#WEST GERMAN CARS

[autodeluxe]

1985 VOLKSWAGEN TYPE 2

[sunlightmurdock]

Hey, Neighbour! | DBF!Jake Seresin x Reader (18+)

Synopsis: Jake’s been having a problem recently, and when the power goes out next door, everything quickly comes to a head.

Warnings: dad’s best friend trope. Age gap. Reader is in her mid-20s, Jake’s around 40. Obviously unbalanced power dynamic. No use of Y/N. Reader’s dad has a name. Mention of reader having a piercing. Smut. Pure filth and pining. Smut. Oral (f receiving). Unprotected pinv. Creampie. Jake has no respect for his best friend’s furniture. Choking briefly. Please comment / Reblog, it’s greatly appreciated. Wc: 8.5k. Minors dni, you will be blocked.

…

Jake clicks the television off and pushes himself up from the couch, joined by his shadow of a German shepherd called Ace. They walk together to the sound of the meek little knock at his front door, Jake’s gym socks padding along his dark wood floors along the way.

It’s late. Too late for whoever is at his front door to be bearing good news. He twists the door handle and pulls it open, rolling back his aching shoulders. This late at night, he has a good idea of who’s going to be standing on his porch.

As expected, standing there and shivering in your dad’s coat and a pair of slippers, is exactly the last person that Jake was hoping to see.

You see, Jake has had a bit of a problem since he moved in to this neighbourhood.

Quite a substantial one, in the grand scheme of things, and one that seems to just be getting worse by the minute.

Suburbia was meant to be Jake’s reprieve from his bachelor lifestyle. His escapades have been worrying his mother to death for going on two decades now, and it came time that even Jake agreed that it was time to wisen up about his love life. With all of the deployments, and all of the time away from home, it had been beyond easy to never fall into anything serious. By the time he was twenty-nine, Jake’s longest ever relationship was two and a half months, which was alarming given the number of women he had encountered by then.

Two things happened that sent Jake here, to this cute little cul-de-sac in suburban San Diego, one — Jake’s job became more secure, and guaranteed that he would spend at least ninety percent of his remaining career here on the west coast. Second, he proposed to a woman. A beautiful woman, that he was so sure he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

She liked his house, it looked like the one her parents had raised her in. So, he bought the house and he bought a dog, and swore that he was going to try to settle down. Six months later, it was just him and the dog. Payton apologised profusely, and she’d apologise even more if he ever ran into her again, he just wasn’t right for her.

Things weren’t so bad though. Jake and Ace liked the peace and quiet, and the guy next door was actually pretty cool. Jack, the airline pilot with a mean golf swing and a great nose for the best sports bars in town. He’s a little older than Jake, with a hell of a lot more to show for it, including three grown up kids.

It’s been a couple of years now, and Jake’s practically part of the family. He knows everything there is to know. He’s there on birthdays, holidays, emergencies — he loves this family. But he has a problem.

His problem was manageable at first. So, Jack’s youngest daughter might have caught Jake’s attention at first. You were visiting home from college and you had stepped out of the car in a tight little pair of shorts and a tank top, and Jake just happened to be standing in Jack’s garage, helping him with a little project, when he first saw you.

And you were funny. Right away cracking some joke about Jake’s less than adept approach to projects around the house. Jake had laughed out loud without even meaning to, and then you’d turned your head and hit him with that mega-watt smile. Bringing new meaning to the term beaming.

God, that pretty fucking smile.

Your humour dances lightly on the nerves of others, like Jake’s, but sweeter. You’re well behaved and back then you had had a dreamy boyfriend who was in pre-med. Perfect in every way.

Even more reason for Jake to keep his hands to himself.

You were Jack’s kid. Jake wouldn’t ever cross that line. It’s just that sometimes… he had to remind himself of this boundary.

He hadn’t ever been close friends with someone where that was even a concern, and truthfully, he had been unprepared for meeting you. In all of the stories Jack told him, you were this cute little kid. Standing before him, you didn’t quite match the image he had of you in his head. This was truly uncharted territory.

Truth be told, there were times when Jake wasn’t so sure you wanted him to hang back. Even when you were still bringing that boyfriend of yours around, Jake caught the way you looked at him.

The way you tug those glossed lips between your teeth and grin around the straw of your drink.

If he was a better friend, or a stronger man, he might have been able to nip his little problem in the bud right away. He had tried, and you were living away from home then, so it was easier. But last month, you had moved back in with your parents and Jake’s life has been nothing but stress ever since.

On occasion, Jake thinks of how he would have to plead his case if someone discovered how he felt. You just don’t know what it’s like when she’s looking at me, man. I swear, I tried to stay away from her, I did.

It’s not his fault that Jack asked him to watch you while your folks were away on that cruise.

Jake’s gaze finally flickers back up to your wounded, hurt baby bunny, expression.

“What’s the matter, cutie? — You alright?” He reaches for you with one hand, gently grabbing at the crook of your elbow and guiding you towards him. That sad little look on your face tugs at his heart strings every time.

“Yeah, I just — I plugged in my phone charger and all the lights went out. I think I tripped a fuse,” All exasperated and frustrated at once, you push your hair back off of your face and frown at him. “Could you come take a look at it for me?”

Jake’s throat grows thick. Under your dad’s heavy work coat, Jake can see the thin white tank top you’re wearing and the blue checkered, boxer style pyjama shorts. But Jack asked him to take care of you.

“Yeah. Of course I can,” Jake nods his head and reaches down to tug at Ace’s black woven collar. “Come in a sec. I just need some shoes.”

There haven’t been too many occasions where you have been inside Jake’s place. Your dad comes here a lot and you’ve been sent over to collect him before dinner on occasion, or to deliver Jake some leftovers.

It’s warm inside, and it smells like woodsmoke and leather. He’s been burning the candle that you got him for his last birthday. You inhale softly, shrugging the coat closer to your body.

In the times that you have been over here, you’re always surprised by how tidy he keeps the place. It’s not what you would have expected of a single guy living all alone.

Jake pulls some sneakers from a tidy shoe organizer disguised to look like an end table and crouches down to put them on his feet. Leaning over, something catches his eye between the heavy fleece of your dad’s unzipped work jacket.

“Did you get your bellybutton pierced?”

The question startles you, drawing attention to the fact that you had been craning your neck and trying to get a look into Jake’s living room. You turn your head, blinking as Jake straightens up and takes a step towards you.

He reaches out and before you know it, his warm fingers are stretching out across your chilled, just exposed navel. His thumb brushes over your soft skin, brows drawing together as he examines the dainty jewelry pushed through your skin.

Swiftly, you take a step back and his hand drops away from your body. “I’ve had it for years.”

There’s a silence between the two of you. Jake’s going to be kicking himself for that for weeks to come. He shouldn’t have reached out and touched you like that. He shouldn’t be commenting on things your father wouldn’t approve of. You’re too grown up for that.

“Huh,” He clicks his tongue, reaching just past your side to grab his house keys from the dish by the door. “C’mon, kid. Let’s go take a look at those lights.”

The shuffle of your slippers cuts through the awkward silence as you cross Jake’s front yard and into yours. It’s late November, and a cold night in particular too. Standing in just a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, the evening chill makes Jake’s arm hair stand on end. As you walk ahead, your back to him, Jake wonders if it has the same effect on you.

Thinking about his best friend’s daughter’s tits. He wishes the shame alone was enough to knock the thought out of his head. He wishes you hadn’t moved home. He wishes you weren’t leading him into your dark, empty house right now.

The entire house is pitch black, but Jake tests the hallway lightswitch in passing anyway. He notes the dubious look you shoot him back over your shoulder. Then, he passes by you as you stop to take off that big coat. It’s not something he wants to hang by and watch.

It’s cold as his shoulder brushes yours, and not just because it’s November. You swallow thickly, staring after him until he disappears into the dark. Your feelings towards Jake are complicated.

Well, they’re not. Your crush on him isn’t the innocent middle school crush that you used to have on an older figure, like a teacher. No, this is far from doodling his name in your journal. This man, and his thick, ridged abs and golden chest hair, is working his way into your dreams.

After the break-up, you had sworn off men for a while — and that was the right decision for you. But, it left certain parts of you yearning. And Jake’s right next door. From your bedroom window, you’ve got the perfect view into his backyard. The same backyard where he’ll work out in the blazing heat, sweat glistening along his tanned skin, along the ridges and valleys of his muscles.

No, this crush is far from innocent. It crossed the border into indecent weeks ago, the first time that you touched yourself thinking about him. It wasn’t your fault; he was tempting you.

You had returned home from work to find Jake hanging out in the living room with your father, not unusual, and you had joined the two of them. Your dad had started with a playful comment about Jake. Jake had returned the favour with a witty remark about your dad. You were just joining in on the fun, poking playfully at Jake’s age.

All too suddenly, he had turned sharply to you and pinched the soft skin between your ribs and hip, leaning dangerously close with a smirk on his face that made your head spin. In fact, you still remember the way your mouth had hung open as Jake had breathed out a chuckle and shot you that playfully warning look.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” He’d challenged, that eager look in those wild green eyes, his cheeks dimpling just slightly, fingers pressing into your side.

Since then, you can’t help but think of him closer, and closer.

“Jake, wait!” You call, dropping the coat onto a hook and kicking off your slippers, starting to rush after him. Jake cranes his neck to look back at you over his shoulder. “You should probably show me what you’re doing. Y’know, in case it happens again.”

“Sure. Come here,” Jake jerks his head for you to join him, extending his hand for you in the dark of the utility room. You swat around until your fingers graze his, falling silent at the brash way he grabs hold of your hand and drags you closer. Your ass briefly brushes his thigh as he guides you in front of him. Jake steps back, clearing his throat. The little red dot on the fuse box illuminates his fingertips as he reaches past you. “This is the switch you want, don’t mess with anything else or your dad’ll kill you.”

The corners of your lips twitch. There are plenty of things your dad would be furious with, if he knew you had done them.

Jake’s fingers curl around the switch. His cologne fills your nose. His massive bicep is inches from your cheek, and everything feels like electric as his other hand comes to rest on the bare space between your shirt and your shorts. You’re trapped between him and the wall in front. If you would push your hips back just an inch or two…

“So, you flip the switch off to reset it,” Jake’s voice is all gravel from yelling at the young pilots he instructs, and shouting over the top of loud music in bars. It drifts past your ears and makes you want to shiver as his fingers curl around the plush of your hip. “And then you flip it back on for the power.”

Suddenly, the lights come back on in the hall outside of the utility room. Jake’s got you cornered against the fuse box really, and with the washer and dryer to your side, the only escape would be to rush out into the hall. You’re not quite ready to make that move. You can hear the amusement in his voice. He can feel the way you’re burning with awkward embarrassment in front of him.

“Oh.” You say quietly. Jake chuckles from behind you, his hand trailing about an inch higher, taking some of the fabric from your tank top with it, pinching playfully at your newly exposed waist.

“Happy to help, kid.” He’s already drawing back, his hand pulling away from your electrified skin, the sound of his shoe hitting the floor and alerting you to the fact that he’ll be leaving before you even know it.

“Could I ask you for one more favour?” You turn to face him, biting sheepishly on your bottom lip.

“Sure. What is it?” He’d retile your entire bathroom for you if you asked him to. That’s what makes him wish he was a better friend.

There’s an art to the way you bat your lashes at him, knowing better than to get too close or put your hands on him. Just that deep, pleading look in your eyes is more than enough. “Will you finish watching my scary movie with me? — Kinda… freaked me out a little bit when the lights went out, is all.”

“… Yeah. Yeah, I guess I can hang out for a little.” You’re a good kid, and it’s just a movie. He can’t leave you over here all by yourself, scared out of your mind, now, can he?

Jake wonders if this is what your father had in mind when he had asked his most trusted friend to just be there for his daughter while they were away.

That same, trusted best friend, sitting on the couch with his chin propped up against his palm, and that daughter’s head resting against his shoulder. You could have sat over on the other end of the couch, or even in your dad’s armchair, but that defeats the purpose of asking Jake to stay.

“Fill me in. What am I missing here?” Jake asks, mostly to fill the silence. His arm stretches along the back of your couch, his knees parted obnoxiously and his neck awkwardly straight to minimise risk of him laying his head against yours.

Your hand comes to rest against his middle, eyes focused calmly on the screen. “So there are two timelines. The present, and flashbacks to like… maybe ten years ago. Ten years ago, the family bought this mirror, and…”

Jake’s fingers inch their way into your hair, trailing softly over your scalp. Your fingers brush over his middle as he massages your scalp. He listens to you explain the plot of the movie like he isn’t thinking about the way your nipples are pressing through the white fabric of your tank top.

“Freaky mirror…” Jake muses over the concept of the plot, squinting his eyes at the screen, his fingers slowing to a halt in your hair as he turns his head to look at you. “You gonna be able to sleep okay tonight if we watch this?”

You meet him back with a sheepish grin and an innocent shrug of your shoulders. “Well, I already started, so I need to see that it ends okay, or I’ll be freaked out.”

“Alright. Just making sure you’re not gonna try crawling into my bed tonight after you have a nightmare.” Jake teases, pushing his knees further apart and sinking down into the comfort of the grey fabric couch he helped the movers bring in here last August.

He didn’t push you away when you sat right next to him and curled against his side. He reached out himself and stroked his fingers along your stomach.

Confidence surges through you like a wave, swelling big enough for you to giggle and press closer to him. “Come on, would that be such a bad thing?”

“What did you say?”

The swell has passed and the wave crashes just like all the others do, breaking over an otherwise calm sea. You swallow softly, growing exceptionally still.

“I was just kidding—“

Jake’s fingers leave your hair and curl instead around the nape of your neck. He turns his head, attempting to get a look at your face. “No, no. Say it again. What did you say?”

You shake your head, pressing it closer against his toned stomach. “I was just joking. You wouldn’t mind it that much if I had a bad dream and had to come sleep in your bed.”

He’s quiet for a moment and the movie draws tense. The main character is creeping around in the dark, the music is building, and Jake’s far too quiet for your liking.

“Don’t joke about that.” Jake says quietly.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” You answer him, hugging your cheek into the dark fabric of his t-shirt. That way, there’s no chance of him seeing the shame on your face. Going after your dad’s best friend— you should be ashamed of yourself.

Jake rubs a palm over the stubble on his jaw, trying to focus on the screen in front of him. This movie can’t possibly take much longer.

He knows he has upset you. You’re uncharacteristically quiet, and he can feel you trying to sit still. He shifts his hips a little, reaching out and resting his palm against your waist.

Your brows draw together as the main character bites into the apple she was eating and glass shards drop to the floor in front of her. Jake feels your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt. Sweat beads on the nape of his neck.

His thumb swipes back and forth over the inch of bare skin on your hip.

Jake glances down at you. Laying against his middle like this. It feels all too natural. He isn’t even paying attention to the movie. Truthfully, the only thing on Jake’s mind is how soft your skin feels against the pad of his thumb.

Imagining how soft your body would feel in his palms, every inch of your skin in his capable hands.

You gasp as the camera pans to the main character’s bleeding mouth, and the shattered lightbulb in your hands, twisting your head and burying your face in Jake’s shirt.

Jake flinches, his attention drawn back to the screen as his fingers curl into your skin. His face twists in distaste, groaning at the gore on the screen.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about this being freaky.” Jake mutters with a soft shake of his head, shifting uncomfortably as his fingers massage at the pillowy skin of your waist. He swallows thickly, eyes dropping down to the way you’re nestled just above his waistband. He tries a weak chuckle, mind racing for something to lighten the mood. “What am I meant to do if I’m up all night after this, huh?”

You laugh softly against his stomach, pressing closer to the warmth of his rigid torso. Jake stares at the screen as he feels your open palm brush over his abdomen, fingertips grazing the waistband of his sweats by mere millimeters. He strokes your skin, setting his knees further apart by an inch.

Even with the score of the movie in front of you, everything feels so quiet. Even with the floor lamp to your right and the table lamp to your left, it all feels so dark. It all feels so slow. Truthfully, you imagine this is as close as you’ll get to understanding what it feels like to tightrope across Niagara Falls.

One misstep, a strong gust, the loss of balance in any capacity and its all over. The best friendship that your father has ever had, thrown away because you made a pass at a man far too old for you to begin with.

Then, Jake’s fingers break their almost surgically precise pattern. The tips stretch just slightly under the fabric of your tank top, reaching for the silken skin of your stomach. It’s brief, before they retreat to the safety of circling the skin that you’ve chosen to expose. You drop your gaze, watching all five of his digits follow their intricate pattern, and stretch under the cotton white of your top once again.

Maybe Jake notices that you’re watching him, or maybe he finally notices it himself, but he stops all at once. Fingers pulling back to rest platonically against your hip, green eyes trained seriously on the television, his lips stretched into a flat line.

“It’s okay,” You whisper without turning your gaze away from the screen. Jake doesn’t look at you. He feels your fingers brush across the top of his, curling through the digits, linking them together. “It’s okay, Jake. You can. I won’t say anything.”

Your parents aren’t going to be home for another eleven days. What’s Jake supposed to do until then, ignore your existence? — Avoid you entirely?

He wants this, and you’re on to him, giving him permission.

“Honey,” It’s caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan, an exhale of restraint and desperation all at once. He wishes he could at least pretend he’s half interested in this movie. “Don’t talk like that.”

Your brows draw together, eyes going wide as a child in the movie creeps through the house, headed for the master bedroom. Bloody sheets on the bed. A smashed plate on the floor. Jake’s hand gripping your hip. The child inches forwards, the music swells, a chill rushes down your back. In frame, the little girl rounds the edge of the bed and someone leaps out, bloodied and frenzied. Jake hasn’t been paying enough attention to gather who.

Neither one of you will care in a few moments.

The surprise makes you jolt, leaping up from your spot against Jake’s stomach, sitting upright all of a sudden, grabbing onto his forearm for support.

“It’s alright, cutie,” Jake breathes out in soft amusement, rubbing a heavy circle on your back. That’s the first thing he called you. When he’d seen you struggling to lift the icebox in the garage. Let me get that for you, cutie. And now, he has the nerve to pretend like it’s just you that has led the two of you here. “Maybe we should turn it off now, huh?”

Your heartbeat is already thudding in your ears and there’s no way you’ll be able to sleep after any of this. Fuck it. You turn, brace your palm against his shoulder, and take the dive.

Jake has thought about what those pretty lips feel like. Every time they stretch upwards into those pretty smiles, each time you sink your teeth into the bottom one. He should be prepared, in theory. Is there any way to prepare for something like this?

“Sweetheart…” Jake mutters against your lips, eyes screwed shut, hands reaching out for your hips. Pained, he gives a slow shake of his head. “Come on, we can’t do this.”

“But do you want to?” Your lips graze his. He feels the way you arch your back, knocking your chest into his, angling yourself in a way that just begs him to grab hold of your waist and drag you into his lap. You close your mouth, pecking softly at his still lips once more. “If you didn’t know my dad… you would. Right?”

Yes. Of course he would. He would be insane not to. He’s driving himself insane trying not to.

“But I do, and… and he trusts me.” Jake turns his head just slightly, but his hands reach for you. His big hands find your hips and grab onto them tight, hard. He just holds you right there. There’s got to be some kind of way he can regain some of the power here.

“I trust you.” You tell him, kissing his jaw tentatively. Delicate fingertips skim along the throbbing vein on the left side of Jake’s throat, reaching for the nape of his neck. Soft, slow kisses lead a trail to his earlobe, passing plains of stubble and angled bone. “I know you won’t hurt me, and I know you want me. It’s okay, Jake, I want you too.

“Fuck.” Jake swears, dropping his head forwards to rest against the curve of your shoulder. His fingers dig into your hips harder and harder. By the time Jake drags you forwards, his grip is so tight that you would have no choice but to follow. You fall into his lap, lips parted and eyes wide as Jake’s deep pine coloured eyes study your face.

You wait for him to speak again, but he doesn’t. Not for a long time. His fingers stretch up from your hips, reaching under the fabric of your tank top, extending across your bare abdomen. He stretches the brushed cotton further, taking it up with a gentle touch.

“Your father would kill me.” Jake muses as his fingertips graze the underside of your breasts, his eyes solely on your face. You smile back at him, only partly because your father is an airline pilot who couldn’t bench half of what Jake does on a good day.

“I won’t tell him if you don’t.”

Jake grits his teeth. It has started to rain outside now. That storm that channel four had promised is starting to roll in. The movie will be over soon. The rain will be the only sound on this entire street. This house is completely empty, beside the two of you. He exhales through his nose and pushes his hips up. He’s half-hard under you, and giving you another disapproving shake of his head.

“Little fuckin’ minx…” Jake curses you, his words fanning out across the span of your exposed neck, hot and cold all at once. “You get off on teasing me like this, or something?”

A smile works its way across those pretty lips. Jake could see more of that smile than he sees sunsets and he would still be pretty damn content. Your nails rake softly through the almost buzzed fade at the back of his head as you give a shake of your head.

“Well, it’s not teasing if we take care of it,” Your shoulders rise and fall in a soft shrug as Jake’s fingers trail further upwards, taking your tank top with them and exposing your breasts to the cool autumn air. The rattle of the air conditioning unit that your dad tells you not to mess with reminds you of the real culprit as your nipples harden and perk with the exposure. You lean back, bracing each of your hands on Jake’s knees, arching your chest out, letting Jake see the newly exposed skin. “If you’ll let me.”

His eyes are pretty when he smiles. When he’s staring at your tits, they’re hooded and hungry, a shade of green that threatens to draw you in and hold you captive. What a happy captive you would be. His hands grab at both of them at once, squeezing roughly at the supple flesh.

All at once, his mouth is on yours too. He’s sucking at your bottom lip, growling into your mouth. He smells of smoked wood and he tastes of scotch. It paints half of a picture. A lonely man sitting in his home alone on a Saturday night, burning a candle given to him by a girl half his age and drinking liquor older than he is himself.

You’re straddling his hips now, your bare thighs squeezing into the fabric of his grey sweatpants, pulling yourself closer with each hungry kiss. Jake’s touch is experienced, expert; he pinches softly at your nipple, anticipates the way your mouth will draw open in a soft gasp, and licks into your mouth the second that it does. He sucks softly at the tip of your tongue, revelling in the feeling of your soft breasts in his hands.

“Arms up.”

You’re such a good girl. The way that you comply with a wordless grin and bite at your lip once the tank top hits the floor has Jake in even more trouble than he was before. He kisses softly at the space between your tits, pushing them together in his hands, opening his mouth and pressing his tongue into your skin.

Men like boobs. Big boobs, small boobs — your shared gossip sessions with friends in college always led to the same conclusion, men don’t care. They bite, suck, grab regardless of size. It shouldn’t be anything new. But then Jake reaches your left nipple. His right hand palms at the underside as his tongue swipes in a circular motion, just before his lips clasp around the sensitive bud.

You know he’s watching you through those esurient green eyes, but you find yourself playing right into his capable hands anyway. Any leverage you may have had in seeming like his charms don’t work on you are washed away with the dulcet tone of your first moan. It spills from your lips, your nails pressing into the nape of his neck as Jake sucks expertly at the sensitive skin.

He pulls away with another ravenous exhale, something between a sigh and a groan. His hands feel heavy on your body as they paw at your chest with a capability you’ve never encountered before. His cologne is expensive and mature, a smokey blend that has you intoxicated and enthralled. His mouth is wet and eager, but oh, so slow as it explores the areas of you he has dreamt about.

The rain outside is growing heavier, like it’s learning to mimic the deepness of each of your breaths. The movie must have finished by now. Neither one of you is going to check.

His stubble prickles, rough and masculine, abrasive compared to the adept caress of his tongue. His right hand grabs forcibly at the nape of your neck, drawing the sweetest little squeak from your already open lips. You knew he would be better than the guys you’ve been with before, but not like this. He hasn’t even touched you yet.

Jake’s lips seem to pinpoint each and every nerve ending in your chest, sucking and licking at your skin through feverish kisses. The tenderness seeping away each time a breathy moan falls from your mouth, fanning out against his clothed shoulder. He pulls away from the top of your breast with his teeth, already knowing, in his years of experience, that that’s going to bruise.

Jake lifts his head, letting his eyes drift shut as you lean forwards and press your mouth to his neck. He can feel your nerves in your trembling fingertips, in the way your chest shivers when it brushes his, in the way your lips suck at his pulse point. But you’re doing so well. Dragging your lips along the length of his neck, biting softly at the skin just above his collarbone, feeling him shiver at the sensation.

“Off.” You demand, grabbing at the bottom of his t-shirt, feeling him grin against your jaw. He complies wordlessly, grabbing at the back of his shirt and yanking it over his head.

You’ve seen Jake shirtless plenty of times, wandering around his property or opening the front door without shame. You’ve always wondered what those muscles, that dusting of golden chest hair, would feel like up close. Forgetting that you’re being watched, your hands explore his toned torso. The line down the middle of his stomach, the sharp divide of his collarbones, the swell of his pecs.

“What’re you thinking?” Jake asks, brushing your hair back from your face tenderly, concern coating his features.

A bashful smile spreads across your cheeks as you watch your fingers ghost along the thick muscle of his shoulder. “That you’re really hot.”

Jake breathes out a chuckle, reaching up and grabbing at the back of your neck to cradle you against him as he pushes up from the couch and turns quickly, planting you on your back and covering your body with his.

“That smile is gonna get me in big trouble, sweetheart,” Jake wastes no time in pressing his mouth to your stomach, holding you by your waist as he sucks filthy kisses into your skin to mark his path downward. “You know that?”

“I know.” You answer back, just to tease him this time. Jake stops at your waistband as you giggle, looking up at you through hooded eyes with a devilish grin on his face. He drags his teeth across your hip, hooking his fingers into the sides of your shorts and tugging them down your legs.

“God, honey, you weren’t wearing panties this entire time?” Jake exhales, eye-level with the most intimate part of you and completely unashamed. Your mind fumbles for an answer, lips getting into position to finally respond when he leans forwards and licks a stripe through your soaked core. Then, he moans. His hands grab fistfuls of your soft waist and he goes in again, lapping hungrily at your excitement, groaning against your sensitive skin.

“O-Oh… Jake.” Your voice trembles, knees trying to press shut around Jake’s broad shoulders. He grabs firmly at your thigh, closing his lips loosely around your clit, flicking his tongue over the sensitive bud and making you jolt against him.

“Yeah, honey?”

“That feels really fucking good.” You tell him, closing your eyes finally.

“Attagirl. Just hold on, girlie, I’m gonna get you there.” He promises without once diverting from his apparent mission. If he’s as devoted to the Navy as he is to making you cum at this exact moment in time, the military is lucky to have him. You’re soaked, excitement pooling between your legs. Jake already knows he’s going to spend tomorrow cleaning this couch, and he wishes he cared enough to make better decisions.

“Look at this,” Jake breathes out as his gaze falls back down to rest between your legs. He couldn’t care less about the fucking couch. You swallow hard, practically aching for his touch. You’ve waited so long already. His index finger dips between your folds, his brows raise as he gathers your excitement on the tip of it. “Making such a fuckin’ mess for your old man’s best friend. Dirty fucking girl.”

He can’t see the way his words make you grin, but he can feel the way you reach for his hair and tug softly at those blonde roots, begging for more. He’s more than happy to give it to you. Jake groans against you, working his tongue in soft circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. His eyes are still on you. Your eyes are closed — if you look him in the eyes then you’re going to get all embarrassed, and you’ll be damned before you let someone ruin how good this feels. Especially not yourself.

Jake’s hand trails up your naked torso, pawing at your rising and falling tits as you pant into the chilled air, sweat beading on your skin.

He’s gentle between your legs. More gentle than he could be. Pressing his stubbled mouth firmly against your core and working his tongue against you, each languid movement making you keen into him. The tip of his nose bumps your clit periodically. It feels like your head is spinning.

Dragging his mouth back up to your sensitive, throbbing clit, his free hand slides between your legs, he dips the tip of his index finger into you, then slides it in up to the knuckle and curls. Just testing the waters. It’s enough to earn him a moan, enough to have you grab a fistful of his short blonde hair, ensuring that he doesn’t get ahead of himself and lose pace with his mouth.

He slips his ring finger into you alongside his middle whilst his tongue works confidently along your core and back up to your clit. He lets go of your thigh and rests his forearm across your stomach, keeping you nice and still for him. Maybe he should feel ashamed of himself for how much he’s enjoying this.

All of those times he enjoyed the sound of your laugh, and sat with the afterthought of how much he’d enjoy the sound of your moans. It’s hard to be ashamed when it turns out he was right.

He scissors his fingers inside of you, making you gasp louder this time, pulling against him. You tug at his roots, he moans against your clit. You both shiver, and not because of that now thundering storm. Jake’s tongue flattens as he drags it along your core. He pulls his fingers from you and puts them immediately to work, taking over the pace on your clit, burying his face between your legs, curling his tongue into you.

Jake growls against you, his cock growing now uncomfortably hard in the confines of his sweats and his fingers and mouth switch places once again. After all the time he has waited, he doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of looking up at you, writhing at the feeling of him between your legs. All that does is make his sweats feel even tighter again. His fingers fuck into you mercilessly, curling and twisting, making you keen into his touch and arch your back and gasp all at once.

You cum with his name on your tongue and your fingers in his hair. The comedown feels like weightlessness. Jake doesn’t bother to ask if that’s the first time a man has made you feel like that, the adoration in your eyes as he comes in to kiss your mouth tells him everything he needs to know.

His mouth tastes like you, his chin is wet with your slick and his cock is straining against the grey cotton of his sweats, pressing in to your stomach. Jake’s fingers brush your hair back softly from your forehead, a sudden calmness in the green of his eyes as he studies the peaceful euphoric smile on your face.

“We don’t have to go any further—“

“Stop trying to be a gentleman.” You huff, lifting your head and kissing him hard, hooking your legs around his waist. Drawing him closer, you’re both painfully aware that the only thing stopping him from touching you is his sweats. “I want you.”

Jake pauses for a moment. Rain slams against the windows, and the television goes dark as it passes into standby mode. His hands squeeze softly at your waist, eyes darting downward at your naked body under his. He would be a damn idiot to say no to everything he has been fantasising about.

“You keep condoms here?” He breathes out.

Your eyes light up before him, gleaming with mischief. You give a confident nod of your head as a cunning little smirk spreads across your lips.

“There are some in my parents’ bathroom,” You can tell right away that he doesn’t like that idea, but that’s okay, option two was by far your favourite anyway. “Or, you could just cum in me. I won’t tell.”

“Jesus Christ.” Jake drops his head forwards to rest against your naked chest, panting out a dry laugh. His fingers bruise into your middle as he starts to consider the choices that have led him here. Once he feels composed enough to look you in the eye again, he lifts his head and squints seriously. “You did not just say that.”

“I want you to. I’m on birth control anyway.” Long gone is the nervous girl standing on his porch and asking him to fix her lights. There’s a devious, lustful look in your eye and Jake’s pretty damn sure there’s magic in that look. All he knows is that it could make him do just about anything you asked of him. “Please?”

Jake swipes his thumb along the curve of your jaw, studying the depths of your irises for just a moment. He leans forwards and kisses your bottom lip, sucking at the plush skin, pulling away with his teeth. You swallow as he sits back, pushes his sweats down his legs and frees his swollen cock. From under him, you’ve got the perfect view.

Every ridge and valley in those impossible abs, each follicle of hair that lines his tanned chest, trailing down below his navel and sitting neatly around his pubic bone, trimmed just as neatly as his navy-standard hair cut. His cock is a good size, considerable even when he’s got one of his large hands wrapped around its base. Wide too, throbbing red at the tip, bending just slightly to the left.

Just looking has your mouth running dry.

Fisting his cock, Jake sits back on his heels and lets his gaze fall down to your glistening core once again. He looks down at your pretty face, then lowers himself between your legs, pressing his chest into yours, kissing you dizzyingly hard.

“You want it?” Jake asks one last time.

“I want it.” You answer him, smiling softly back at him, squeezing your thighs around his hips.

You’re looking up at him with such trust in your eyes that Jake can barely stand it. His heart thuds in his chest as he guides the tip of his cock between your folds, hesitating just briefly. There’s already no coming back from this. There’s no way to make up for the things he has already done. You’re so special, and he wants this so bad.

Your mouth sucks softly at his throat, quiet, pleased sounds spilling from your lips as he grinds the tip of his cock against your sensitive clit. Jake kisses your shoulder softly, then lowers his head to rest there as he drags his cock down to your warm entrance. You gasp softly as he presses into you, pushing forwards until he’s buried and stretching you open completely.

“Oh,” You whimper against his earlobe, pressing your nails into the swell of his shoulder blade. “You feel really fucking big.”

“So fuckin tight.” Jake grunts, his throat thick with desire as he stills inside of you, thumbs bruising into your hips. “Sweet fucking girl. Feel like you’re made just for me.”

This makes you smile into the curve of his jaw, humming in soft agreement as he starts to slowly rock his hips. Lightning flashes outside of the window, and it doesn’t matter one bit. The rest of the world is a million miles away. In here, it’s just the two of you.

“Oh fuck,” Jake shivers, eclipsing your throat with his hand, pulling you in for a heavy kiss, licking into your mouth as he drags his hips back until it’s just the tip. You gasp sharply against him as he snaps his hips forwards until he’s buried into you completely once. “Fuck. You like that?”

“Yeah. I want it like that.” You whimper into his skin, hugging your legs tight around his hips. You moan eagerly against his lips, the sound catching in your throat as he squeezes at the sides of your neck and drives his hips forwards sharply, drawing an excited squeak from your parted lips.

Jake grunts, rocking himself into you hard and fast. He’s waited so long for this, and so have you. The way you’re clawing at his back makes him want to give it all to you. Leaving feverish kisses along your collarbones, he fills you over and over. You curl both legs tighter around his waist, leaning your head back as far as you can against the couch cushion to give his lips better access to your throat.

The living room is filled with the sounds of your sex. Your desperate moans, panting and hard. Jake’s pleasured grunts, muffled softly by the curve of your shoulder. His skin slapping yours. It smells like him, smoky and mature. Sweat beads along his back and his forehead as he keeps up that merciless pace, fucking you so hard that you couldn’t tell him your own name anymore.

Jake pulls back just enough to grab the backs of your thighs and pin them to your chest, hooking your knees over his shoulders, filling you even deeper than before, making you cry out.

“Jake!” You beg, babbling incoherently into the curve of his shoulder as he goes right back to the pace he set before. Fucking you hard and fast, scrambling your brain to the point that the only thing on your mind is the ravenous way he’s staring down at you.

Your walls are squeezing around him perfectly and the sounds you’re making are just driving him insane. It’s been a long time since Jake felt as crazy about someone as he feels about you. He pants into the crook of your neck as his fingers tug at your hair, making you moan out even louder.

“I’m gonna cum — fuck, honey,” Jake grunts out like he’s been punched, his eyes screwing shut as he reaches between your bodies and rubs uniformed circles around your clit. “Are you close? — Can you cum one more time for me?”

“Yeah,” You breathe out, already trembling as you squeeze your thighs tighter around him. “Just—“ You don’t have the words, so you just reach out and grab his hand. Jake swallows hard as you wrap his open hand around the column of your throat and look up at him with that big, trusting look in your eyes again.

He grits his teeth as he squeezes at the sides of your throat, watching your sweet face contort in pleasure. Your hand dips between your legs and replaces where Jake’s had been, rubbing feverish patterns on your clit. Your stomach tightens in knots, your breathing grows heavy and Jake’s cock drives into you at just about the perfect angle each time. You open his mouth to warn him, but it’s already too late. You couldn’t find the words if you tried.

All you can do is grab onto those thick shoulders and cry out his name against the salty skin of his neck. Jake slows just slightly, offering you some reprieve through your sensitivity. Trying to be a gentleman once again. The brain fog starts to clear, you lift your head and press your lips to your earlobe.

“Cum in me,” You pant out, grabbing his shoulder to steady yourself. Jake groans against your chest, nodding his head feverishly. “Just like that, Jake, please.”

He’s relentless, fucking your through the sensitivity of your post-orgasm haze hard enough that grabbing onto those broad shoulders is the only thing that keeps you down to earth with him. Jake groans desperately. He wraps an arm under your back and pulls you as tight against him as physics will allow. You gasp softly, taking your lip between your teeth as he fills you, his cock throbbing against your walls. He seeks out your lips and kisses you hard, somehow more desperate now.

“Fuck, honey…” Jake breathes out, pressing a lazy kiss to the curve of your jaw. He makes no effort to move at first. “You alright?”

“Better than alright.” You answer contentedly, a soft smile toying at your lips as lightning flashes outside once again. Jake chuckles tiredly, lifting his head and kissing your lips.

He sighs, moving slow as he slips out of you and looks down at his cum dripping from between your legs.

“Oh, shit!” You realize, sitting up quickly and trying to reach around Jake for something to clean it with. He hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you tight against him. Truthfully, from the moment that you had laid your head on Jake’s abs, you hadn’t thought once about the consequences of fucking him right here in this spot.

“Forget it, I’ll — I’ll fix this,” He tells you calmly, already regretting that he’s going to have to live with what he has done on this couch. “Come on, cutie. Let’s go take a shower.”

It’s clear that this is foreign territory for you. Not the sex, but what comes after. He didn’t get up and leave. He didn’t run away with regret for what he did. He ran soap across your body and found your pyjamas for you.

You swallow softly, walking to sit on the edge of your bed. Jake runs a hand along his stubbled jaw as he lingers in the doorway to you room. You can’t help but notice that he got dressed again. Including his shoes. He looks you over, sitting there in fresh pyjamas, staring at him with that worried little look on your face.

He hasn’t ever seen your room here. It’s probably the one room in the house he has never been in. He’s been wondering what it’s like.

But that isn’t why he’s standing there. He sighs softly and crosses his arms over his chest.

“I should go — I mean, Ace is over there by himself.” Jake says quietly. You nod at him. You should probably say something too, but truthfully, not all of your words seem to have come back into your mind yet. “Are you coming with me?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I don’t wanna leave you over here by yourself after that weird ass movie.” Jake answers you with a shrug of his shoulders. “I figured you could just spend the night. If you want.”

Your mouth twitches at the corners as you push yourself up from the edge of your bed, nodding eagerly at him. You’ve got eleven days until your parents get back in town, and Jake permitting, you’re planning on making the most of that.

…

[vylewa]

Over the last few weeks, I have been spending my time working on my save file because I'm gearing up to start a Let's Play series on Youtube. As I've been building the stories for the characters in my save file, I started thinking about the Sims universe as a whole and how I want my Sims to travel between worlds. It got me thinking that some worlds feel like they're just a short 4-hour car ride away, while others feel like you'd need a plane to get there.

So, I decided to map out my sims universe. I got a lot of inspiration from different Reddit posts as well as the EA descriptions of each world. This has been so helpful for me as I plan out the buildings I want to place in each world. It has been so helpful with finding inspiration for creating builds. I hope you can find this helpful too.

I'm really happy about my Sims universe turned out. I'd love to hear what you think about it! Are there any worlds you disagree with me on? Also, when are we getting an African world, EA?

North America

New Crest reminds me of suburban New York, mostly because you can still the city skyline from there.

Brindleton Bay reminds me so much of New England.

San Myshuno is quite obviously New York.

Willow Creek gives me a New Orleans vibe.

Magnolia Promenade is somewhere in the south because of the name (magnolias grow in the mostly in Southern United States - Mississippi, Louisiana, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, and South Carolina). I placed it close to Willow Creek for story telling purposes.

Chestnut Ridge gives me a strong Texas vibe.

Del Sol Valley is undoubtedly Los Angeles.

Oasis Springs I think of as Palm Springs with the desert and all, also the Langraabs live there.

San Sequoia I think of as San Francisco mainly because of the Golden Gate Bridge and Bay area, I have all my tech gurus living up there.

Strangerville is straight up Area 51 with all the weird stuff going on there.

Granite Falls gives me a National Park vibe, so I chose my favorite, Yellowstone which is mostly in Wyoming.

Copperdale seems to be in the rocky mountains, I placed it in Montana because of the old mining town description. Butte, Montana used to be a huge mining town.

Moonwood Mill reminds so much of the thick woods in the Pacific West somewhere Washington or Oregon.

Glimmerbrook I imagine is close to Moonwood Mill and the witches and the werewolves are always beefing.

Evergreen Harbor gives me a strong Pacific West port city like Vancouver (I know Vancouver is not in the US, but you get the drift).

Sulani reminds me so much of Hawaii, the beautiful beaches, volcanoes, and mountains and the culture portrayed by Sulanians.

Ciduad Enamorada reminds me so much of Mexico City, Mexico.

South America

Selvadorara gives a strong Amazonian vibe so I placed it in Brazil.

Europe

Britchester because of Britchester uinversity reminds me of Universtiy of Oxford, or University of Cambridge so I placed it in the UK.

Henford-on-Bagley gives off a strong English country vibe so I placed it South Central England.

Windenburg gives off a German vibe because of the style of buildings placed in the world.

Forgotten Hollow I think of as somewhere in Transylvania so I placed it in Romania.

Tartosa is undoubtedly mediterranean so I placed it in Italy.

Asia

Tomarang with the tuk tuks and the tiger sanctuary reminds me of Indonesia.

Mt. Komorebi, my absolute favorte world, is Japan. I can't wait to visit someday.

P.S. Batuu is not included in my sims universe because it is in space, I don't anticipate my sims ever traveling there, but if I ever feel otherwise, I will include it in here.

[komsomolka]

A publicly-owned transport system meant that national timetables for all rail and bus services could be developed, that were fully coordinated with each other. All public transport was highly subsidised making it affordable for everyone. There was a strong emphasis on it, not only for ideological reasons, but because there was a shortage of private cars. Car production had been deliberately under-prioritised, which meant that people had to wait for years in order to buy a car. This waiting list also meant that those cars already on the road were given a much longer life than those in the West and almost everyone became an expert in car repair and renovation – skills now highly sought after by those who resent the wastage in the new throwaway society.

Stasi State or Socialist Paradise? The German Democratic Republic and What Became of It by Bruni de la Motte & John Green with Seumas Milne (Contributor), 2015.

[almostempty]

Maladaptive Coping Mechanisms

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader

Summary: Looking for an escape from a horrible day, you take a sexy stranger home from the bar. 

Warnings: drinking, smoking, smut, glorification of substance use as a coping mechanism, using sex to avoid processing emotions, PWP, like mostly just porn and emotions, spit, one (1) pussy slap, pussy pronouns, size kink, sort of pleasuredom!javi, AU unprotected sex has no risks bc i like it that way, piv sex, fingering, creampie,

Notes: cigarette vending machines were real, part 2 exists and if one single person asks for it i’ll post it 

please leave feedback! open to constructive criticism or delusional inspiration

Thanks: to @auteurdelabre , u know what u did 

WC: 6.7K

AO3: here

Part 2: here

Masterlist: Here

It’s not enough.

You feel the inescapable temptation racing like wildfire through your veins. Thick, hot air whips your hair into your face, and you laugh, throaty and as loud as a barking German Shepherd with saliva frothing against their teeth. The thought of jerking the wheel and rolling your car into oncoming traffic causes your fingers to twitch. The roar of the semi-truck you pass drowns out everything else, your music, the wind surging through the windows, and your violent intrusive thoughts. You decide not to opt for a head-on collision. Heading towards your side of town, you slow to a less reckless speed, immediately missing the road noise. 

The temptation still pounds in your head, unbearable. Something stronger. You need something stronger before you drive to his house and choke on the smoke while you burn it to the ground. 

But you’re free! You grin as you race directionless through the streets, the kind of grin that would unsettle a small child. The evening sun blinds you whenever you choose a street facing west, and you welcome the jarring obtrusion, the pain. But driving into the sun isn’t enough. 

You pull over at the first parking spot you can see, ripping off your seatbelt and twisting around to dig under your seat. Nails catch on the carpeting, but you only recognize some change, receipts, and a petrified french fry. The muscles in your shoulder could tear from the tendons for all you care as you contort yourself to check under the passenger seat before digging through every compartment you can fit your fingers into. 

A cigarette seems healthy in comparison to crashing your car or lighting your ex’s house on fire. You swore there was a forgotten pack of smokes under one of the seats in your car, stashed away in case of emotional emergencies months ago before you committed to quitting. Nate must have found them and tossed them. Of course, he could still keep making this day worse. Even after you’d walked out on him mid-rant about how it was somehow your fault that he’d become even more of a repulsive asshole during the months you’d spent apart. “Hope you’re happy with how you chose to use your last ‘second chance,’” you had spat at him, already halfway to the door. You imagined the look cemented on his face as you left. You hope to never imagine his face again. 

Dried tears sting the corners of your eyes. Rubbing at the raw skin burns. You stare at your red eyes in your rearview mirror, and you can see the flicker of your soul nearly snuffed out from the years of despair. Blood pounding in your ears, you roll your head on your shoulders, and popping and grinding noises in your neck add to the symphony of your pulse. Tipping back against the headrest, you refocus and take in your surroundings. A bar. A beacon in the fading golden hour as dusk overtakes her glow. 

Bars have cigarettes. A drink, or four, would help, too. You need to feel something else. Find something strong enough to break through the numbness of anger and embarrassment. Something to override your loquacious internal monologue. It’s not enough.

Your demons materialize on your shoulders, prepared to fight your morality. The neon beer signs in the window sing a siren song. Temptation wins in the first round, she’s a seductress not to be outclassed. 

The gravel crunches under your feet as you cross the parking lot, kicking up little clouds of dust in your wake. Inside, you swerve between the pool tables, crossing the dimly lit space in a beeline to the cigarette vending machine for a new pack and matches before lasering in on an empty stool at the bar. Tunnel vision. 

Cold beer soothes the burn in your throat from the tequila shot you slammed before you even settled your full weight on the barstool. The liquid waterfalls down your throat until the bottle runs dry. The surly bartender replaces it with another, and her eyes flick from yours to the empty shot glass and back. 

“I’ll just stick to beer for now,” you answer. A barely perceptible snicker yanks your attention to your right. He’s smirking to himself, trying to hide it with a swig from his bottle. Your scowl softens by a hair as you rake your eyes down his profile. Strong features, sparkling dark eyes, well-groomed, and an open collar that teases you with a glimpse of the skin of his chest. His look piques your interest. But that smug curl of his lip raises your hackles as you return to your mission: a neurochemical intervention. Maybe he knows where you could procure a lobotomy if nicotine and booze don’t help. 

You slam the second beer, signaling for another. Your head weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you can start to feel the warmth of the alcohol blooming within your chest. A welcome warmth despite the suffocatingly thick air in the bar. You feel the layer of sweat coating your torso. The skin bared on your thighs sticks to the vinyl stool, but you don’t care about being warm and sticky. Your assignment is simple. Get the liquor to your brain before you recruit Smug Mustache and Silent Barkeep to your crew. She can drive; he can be the lookout. Accomplice to arson shouldn’t be a hard sell.

You smile to yourself at the thought. 

The tiny muscles in your face start to relax, and the line between your brows softens. The racing thoughts get quieter, and you can process your environment more easily. The clack of the billiard balls on the pool table, the rock ballad barely audible over the buzz of the patrons. A variety of mostly bald or bearded men occupy different seats, and women with brassy hair and loud laughs hold all the secrets. You and the man seated next to you don’t quite fit the demographic, but nobody seems bothered. 

You slide a cigarette out of your pack, and before you tuck it between your lips, the man next to you pushes the amber-colored ashtray he’d been hoarding towards you and offers you a light. 

Leaning towards him, you’re hit with an intoxicating rush of spicy aftershave, leather, and tobacco. You seize the opportunity to take in his features head-on, inhaling deeply while he unabashedly sweeps his dark eyes over you in turn. Sinfully dark, they flick back up to yours. He drags his thumb across his bottom lip, and you’re entranced momentarily by the need to feel that plush lip between your teeth. 

Sex. 

That could work. Ease the restlessness and the deepening impulse to scream. Maybe that’s the third ingredient to your impulsive master plan. 

“Thanks,” you exhale, breaking the heady silence. The rush of nicotine entwined with alcohol begins to replace the rage in your veins. Vengeful racing thoughts are replaced with a mantra. A dull pounding in the back of your skull. More. You smile. More. More. He tracks your mouth as you press the cold glass bottle to your lips. You swallow and swallow. He raises one eyebrow, head cocked, as you drain the bottle. 

“I’d offer to buy you a drink, but I’m not sure you’d taste it at this rate,” he teases in a voice thick as molasses. 

You consider your frenzied rate of consumption. Might be time to slow down. 

“Maybe you could convince me to savor it,” you challenge. He nods and orders. He studies your lips as you take another drag from your cigarette. More. He doesn’t shy from holding your gaze. Not when you smile or when you look him up and down again. You usually aren’t so forward. The cocktail of substances and the emotional hangover from your failed reconciliation emboldens you. But, one tiny crack fractures, and for a brief moment, you’re gone. 

Your eyes lose focus. Disconnected from your body, the bar, and reality. He watches with amusement. He knows that look. He wears it often. 

Your thoughts flash and crack like a lightning storm. Nate’s face. Livid, red, and sputtering foul insults at you. Enraged that you’re drinking, smoking, and desperate to whore yourself out to the first man you see. Worse. You don’t care. Nate wasted your time and shattered your goodwill. You want to be set free. Erase him and his pathetic voice altogether. 

You take another sip and another drag, hoping one of them will detach his grubby claws from your conscience. You blink, and the horrifying hallucination is gone. 

“Drinking to forget, cariño?” the man you’d been staring past interrupts your thoughts. His tone is genuine. But why? Is that his schtick? Offering to fix broken women with a well-timed light and teasing glance?

“Something like that,” you muse, taking another drag. You hadn’t realized how close you were sat until now. It’s intimate. Smoke curls in a delicate dance between you, alluring as it winds and flares. You feel drawn to him, connected by chance. Something new to focus on. To study. He watches you with such intensity you note. Unwavering. Too sober and too shiny to be a regular old barfly. It’s not a bar full of singles. He’s out of place. Maybe he got lost along a warpath like you. Good. More.

He’s still watching. Waiting for you to elaborate? You let your knee slide forward until it’s pressing into his firm thigh. “Just trying to feel something,” you answer honestly. 

“Mm,” he takes another swig, and you watch his neck in slow motion as he swallows. 

“And you?” 

“Same goal, I guess,” he confirms. His hand drags slowly down his thigh and slides onto your knee. Your mouth parts at the contact of his palm. A new fire rips through your veins, but it’s not rage. More. 

“Would you say it’s working?” you gesture to the bottles coated in beads of condensation on the bar top. 

“No.” He stares at you openly. His carnivorous mouth splits into a grin. 

His boldness makes a giggle bubble up in your throat. You tilt your head back with a laugh. Your hair slides behind your shoulders, exposing the delicate flesh of your neck.

“No,” you repeat in agreement. You match his physicality and grasp his own thigh firmly with your hand, studying his face for any hint of a response. “It’s not enough,” you add, dragging your hand further up his leg. Slowly. 

“You’re looking for more, cariño?” he dares with cloying charm. Yes! More!

You might've rolled your eyes at the whole situation if you weren’t so many drinks in with a sinister desire for escapism. You’ve barely spoken to each other, engaged in an elite-level erotic staring competition instead. 

The best you could do was exchange names. 

“Javier Peña,” you repeated back to him. Deciding if you liked the way it sounded on your tongue. You wet your lips. 

“Just Javi is fine,” he counters while leaving enough cash on the bar to cover both your tabs with a generous tip. 

“Smooth, Just Javi,” you bait, looking at the cash and back to him. He flashes a wolfish smile back. It makes you want to fuck him right here on the bar. More, you scream at him with your eyes. 

He removes the nearly finished cigarette between your much smaller fingers, takes the last drag, and stubs it out in the ashtray. 

If you weren’t so aroused by everything about him, you’d chastise him for trying to get you out of here so quickly. But you feel it rolling off of him, too. It feels like taking a narcotic. Time is syrupy and slow. You feel your smile sticking longer than you meant, your eyes linger hotly, and you squeeze his upper arm harder than intended. It’s an addictive rush to feel your desire reciprocated. And with such urgency. You take in his height and broad frame now that you stand face to face. He stills. Observant. You don’t need any more time to decide what you want. You need to feel him and only him as soon as possible. 

“Let’s go. Now,” you order as you lead him out of the dingy establishment into the clear night. 

You expect him to cage you against the cool metal of his pickup, but he’s a suave gentleman opening the passenger door for you instead. Fine. You slide across the bench seat just as he’s turning the key in the ignition, pressing your curves into the side of his firm body. Restless and grabby, your fingers dance over him, unsure where to start when he grips your chin in his large palm and tilts your face towards his. 

Rage flashes behind your eyes at his interruption. Never far from the surface, ready to lash out.

“Be good for me, cariño,” he says sternly. 

“Oh, I’ll be so good,” you purr, dragging your hand down his chest towards the bulge in his too-tight jeans and batting your lashes before he grabs your hand. 

You huff, indignant. Rolling your eyes. 

 “I’d like to give you my full attention.”

“You can have mine.” 

“No.” 

“Who put you in charge?” you spit out with a fierceness. 

He laughs, harsh and mean. You flush with irritation, recoiling like his grip suddenly burned. What is this? You thought you were reading everything right; you’re in his truck, ready and wanting. Frustrating man. You need something to ease your anger, or you’ll spit venom. 

He leans into your ear like he has a secret despite the privacy of the cab of his truck. Dragging his voice over broken glass and gravel, he murmurs, “You want to feel something?” his hand is suddenly wedged between your legs. “You want more?” He squeezes tight, pressing his fingers against the seam of your denim shorts, and you choke back a moan. His spiced scent fills your nose. You feel his smile against your ear. Your head spins. Yes. You need it now. No games. Your nails dig marks into his wrist, pleading. 

“You get to touch, but I don’t? What is this, Javier? Afraid you won’t last?” You jeer at him. 

His hot laugh fans down your neck. Your body betrays your mind in search of friction. Shamelessly, your hips roll against his hand. 

“Such a sharp tongue,” he tuts at you, pulling back to look into your eyes, “for such a needy pussy,” he pulls his hand away. You fight to still your body and level his stare, feeling the heat of anger and lust in your face. He lists his demands. 

Be good for me. Until we get home. 

Simple. 

Then I will give you what you need. 

Bold. 

Something different washes over you, but you keep pushing at him. 

“And what do I need, Javi?” 

“Need to be stuffed full of this cock until you forget what ‘more’ means.” 

Soaked. Your traitorous pussy floods your already ruined panties. But you can’t shut yourself up. You have to push him harder. 

“Awfully confident, Javi. Hope you aren’t the type to oversell and underdeliver–” Your snide remark is cut off when he covers your hand with his and presses it into the hard bulge in his jeans. 

“Does it feel like an oversell?”

You barely hear him over the sound of your heartbeat pulsing in your ears. No, it most definitely does not feel like an oversell; you refuse to admit it out loud. He grazes the edges of his teeth down tender skin. At the slope where your neck meets your shoulder, he snaps you back into reality with a sharp bite. A small gasp escapes you that he definitely doesn’t miss. 

You catch the smirk. Cocky bastard. 

“Now,” he demands your attention, “you’ll be good for me all the way home.”

It’s definitely not a question, but he stares like he’s waiting for a response. 

You fold your hands in your lap begrudgingly and nod. But something in your chest blooms brightly. The dance for dominance does exhilarate you. He grips your upper thigh like he’s the only thing holding you to the earth. Like you might fly out the window if he lets go. Or, like you might crawl into his lap, sink down onto his cock, and cause you both to launch through the windshield when he crashes into a ditch. 

His fingers tease under the edge of your shorts, white-hot flesh against flesh. You’re wired.

You direct him to your place. It’s close, and you’ve no patience. He doesn’t argue. 

..

You lead him into your home. He doesn’t take you ferociously against the back of the door. Infuriating. You behaved all the way home. He’s a curious juxtaposition of lewd and polite. Restrained, he takes his shoes off at the door and asks for a glass of water. Like he’s your neighbor invited over for tea. But, you can feel the carnality radiating off him as he watches to see if you’ll show good manners. More.

“That’s good, cariño,” he praises, soft and raspy, taking the icy glass from your hand. “Show me your room,” he instructs. How is it your turf, but he’s still in charge? You glare at him briefly before you acquiesce and traipse down your hallway to your bedroom. 

He places the glass of water on your nightstand, still full, and turns to assess you. You furrow your brows. Was the water some kind of test? Whatever. You behaved in the car. You behaved all the way to your bedroom. You’re nearly dizzy with need. Every breath feels like a lifetime.

His golden skin glows in the lamplight. You’d describe it as angelic if he wasn’t driving you mad. Morbid desire crawls under your skin, itchy and tense. He gestures for you to sit on your bed, and you do. If he insists on leading, you’ll follow. 

You fold your hands in your lap again as if awaiting his next command. He cradles your cheek in his palm, and you look up through your lashes. You are not the saint of patience; your fingers twitch with the urge to tear his clothes into shreds. Why is he taking his time? Your mind is racing for a snarky comment when he interrupts your thoughts like he could hear them. 

His touch is so gentle. Patient. Like he’s experienced in domesticating rabid animals. 

“Shhh, I know,” his voice is earnest. Not teasing. Not mocking. 

It catches you off guard. Grounding you. Strange. 

His expression seems to slip into something unguarded as well. A moment of understanding. You see him. Something is building in the distance in your mind. Like the shore is receding before a tidal wave hits. But it’s too quiet without the waves breaking on the rocks. More.

“Make me feel something, Javier,” you reply. 

It hangs delicately in the air. You aren’t provoking or begging. It’s a genuine expression of your desire to run from your internal state.

“I intend to,” he confirms with confidence. Like that’s the permission he was waiting for, the wait is over. Your lips connect. He kisses you with a bright and burning passion. Plush lips and wet tongues slide together expertly. Sharp little nips pull whiny melodies out of you. Your hands tug and pull at his hair, shoulders, and shirt. It’s not enough to just have his mouth. 

“More,” you demand into his tongue. 

“So needy,” he condescends, and you feel your cheeks warm. 

He peels off your shirt, and his hands fly to exposed breasts.

“No bra?” he tuts as if he didn’t put that together while ogling you at the bar. You shake your head in response as he kneads at your soft skin. “Of course not.” He pinches at your nipples with precision, pleasure bridging on pain coursing through your body. You feel your chest arch towards him for relief, deep moans falling from your mouth. You want him to consume you. He looks like he might. 

..

Javi hums at the way your body responds to him. Pliant but strong. You move into his touch, seeking intensity. He increases pressure and maps out your body. 

He lets all his thoughts be filled with you. Your warm skin and soft vanilla scent are hidden until his nose trails behind your ear. You freely let all the sounds and breath spill from your mouth as he caresses you reverently. He wants to know how many sounds you can make. 

You were a delightful surprise, crashing into the bar next to him. He recognized the look in your eyes. He’s going to give you what you need. Because you want it. And because he wants to drown himself in it. He feels drawn to you somehow. 

..

Despite how good it feels to have his hands and mouth on your body, your neglected clit aches for attention. He continues on, almost obliviously, and you reach a fever pitch that splits your eyes wide open. Possessed by one word. More. 

Your fingers come to life and work rapidly, yanking at his belt and the button on his jeans before slipping a hand in to feel. You’re struck with a surge of delight as your hand skates over his hot flesh and coarse hair. A hedonic sense of imminent victory unfurls in your core. 

“No underwear?” you tut back at him. 

“Nope,” you swear he winked at you as he said it. 

He pulls you up to stand, stripping the rest of both of your clothes off quickly. You push him back a step to get a better look at his now fully naked form. 

“Shit.” “Fuck.”

You mutter over each other at the same time. Like you’ve been compelled, you reach for him, needing to immediately taste and touch him everywhere. You knew he was a gem in that dive bar, but in front of you in your bedroom, you realize: he’s fucking gorgeous. 

Of course, he won’t allow you to touch him. Nasty man with his beautiful body and devilish disposition. He scoops you up like the petulant child you are about to become and drops you onto your back in the middle of your bed with ease. You bounce against the mattress. 

He catches the sour pout on your face as he settles himself between your legs. 

“No need to think now, princesa,” he kisses just inside your left knee, “that’s my job now.” His mustache tickles the soft skin of your inner thighs, but it’s the spark in his dark eyes that makes you squirm. You groan in frustration at being deprived of the freedom to touch him once again, but you remain malleable. 

“I need you to lay back and spread these legs for me.” 

You comply. Parting your legs wider as his hands slide towards your center. Your eyes are locked on his, and his eyes are locked on your glistening folds in front of his face. 

“Fuck, cariño, yes, just like that.” 

You curse your body for needing to blink. Enraptured with the look on his face, you don’t want to see anything else. Floating and lightheaded, nobody has ever seen you like this. Seen the truth in your eyes so easily. Seen your blaring evidence of need pooling and dripping. And still looked at you the way he does. Desperate to be touched, you are grounded in the present. No other conscious thoughts. More. 

He pulls at the skin on the top of your thighs, nowhere near close enough for your liking, but fully exposing your achy clit and fluttering entrance to his eyes. You’ve needed his touch since you left the bar, or maybe since you first felt his husky voice frazzle your brain. 

He stares and stares as you watch impatiently. 

“Such a gorgeous pussy,” he says to himself before he hovers closer and blows a stream of cool air over your swollen folds. 

You could slap him for that or scream, but what comes out is a breathy “fuck,” and you clench your fists in an attempt to remain composed through this macabre sexual torture. You feel like he’s been down there for an eternity. And still, he’s given you no relief. 

You brace for another stream of air, but instead, you watch agape as a glob of spit falls in slow motion from his lips to your clit. The barely there sensation snaps something in your mind as his saliva flows downward. 

“You just gonna look, or you gonna touch any time soon?” you goad. 

Javi’s eyes shoot to yours, narrowed. You’ve interrupted a private conversation. Vague and meaningless threats start flowing from your mouth, and you shift to reach for him when an abrupt slap to your pussy jolts your nervous system. 

Before your brain and mouth can comment on his audacity, your body betrays you. You feel the patchy flush on your chest burning and the gush of lubrication in anticipation. He clocks both signs. 

“Cariño,” he coos at you darkly. “I told you,” head shaking with disappointment, “no need to think.” He looks back down, “Now look, she’s crying for me, and I haven’t even had a taste yet.” 

Your head sinks into your pillows with an exasperated sigh. How can torture feel exquisite? Wretched man. 

“No. You don’t take your eyes off me,” the edge in his tone suggests you don’t want to disobey. 

You find the strength to tilt your head back towards him. And it’s just in time to watch as he runs two fingers up and down your glossy folds. He ghosts around your clit, avoiding what you need most until he’s satisfied with his coated fingers. He plunges them both into your eagerly awaiting hole, petting at your velvety walls. An animalistic noise that must come from you fills the room in competition with the slick, wet sounds of his fingers. 

“That’s right. Keep those pretty eyes on me while I play with your pussy.” Javi looks down to watch for himself. “You look so good swallowing my fingers,” he rasps thickly. Your walls clench and constrict around his fingers as his voice carves out a home in your mind. 

Your room is cool, thanks to the hum of your window AC unit, but your body runs hot. You’ve never had a man in your bed who was this good with his words before. It forces you to stay focused. Present and aware of every sensation. Your ex was too insecure to be vocal. Other partners lacked tact or creativity. None of them ever took charge like this or took their time. You feel your chest heaving and see the wide smile break across his face. Your skin tingles as a sheen of sweat breaks out.

Javi takes his time experimenting with the ways your body responds. He speeds up and slows down, changes pressure and patterns, tapping and tracing, petting and prodding. It’s like the nine extra settings you don’t need your vibrator to have, but better. It’s not careless. You watch, like he instructed. He seems studious, observing how you respond, scanning your face and body. Microexpressions on his face calculating and plotting. 

You flex, tense, and writhe as much as you dare, trying to maintain some control over your body. Your eyebrows are pinched, and your hips are tight as you strain. 

Javier can tell. Do you not trust him? He needs you to give in to him. 

“Let me take you there, cariño,” he urges. “Can feel she wants it; just relax for me, breathe.” 

“Fuck,” you confirm with a whisper and do your best to let go of some of the rigid tension. He maintains a steady rhythm for you to focus on. He slowly builds in intensity, and he continues to murmur encouragement to you. Breathe. There you go. Easy. 

You slowly melt into it and let him puppet your mind and body. Building and building. Breathing and breathing. Allowed to be out of control. That does it. Your climax crashes violently against your loose frame. Yes, cariño, just like that, fuck. Contracting muscles in your core pull your chest forward. Jerking and spasming, you raise with stuttering gasps. You aren’t sure if you should laugh or be embarrassed as you pant, feeling like he just performed an exorcism on you. His expression settles you. Pleased with an edge of ravenous. 

He slides his fingers from you and sits up, looming tall and strong on his knees over your damp, limp body. Your eyes are glued to his weeping cock, softly bobbing at your eye level. Saliva pools in your mouth, craving the weight of it sliding over your tongue. You swallow and blink. Recalibrating your senses and figuring out what he just said to you. 

He runs his fingers back through your overly sensitive folds to get your attention. Your entire body twitches, wrenching your attention to his face. He already has you at his mercy. 

“Close your mouth, baby,” he commands. You weren’t aware it had been hanging open and snap it shut. He laughs gently at your stupor. Enamored. Then he’s running his slick coated fingers over your lips like a debauched lipgloss. Your mouth parts to question him, and he slides them onto your tongue before a word gets out. 

“Good,” he praises, “suck.” You do. And as he drags his fingers out he replaces them with his tongue. He sucks and nips at your lips, tasting everything. The bright flavor of your arousal, the lingering beer from the bar, the smoky tobacco, and the gum you tried to sneak on your way out of the bar. It’s a potent concoction, and it fuels his thirst. You run your tongue along his neck and commit the flavor of his sweat-salted skin to memory. 

You can feel the rumbly groans filling his chest, and you’re back to needing more. Clawing at his skin and tugging at his hair. One of your soft hands finds his throbbing cock, and wrapping your fingers around it causes you to exchange throaty moans. You slip your thumb around the head, coating it in precome and using it to glide your full fist down his shaft. It’s stupid how big his cock is, and part of you is loathe to admit it. You just know he’s already aware, but a mindless so big slips out of your mouth anyway. You feel him smile against you. 

“Y’think so?” he breathes against your neck. 

You roll your eyes at him and tease, “Don’t be trite, Javi.” You tug firmly at his length. “I’m sure all the ladies you pick up in shitty dive bars fawn over your pretty cock.” 

A distant look flickers across his face before he flashes a sly grin at you. 

“Y’think it’s pretty?” Is that all he heard? 

“Oh my god,” you groan in feigned annoyance at him. 

He looks down to watch your hand stroke him and decides that is a pretty sight. 

You hope he was right in the cab of his truck. That when he fills you up, you’ll forget how to think. He pulls back from your greedy little grasp. I know, I know. He says with the marks he leaves along your skin. 

“You think she’s ready for me?” he asks as he adjusts to line up with you. You’re too entranced to respond. He slides himself through your folds, and you whimper at the pressure. He’s still waiting for an answer. He pauses and stares at your face. He gives your clit a playful swat with the weight of his cock. 

You blink back up to him, “huh?” 

“You think she’s ready to take me?” he repeats. 

“Yes, Javi, m’ready.” 

He gives you a disapproving look, for god knows why. And shifts further away from you. You feel your face shift into a pout. 

”I think she can give me a couple more first.” 

Something in you loosens, and you realize you’re defenseless. Willing.

This time, he doesn’t toy with you. He strikes swiftly. Overwhelming your senses when his fingers slide back inside of you and the hot furnace of his mouth envelopes your no longer neglected clit. He brings you over the edge rapidly with the combination of his curling fingers and the firm pressure of the flat of his tongue. 

He praises you adoringly, but he doesn’t let up. That’s it. Dámelo. Breathe. You can take it. Another. Know she wants it. Like that. Taking you further than you thought you could go. Again and again. You’re blind and boneless, a sticky mess. He could watch you like this for hours. Writhing against his fingers as his other arm wraps over your belly, holding you in place. 

“What’d you say?” he asks as you come down from another flood of endorphins. You weren’t aware you could form words. You blink dazedly before you can figure it out. 

“Please, Javi, please,” you repeat. You don’t know what you’re begging for anymore. 

His lips are pressed to your sweaty forehead. When he pulls back, a mischievous grin spreads across his face. You’re trying to think of what you were trying to communicate, but it’s hazy. 

“Doing so good for me, cariño, you deserve it now.” 

You can only nod and whisper another “please.” He slides the head of his cock through your dripping, sensitive folds. That’s what you wanted. More.

“Yes,” you chant, “please, oh god, yes, Javi, please, fuck.” You exercise the full extent of your current vocabulary in quick succession. 

“Beautiful, cariño,” his words drip over you like honey. 

“Yes, Javi, please,” you continue your chant. 

Slowly. Painfully slowly, he begins to feed his cock into you, eyes rapidly flipping between studying the expressions crossing your face and the view of your pussy stretching around him. 

“Oh god, oh,” you repeat mindlessly as he works his way inside of you. 

“Fuck” he exhales and locks his eyes on your face before pushing the rest of the way in. When your eyes widen, and your jaw falls slack, he knows the image will be seared into his memory. 

“Yes, Javi, fuck–” your mantra is cut off with a deep moan as he grinds his hips into yours. You're so full. You run your hands down his back, trying to force him closer. Trying to merge solid bodies into liquid pleasure. Transform physical vessels into the intangible. More.

He begins to slide in and out, never leaving the clutch of your warm walls all the way. His pace steadily increases, along with the intensity of the snap of his hips once he’s as deep as possible inside of you. He folds your knees towards your chest and thrusts with fervor, captivated by the way your tits bounce. 

A cacophony of lewd noises bounces off the walls in your room. Your shared panting, the rocking bedframe, the wet slip of his cock sawing into you, the skin-to-skin slap of his heavy balls bouncing against your ass, it’s all a debased symphony together. 

A delirious giggle pours from you as the realization strikes. He was right, no need to think; all you need is to feel how perfectly he fills you up. He’s not thrown by your fit of laughter. You think he knows. His mouth is moving, though. He’s speaking to you. You focus with all the effort you can muster. 

“Again, cariño. You’re going to come on my cock for me,” he breathes like he’s the one ready to beg. You obey. It takes the slightest touch, swirling your fingers around your sensitive nerves. Watching the tense expression on his face. The weight of his body fucking you into your mattress. You’re clenching around him like you could pull him any deeper.

“Fuck, that’s right,” he drops his mouth to your salty neck, “so well-behaved for me.” 

You preen at that. Breathing each other's air. 

“These legs still work?” he asks, swatting at your thighs. 

“A little,” you shrug. 

“Good.” He sits up, pulling your chest into his, breathing with you for a minute as you wrap your legs around him and settle on his lap. “Not done with you yet,” he growls into your hair. You think about the moment at the bar earlier, when he lit your cigarette for you. You hoped he’d be good. You didn’t think he’d be this good. 

“Yes, Javi,” you agree as if you know what’s next. He shifts, and you let him arrange your body as he pleases. It’s blissful. Not having to think. He maneuvers you like a doll, but you know you aren’t an object to him. Not with the way he gently rolls you onto your belly, arranging a pillow under your head. You rest your cheek against it and peer dreamily at him. He lifts your hips, propping you up on your knees, and pauses for a second to admire the way your pussy glistens readily for him. The way your smooth back arches in presentation just for him. But it’s the expression on your face, the insatiable more in your eyes, that gives him purpose. 

He kneels behind you and sinks in easily, a groan ripping through his throat as you push your hips back into him with more energy than he expected. You moan loudly in response, attempting to muffle it into the pillow. 

“Oh my god, Javi,” you rasp at him. “How can you possibly get any deeper?” you ask incredulously. 

“How are you still talking, cariño?” he taunts, picking up an unyielding and brutal pace. 

“M’not” you decide, “no thoughts.” 

“Fuck” you both echo as he hits a new angle. 

“Please, don’t stop,” you beg openly, “just like that, Javi, holy shit.” He slips one hand underneath you to play with your swollen clit. 

“Yes,” you begin chanting again. But you want him to come. You need it. You slide your own hand under his to replace it. Reaching further to feel the way you’re stretched around him. You wish you could see it. The feeling alone turns your brain to mush. 

“Javi?” you plead for his attention. You could sob with the intensity building in your core. 

“Yes?” he asks without slowing down. 

“Need you to come,” you whine into the pillow your face rocks into. 

“Yes, cariño,” he consents. 

“No, now. I need you to fill me up, please; I need to feel it,” you beg like you were invented for him in a dream. So perfect. 

“I know,” he asserts, “gonna stuff you full,” and that sends you. 

“Fuck, Javi, yes, I need it,” you sob out as your muscles flex and contract around him once more. 

He grips your spineless frame and tugs your back into his chest. You might be drooling as your head rolls into his shoulder. You register a hand squeezing at your tits as he gives you what you want. A few more harsh thrusts and he’s filling you up. You can feel his cock flexing and straining to give you everything he’s got. Javier’s rough breaths reverberate through your blissfully quiet mind. It’s enough. 

He lowers you back to your pillow, still on your knees, and he slides out of you with a soft groan. You echo it, feeling immediately emptier without him.

You stretch across the bed to fish for your cigarettes in your pile of discarded belongings from earlier or maybe a lifetime ago. 

He accepts one when you offer and, in turn, offers you the water he asked for earlier. You gratefully accept. You ask if the water trick works on all the women he picks up in dive bars. He argues that it’s not really a trick if the sex happens before you drink it, and you share a real belly laugh at that, realizing he’s right. You finish your cigarettes in a calm silence next to each other. Your mind is quiet. You let out a satisfied little sigh. 

He gets up and starts pulling on his jeans. Reality hits you like a brick smashing into your skull. Leaving blood and bone fragments across your pillow. Substances and sex are temporary. Distractions, not solutions. A fleeting release to quell your demons. The ones that reappear back on your shoulders, cackling with glee over the chaos. Your mind is back in action racing. You drag your hands down your face. Holding your eyes shut tightly. You wait, holding your breath. Listening for the sound of your front door opening and closing any second. 

[comradecowplant]

oo an excuse to share my favorite song about the GDR & the FGY :)

The Free German Youth delegation arrives at the 7th World Festival of Youth and Students, Vienna, Austria, 25 July 1959

Photographed by Ulrich Kols

via das Bundesarchiv (image #183-66084-0002)

[thenightshadowqueen]

SFTH moments that live rent-free in my head, part 2 (in no particular order)

Because apparently I have more.

“Mmm, but I’m poison and you love it”

Creepy Jim 🏳️‍🌈

The hat-nose letter

“STOPINTHENAMEOFTHELAAAWWWW!!!”

Sam losing his fucking mind during the expert game in HUGE

“Mr. André Beetroot, you’re my hero!” “Ah, I don’t like you.”

Luke as the horny goblin

Tom’s whole speech as Locomotion—it was so fucking gorgeous and it’s in my head all the time (especially “I’m older than the devil, sir” and “I am the Silver Line and the Silver Line is me!”)

“Don’t let the constant mental breakdowns get you down.”

The bit in the Suspicious Crème Brûlée where Sam yanks Luke around by his hair

“AJ stays with Luke…” (I’m sorry in advance for getting this stuck in your head)

Luke taking his trousers off in Nigel (and then using that to get Tom to do it in My First Bra)

“Lovely little Luke Manning!”

AJ’s rap about Disney princesses (Worst thing I’ve ever seen. 10/10.)

Tom holding up a fucking buttplug during one of the COVID livestreams????? (Also I can’t for the life of me remember which one it was and if anyone knows that would be very appreciated because I’m half-convinced it was a fever dream)

“Gavin, obviously there’s a difference.” (I don’t know what it is, but the way Tom says it has captivated me)

The Jane Austen bit in West End Big Boys

“Grab her by the face and DON’T LET GO! Because sometimes they run away and LEAVE YOU!”

“I’m just a writer, and I like to ride bikes. I’m not weird, I’m not strange; I enjoy juices, and I have a good family.”

“When the wind doth blow/to and fro/you must get your shit together/and fuck up them hoes”

The kiss in the prom Timewarp, and especially the way AJ and Tom were cheering them on

Also the kiss in the “what not to do with your coworkers” video, because the way Luke throws three of his limbs in the air at once is glorious

“Husband! Husband!” “Oh, darling, you’ve been down in the basement—” “The chinchilla’s a FUCKING NAZI!”

Sam calling AJ “CrossFit Voldemort”

On that note, “He looked a little bit like Henry Cavill if he had a wasting disease” (and Tom’s little sassy head movement in response)

“You’re keeping me on tenterhooks, like a piece of sirloin.”

The scene Tom and Sam did for Tom’s anniversary

“The camper the German, the more likely they are to win.”

“You said it was water under the bridge.” “Aye, and you know what’s good at drowning people?”

Giggly Luke from Hornchurch

The booba looba (and AJ’s glorious reaction to it)

“Can I call you Tony?” “You can, but my name’s David.” (“So, Tony—”)

Jackson from the COVID livestreams (“Sit in the well-done corner and just shut up.”)

Sam’s fucking apocalypse plan (which is still in my head despite my best efforts)

“I just wanted to have the talk.” “The talk? The boob talk?” “The boob talk that all women must have with their mothers.”

The wife from the casino scene (it’s the accent)

“Do you need a lie-down?” “I thought I already was.”

“Larger than a man, smaller than a dream”

Moriarty-Sherlock mental fuck chess

“Capitalism is blood!” “CHANGE!” “Communism is yoghurt!”

Tom bring an absolute menace during Puppets

“God bless the British Transport Police” (said in the most ‘what am I doing with my life’ voice I’ve ever heard)

“Stay on your stool bitch boy”

“Get your hand out of my car”

[alpaca-clouds]

Public Transport COULD Be Great

Americans visiting Europe, especially those more left-leaning Americans, will always be so impressed when it comes to our public transport. And it does not matter where they visit here. Netherlands? "Amazing Public Transport!" France? "Amazing!" Germany? "Amazing!" Even in the UK they will be impressed.

And I kinda get it. While once upon a time the US made a conserted effort to get people moving via train, that has been almost two centuries ago and by now they just decided that people having cars is making more companies more money, so who needs cheap public transport? And while I personally actually kinda liked the public transport on the east coast while I was visiting the US... Yeah, I am well aware that the east coast (especially the area between New York City and DC) is not quite representative for the US.

However, here is the thing: If you ask most Europeans about their public transport... Well, we'll complain as well.

Because they fucking ruined it!

See, here is the issue, in a lot of parts in Europe, at some point or another the government privatized some or all of the public transport. This hit some countries like the UK especially hard, but Germany was hit also quite a lot.

Because of that a lot of things happened that happened when you try to use capitalist logic onto something that cannot work under capitalism.

For example a lot of rails have been removed in areas where it was not "cost efficient" to run trains. Or if they have not been removed, they are at least no longer used. In Germany you will find that in the area where I am living (North-Rhine-Westfelia) we have somewhat good running public transport. Meanwhile a friend of mine is living in former East Germany. And something you gotta understand about former East Germany: After the reunification a lot of people from East Germany tried to move away from there, thinking they would do better in "West Germany". So you will find a lot of mostly empty villages and towns there. And you know what does not pay under capitalism? Right: Running trains to fairly depopulated villages and towns. So... This friend is forced to use a car all the time. Because the next train station that is actually still in use is 45 minutes by car away.

Sure, technically there is a bus running through her village... It comes 3 times a day mondays to fridays, 2 times a day on Saturday and not at all on Sunday. Also to reach the aforementioned train station, the bus connection would take her almost two hours.

Now mind you: There is a train station about 10 minutes by car from her. But that one has not been in use for almost 20 years. Because, again: It just does not pay. It is not profitable for the company, so it is no longer in use.

And here we get to the issue: Public transport is an amazing thing... But we see again and again, that it really only works in those cases where it is state-run and paid for with taxes. As soon as it is privatized it will just not work. Because, well... In general public transport really is not a thing that will be paying for itself. It is fairly expensive, and to keep it profitable you need to keep raising the prices. (As a German: Believe me, I know!)

Not to mention that company policies will lead to weird stuff happening with the trains. Here in Germany? Well, the biggest train company (that is kinda partly state-owned, but not state-run, so it is run under capitalist ideas) has promised their investors that the trains will not be as delayed as before. But given the piss-poor state in which the rail network is, this is just not feasible. So, what will they do? Simple! If a train gets too delayed they will just cancel it. Will that fuck everyone travelling over way more than letting the train delay for 20 minutes? Yeah. But they do not care. They only care about the investors.

And this is the general issue.

For public transit to work, you need to design the transit network to serve the people - and not to make money. Because it does not matter that there are only some old people left in some depopulated little town in eastern Germany or western England... Those old people deserve to be able to get from their depopulated little town to the next big shopping center and cultural center as well.

As long as you do not design the stuff with those people in mind...

Sure, it is better than no public transport. But it still sucks.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Volvo P958, 1958. Frua made 3 P1800 prototypes for Volvo based on the Amazon/122 series. The were designed by Swede Pelle Petterson in collaboration with Pietro Frua when Frua's studio was a subsidiary of the Italian carrozzeria Ghia. Volvo lacked the capacity to make their new sports car themselves and initially approached German coachbuilder Karmann to build it for them. However when Volkswagen heard that Karmann (who were building the Karmann Ghia for VW) were going to build something that would be a competitor for their coupé they threatened to withdraw their business. So Karmann turned Volvo away and the when the P1800 finally went into production it was thanks to British sports car maker Jensen who had spare capacity at their West Bromwich plant.

[autodeluxe]

1972 VOLKSWAGEN TYPE 1 “BEETLE”

[sentientcave]

You Drive Me Wild - Nikolai x OC It's October 1990, and Nikolai is a soldier, guarding the Soviet embassy in Copenhagen. It's a dull assignment, with dull comrades, the only bright spot of his station the days away from the embassy, when he can get to know this new city and her people. It's one of these nights when a woman he's been dreaming about walks into a smoky bar, and into his arms at last.

Contains: Alcohol, smoking, age-gap relationship, plain text is "translated" Russian (Since it is Nikolai's perspective), English in italics, pining, low-key hero worship, oral sex, unprotected (oops) sex. (Let me know if I missed something!)

~7.3k - MDNI!! - Intended for mature audiences

Read on AO3

Copenhagen, October 5th, 1990

Copenhagen was… Alright. 

Nikolai had gotten a cushy sort of assignment, thanks to Natalia’s connections, guarding the Soviet embassy. Mostly all he had to do was stand around and look threatening, check identification at the gate, occasionally follow the ambassador around to some function or another. It wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t exciting. It just… was. Days bled into each other like cheap watercolour paint, edges blurred and indistinct. The routine chafed at him. He had gotten too used to freedom, running wild between Leningrad and the farmhouse out in Kyrelia, skipping school and occasionally helping his uncle with work, which was more likely to end in real action than anything he did at the embassy. A high-speed car chase through fields of rye was good fun, and a knife-fight in a back alley was better. 

Still, there was a certain thrill to getting out of Russia— A few runs across the border into Finland hadn’t given him much idea of what life was like outside, and he was eager to taste what the West had to offer him. He spent every moment that he could off base, practising his languages, picking up pretty brunettes (English and American ones, when he could), listening to music that hadn’t been approved by any government agency, played in basement bars, laced with anger and heavy guitar, the air heavy with smoke and the smell of sweat. He would have spent too much of his meagre salary going out to bars around the city, if he didn’t so often wind up with more cash in his pockets than when he left, betting on games of pool and poker and winning more often than not. 

He had a few favourite establishments, ones with a higher turnover rate of tourists. It was harder to shark the same people twice, but cocky American tourists provided good hunting for a fresh-faced soldier who was oh so good at pretending to be a simple country boy. It was their own arrogance that lost the games before they had even begun. Nikolai had no qualms about using that American bluff and bluster to his advantage. This particular bar was near some of the embassies and plenty of hotels, and he’d already made a hundred American dollars playing pool with chain of unlucky marks (So typical of Americans to carry their own currency in another country). He sat at the bar considering his next move. He felt no particular urge to play any longer, or to return to his comrades, sitting at a table on the other side of the crowded establishment. Perhaps he would try his luck with the table of leggy blond women in the back corner of the smoky bar. One of them had been throwing smiles his way for the past half-hour. Pussy was pussy, even if he did prefer brunettes with thick, muscular thighs. 

“You should play another round of pool,” Ivan, one of his fellow embassy guards said in his ear, half crashing into him from behind, knocking Nikolai into the bar and nearly spilling his beer. “There is a beautiful woman who’s about to beat a couple of Germans, you could have next game.” 

Nikolai made a disgruntled sound. “I’m done for tonight,” he said, draining the rest of his beer. “You play her.” He had neglected to return to the table with Ivan and the others for a reason. He was tired of the usual posturing and boisterous behaviour already, and they had really only started in on their night. They often made fun of him for calling it early, or not trying to keep up with them, but it was always his turn to feel superior in the morning, when they could hardly open their eyes. 

“Ah, come on, Kolyan. I can’t speak German or English. She will look at me like I’m a fool if I try to speak to her.” Ivan relied too heavily on Nikolai when it came to women. He made no effort to learn other languages, putting him at a disadvantage talking to local and tourist alike in Copenhagen, where Danish, English, German and even French were the best bets for communication.

“Maybe she speaks Russian.” 

Ivan scoffed. “Unlikely. She looks American.”

Nikolai rolled his eyes, but turned to look, rewarded with the sight of a round ass wearing a pair of blue jeans bent over the table. A brunette, with shiny, slightly curling hair pulled into a high ponytail, wearing a leather jacket. Judging by the looks on the faces of the two blond giants across from her, she was about to clear the table. And she was just Nikolai’s type, by the shape of her. 

He ordered two shots of whiskey, and when he turned to look around again, the woman had circled to the other side of the table. Nikolai’s heart stammered to a stop for a moment, bounced against the bottom of his stomach, and lurched back into motion as it landed hard in it’s usual place. 

Helena.

She sank the eight ball, grinning like a wolf, her red-painted lips stark contrast against her white teeth. “Sorry, boys. That’s game,” she told them in that pretty English accent of hers. “Better luck next time.”

Nikolai slapped a few krone on the bar and picked up the shot glasses, sidling up to Helena, setting them on the water-stained wooden edges of the pool table. “Lena,” he said, puffing himself up a bit. He had no need to pitch his voice lower now, or pull himself ramrod straight to give him the extra height.  He was undoubtedly a man now, with a days worth of stubble on his chin and enough experience with women that he would not turn pink or stammer when she looked at him. She would have to see that. “Have a drink with me.”

Her attention snapped away from the Germans and to him, eyes devastatingly sharp on their first pass, until recognition softened her features with a smile half a heartbeat later. “Kolya?” she asked. “What are you doing here?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she seized him around the neck, pulling him into a tight hug. 

Nikolai wrapped his arms around her waist, picking her up and spinning her in a tight circle, breathing in the smell of cigarettes and sweet, spicy perfume. He was a lot taller than she was now, and she fit into his arms better than a dream, with weight and substance. The last time he had seen her, three years that felt like a lifetime ago, they had been the same height. 

“I’m a soldier now,” he told her as he set her back down on her feet, his hands lingering on her hips just a moment longer than necessary. He had no desire to let her go, but he did. “Stationed at the embassy. Aunt Talia pulled strings. It’s an easy assignment.”

“They made you cut your hair.” She rubbed a hand over his head, her hand sliding down the back of his neck before she let it fall back to her side. “It’s too bad. The long hair suited you.”

Nikolai nudged her gently, picking the shots up again and handing one to her. “I’ll grow it back once I’m my own man again. For you.”

He loved the way her eyes creased when she smiled. “Good.” They knocked their glasses together and downed them at the same time. “You still smoke?” she asked, inclining her head towards the door. “I was about to step outside.”

“You can smoke in here.” A bluish haze hung in the air above their heads, swirling whenever someone opened the door to admit a fresh gust of air, and many patrons of the bar had lit cigarettes in their hands, smoke drifting upwards with every exhale. 

“I know. But it’s loud. I want to catch up.” 

He would never argue against taking a moment alone with her. “As you wish.” He gestured for her to walk ahead of him. He could feel Ivan’s eyes on the back of his neck, so he shot a quick, gloating glance over his shoulder at his open-mouthed comrade, and then dashed ahead to open the door for Helena. 

They stepped into the cool night air, and Helena pulled a pack of smokes out of her inner jacket pocket and thumbed one up enough that she could pull it out with her mouth, and offered the pack to Nikolai while she dug her lighter out of the front pocket of her jeans. 

“You’re here on business?” Nikolai held her wrist steady as he plucked a cigarette from the pack, fingers moving fast enough that he hoped she wouldn’t notice that he took one that had the slightest smudge of red lipstick on it. He might be a man, but he didn’t harbour any illusions about his chances with Helena. An indirect kiss was the best he could hope for. 

Lena tucked the pack into her pocket again, nodding. “Yes. Finished up now. I’ll be leaving tomorrow.” She lit her own cigarette and held up the lighter for him, her other hand cupped around the flame to protect it from the chilly breeze that rolled down the well-lit streets.

“That’s too bad. I have a few days off. It would be nice to spend some time with you.” He braced a hand on the wall behind her as he leaned in, meeting her eyes evenly. Did he just imagine that little hitch of breath? The spark of interest in her dark brown eyes?

She looked away, flicking the lighter closed. “I could maybe stick around another day.”

“Maybe another two?” he asked playfully. He was still looming over her, not touching, but close enough to share heat. She didn’t move away. 

“We’ll see.” She braced her left elbow against her hand, setting the cigarette to her lips, her eyes everywhere but on him. Perhaps her stance was protective, hesitant, but still… Something had very obviously shifted between them. 

Her wedding band was missing. 

After three years of pining and chasing any woman that reminded him even a little of Helena, it was a cold-water shock to the system to imagine that the real thing was suddenly attainable. Fate had smiled at him, led them to each other on a chilly autumn night in a city big enough that they could have easily sailed right past each other, not even knowing that the other was near. Nikolai was no longer a child, he was tall and strong like a man worthy of her ought to be, and she was as beautiful as he remembered, sloe-eyed and ageless, and she was not wearing a wedding ring. 

Still, his chances balanced like a knife tip on a finger. It would be easy to move to fast or too slow, to ask the wrong question or provide the wrong answer. Helena might still think him too young. He could stumble and show his limited experience, let the facade of confidence slip, allow the knife to tumble, sharp and glittering, to the ground.  

He resisted the urge to touch one of the escaped wisps of hair that framed her face, curling in the damp sea air. "Do you ever wear your hair down?" he asked, pivoting away from the inclination to ask about her marriage. Maybe that would be a conversation for a few drinks later. 

"Not really," she said, finally looking up at him again, tucking one of those escaped curls behind her ear. "Why?" 

"Just wondering. I think I only even saw it down once. It is always business with you. Practicality." 

"Nothing wrong with that."

"Certainly not. It is just curiosity." 

"Hm. Of course.” The look she gave him was strange, fond but slightly suspicious, like she knew that there was something unsaid underneath his casual tone, but hadn’t quite figured out what. “How is the family?” Her turn to pivot, turning the conversation away from herself and back to predictable waters. “Last time I spoke to Talia she said she was expecting another baby." 

Nikolai nodded. "Yes. Due soon. Maybe inside the month. And little Aleksei just turned three. Getting bigger every day. Talking endlessly, asking a thousand questions every day. Wants to know the whys of every little thing. How is your son? Ten now, yes?" 

"Yes. He's a smart boy. Very capable. He's an expert marksman already. Hits a dead eye on a moving target eight times out of ten." 

"Impressive." 

“He’s got no real sense for flying though. Taken him up a few times, but he doesn’t like heights. Poor kid.”

Nikolai laughed, struck, not for the first time, at the absurdity of her being a mother at all. She had patience, but little softness, more a captain training a recruit than a mother teaching her son, more concerned with toughness and survival than anything else. She was a hawk nudging her fledgling out of the nest and hoping he would fly. “He is only ten years old, Lena,” he reminded her. “You cannot expect him to be an expert in all things.”

“Well, I suppose not. He’s a pretty good driver, at least.” 

Ivan tumbled out the door, followed by Iosif and Pyotr, the three of them laughing. Like Nikolai, they had gotten their stations in Copenhagen due to connections, but unlike Nikolai, they didn’t take an ounce of it seriously. Nikolai was no nationalist, but he did respect the training. He knew he could outrun, out-lift and out-shoot all three of them. And when it came to thinking, he was many miles ahead as well. 

“Kolyan! We thought you left us behind,” Pyotr said. “But no, you are just out here with a beautiful woman.” 

“Helena,” Lena supplied, giving them a half-wave with her nearly spent cigarette. 

“Pyotr,” he replied, giving her a wide smile. He was tall as Nikolai, and blond and handsome in an annoying, self-aware way. “Ivan, and Iosif,” he added, pointing to the others in turn. “You don’t look Russian.” They were all so surprised when someone could speak more languages then they were born with, as though their own ignorant refusal to learn to communicate was the norm.

“I’m English,” she said. “A friend of Kolya’s family.”

Iosif gave Helena a look that lingered too long everywhere but her face. It made Nikolai want to punch him repeatedly. “You’re very beautiful,” Iosif said bluntly. “Can I buy you a drink?”

She smiled at him, the wolfish one that was all bared teeth and thinly-veiled threat, and dropped her cigarette to the damp ground, stepping on it to ensure it was fully out. “No. I buy my own drinks.”

“Kolyan bought you a drink,” Iosif protested. 

“I don’t like you as much as I like him,” Lena said, shrugging. “There are no debts between us.” 

Of course she would say so. She didn’t tally favours against friends, no concern for balanced books when the scales were tipped her way. He didn’t operate like that— Couldn’t afford to let favours accumulate interest, liked to collect sooner rather than later, keeping his own ledger clear. But it was staggering, how much he owed her. For the gifts, his flight lessons, the dust up in Leningrad where he had gotten injured, cornered and nearly killed, and she had taken down two men with her boot knife and bare hands. “Not quite,” Nikolai said softly. “My life is yours.” Perhaps it was nothing to her, just another day in a life filled with violence, but he would certainly not forget the sight of her covered in someone else’s blood, rushing to his side the moment both bodies hit the floor. 

She shook her head, looking up at him. Her dark eyes looked starry, the way they cast back the orange light of streetlamps and the pink and blue neon sign from across the street, but it was hard to fathom what she was thinking, behind all that reflected colour. “No, Kolya. You owe me nothing.”

Nikolai tossed down his own cigarette and tapped his first knuckle against the bottom of her chin, leaning in a little closer. “It is really not a matter of owing, Helena,” he purred. “It is a matter of knowing where I stand.”

Her lips parted slightly, a hint of colour creeping into her pale cheeks. 

“If there is a story there, we’d like to hear it,” Pyotr said smoothly, interrupting the moment with all the grace of a bucking bull smashing through a window. “Come, let Kolyan buy you another drink, tell us why he owes you his life.”

“It is better if I tell it,” Nikolai said. “She will discount her actions, because she is as modest as she is beautiful. But it is up to her if we join you. Tonight she is my general.” He dropped his arm to her shoulders, pulling her in close. She made no move to push him away, and her body fit right in against him like she belonged there. Like she belonged with him. 

“They’re your friends, Kolya. Up to you.”

In all truth, he didn’t want to share any of her attention with them, although he did feel a certain pull to show her off some, even though she was not really his.  “One drink,” he said. “We won’t stay long.”

They crowded back into the bar, and Helena touched Nikolai's chest lightly. "I'll be right back," she said, taking off for the back corner of the bar, weaving through clumps of other patrons. It was getting busier, and a band was tuning up their instruments on the opposite side of the establishment, the noise already sending ripples through the haze of smoke. Pyotr followed him to the bar while Ivan and Iosif laid claim to one of the few remaining tables. 

"You always have good luck with women," Pyotr complained while they waited for the bartender to take notice of them. "You should leave some beautiful girls for the rest of us, no?" 

"If you learned another tongue you could speak to some of them yourself," Nikolai said. "You and Ivan should try. Iosif has been learning English. He's fucking terrible at it, but it's worth the effort. He gets dates." 

"Your Helena speaks Russian. And German?" 

"And French. Maybe more than that. She does business in many countries."

“Business? She does not look like a business woman.”

Nikolai shrugged, burying his irritation under nonchalance. “Perhaps you have a narrow mind.” 

Once they had their drinks in hand, they found the other two soldiers, and crammed into the booth with them. With four bulky men in the space, it was hard to imagine squeezing Helena into a proper seat. Nikolai wanted to kiss Ivan and Iosif on the mouth for creating a scenario where he might be able to coax Helena to sit on his lap. They were not good for much, but at least they were good for something. 

Helena reappeared at his shoulder, and Nikolai twisted to look up at her, surprised to find that she had taken her hair down from its ponytail. She looked a little wilder that way, a little younger, dark hair loose around her shoulders, curling at the ends.

"Why don't you sit with me?" Pyotr asked, patting his knee invitingly. "Pretty thing like you ought to have a man take care of you, yes?" 

Helena gave him an unamused look and hooked her arm around Nikolai's shoulders, dropping onto his thigh without any further ceremony. Nikolai wrapped his arm around her waist happily, his big hand sitting on the junction between her hip and thigh. He resisted the urge to dig his fingers in and feel her properly. "Don't get any ideas, Kolya," she told him, an attempt to be stern, although he wasn't sure either of them really believed that she meant it. "I'm far too old." 

"Not so," Nikolai said, hoping honesty would help his case. "I've been with older women than you." He preferred women to girls his own age. 

Surprise flickered across her face. She was rarely surprised, but the expression suited her, her soft red lips parting slightly, her beautiful eyes, usually half closed, opened wide. Ivan and Iosif were laughing, Iosif jostling Pyotr with his elbow for getting rejected so definitively. 

Nikolai pressed his advantage, leaning in close, his words only for her. "Perhaps you will tell me later why you have no ring on your finger." 

She turned her head slightly. They were so close that their noses almost brushed. "Kolya..." 

"Lena," he returned, nudging the tip of his nose against hers, satisfaction pooling in his belly at the was she inhaled, like she thought he was going to try to kiss her. And then he turned away, picking up his beer and nudging hers toward the corner of the table slightly.

Yes, things had certainly shifted between them.

There was something gratifying about having her there, and not just because her warm body was pressed close to his, but to have someone to exchange a look with when Pyotr said something out of touch, or when Ivan made a terrible joke. They tended to think alike, him and his sparrowhawk, and every time they looked at each other it was confirmation of the chemistry that Nikolai had long been painfully aware of, and Lena was just beginning to realize. 

When she finished her beer, she stood up, heading outside for another cigarette. She didn’t like to smoke indoors— Nikolai suspected it was more a reason to take a step outside to gather her thoughts than it was for any type of propriety. Pyotr had offered her two as they sat around the table, and she had politely declined each time. 

“I won’t be back,” he told the others, grinning wolfishly at the sour look on Pyotr’s face. “Try not to get into too much trouble without me. You will not be able to talk your way out of it.”

He found Lena around the corner, tucked into an alley to get out of the wind. The weather had a habit of shifting without warning, and there was a smell of ozone in the air, promising rain, although the sky above them was still dark and clear. 

She looked at him, but didn’t speak, simply held out her pack of cigarettes to offer him one. He lit it with his own lighter this time, nodding his thanks rather than breaking the silence. If she had something on her mind, it would be better to wait her out. So he smoked, standing a step away, watching her. He could never get tired of looking at her anyway. 

Finally, she spoke, an accusation, but delivered lightly. “You’ve been flirting.”

He nodded. The allegations were more than true. He was only glad that she could not charge him for the thoughts he’d indulged in, not simply that evening, but for a very long time. “I have.”

“Why?”

“Because I want you.” 

She dropped her spent cigarette to the ground, frowning. "Kolya, you're too young. You should be with someone your own age." 

Nikolai dropped his own cigarette and threw caution away as well, stepping forward, crowding her up against the rough brick, and cupped her face, allowing all the admiration and want that he'd tried to bury for years to rise to the surface. "I am nearly twenty. I am a soldier. Old enough to die for my country, but not old enough to want to make love to a beautiful woman I respect and adore?" 

She gripped his wrists, but didn't pull his hands away. "I--"

"No. Even before you were not happy. You deserve more, from a man who will do anything for you. Let me be that man, Lena. At least for a day or two, hm?" He pressed his lips to hers and drew back, searching her eyes for a reaction. Her grip on his wrists loosened and fell away, her palms settling against his chest instead. Not pushing him away, but not pulling him closer either. 

They looked at each other for a long moment, indecision writ in bold script across her face. Good sense would have her send him away, but it was not a night where good sense reigned supreme. They were alone, in a world that had shrank to fit just the two of them, everything else forgotten and distant. 

Her eyes dropped from his and settled on his mouth. "Oh fuck it," she said, and they crashed together desperately, her hands gripping his shirt.

Heat blazed in his chest, like a sputtering engine roaring to life. She opened up to him without him having to do any prodding, he could taste smoke and the clean burn of alcohol on her tongue as it moved against his. This was passion, not the clumsy, anxious pawing between two inexperienced people, like he was more used to, but the inevitable reaction of two people who knew exactly what they wanted. He threaded his fingers through her silky hair, angling her head slightly so he could deepen the kiss the slightest bit more, licking eagerly into her mouth. She made a soft sound, arms twining around his neck so she could press her body closer to his. He let his own hands settle on her waist. As much as he wanted to touch every inch of her, he didn't want to come across as too excitable or get carried away by his desire. He needed to make Helena melt first. His own pleasure was a guarantee. Even if she stopped him there, he had held and touched and kissed her now, and he had come many times to paltry imaginings of less.

Lena broke them apart, breathing hard, her dark eyes bright and slightly unfocused, like she had never been kissed like that. Like his kiss had left her more unsteady than the drinks, her red lipstick smeared across her mouth. “I’m staying close by,” she told him, running her thumb across the corner of his mouth, coming away with more red pigment. “Do you want—”

He cut her off with another kiss. He didn’t give a fuck if there was lipstick staining his own mouth. It was just evidence that she really had kissed him. “If you’re asking if I want to get out of here, the answer is yes.”

“Should you tell your friends?”

“No. I make it a habit to leave without saying goodbye. Especially if a beautiful woman has been sitting in my lap all evening.” He grinned, catching her hand as he stepped back. “Where are you staying?”

They walked to her hotel slowly, Nikolai stopping to kiss her at every opportunity, a little worried that she might, at any moment, come to her senses and send him on his way. He had wanted her so badly for so long, he did not wish to stop until they had tangled up together in bed, and perhaps not even then. Perhaps he could convince her to spend more time with him. Perhaps when he had served his time in the army he would be able to follow her wherever she went. 

It would likely take some convincing, but he was up to the task. In that moment, he was up to any task. 

She unlocked the door to her hotel room, her expression turning pensive. "I'm not divorced yet, we’re just separated for now. Maybe this is--"

"Lena, I am not asking you for the rest of your life." He didn't add that he would take it, if she offered it to him-- That he would take anything she offered him, no matter how big or small. "I only want to show you what you mean to me." 

She pushed the door open to let him in. "I don't-- I don't even know if we will get divorced." 

"I don't care." He did. He cared a lot, but if he said that aloud she would halt things, tell him it was for his own good. 

"Of course not. It's just a crush you want to work out of your system, right?" She smiled wryly, shedding her leather jacket and tossing it over a chair. 

"Sure." He tossed his own jacket down on top of hers and hauled her back into his arms. "Do you want to talk about this man that never deserved you? Or do you want to forget him?" He rubbed his thumb over the jagged scar on her arm, where it cut her RAF tattoo in half, his touch following it up to where it disappeared under her rolled up t-shirt sleeve and back down again. 

She drew in a shaky breath, as unsure as Nikolai had ever seen her. "He cheated on me. Said it was because I was gone so much. Guess I can’t blame him for that. Just never was able to stay home. Too much to do. Not built for domesticity.” 

“You cannot help being what you are,” Nikolai said.

Lena laughed lightly and wound her arms around his waist, her hands slipping under his shirt and curling against his back. “Are you going to tell me what I am, Kolya?” she asked, tilting her head back to look at him. 

“A sparrowhawk. A fierce little hunting bird. A warrior, perhaps, a traveller, certainly. Never the kind of woman that belongs tucked away in a kitchen somewhere. Your husband is a fool if he cannot appreciate you as you were made to be.” 

“He wants to work it out,” she warned him. “We've got so much tangled up together it might be the only thing that makes sense." 

“Perhaps. Perhaps if you must, you should allow him to chase his lesser women, so that you can spend your time with a better man.” He grinned at her and moved in for another kiss. He had said everything that needed saying, laid out what cards he thought would aid him, and kept the rest tucked away for later. She all but melted in his arms, lips parting reflexively for him. 

This time, he made no effort to restrain himself, letting his hands roam, moaning into her mouth when he finally got a handful of her backside, fingers gripping a little too tight from enthusiasm. What curves she had were incidental, from her broad-hipped build rather than much softness— Even motherhood had granted very little softness to Lena, she was packed muscle and callouses and fire, totally unlike any of the pale imitations he had found himself chasing over the past few years. Lena would always be a soldier first, it would take some effort to remind her that she was a woman too. 

Nikolai stepped forward, making Lena move backwards until her knees hit the bed, and broke the kiss so he could kiss down her neck, sucking a little too hard just below her ear, making her hiss. She gripped the collar of his shirt firmly, hauling him back a bit. “Easy,” she said, laughing. “Leave the hickies for the college girls, Kolya.”

He flushed pink, although the embarrassment from his mistake did nothing to dampen the mood, blessedly. “Sorry,” he said, knocking his forehead against hers. “You’re very hot.”

Lena grinned in response and tugged his shirt off over his head, tossing it to the side. She ran her hands over his chest, eyes following hungrily. “So are you.”

Nikolai had been hard since they started kissing outside the bar, but her words, somehow all the more genuine delivered in her own tongue, coupled with the look she gave him made him twitch, blood fully abandoning his head to travel south. He pulled her shirt off too, and kissed down her chest, cheering internally that he managed to unhook her bra on the first attempt, rather than struggling with the clasp like a schoolboy. 

Her nails grazed over his head encouragingly when he reached her small breasts, lapping his tongue across one nipple and palming the other. She made a breathy sound, and then a groan when he tested his teeth against the sensitive nub. He groaned too, some primal part of him getting off on the fact that he was making her feel good, that she was letting him touch her, that she was enjoying the feeling of his hands and lips and tongue and teeth on her skin. He felt twenty feet tall. 

Lena reached for his belt, undoing the buckle before his syrupy-slow thoughts could catch up. He broke away from her breast and caught her wrists before she could do more than undo the top button of his jeans. He was fairly sure he would spill all over her fingers if she put her hands on him. “Impatient,” he chided her, pushing her onto the bed. He sank to his knees, positioning his body between her thighs. “Ladies first.”

Her laugh was always music to his ears, but it was honey sweet now, pooling somewhere in his chest as he cut her off with another kiss. He couldn’t risk her seeing the feeling in his eyes— He knew it was too close to love, that she would realize that this meant more to him than it did to her, and she would send him away to protect him. 

He ducked his head and sank back on his haunches, pulling one of her boots into his lap so he could undo the laces and pull it free. She leaned back on her elbows to watch him, her head tipped to the side thoughtfully. Her gaze burned, but he didn’t look up until he had set both boots to the side, sliding his hands up her firm thighs to the waistband of her jeans. “These need to come off now.” 

“Now who’s impatient?” she asked teasingly, but she pitched her hips up so he could peel the denim off of her legs anyway, the heat in her eyes undeniable. 

Nikolai ran his hands up her legs reverently, dropping a kiss on the inside of her knee, torn as ever between restraint and enthusiasm. He pushed her legs open a little wider, attention fixed on her cotton-clad cunt. 

Lena gave him a sly, fox-like smile. "You want to taste me?" She asked, hooking her thumbs through the waistband of her panties. 

"More than anything," he breathed. 

"Then get to it, soldier," she said, pushing them down.

"Yes ma'am." Nikolai pulled them the rest of the way off, and tried to be subtle about shoving the (wet!) cotton in his pocket. She probably saw, but she was gracious enough to not mention it. He wasted no more time, pulling her to the edge of the bed as he peppered the inside of her thighs with kisses, eyes focused on her pretty pussy, framed by slick darkened curls. His cock throbbed as he dipped his head down, licking a broad path along her slit, groaning at the heady taste of her. He threw one of her lean legs over his shoulder and fixed his mouth to her clit, lapping his tongue across it, gripping tightly to her hips when they bucked up against him. A moan fell from Helena's mouth, prompting him to repeat the movement. 

He found a rhythm quickly, spurred on by her gasped instructions, or her hand nudging his head into just the right position. He had found that the benefit sleeping with older women was that they weren’t shy about asking for what they wanted, but Helena took it a step further and simply took, grinding against his tongue, using the leg over his shoulder to pull him closer, the other planted on his thigh so she could push him just slightly away, reminding him to breathe. As if that was important, when the sharp taste of her was heavy on his tongue and her moans were thick in the air. 

“Two fingers,” Lena gasped, nudging him back slightly to make sure he was listening. “Inside, please.”

Nikolai obeyed, leaning back to watch her face, replacing his tongue with his thumb. Her soaked cunt pulsed around his fingers, her hips canting toward his touch desperately. He curled his fingers just so, and she keened, fisting the sheets as if she were worried that she would levitate off the bed and away from his hands. “Will you come for me?” he purred. “You look so beautiful. Taste so sweet.”

His words made her gush, her walls clenching tight around him. “Fuck— Kolya!” Her whole body shuddered, pulling taut, tension snapping when he suctioned his mouth to her swollen clit once more, moaning against her as she came, as if her pleasure was his own. It nearly was. He was so hard, and his jeans so tight that he could imagine coming just from the pressure and the sweet sounds she made, although he tried not to think about that. 

She unhooked her leg from his shoulder and pushed herself into a seated position, cupping his jaw to pull him closer. “You’re pretty good at that,” she panted, pressing a kiss to his mouth, unphased by the slick that coated the lower half of his face. 

Nikolai got to his feet, letting his teeth graze against her bottom lip before he straightened up fully, separating reluctantly so he could kick off his boots and finally rid himself of the rest of his clothes. “I’m good at lots of things,” he promised. 

Helena moved toward the head of the mattress, watching him, face flushed pink high on her cheekbones and hair a mess already. Her dark eyes dipped down his chest, thighs pressing together when he finally freed his cock. He wanted to imprint the image of her looking at him like that on the back of his eyelids, so he could see it every time he blinked for the rest of his life. Her dark eyes were hot and hungry, for him. That morning, this was a distant, far off fantasy that lingered in the back of his mind, and now she was here, laying naked before him, every inch of her lean, muscular, scarred up body on display, and she wanted him. 

“Are you going to stand there all night, or are you going to come over here and show me what else you’re good at?” she asked. 

“I am just appreciating the view,” he laughed, climbing onto the bed beside her. “It’s one I’d very much like to remember.”

“Flatterer,” she accused, curling into his arms for another kiss. 

He hummed against her mouth, agreeing, pulling her on top of him, legs on either side of his waist. He was glad she was as eager to lock lips as he was— He could never get tired of the spit-slicked slide of her mouth against his, the swipe of her tongue against his own, like she was as desperate to devour him as he was her. He reached around her hips to take himself in hand, precum easing the glide of his first few rough, desperate strokes. 

“Koyla,” she whined against his mouth, angling her hips back. 

“You want me?” he asked, tapping the head of his cock against her core, grinning when she inched backward, chasing it when he pulled back again. 

“Yes,” she panted. “Please.”

Who was he to deny her? He rubbed himself against her dripping folds again, and she pitched herself backward, taking him to the hilt in one smooth movement. He groaned, fighting off the urge to come just like that, at the first molten clench of her cunt around him, fingers digging into her hips to hold her still while he adjusted. 

Lena fought his grip, grinding her clit down against him, desperate for friction and movement. Nikolai lost the battle shamefully quick, an orgasm pulsing through him before he could do more than pant out her name, holding her down against him as he came inside her, eyes screwed tight. 

He pulled in a shuddering breath, wincing. “Shit. Sorry.”

Lena just laughed, not an ounce of judgment or disappointment in the sound. “You need a minute?” she asked, pushing back up onto her knees, their hips still pressed flush together. Her cunt pulsed around him, and, blessedly, his cock responded with enthusiasm, staying hard. She rocked back and forth, hands braced against his chest as she fucked herself slowly on him, drawing each movement out excruciatingly slow, a teasing smile on her lips. She squeezed around him again, and he could help but groan, rutting up into her reflexively. 

“No. No, I will keep going. Sorry.” He pulled her down against his chest and rolled them so that he was on top. Coming too early once was bad enough, he couldn’t risk it happening a second time. He folded her legs up and thrust into her slow, making sure that she felt every inch of him drag across that spongy, sensitive spot that he had found with his fingers earlier. 

Lena hooked her legs around his waist, pressing her palms against the headboard to give herself some leverage to meet his movements, encouraging him to pick up his pace. He followed her cue, pistoning into her soaked pussy harder and faster, his balls slapping against her ass, coupling with the wet sound of his cock moving in and out of her and the little whimpers that left her lips with every thrust. He dropped down to his forearms, feeling tension building inside him again, trying to keep his reaction in check, and the change in angle made her cry out. She let go of the headboard and clung to his shoulders instead, burying her face against his neck. 

“Kolya,” she gasped into his ear. “I’m close.”

He knew that the best thing he could do was keep to the same rhythm, so he continued the relentless pace, shifting his wieght to one arm so he could reach between them, rubbing a tight circle around her clit. He legs squeezed tight around him, her cunt fluttering around his cock. She bit down on his shoulder, groaning against his skin, nails digging into his back.  His own release came quickly, the tension snapping as he spilled inside her for the second time. He rutted against her until her cunt relented, loosening around him. 

“Fuck,” he said, pressing his forehead to hers, breathing hard. “You’re so beautiful. Next time I need to see your face, yes?”

That teasing, fox-like grin returned. “Next time?”

“Give me, five, ten minutes,” he panted. “I’m good for it.” 

She laughed, pushing him over onto the bed and curling into him, her head on his shoulder, her legs tangled up with his. She made a soft, contented noise, running her fingers through the sweaty curls of hair on his chest, her expression turning dazed and thoughtful as she relaxed in his arms. He smoothed her hair back from her face, kissing the top of her head affectionately. 

"You flown a helo yet?” she asked. “I could take you up tomorrow, if you want. There’s one on the ship." The change of subject was abrupt, but he knew her well enough to recognize her tactics when she got too close to an emotion. 

"I would like that.” 

“Good. Me too.”

Nikolai sighed, tilting Lena’s chin up for another proper kiss. He would spend every moment he could by her side, for as long as she would let him, in the air or on solid ground. “Will you be in town again soon?” he asked hopefully. 

“I haven’t even left yet,” she said, laughing. 

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

She bit her lip, cheeks turning pinker, her eyes filled with something shining and hopeful and sweet, something that settled under his ribs, curling up in his chest and purring like a contented cat. “I wish I didn’t have to.”

“Next time, stay longer.” 

“I will,” she promised. “And yes, soon.”

He didn’t expect more than that. Couldn’t, knowing her. But it was enough. 

Maybe Copenhagen wasn’t so bad after all. 

[lookingforhappy]

transcript of Five's case files on the Hindenburg, the case that he solves for the Commission while working in management:

MEMORANDUM ON INTENDED EVENTS RE: HINDENBURG DISASTER May 6, 1937 The airship will complete its first scheduled demonstration flight for the 1937 season, between Frankfurt, Germany, and Lakehurst. It will depart from Frankfurt about 8:15 P.M, G.M.T., Monday, May 3, and will be due at Lakehurst on the morning of Thursday, May 6. It will be due out of Lakehurst at 10:00 P.M E.S.T, that night. Because of unfavorable winds encountered en route, its arrival at Lakehurst will be deferred until 6:00 P.M, Thursday evening, and departure will be postponed until midnight or later in order to reservice and prepare for the voyage. The ship is owned and operated by the Deutsche Zeppelin Reederei, G.m.b. H, of Berlin, W8, under den Linden, Germany. The flight, which is intended to be one of a series to be arranged into the United States territory during 1937, will be authorized by a provisional air navigation permit from the Secretary of the Navy to the American Zeppelin Transport, Inc., of 354 Fourth Avenue, New York City, as general United States agent of the Deutities at the Naval Air Station at Lakehurst. On March, 1937 the German Government will renew the airworthiness certification of the aircraft, reporting that all of its safety devices had been inspected and found satisfactory. Personnel, including officers, numbered 61, will be on board, of whom 22 will die as a result of the accident. Passengers, 36 persons besides the Crew will be on board. Of these, 13 will die as a result of the accident. Other passengers and members of the crew will sustain serious injuries. Total weight of the freight carried will be 325 pounds and will be stowed in the main freight compartment at Frame 125; 2 dogs will be kenneled at Frame 92, and 3 packages will be stowed in the control car. Mail will be carried in a compartment on the top of the control car. Of the freight and mail on a few pieces of mail will be recovered. The ground personnel will consist of 92 naval personnel and 139 civillians. Practically all of the gorund crew will have previous experienve landing airships. One member of the ground crew will die as a result of burns received during the accident. Across the Atlantic from Germany to the United States, the flight will be uneventful, save for retarding winds which will not be unusually turbulent. The route traveresed by the ship on this side of the ocean will be from Nova Scotia, vis Boston, Providence, Long Island Sound, New Forks and thense cruise along the coast for a few hours before retracing its course from Tuckerton N.J., to the naval Air Station.

ATMOSPHERIC ANOMALIES PRESENT The 7:30 A.M, EST. U.S. Weather Bureau map of the vicinity, including the northeastern tier of states, Shows a disturbance over central New York and northeastern Pennsylvania, with a cold front extending from this center Southwestward to West Virginia. This front separated neutralized polar air to the east of the cold front which had become warmer and more moist and neutralized colder air to the west of the front. The warmer and more moist mass of air covered the Middle Atlantic states, southeastern New York and southern New England. --- The cold front advanced eastward during the day from central Peensylvania at a rate of 12 to 15 m.p.h., passing Lakehurst shortly after 3:30 P.M There was not quite sufficient surface heating during the early afternoon to set off a thunderstom at Lakehurst, and it was not until the front passed and some slight lifting of the air mass occured that a thunderstorm began, The records of the Naval Air Station show that the thunderstorm began at 3:43 P.M and ended at 4:45 P.M --- Telegraphic reports indicate, the thunderstorms in and to the west of New Jersey were not severe; nor were they of a well defined squall character. Between 12 P.M and 1:30 P.M E.S.T., these storms extended in a definite belt over the region of Harrisburg, Pa., northeastward to Bear Mountain, N.Y., and New Hackensack, N.Y. Between 1:30 and 2:40 P.M, none was reported. Between 2:40 and 3:40 P.M, Camden and Fort Monmouth, N.J., only reported thunderstorms. Between 3:30 and 4:30 P.M, Lakehurst, Mtchel Field, N.Y, and Floyd Bennett Field, N.Y., reported them. Between 4:40 and 5:40 P.M. none was reported; and betweeen 5:40 and 6:40 P.M, Floyd Bennett onlt reported one. Summarized, the thunderstorms in eastern New Jersey were of a local character and not severe. --- The New York Weather Bureau office bulletin issued at 1:20 P.M, May 6th, follows: "1800 G.C.T. Moderate wind shift with increasing and lowering clouds possible thundershowers New York and vicinity expected in middle or late afternoon Stop New York Scattered cumulus and small cumulo nimbus approaching from west - visibility excellent surface wind south 12 miles - barometer 29.68 falling steadily temperature 66."

DATE: May 6 1937 0725 EST OPERATION: Hindenburg Disaster DAMAGE: Catastrophic PLACE: Lakehurst, New Jursey, 40.026088, -74.316592 LOCALE: Open air field WEATHER: Light rain PILOT: Commercial TOTAL HOURS: 567 ALL 63 NO TYPE LAST 90 DAYS: 179 ALL 62 NO TYPE CASUALTIES: Crew: 23; Pass: 13 OCCURENCE: Numerous expert and lay witnesses on the field testified as to where they first observed the fire on the ship. There was great diversity in this testimony for reasons that are very apparent. Among the most important of these reasons were the extreme rapidity with which the fire spread, the different positions of the witnesses with respect to the ship, the size of the ship, more than one-sixth of a mile in length, and an over-all height, equicalent to a twelve story building, and the fact that the interval between the first glimpse of flame and the impact of the main body of the ship with the ground was 32 seconds. The great majority of the ground witnesses who testified as to the first sppearance of fire were looking at the port side of the ship. After carefully weighing the oral evidence and transcribing to a master diagram the numerous disgrams on which the gound witnesses indicated their first observations of fire, we conclude that the first open flame, produced by the burning of the ship's hydrogen, appeared on the top of the ship forward of the entering edge of the vertical fin over Cells 4 and 5. The first open flame that was seen at that place was followed after a very brief interval by a burst of flaming hydrogen between the equator and the top of the ship. The fire spread in all directionsmoving progessively for ward at high velocity with a succession of mild explosions. As the stern quarter became enveloped, the ship lost boutanct and cracked at about one-quarter of the distance from the rear end. The forward part assumed a bow-up attitude, the rear appearing to remain level. At the same time the ship was settling to the ground at a moderate rate of descent. Whereas there was a definite detonation after flame was first observed on the ship, we believe that the phenomenon was initially a rapid burning or combustion - not an explostion. From the observations made, is appears that there was a quantity of free hydrogen present in the after part of the ship when the fire originated.

HINDENBURG DIASTER INTELLIGENCE SUMMARY Place | Date | Hour | Summary of Events and Information | Remarks FRANKFURT April | 2. | A deviation occured in the subject's plot to detonate a controlled explosive device on the rear fuel tank of the zeppelin. An alternate plan is underway. | EF 5. | Progress in the creation of the subject's explosive device has stalled. An alternate catalyst is still viable. | SB 7. | The zeppelin has successfully completed it's seventh cross-continent trip carrying 19 crew members | - LAKEHURST May | 9. | Lakehurst Nacal Air Station recevied 8 new directives in preperation for the first cross-continent civilian flight of the zeppelin. German and American organizations continue to increase communications. | EF 12. | Progress continues on the controlled explosive device. Another player emerges in America, a linesman from New York. | SB 15. | The zeppelin is grounded for 2 days as high winds buffer the Western coast of the English Isles. FRANKFURT June | 29. | 300 feet of steel is salwed and loaded up at Frankfurt for repaits to the central gangway after miscalculations in the rate of expansion cause cells 15 and 16 to bend 4 degrees outside of normal variation. | EF Instructions regarding Intelligence Summaries are contained in Regula II and the Management Manual. Title pages will be prepared in manuscript.

The airship will be placed in service early in 1936. It will bear the builder's numer LZ 129 and have been constructed by the Luft Schiffbau Zeppelin of Friedrichschafen, Germany, and organization which also built the 118 Zeppelin type airships. Briefly described, this type of design provides for frame work of duralumin metal girders with tension wires. There is division by fringe wirings of the bosy into different compartments, into which the gas bags are placed to received the lifting gas; a keel walkway to take certain load; a framwork with an outer cover of fabric to give form, and engine cars suspended from the frame outside the ship. The Hindenburg is a Zeppelin type airship, having an axial corridor constructed longitudinally through the center of the hull. During its 9 months of operation in 1936, this airship will make more than 55 flights; flying 2,754 hours, cruising 191, 584 miles, crossing the ocean 34 times, carrying 2, 798 passengers and more than 377,000 pounds of mail and freight, all without mishap. The Hindenburgs length is about 803.8 feet; height, 147 feet; maximum diameter, 135 feet; fineness ratio, about 6; total gas volume, 7, 063, 000 cubic feet; normal volume, 6, 710, 000 cubic feet. Weight of the ship with necessary equipment and fuel is 430, 950 pounds; maximum fuel capacity, 143, 650 pounds; total payload 41, 990 pounds, and total life is 472, 940 pounds. Cruising speed is about 75 statute m.p.h.; maximum speed is slightly over 84 m.p.h. Passenger space is entirely within the hull. The control system is the conventional Zeppelin type control, with two rudders acting as a Unit for horizontal control, and two elevators acting likewise for veritcal control. Emergency elevator and rudder control wheels are installed in the stern of the ship. An electrical gyroscopic device attached to the forward rudder wheel provides automatic steering.

[fatehbaz]

A devastating rail crash that left almost 300 people dead has refocused international attention on the importance of railways in the lives of Indians.

Indeed, to many Western observers, images of men and women crammed into overcrowded cars serve as a metaphor for modern India. Take, for example, a report by German newspaper Der Spiegel on India’s population surpassing China’s. Published just weeks before the accident in Odisha province on June 2, the now much-criticized cartoon depicted a shabby Indian train crammed with passengers rushing past a streamlined Chinese train with only two people in it.

Where does this enduring image in the West of Indian railways – and of India – come from? As a scholar of Indian history and author of 2015 book “Tracks of Change: Railways and Everyday Life in Colonial India,” I believe the answers lie in the gigantic infrastructure projects of the 19th century – forged at the intersection of colonial dictates and capitalist demands.

---

A carrier of freight, not people

Railways remain the backbone of passenger traffic in India, transporting some 23 million people daily. In the pre-pandemic 2018-19 financial year, 7.7 billion passenger journeys in India. [...] Yet, when first planned in the 1840s, India’s railways were intended to primarily transport freight and livestock, not people. Indians were thought unlikely to become railway passengers by directors of the English East India Co., a merchant monopoly that gradually annexed and administered large parts of India under U.K. crown control. [...] However, early colonial railway policy was driven by pervasive Orientalist imaginings of a people rendered immobile by poverty, living in isolated villages [...]. The trope interlocked with colonial thinking that railways would foster greater industrialization which in turn would further a capitalist economy. They also aligned with the practical needs of a colonial trading monopoly which needed raw materials for English industries, such as cotton, to be moved swiftly and efficiently from India’s interiors to port towns [...].

---

Despite the doubters, the new Indian railways attracted an increasing number of passengers. The half-million passengers recorded in 1854 when tracks became operational increased to 26 million in 1875. By 1900, annual passenger figures stood at 175 million and then almost trebled to 520 million by 1919-20. By the time of the partition of India in 1947 it had risen to more than 1 billion passenger journeys annually. Indeed, images of overcrowded trains came to epitomize the upheaval of partition, with the rail system used to carry swaths of uprooted peoples across the soon-to-be Pakistan-India border. Third-class passengers, overwhelmingly Indians, comprised almost 90% of this traffic. These escalating figures did not, however, generate a lowering of fares. Nor did they result in any substantial improvements in the conditions of [...] travel. [...]

---

The generally British railway managers seemed disinclined to remedy systematic overcrowding, which included transporting passengers in wagons meant for livestock. Rather, they insisted that such overcrowding was caused by the peculiar habits and inclinations of Indian passengers: their alleged [...] inclination to follow one another “like sheep” into crowded carriages. These attributes were soon rendered into a more public narrative, especially among Western mindsets. Journalist H. Sutherland Stark, writing for the industry publication Indian State Railways Magazine in 1929, stated that though “unversed” in railway administration and traffic control, he knew railway facilities were not the problem. Rather, Indian passengers lacked the mental preparedness, “self-possession” and “method” necessary to travel like “sane human beings.” Stark suggested passenger education as a solution to the perceived problem, making railway travel a tool for “self-composure and mass orderliness.” [...]

---

More than a century later, this depiction endures, though, ironically, it now serves as a foil to understanding contemporary India. In a piece published in The New York Times on March 12, 2005, the author lauded the then-new Delhi metro, emphasizing that it had “none of the chaotic squalor of hawkers and beggars that characterizes mainline railroads in India, nor do desperate travelers hang from the sides of the trains.” As the debate rages on whether safety has taken a back seat to “glossy modernization projects” in India – early analyses suggest signaling failure might have caused June 2, 2023, accident – railways continue to represent India’s history.

In the heyday of empire, they were deemed the technology through which Britain would drag India into capitalist modernity. In 1947, they became a leitmotif for the trauma of the partition that accompanied the independence of India and Pakistan. As the coverage of Odisha accident reminds us, it continues to be a metaphor in the West for evaluating contemporary India.

---

Headline, image, caption, and all text above by: Ritika Prasa. “Overcrowded trains serve as metaphor for India in Western eyes -- but they are a relic of colonialism and capitalism.” The Conversation. 9 June 2023. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[gwendolynlerman]

Things that surprised me as a European tourist in the United States

This is based on my experience as a Spaniard traveling to the United States (specifically New York City and Washington, D. C.).

Like many people around the world, I have grown up in contact with U.S. culture through literature, film, and music, so I didn't experience much cultural shock, but some things still surprised me.

All vehicles (cars, trucks, school buses...) are huge! Most cars are pickup trucks or SUVs. The most common brands came from the United States, but I also saw many Japanese cars, especially Nissan and Toyota (mostly Prius, USAmericans seem to love this model 😂).

Customer service is great, not only in restaurants or places where one is expected to leave a tip but also in museums and subway stations.

I heard many different languages spoken by locals, including Mandarin, Russian, and Spanish, as well as European languages spoken by tourists, such as French, German, and Portuguese. (I think that this is mostly the case in big cities, and especially NYC.)

People wear face masks more often, although I guess that this is transient due to flu season. Still, way fewer people wear them in Spain.

Taxes are not included in the price. (I was aware of this but used to forget about it at first.)

Toilets are not as deep as in Europe (the water is really close to your butt 😖), and many flush automatically. Public restrooms always have seat covers but normally do not have a toilet lid.

Doors are really heavy! No wonder many people (mostly men) held them open for me. I once had to throw myself against the door to open it. What is the deal with doors in the U.S.? (Is it a NYC thing only?)

People were quite loud (and this is coming from someone who grew up in a country that is renowned for how loud we talk) and played music/videos without headphones in the subway 😑

Cops are surprisingly chill despite the reputation that they have. A guy was insulting a couple of them from across the subway platform, and they just smiled and waved at him. In Spain, it is a crime to insult a police officer, so I was surprised that they were so calm about the whole situation.

On that note, there were a lot of cops around the city at all times (even at 5 a.m.). I counted nine of them in Penn Station!

Drivers honk all the time because of every minor inconvenience. On Thanksgiving Day, there were a lot of traffic jams, and people were honking as if that would magically clear the streets... And, of course, if one person honked, the rest honked as well, so walking on the street on the main avenues was really deafening 😐

Traffic lights are quite far away from where cars have to stop.

Fire truck sirens are really loud and sound like emergency alarm systems. (It reminded me of those TikTok videos ranking them.)

People say "Excuse me" in the subway when going in or out, which was a nice change from the shoving and pushing I'm used to in Madrid.

I saw a lot of people carrying around huge reusable water bottles. (Here's an explanation for why USAmericans drink so much.)

People called me "Ma'am" instead of "Miss". I know it's the polite way to address people, but it was very weird 😂

New Yorkers love to use cardinal directions (north, south, east, west) when giving directions. Someone once told me, "Go west on Broadway" and I was like "I have trouble orienting myself when I use Google Maps, do you think I know which direction I'm going in at all times??".

There are lots of caution signs about worker safety on construction sites, both in English and Spanish, which leads me to think that there are many work accidents 🤔

As a solo female traveler, I was a bit concerned about my security in a city that I have heard is dangerous and in a country where mass shootings are a relatively normal occurrence, but I felt mostly safe. I was surprised to see many posters that read, "If you see something, say something".

Related to the above, I was shocked to see "This is a gun free zone" posters in public places and "No guns allowed" posters on supermarket doors.

I was really surprised to see ads with phone numbers with words in them, like the one below. After doing some research, I discovered they are called vanity numbers and are easier for people to remember. (If, like me, you're wondering how to dial these numbers, apparently you just press the number that corresponds to the letter on the keypad.)

I smelled marijuana everywhere! Although illegal in Spain, you can also smell it sometimes, but it seemed ubiquitous in NYC. (I personally hate the smell, which is why I noticed.)

[christiangeistdorfer]

Little facts about Wolfgang Von Trips which I have picked up reading The Limit by Michael Cannell. Dot point style inspired by @cazzyf1

^^ btw picture of all time for me. i love it.

Wolfgang was known as Wölfchen [little wolf] by his parents.

As a child, he hated going to social outings due to the leggings & ruffled shirts his parents forced him to wear.

If left on his own as a child, he would run through the apple orchard or paddle along the moats around his house. He also had a secret treehouse in his favourite tree.

Wolfgang as a baby. Does it surprise anyone that he was like the cutest baby??

His first car crush was the family's Opel Super 6.

During WW2, when he was 16 he was drafted to search through air raid debris. He said he "saw the whole of human suffering firsthand."

He learned English from the African Americans living in his house and apparently could speak nearly flawless Americanized English.

He had a tendency to faint when he went through without eating. It is likely believed he had diabetes but it was never diagnosed.

His first motorsports obsession was motorbikes

Look how excited he is to be riding his motorbike oh my wordddd

At his first Mille Miglia, he won his class and came thirty-third overall!

Like many drivers starting out, he had to hide from his parents about his racing obsession. They viewed Wolfgang as the last hope for their family as he was their only child.

So when his parents went out for dinner after the Mille Miglia, the waiter asked if they were related to the Von Trips who had a class win - "I'm sorry no, my son is studying in West Germany." They didn't know until they saw the newspaper.

He raced under the pseudonym Axel Linther, a man he borrowed from a dead-end branch of the family tree.

He was actually supposed to race in the 1955 Le Mans however he was replaced by Pierre Levegh as Levegh had more experience. Von Trips was actually in the crowd and witnessed the accident.

He got the nickname Crash Von Trips due to crashing out within the first lap.

E*zo Ferrari said Wolfgang had "a noble spirit."

He used to call Phil Hill "Philee Hillee".

He always got called 'The Count' or 'Taffy', though no one knows how he got the latter nickname. It is believed another driver said he looked like a Taffy, which means Welshman or a beloved friend.

He appeared in a video encouraging people to get into motorsports for the "mastery of technical structure".

He would always carry cameras at the races to record his events, friends, girlfriends, etc and then when home he would tape-record himself talking about what was in the film.

At the 1957 German Grand Prix, he didn't race due to a broken leg. His Ferrari teammates Mike Hawthorn & Peter Collins gave him a set of yellow, blue, and white flags so he could signal the location of Fangio.

I C O N I C A L L Y When Fangio was kidnapped in Cuba, Wolfgang was lending a group of drivers on a tour of Havana's seedy clubs.

"He knew where every sex club was... including the gay bars." 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍🌈

If he came first, he had a habit of pulling his teammates underneath the victory wreath with him <3

Fat mood Stirling

He had to get to a post-race interview but had no way of getting to the meeting point so he borrowed a bicycle from a teenager and rode with the teen sitting on the handlebar LMAO.

He was a big hope for Germany, especially after WW2, and became a national symbol. If he had won the 1961 championship, he would have been the first German to do so. That didn't come until 1994 with Michael Schumacher.

Speaking of Schumi, Wolfgang was very passionate about karting and established a go-kart racetrack near Kerpen which Michael would later take his first-ever lap on!

[valtionrautatiet-official]

An introduction to VR passenger carriages, part 1: the blue carriages

In our next series of introducing our rolling stock, we will be looking at passenger carriages. I was actually thinking of doing multiple units next, but @hapotonradio requested I do the blue carriages and a lot of people seemed to like the idea so here we go.

A Dr13-hauled train consisting of blue carriages arriving in Turku Harbour, 1995. Falk1, Wikimedia Commons

I can already hear foreigners (and non-rail enthusiast Finns too) going "what the hell are the blue carriages?" Well, the blue carriages were/are the first Finnish steel-bodied passenger carriages, with over 600 units (depending a bit on what you count as being actual blue carriages) of different types built between 1961 and 1986. Today, almost all of them have been retired. Which is a shame, because they were sexy.

The first 15 blue carriages were built by the West German Maschinenfabrik Esslingen, who also designed them, in 1961. This original batch were equipped with different types of boggies, from which the Minden-Deutz boggie was chosen for the eventual mass-produced series built in-house by the VR Pasila workshop starting from 1964 (Valmet also built a small number of carriages).

A combined 1st and 2nd class carriage as built, 1964. At this point they still had steel covering the underbody from the sides. These hems were later removed to better display the arousing technical bits. Olavi Karasjoki, Suomen rautatiemuseo.

President Kekkonen (the bald dude) visiting the above carriage. Olavi Karasjoki, Suomen rautatiemuseo.

The initial batch consisted of ten 2. class carriages (littera Eit), four combined 1. and 2. class coaches (lit. CEit) and one 1. class coach (lit. Cit). As you can maybe figure out, the -t at the end stood for teräs, steel, to distinguish from the old wood-bodied coaches. In addition to the regular first- and second-class coaches, the blue carriages' base design was adopted for restaurant cars (litteras Rbkt, Rt, Rkt and Rk), combined condutor's and luggage cars (lits. Fot, Efit and Efiti), sleepers (CEmt), aggregate cars to use on non-electrified tracks (Eifet), carriages with children's playrooms (ELht), postal carriages (Pot), military transport (Ems), prisoner transport (Nom), special carriages for the president and cabinet (A), and even a one-off disco carriage. The latter in particular fucked severely. All those sweaty bodies having it on inside a train...

Some sources also list the Eil-class local traffic coaches as blue carriages, but since they had some structural differences and were originally painted red rather than blue, I'm going to cover them in a separate entry.

Interior of a 2nd class carriage. My photo

Over the quarter of a century the blue carriages were in production, numerous improvements were made to the original design; most notably, the original top service speed of 120 km/h was increased first to 140 km/h and then to 160 km/h in some units.

By the time the last blue carriages were delivered in 1986, their star was already waning. In 1988, the first new Intercity carriages (in a white and red IC delivery) were delivered, and Intercity trains replaced the blue-carriaged special express (erikoispikajuna) trains as the flagship product. With the arrival of the Intercity carriages, and the double-decker carriages from 1998 onwards, the blue carriages were phased out.

Blue carriages at the Turku depot, an Eifet aggregate car repainted in the Intercity livery in the 1990s and CEmt sleepers (both carriages visible behind the Eifet; the sleepers have asymmetric window arrangements). My photo

Today, the only blue carriages still in use in the iconic original livery as sleepers in night trains to Lapland, and prison transport carriages. Some restaurant cars, aggregate cars and conductor's carriages still exist, but they have been repainted in the newer liveries. Several blue carriages have also been preserved by different instances and they're relatively commonly seen in heritage/museum trains these days.