, “And I don’t just mean your name.”

Your first thought was an idiot. That seemed like a fitting label for someone in your predicament. Thankfully, your second thought was much more receptive. “Well, uh… what did you have in mind? I’m pretty open.”

“Oh ho, you wanna hear what I think of you? I got a whole list of ‘em in mind. They might not all be flattering, just so you know.”

You secretly hoped they wouldn’t be. “That’s fine. Go for it.”

“Well, there’s the animal related ones. Puppy, dog, perro, cachorro (puppy), and then variants of those like doggy and perrito. Reminds you what you are to me, y’know? There’s also other animal terms like conejito (bunny) and osito (little bear). Basically, anything that lets you know how cute you are.” He reached over to pinch your cheek. 

You giggled. The attention and praise was definitely a perk to this whole arrangement. “That all sounds good.”

“And, if you’re a naughty little puppy.” His tone darkened to a rich growl and he dragged his hand down to your upper thigh, squeezing it hard before he spoke, “I may call you chucho, or a dirty little mutt.” He spat that last word at you with mock disdain. 

The idea of him changing up like that, getting rough with you, putting you in your place, that was another perk. Honestly, you weren’t sure if you were more excited for the praise or the punishment. “Oh… Oh wow…”

He leaned in closer to you, his breath hitting your face. You wondered how he could watch the road like that, but maybe that’s why he drove you through the middle of nowhere. In his mind, you were the only thing worth watching. “You like that?”

“Yeah…”

He showed you how quick he could change by pulling back and switching back to his friendly tone. He gave you whiplash, but not from how he was driving. “Good! ‘Cause I got more. You’re okay with me being mean to you?”

You were more than okay with it, especially if he would say it in that same sexy tone. “Yeah, I mean, like, just don’t call me a girl and you can pretty much say whatever you want.”

“Heh, I’ll keep that in mind.” He patted your thigh before putting his hand back on the wheel once more. 

A few more hours, a few more rest stops, and a few more hundreds of miles, and you pulled up to what looked more like a military base than your future home, complete with friendly, welcoming armed guards and a concrete wall topped with warm, fuzzy, barbed wire. 

Actually, the armed guards were friendly and welcoming, once they realized who was coming at least. Lalo rolled down his window and spoke to a man with a ponytail, who greeted him with a smile. 

“¡Buenas tardes, señor! (Good afternoon, sir!)” He pointed at you in the passenger seat and leaned on the window. “Ooh, ¿es este el nuevo chico? ¡Él es más lindo de lo que usted dijo! (Ooh, is that the new kid? He’s cuter than you said!)” Apparently, his other employees referred to him with the same formalities.

“¡Ay, ay! ¡Mucho ojo, cabrón! (Ay, ay! Watch it, asshole!)” He laughed and pushed him off the side of the car. “Pero sí, es él. Parece un buen chico, ¿verdad? (But yeah, that’s him. He looks like a good boy, right?)” He turned to you. “This is Miguel. He’s one of the guards I have working here.”

Your eyes were fixated on the gigantic rifle across the man’s chest, enough so that you forgot your vocabulary from Spanish 101. “Bien a… bien a conocerte? (Nice to… Nice to meet you?)”

The two men laughed, but you could tell it was all in good fun. Lalo smiled, “Ah, tan tonto… (Ah, so silly...)” and petted your hair again as he corrected you. “You’re kinda right, but ‘Mucho gusto’ is what you’re trying to say, mijo (my boy).”

You blushed the tiniest bit and course-corrected. “Oh, lo siento. ¡Mucho gusto, Miguel! (Oh, sorry. Nice to meet you, Miguel!)”

“Igualmente, chiquito. (Likewise, kiddo.)” Miguel turned around and punched in a code on the keypad. “Listo, patrón. (All set, boss.)” Another term you shared for him. 

“¡Bien! ¡Gracias! (Nice! Thank you!)” Lalo waved him off as he pulled through the gate. He could see the tension in your face and slung his arm over your shoulder. “What, did the gun freak you out? Ah, don’t worry about that. He’s just compensating for something, y’know?” That got a hearty snort from you. “Nah, but really, he’s a nice guy. All of my people are great. I told them all about you, y’know.” He drove up to a spot in his massive driveway and parked the car.

His last statement tied your stomach into a knot. You couldn’t imagine facing an entire army of employees, your potential coworkers, knowing what they knew. “Uh… all about me? Like… what exactly?”

Lalo turned the car off and unbuckled his seatbelt. “Well, basically, your personality, your looks, how we met, and what you’ll be doing here. They don’t need to know all the details. Just enough to know what to expect, right?” 

You unbuckled yours as well, even though you were now mortified to step out of the car. “What I’ll be doing here? How the hell did you explain that?”

Lalo waved off your concerns, “Oh, what, are you worried about? That they’re gonna judge you for it? Don’t be silly! They know better than that. Honestly, they’re all psyched to meet you. Now, c’mon, you’ll see what I mean!” He opened his door and saw you reach for yours, “No, no, let me get that for you, sweetheart.” He stepped out of the car and walked around to your side, opening your door and offering his hand for you to take.

“Thanks.” You gave him a timid smile as you took his hand and stepped out. Sure enough, a couple steps later and you saw an eager crowd of people waving you over. 

Lalo raised the hand you were holding and called out to the crowd as he approached, “¡Aquí él está! Entonces, tengo suerte, ¿o qué? (Here he is! So, am I lucky or what?)” He let go of your hand and patted you on the back. Knowing his ego, he definitely wanted to show you off. 

An older woman was the first to answer him with a voice that sounded like how fresh baked cookies smelled. “Claro, tienes razón, mijo. (Of course, you’re right, my boy.)” She approached you and held her arms out for a hug, which you graciously accepted. “¡Bienvenidos, querido! Estamos encantados de tenerte aquí. (Welcome, dear! We’re happy to have you here.)” she said, hugging you with all the love in her heart. Oh, god, that wasn’t his mother, right? You dreaded to think of how that conversation must have gone.

Lalo introduced her as she let go of you, “This is Yolanda. She’s my housekeeper, cook, and the reason why I have such a fat belly!” He laughed and patted his stomach, clearly exaggerating. In reality, he was only slightly pudgy, but hey, you liked a man with a little squish. Much better to cuddle with. “Let me tell you, she looks sweet, but her cooking is dangerous. I’m told she's got something great planned for us, you’ll see.”

A young man, even younger than you were, raised his hand to ask a question. He looked tense, probably afraid to speak out of turn. “Uh, perdón, ¿señor? ¿Él habla español? (Uh, excuse me, sir? Does he speak Spanish?)”

Lalo scoffed, “¿Por qué te importa a tí? ¿Qué, le vas a decir que huir? (Why do you care? What, you gonna tell him to run?)” He was staring him down like he was trying to melt an ant with a magnifying glass. The kid looked like he was about to piss his pants, he was so nervous. Suddenly, Lalo burst out laughing and flicked the boy’s forehead. “¡Ah, solo te estoy jodiendo, chamaco! (Ah, I’m just fucking with you, kid!)” He then turned back to you. “This is Ciro. He’s another one of the guards here, believe it or not with a babyface like that. He was asking if you speak Spanish.”

“Oh! Hi! Uh…” You took a moment to think of an answer for him, “Comprendo más que yo hablo. Solo hablo un poquito. (I understand more than I speak. I only speak a little.)” You glanced over at Lalo, who gave you a thumbs up. 

Lalo snapped at him, both physically and verbally, though his words had an edge of sarcasm to them. “Entonces, no le digas algo estúpido a él. ¿Entiendes? (So, don’t say anything stupid to him. Understand?)”

Ciro nodded, “Sí, señor. Entiendo. (Yes, sir. I understand.)”

“Bueno. Pues ve a llevar sus cosas a mi habitación. Tiene dos maletas en la cajuela. (Good. Then go take his things up to my room. He’s got two suitcases in the trunk.)” Lalo patted the boy on the shoulder and handed him the keys. 

“Si, señor. (Yes, sir.)” Ciro replied before he ran off to get your bags from the car. 

While he was doing that, Lalo took the time to introduce you to his remaining staff: Cecilio, the gardener, and the other two guards, Herardo and Raul. Everyone seemed like decent, hardworking people, and you couldn’t wait for dinner tonight. After having said your hellos, Lalo said there was one more person you had to meet, a visitor, and he was waiting in the living room. 

Lalo led you into the house, guiding you with his hand on the small of your back. To the right of the foyer was the living room, where sure enough, someone was waiting for you: an older man in a white lab coat. A doctor?

“So!” Lalo gestured to the man standing before you. “This is Dr. Cruz. He’s been with my family for years. Actually, he helped deliver my little cousins Marco and Leonel when they were born, so we have a lot of trust in him. I just brought him in today to give you a quick checkup and see that you’re fit to work. Is that okay?” 

A physical? That seemed pretty excessive, but this was a new job, at the end of the day. You figured it wasn’t entirely abnormal. “Uh… yeah! Sure. I think I’m actually due for one, anyway.”

Dr. Cruz smiled at you. “Great. I just need to talk to Lalo here for one second, and then we can get started. Please, have a seat on the couch. I think that will be the best place for everything. It’s a pleasure to meet you, by the way.”

You returned the smile. “You too.”

As you sat down on the examination couch, Dr. Cruz walked Lalo over into the next room. You could hear bits and pieces of what they were saying, but you couldn’t decipher any of it. He spoke in a hushed voice. “Está seguro que yo no pueda disuadir a usted de esto? (Are you sure that I can’t talk you out of this?)”

Lalo responded at the same volume. “Estoy seguro. No quiero que él se pierda. Te pagaré doble por el molestia. (I’m sure. I don’t want him to get lost. I’ll pay you double for the inconvenience.)”

The doctor sighed. “Bien. Entonces… (Alright. So…)” He put on a friendly grin as he walked back over to you. He reached into a bag that was sitting on the coffee table and started pulling things out. Needles, syringes, bandages, alcohol wipes, and some other medical supplies you couldn’t quite name. Then, he pulled out a file and handed it to you. “These are your medical records from your time in MDC Albuquerque. Would you just tell me if the information here is up to date?”

You briefly wondered how in the hell he was able to get his hands on those, but hey, the cartel family doctor probably had connections. You scanned over a list of medications, vaccinations, diagnoses, allergies. Everything was correct. “Yeah. Looks good.” You said plainly and handed the file back to him.

“Alright, perfect.” Dr. Cruz accepted the file from you and placed it back in his bag. “Now, we need to take some blood to run labs. Just to make sure that nothing has changed and that you’re clear for work. Don’t worry, we won’t need much. Just a finger stick will be enough.”

Bloodwork? That seemed excessive too. But, come to think of it, you’d basically be sucking Lalo’s dick for a living. He probably wanted to make sure you wouldn’t give him anything. “Okay, yeah. Hit me.” You held your hand out. 

Dr. Cruz snapped some gloves on before he grabbed your wrist and stamped the needle into your fingertip. You winced at the stab, but it was over in a flash. Then, he milked your finger to get some blood, enough to fill up a small vial. “This will be used for STI testing. We’ll have the results back in a few days, but we’ll only call if you test positive for something. As far as we’re concerned, no news is good news.” Once the vial was full, he capped it and bandaged you up. He put the vial in a bag, sealed it, and stored it with the rest of his equipment. “Okay, last thing on the agenda. Your records state that you’re due for a tetanus shot. It’s a big injection, so I’ll have to numb you first. The injection site will bruise and be sore for about a day or two. Now I’m sure this is probably different from how they do it in the states, but this is how it’s done in Mexico.”

“Oh, really? Interesting.” You pondered, none the wiser to your boss’s plan. He’d exploited your naivete and trust in him to get you to do this, and it worked like a charm. You had no clue. “Yeah, I mean, if I’m due for it, might as well.” You rolled up the sleeve for your non-dominant arm.

“Perfecto.” Dr. Cruz said as he grabbed your forearm. He sanitized the underside of your bicep with an alcohol wipe. “First is the local anesthetic. Tiny pinch, but then you won’t feel a thing when we do the second one.” He positioned the syringe just below your muscle. “I’m gonna have you breathe in and out twice, and on the second exhale I’ll inject. You ready?”

“Yep.” You said, closing your eyes and calming your nerves.

“Alright. Breathe in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale.

“And in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale. Pinch. 

“Beautiful. Now, it’ll take about 30 seconds for the numbing to kick in. I’d advise that you keep your eyes closed while I prepare the vaccination. The needle size may frighten you.” 

“Sure thing.” You obliged, keeping your eyes closed and your arm out. You could hear the doctor rifling through his bag, unwrapping sterile equipment and popping containers open. It was hard to picture exactly what he was setting up, but you could tell he was done when he grabbed your forearm again. “Can you feel me touching you?” He asked. “Not where I’m holding you, I mean right here.” He poked your bicep again, not that you knew, of course.

“Where?” You asked. 

Dr. Cruz chuckled. “Okay, you’re numb. Now, same thing as the last one. I’m gonna have you take a deep breath twice before I stick you. Ready?”

“Yep.” You repeated.

“Breathe in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale.

“And in…” Inhale.

“And out…” Exhale. You didn’t feel a pinch this time.

“Amazing. You can open your eyes.” As you did, you watched Dr. Cruz set the syringe on the coffee table and grab some gauze. He debriefed you as he wrapped it around your bicep. “The numbing will last for a few hours, so it’ll probably wear off in your sleep. You may bruise and be a bit sore tomorrow morning, and you can take the gauze off then as well. Try not to overwork the muscle for a day or two.” He taped the gauze to secure it, then patted you on your shoulder. “And you are good to go, my friend. I wish you all the best in your new position.”

You gave him a friendly smile. “Sounds good! Thanks so much!”

“No problem. I’d say see you around, but hopefully you won’t have to deal with me too much.” He laughed as he finished packing his bag. Once he was done, he grabbed it and turned over his shoulder to Lalo, “Y enviaré a usted la factura mañana. Me llame si él se molesta. (And I’ll send you the bill tomorrow. Call me if he has any problems.)”

“Claro. Gracias otra vez. (Of course. Thank you again.)” Lalo replied as he led the doctor outside, patting him on the back for a job well done. He shut the door, and finally, finally, he could focus on you, and he was chomping at the bit to get started.  “Alright! We’re good to go! Got the formalities out of the way, so now,” He sauntered over to you, swaying his hips as he walked. When he got to you, he snaked his hands behind your back and grabbed your ass. “Now, we can put you to work.”  You barely had time to react before he let you go, but not before giving you a playful spank. “Follow me, doggy.”

You squeaked at the literal pet name. Being ordered around by him felt better than you thought it would. This was going to be amazing. He led you up the stairs to his bedroom, though you were practically chasing him up with how excited you were. When you arrived, he closed the door behind you two. “Stay right here.” Lalo commanded. He walked over to the dresser and opened a fancy box that sat atop it. You heard the clinking of metal, and when he turned around, he was holding a black leather collar in one hand, and a chain leash in the other. You beamed at the sight of it. This is what you were here for. You couldn’t wait. You’d be such a good boy. Lalo knew that, but still, he had to ask. “You ready, puppy?”

“Yes, sir!” You responded cheerfully.

Lalo smiled and fastened the collar around your neck. His calloused fingers swept your hair out of the way; his hot breath billowing against your sensitive skin. It was intense. You could feel your thoughts fading away as you focused on getting into your new role; a cute, silly little puppy. You closed your eyes and let the warmth of his embrace dress you up. 

Lalo cupped your face in his hands and pressed a kiss to your forehead, whispering sweet nothings in his native tongue as he petted your hair and scratched behind your ears. “Oh, mi chico hermoso, eso es. Se veas perfecto con ese collar. Es como tú has nacido para ser mi perrito. Vas a ser un buen chico para mi, ¿verdad? ¿Vas a hacer lo que yo digo? Oh, sí, sí, buen chico. (Oh, my beautiful boy, that’s it. You look perfect in that collar. It’s like you were born to be my puppy. You’re gonna be a good boy for me, right? You’re gonna do what I say? Oh, yes, yes, good boy.) Such a good boy.”

Your head lulled from side to side, following his gentle touch. As he pulled back, your eyelids lifted up, and you saw his gorgeous face. Dark brown eyes half-lidded, his mouth curled into a smile. You were so happy to see him. You really did feel like a puppy, so bubbly and playful at the sight of their master. You gave him a goofy grin and said, “Hi…”, one of only a few words left in your brain.

“Hi, puppy.” Lalo cooed as he caressed your cheek. “You ready to get started for real?”

You nodded. You’d been ready for hours.

“Bueno.” Lalo hummed as he clipped the leash on your collar. Thus began the start of your first shift. You were working now. Henceforth, you were at his beck and call, his perfect little lapdog. “Now, I’m gonna teach you some tricks. I’ll say them in English and Spanish so you learn a bit. Okay?”

You giggled, already feeling hazy and obedient. “Okaaay…”

“Perfecto. Entonces… (Perfect. Now…)” Lalo backed off you to straighten his posture, and pulled the leash taut. “Siéntate. Sit.”

You dropped to your knees without a second thought and gave him a cherubic smile. If you had a tail, it’d definitely be wagging. You were anxious to make him proud of you.

“Good boy! So smart!” Lalo praised as he crouched down on one knee and held out his hand. “Dame la pata. Shake.”

You laid your hand in his and waited for your next command.

“Bueno. ¿Puedes hablar? Can you speak for me, boy?”

You could. Barely. “Yes, Don Eduardo.”

Lalo smirked and shook his head. “Oh, no no no. Not like that, mijo. Like a dog. Habla. Speak. Let me hear you bark, okay?”

You blushed, but you wanted to be a good boy. And good boys do as they’re told, no matter how embarrassing it may be. “Woof! Woof!”

Lalo couldn’t help but laugh. You were just so cute! “Oh, that’s perfect! Good boy!” He kissed your forehead again before standing up. He tugged the leash to get your attention. “Stand up. Levántate. Two legs.”

You rose to your feet and stood upright, hoping it wouldn’t be for too long. It was hard to act like a puppy when you were standing like a person.

Lalo could read your mind. His next command solved the problem you were thinking of. “All fours. Cuatro patas.”

You smiled and went down on your hands and knees for him.

He sat on the edge of the bed and pulled on the leash. “Ven aquí. Come here.” 

You crawled over to him and knelt between his legs. Instinctively, you rested your hands on his thighs, before realizing he didn’t tell you to touch him. You started to pull away, but Lalo interrupted you.

“You can keep them there. That’s fine.” He traced his fingers from your collar up to your chin and tilted your face up to his. “You’re a real lapdog, aren’t you? You want your master to take care of you, right boy?”

You nodded.

Lalo tugged the leash and gave you a firm command. “Habla. Speak.”

“Woof!”

He snickered again. God, you were just perfect for this. “Oh, good boy. I’m gonna have so much fun with you.” He tapped his hand on the bed. “Arriba. Up. Up on the bed, and then get in my lap.”

You crawled onto the bed, the smile never breaking from your face as you sat in his lap. Lalo’s hands dragged down your back, mapping the curves of your hips. He took his time admiring his new pet. “You can use words now, puppy. ¿Quieres tu patrón que te haga sentir bien? (You want your master to make you feel good?)” 

You whimpered and nuzzled into his neck, trying to translate and then answer him in Spanish. “S-Sí, patrón… (Y-Yes, master…)”

Lalo’s hand made its way back up your spine, your breath shuddering as he traced his finger up. “Mírame. Look at me.” He took a handful of your hair and tugged your head off his shoulder. You let out a soft gasp and met his gaze. He was staring you down. Before, you’d felt calmed and nurtured by his attention. At this moment, you felt weak. Exposed. He was just so intimidating. He had you quite literally in the palm of his hand, right where he wanted you. He kept you waiting for longer than you would have liked, almost like he was sizing you up, trying to see when you’d break. Once your anxiety reached its peak, he pressed his lips against yours.

You sighed into the kiss and collapsed onto him, your arms slumping onto his shoulders, gripping his silk shirt. Lalo’s lips enveloped yours, his tongue pushing inside your mouth to swipe across your own. His teeth tugged your bottom lip. Since he was holding onto you by your hair, he slipped his hand through the loop of the leash and let it explore, groping your chest, your ass, your thighs, eventually letting his hand rest on your front between your legs, cupping you through your jeans. 

Even though you were the dog, you praised your master, “Oh, fuck, Lalo...”

Your master yanked your hair back and reprimanded you. “No, no. You’re working. What’s my name?”

Panting like the dog you were, you tried to parse the meaning of his question. When you got it, you said it. “Don Eduardo…”

Lalo confirmed your answer, “Good boy,” and took your lips back in his. He released his grip on your hair and moved to unbutton your shirt, unwrapping you like a gift with his name on it, “Oh, chico, you have no idea how much I missed this.” He placed an open mouth kiss on your neck, just above the collar, “I missed that tight little hole,” and on the other side, “Always so wet and needy for me,” and bit down enough to leave you with a glaring mark. 

You wanted to moan his name again, but hesitated. Lalo seemed to roll off the tongue more easily than Don Eduardo, especially when you lacked the brainpower to talk more than absolutely necessary. Thankfully, you recovered. “La-ah… oh, fuck, patrón…”

Lalo peeled your shirt off and let it fall to the floor. “Yeah?” He asked, biting on the other side of your neck. “You like that, puppy? Habla.”

This time, your bark wasn’t loud and confident. It was akin to the yip of an overstimulated Pomeranian. “W-Woof, woof…” you whimpered. 

“That’s it…” He pried himself from your neck and tugged the leash. “Date la vuelta. Roll over. On your back.” 

You scurried off his lap and onto the full expanse of the mattress, flopping onto your back with your knees propped up. It was much softer than the prison bed you two were on last time you did this. Lalo climbed over you and worked your pants off, then everything of his except his boxers. He pushed your legs apart and smiled at the visible wet spot in your underwear. 

“Aw, perrito, look at you! I got you all worked up, huh?” He was honestly one to talk, judging by the tent in his boxers, but you weren’t about to argue, especially when his face was mere inches away from your core. Lalo slid your underwear off and threw it over his shoulder. He laid down on his stomach and pushed your thighs up to your chest, revealing your weeping, aching hole. He bit his lip at the sight, and flicked his eyes up to yours. “It’s good to see you again.” He said before diving in headfirst.

You gasped as his tongue swiped up and down your cunt, lapping up as much of your wetness as he could. He pulled away to warm you up some more, leaving wet kisses and sharp bites on your squishy thighs. The teasing made you whine, though not as loudly as he’d like. He took your t-dick into his mouth and started to suck, which gave him the exact response he was looking for.

“Ah! F-Fuck! Fuck!” You cried as your hands scrambled for something to hold on to. One found the sheets, and the other his hair. Keeping him still, you bucked your hips up and started to fuck his mouth, whimpering pure nonsense the whole time. Just combinations of “please”, “fuck”, “more", and the cutest little sounds he’d heard in a while. 

Lalo let you have your fun. He even winked at you, which you interpreted as a signal for “Yeah, you like that?” He took one of his hands off your thighs and brought it down. You didn’t realize why, until you heard some soft grunting. You felt the mattress bounce, just a tiny bit, and strong vibrations against your cock. He was stroking himself, feverishly so, to the point where he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Lalo ripped his head up and gasped for air. “Dios mío… (My god…)” He laughed breathlessly before getting off the bed and tugging his boxers down. “I hate to rush this, but… I don’t think either of us can wait any longer.”

He was right, of course. You’d been waiting for this moment ever since you got out of prison. No bars, no guards, no spectators, no worries. Just him filling you up and fucking you into the rest of your life, a life of luck, luxury, and lust. He hopped back onto the bed and positioned himself in front of you. You held your legs open for him, making it easy for him to slide inside. He gripped the base of his cock, and looked into your eyes for approval. You nodded, and he pushed in.

The sensation of being full was too much for you to keep quiet. Reflexively, you moaned his name. “Oh! Lalo! La-ah!” Your praise for him was cut short by a slap across the face.

“No! Bad boy!” He tugged you up by the leash to face him. “I told you, you’re working. And what’s my name when you’re working?” He snarled.

You hastily corrected your mistake. “Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! I’m sorry, Don Eduardo!”

“Much better.” Lalo lessened his grip on the leash, allowing you enough slack to fall back against the pillow and hook your legs around his waist. He gave you a hard thrust, making sure he bottomed out inside you. Then another. And another, until he had a good rhythm going. His efforts earned him a slew of pathetic babbling from you.

“Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! Ah! Fuck…! Fuck me! Please!”

As much as he loved hearing you beg, he didn’t want you bossing him around. He was the master here, not you. You were his dog, his bitch. He lowered himself down, pressing his elbows into the mattress, and shut you up with a kiss. You hugged him tight, whining into his mouth as he rutted inside you. He pulled away and growled into your ear. “Eso es. Tómalo. Tómalo, puto. Eres mío. Eres mío y de nadie más. Perteneces a mí, y voy a follarte como la perra que eres. (That’s it. Take it. Take it, whore. You’re mine. You’re mine and no one else’s. You belong to me, and I’m gonna fuck you like the bitch you are.)

You couldn’t hear a word he was saying over your own cries and the obscene sounds your bodies made. He held you tight against him as he used your body like a toy. You couldn’t move or fight him off, not that you’d want to, but you were completely powerless, and in turn, he had complete power over you. From now on, at any time he wanted, he could clip a leash onto your collar and take you for himself. You’d spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, knowing that you could be stripped naked and fucked senseless at any moment. Exhilarating, thrilling, intoxicating, none of these words seemed to fully encapsulate what you were feeling.

You choked on his formal title as you pleaded for mercy, mercy that you didn’t expect to get. “D-Don Eduardo! Don Eduardo! I’m gonna…! Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

“Oh, already? Is that right?” Lalo sneered and slithered one of his hands in between you two. He gripped your dick and started to stroke it, knowing that was the key to making you break. “Do it then! C’mon, puppy! Be a good boy and cum for me!” 

You didn’t need him to tell you twice, or even once, for that matter. You orgasmed on his command, squirting hard enough to force his cock out of you. You sobbed into his shoulder, overwhelmed and overstimulated, clinging to him for support through it all. When it was over, you collapsed back against the bed, gasping for air and relief.

Lalo sat up for a moment, admiring how beautiful you looked when you were too pleasured to think: your face flushed, chest rising and falling, tongue hanging out of your mouth. You really were like a puppy, all tuckered out from playtime. It was adorable. 

You stared up at the ceiling as you basked in the afterglow of climax. It was like lying on the beach at sunset. The warmth of your body heat being cooled by the dots of sweat on your brow; the oxytocin flooding your brain like waves on the shore. Blissful. Peaceful. Serene.

Yet you had no vacation time left to use. You were called in to work by your master slamming his cock into you and bringing you back to reality. You yelped and stared up at him in shock as he pumped in and out of your abused hole.

“What?” He scoffed. “What did you expect, doggy? You’re not finished ‘til I finish.”

You weren’t sure how many times he made you cum that night, but the last thing you remember was dozing off with his seed spilling out of you.

–

You woke up the next morning in Lalo’s bed, alone. On his pillow, there was a note. You reached for it and rubbed the sleep out of your eyes to read it. It said: 

Good morning, puppy! Great job yesterday! Come to the kitchen when you’re awake and I’ll cook you breakfast. 

XOXO,

Lalo.

You smiled. He was so sweet. You folded the note and stretched to put it on the nightstand, but suddenly, you felt a jolt of pain in your bicep. Right, the tetanus shot. The numbing had worn off. Oh well, at least you could take the gauze off by now. You unwrapped your arm, and just as you suspected, there was a nasty bruise at the injection site. Going against better judgment, you pressed down on the mark. Something you felt shocked you enough to recoil, not the tender bruise itself, but rather the foreign object implanted underneath it.

That’s when it hit you. 

When Lalo said you were gonna be his dog, he meant it. You were to be collared and at his beck and call 24/7, and in return he’d give you food, water, a place to live, companionship, everything a responsible dog owner should provide.

And what else do responsible owners do for their dogs?

They microchip them so they can’t run away.