#and she was holding a brown leather purse that was super tiny

[mainfaggot]

OMG in other news i saw the most beautiful girl ever while walking to the train, so I stopped to tell her I loved her outfit in an extremely . girliepop voice and like 4 ppl turned around to stare . bc it was probably jarring to hear that tone from someone who is visibly gnc and dressed like a male humanities prof 💀 . anyway she smiled so cutely and thanked me she was suchhhhhhh a baddie

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

red+white, m | kth, jjk

pairing(s): taehyung x reader x jungkook

summary: On Christmas Eve, you take Kim Taehyung and Jeon Jungkook out on a date and they’re surprised to find out that... it’s actually a real date. At least, until you decide to pull up your dress right in front of them. You are a horny little seductress after all.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, semi-public sex in the back of a car; intense smut (fem reader, threesome, nipple play, fingering, vibrator use, f-receiving oral, multiple orgasms, overstimulation); fluff; non-idol!AU; noona!reader gets all the attention this time, so sweet of them!

other parts of this series: just kidding + part ii, car ride.

--

You massaged the base of your right thumb, sucking in a tight breath at the pain.

You shouldn’t have played so many League of Legends games last night, but there was an event pass and you had to grind games. Well, you didn’t have to, but you wanted to. League of Legends was probably your longest commitment in your entire life. And it gave you carpal tunnel.

Like all your interests, it was making your life complicated.

You pulled the sleeve of your fur coat over your wrist brace. When you played a lot, you kept it on all the time. It wasn’t the sexiest thing, but you needed your hands after all. For various reasons.

“Excuse me?”

You grinned to yourself before turning around, waving at the smooth, baritone voice of Kim Taehyung.

“Hey, Taehyung!”

Taehyung made his way through the crowd in the busy outdoor mall to stop right in front of you. It was late afternoon on Christmas Eve, when everyone was getting off work, sunny but cold. He looked you up and down, narrowing his dark brown eyes. “What is this?”

White faux fur coat that barely covered your ass, black thigh-high heeled boots, and the outfit completed with a large red fabric bow tied around your neck. You had nabbed it from a package of Christmas cookies you received earlier in the day. Your hair was pinned up, leaving a few strands framing your face. In comparison, Taehyung was wearing a biscuit-brown corduroy jacket with a forest green sweater and white dress shirt underneath, collar poking out. Dark brown hair a bit pushed back, but with most of it falling onto his forehead. Coffee-colored slacks, pointed oxfords.

“But you haven’t seen the best part, Tae!” you quipped, far too cheerful for the suspicious eye Taehyung was giving you. You unsnapped the buttons of your fur coat, revealing the tight, slinky, red silk mini-dress underneath. It clung to your every curve, molding perfectly to your breasts and hips.

Taehyung’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He grabbed the sides of your coat and yanked them shut, breath frosting in your face.

“What the FUCK?” he hissed under his breath. “You can’t wear that!”

You blinked at him. “Why not?”

“That’s the kind of clothes you would wear to a club! Not a date!”

“But I don’t go to clubs anymore. I think it’s better to wear what you already own than to buy new ones.”

The look you were giving Taehyung was innocent, but he knew better.

“At least tell me you’re wearing underwear.”

You grinned. “Maaaaaaaybe…”

“Noona,” he growled low in his throat, making you wet already.

“Alright, alright, yes I am.”

Taehyung buttoned your coat, frowning. “Just wait until Jungkook sees you. He’ll be pissed.”

“Pissed about what?”

Jeon Jungkook’s bouncy, energetic voice popped up behind you. You turned around to see him in a big black parka and black jeans with chunky black boots. He grinned, waving a hand, his long black hair half-slicked back as usual. He was wearing leather fingerless gloves. You bit your lower lip, grinning back. Jungkook’s smile faltered, suddenly apprehensive once he saw your expression.

“What’d she do?” Jungkook asked, eyes flickering to Taehyung.

“She–”

“Jungkook,” you cut Taehyung off jovially. “I wore something nice for you two!”

And you popped your coat open once again, ruining Taehyung’s good work of trying to keep you covered. Taehyung threw up his hands as Jungkook’s eyes widened, jaw dropping at the sight of your sinful body wrapped in red silk.

“Noona!” Jungkook scolded, yanking the sides of your coat closed, pressing his body against you. “You can’t wear that!”

“Why not?” you purred, licking your lips. “It’s nearly Christmas.” You pointed to the large red bow on your neck. “I’m festive!”

Jungkook looked aghast, clenching his jaw. “T-That’s not…” He hurriedly re-snapped the buttons on your white fur coat. “You’re going to be cold.”

You shook your head. “This coat is super warm. Plus, I’m wearing panties!”

Jungkook shot Taehyung a pained look. “I’m proud of you…”

“We’re going to be late! Let’s go!”

You grabbed their hands as Taehyung and Jungkook sighed at each other, smiling despite knowing they were already in big trouble.

-

“A… mug café?”

You pointed to the menu. “Not just any mug café, Jungkook. See, you pick a style of mug and then you decorate it with paint. Once you’re done, they cure it for you and then you can eat some snacks as you wait for it to be finished.”

Taehyung tilted his head, reading the instructions. “Looks like you have to make an appointment.”

“I did. It’s almost time,” you said cheerfully. “Look at all these different ceramic colors and paints. I thought it would be fun to do together.”

Taehyung and Jungkook exchanged a look. “You mean… this is an actual date, noona?”

You turned away from the window to frown at them. “Of course, it is. I booked a time and everything!”

Jungkook shifted his eyes. “Uh, well… usually you’re interested in doing other things with us…”

You blinked at them. “What?”

Taehyung clapped a hand over Jungkook’s mouth. “Never mind, never mind. Let’s go in.”

-

“Ah! I’m done!”

You turned your extra-large pale blue mug around, revealing the fluffy white Poro you painted, complete with a tasty cinnamon-bun-looking Poro-Snax biscuit in its mouth. Tiny white and yellow sparkles circled its head like a starry sky.

Taehyung smiled, shaking his head. “Your League of Legends obsession is a little extreme.”

“Oi, Poros are cute. I like cute things. That’s why I like you.”

Taehyung’s tan cheeks turned bright pink as you turned your attention to Jungkook’s masterpiece. He was painting a nighttime forest of evergreen trees on a black mug, with a small cabin and white dotted stars. He had three plates of different colored paints and at least ten small paintbrushes next to him. His pink tongue was in between his lips, holding his breath as he added small details to the trees in different shades of green.

“Wow, that’s intricate,” you admired, scooting your chair closer to him. Your sleeves were rolled up, but you were still bundled in your coat. Somehow, no paint got on the white fur. “You’re so talented, Jungkook.”

He finished the tree he was working on and pulled it back, frowning slightly. “Ah, I don’t know…”

“What are you talking about? That’s the coolest mug I’ve ever seen. I would totally buy that if I saw it at the store,” you protested.

Jungkook smiled sheepishly, picking up another paintbrush covered in white. “Really?”

“Of course. Especially since the artist is so handsome,” you added with a wink.

Jungkook’s ears turned red as you shuffled back to Taehyung to look at his mug. He was painting a small brown bear with a red Santa hat next to a wildly decorated Christmas tree on a light green mug.

“Should I add snow?” Taehyung wondered out loud.

“Maybe on the ground? But I think the tree should be the focus,” you mused. “Will the bear have a little coat?”

Taehyung puffed his cheeks. “Ah, I forgot!”

You scraped your chair back, holding your own Poro masterpiece. “I’m going to have them cure mine first. Be right back,” you chirped cheerfully, walking up to the counter where the jolly-looking man was waiting.

Jungkook watched you go, pursing his lips. “Kind of surprised she hasn’t tried to do anything crazy yet.”

Taehyung squirted out way too much red paint and made a disgruntled noise. “Well, she isn’t a horny seductress all the time. Just most of the time. Also, we’re in public.”

Jungkook went back to his mug as you chatted with the owner. 

“It’s nice, just like this.”

Taehyung paused mid-stroke of red. His eyes flickered to Jungkook’s lowered head, back to being focused and working carefully. Taehyung thought about adding to the conversation, but kept his mouth shut, rubbing his chin instead. Then he went back to the bear and adding the red Santa coat.

You came back with a muffin and hot chocolate.

“Ah, the owner was so nice. He gave me the last blackberry muffin. He said they’re really popular.”

“Oh, can I try some–” Jungkook raised his head as you turned around to place your white fur jacket on your chair. His eyes widened, voice turning into a tight hiss. “Noona!”

You settled back in your seat, facing him as you popped some more muffin in your mouth. “Mmm?”

“Your dress is backless!”

“IT’S WHAT?” Taehyung whispered shrilly, nearly dropping his work of art.

You chewed. “Yeah… so?”

Jungkook jabbed his paintbrush in the air angrily. “So? SO?”

Taehyung craned his head and his jaw dropped. “That’s nearly to your ass!”

You took a sip of hot chocolate. “Yeah… so?”

Jungkook got up suddenly. “I’m going to have my mug cured.”

You blinked at him. “Are you done?”

Jungkook narrowed his eyes at you. “As done as I have focus for.” He walked stiffly to the counter.

You blinked. “What’s his problem?”

Taehyung scraped his chair back loudly, startling you. “I’m also finished.” He also began to shuffle awkwardly to the counter. You tilted your head and went back to your muffin, eating happily. Maybe a little too happily.

Well.

Definitely smugly, that’s for sure.

-

“Ah, should I just put them on the floor like this? Or like this?”

Jungkook and Taehyung were standing behind you as you struggled arranging the nicely wrapped, hand-painted mugs you all had made in the backseat of Taehyung’s car. Meaning that the backseat door was open and you were on your knees, bending down to the floor to arrange said boxes, your thigh-high black boots sticking out, white fur coat riding up your ass and your equally short red dress slowly hiking up your thighs.

Taehyung and Jungkook stood behind your legs, staring at your increasingly exposed butt in the parking lot and blocking the view from passersby.

“You are doing this on purpose,” Taehyung muttered.

“No, I’m not,” you shot back. “I don’t want someone to look in your car and want to steal your Christmas presents. I paid a lot for that appointment!”

You yelped and fell to your elbows, the hem of your dress shooting up your ass and popping against your waist, leaving your thin red thong out in the open. 

“What the fuck?” Taehyung grumbled indignantly, stomping around to the other side of the backseat.

Jungkook rubbed his temples, already expecting it, but still unprepared.

You grinned to yourself, unsurprised as Taehyung ripped the car door open.

“You,” he growled, sliding into the seat and shutting the door sharply. “Are a horny seductress.”

You smiled innocently at him. “Who, me?”

He took the three boxes from you and placed them in the front passenger seat firmly.

“Hey, be careful with those–”

Taehyung grabbed your face and kissed you, pressing his warm lips into yours, silencing your words. You sighed happily, opening your mouth and moaning, enticing him. You felt Jungkook’s fingers on your cold, exposed skin, snapping the string of your thong into your ass and making you whine against Taehyung’s lips. Jungkook grasped your panties and pulled up hard, burying them into your rapidly dripping slit. You bucked, wiggling your hips as Taehyung rubbed his tongue against yours.

“Fuck, noona,” Jungkook breathed. “You’re so fucking sexy.”

He pushed your legs in, forcing you to sit in the center seat and slipped inside, shutting the door.

It was cold outside, but inside the car was so very hot now.

Taehyung broke the kiss, glaring at you. You loved how dark his eyes became, so demanding and lustful, annoyed but also amused with your antics.

“You’re such a bad girl,” he muttered. “But you make me want to fuck you anyway.”

He pushed you into Jungkook’s waiting arms, forcefully turning your head. Your stared into Jungkook’s piercing gaze, his long black hair covering his left eye. He smirked at you, bringing you close to his face as Taehyung unsnapped your coat.

“Can’t even wait until we’re home to cause trouble, can you?” he whispered against your lips.

You tried to kiss him, but Jungkook dodged you, roguish expression on his face. You frowned and grabbed his head, crashing your lips into his as he infuriatingly smiled against them, catching your lower lip in between his teeth and sucking on it. You moaned softly as Taehyung ran his large hands up your hips, all the way up to your breasts. Jungkook’s fingers tangled into your hair, pulling your head back as a needy whine escaped your lips. He shook a finger at you, scooting his body closer, pushing you into Taehyung.

“No, no,” he chided, shushing you. “You want to be so bad and get us into trouble, then you’ll have to face the consequences.”

He placed his leather-covered palm on your cheek, forcing you to face Taehyung as he lowered the shoulders of your coat, exposing the thin straps of your silk dress. Taehyung sucked in a breath, looking down at you hungrily.

“So jealous that someone must have taken you home in this,” he murmured.

You winced a little, biting you lip. “Um… maybe many someones?”

Taehyung’s eyes flickered up to you, dark and dangerous. “You’re insatiable.”

He took one strap and Jungkook took the other, sliding them down your shoulders. Your breasts swelled against the red silk before popping out, black x-shaped pasties covering your nipples. They didn’t need to help you take them off. You reached up with some difficulty and peeled them off yourself, nipples hardening in the cold air.

A part of you was aware that some bystander might witness this and the same part was quite satisfied about that.

Jungkook leaned forward to press his lips against your ear, right hand coming up to knead your right breast. He had removed his gloves, his bare palm rubbing against your hard nipple. Shivers ran through you at his touch.

“Someone’s going to see how naughty you are, noona,” he purred, licking your earlobe. “Someone’s going to watch you get toyed with by Taehyung and I and probably jack off to it tonight.”

You exhaled deeply, feeling Taehyung’s left hand on your left breast, pinching your nipple as he shifted a little to cover your body, leaning his forehead against your temple. You should have been cold, being mostly naked, but you were scorching hot with arousal and the bodies of the two men pressed against you.

“Let them watch,” was your reply, moaning against Taehyung’s lips.

Taehyung scoffed. “Jungkook would probably fuck you out in the open like an animal.”

Jungkook grinned mischievously. “I would.” He sucked on your ear, flicking your nipple as you kissed Taehyung. “And she would be begging for it.”

You spread your legs, whimpering, but they ignored it, Taehyung working his free hand into your hair, ruining all the hairpins, kissing you hard and possessively. You inhaled his heavy, spiced cologne, intoxicated. He released your nipple and reached up to the one end of the red bow, Jungkook playing with the other end.

“I know you said the mug-painting class was our Christmas gift,” Jungkook began, twisting his fingers around the ribbon.

Taehyung broke the kiss, licking your lips lightly as he spoke into your panting mouth.

“But we would have been satisfied with unwrapping just this one.”

And then they both pulled on the red fabric ribbon, slowly untying it, ruining the perfect bow and your common sense, tipping your head as you arched your back. The ends brushed against your chest as Jungkook hooked a finger in the center, fully undoing the tie and exposing your neck. It fell against your elbows, your arms still trapped in your large fur coat.

“Fuck, noona,” Taehyung breathed against your skin. “You’re so pretty, just like this.”

He kissed down your neck, licking down your quivering throat. You had no time to watch though, because Jungkook immediately kissed you, thrusting his tongue into your mouth, making you moan as Taehyung’s lips found your nipples, licking and sucking them while Jungkook sank his fingers into your thigh.

Your panties were drenched, sticking to your folds, leaking down, the strong scent of your arousal filling the car. You suddenly felt Taehyung’s long fingers grip the top of your thong and pull up. You gasped into Jungkook’s mouth and he grinned, fingers trailing up your thigh, so close but so far.

“You want to be touched?” Jungkook taunted, tapping your inner thigh.

“J-Jungkook, please…”

He hummed cheerfully. “I will if hyung lets me.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. Jungkook grinned cheekily back, dark eyes flashing, black hair obscuring his left eye. It was clear that all he wanted to do was deny you, because Jeon Jungkook was a relentless tease.

Well, you had that in common.

Your conversation with Jungkook had distracted you from the fact that Taehyung had removed himself from your chest, reaching into his coat. You jumped as you felt something cold and hard press against your clothed, but still throbbing, wet clit. You whipped your head to Taehyung, who licked his lips, devilish spark in his brown eyes.

“Present for my good girl.”

And then he turned on the bullet vibrator, assaulting your clit.

Your cried out and Jungkook slapped a hand over your mouth, grunting as he held down one leg, preventing you from squirming away as Taehyung pinned the other to the seat, sending intense vibrations straight to your sensitive bundle of nerves. You whined around Jungkook’s palm and he lowered his face to your right breast, taking your nipple into his mouth. Taehyung followed suit with the other.

It was a cramped space, and yet you were already in ecstasy, head forced back, both your nipples being licked and sucked as Taehyung coaxed you to orgasm. Your whole body jerked as you came quickly, unable to cope with the initial harsh, intense vibrations and the sensation of two tongues on you at the same time. Your clit flared with stimulation, thighs trembling. And still Taehyung held you there, barreling you through your first orgasm and pushing for the next, making you scream behind Jungkook’s strong hand, eyes squeezing shut as the wave crashed down again, hips shuddering and spasming with pleasure.

Taehyung removed the vibrator to press it against your wet nipple. You shuddered, clit aching, still wanting more. Jungkook removed his hand and Taehyung kissed you, breathing in your euphoric exhale. You moaned into his mouth, eyes half-lidded, staring into his beautiful lashes, his soft hair brushing against your forehead. You whined and Taehyung broke the kiss, your name floating from his lips, turning off the vibrator for a moment. You wanted to reach up and touch him, slip your hand under his sweater and shirt, but your hands were pinned in place from your jacket.

“Sorry, noona,” he purred in his soul-shakingly deep voice. “Only one of us is getting naked here, and it’s you.”

“B-but, Tae…”

He chuckled, the sound reverberating in his chest. “That’s what you get for teasing us with your sexy body.” He turned away from you, tapping Jungkook who was lazily pushing your nipple around in circles with his tongue, steady pleasure that graced you through your afterglow. Jungkook raised his eyebrows.

“Hm?”

Taehyung pointed to your thong. “Rip it off.”

“Aren’t you going to ask me if I still want those?” you interrupted, amused.

Taehyung cocked an eyebrow. “I have to convince you to keep clothes on in general.”

You nodded knowingly as Jungkook’s fingers danced down your stomach. “You’re right.”

“You don’t have to convince me.”

Jungkook made eye contact with you, lower lip trapped in his teeth. Your lips parted, feeling his fingers close in on the top of your panties. He was smirking playfully, aware of his power over you, watching your eyes tick between his face and his hands. His nail traced your slit, smirk widening as you moaned at his light touch.

“I would let you be naked as much as you want,” Jungkook drawled, slipping a finger under the soaked red fabric, prying it out of your folds. You whimpered softly, lost in his dark brown eyes and his sinful words, his knuckles brushing against your heat as he grasped your thong with his two hands.

“And that’s why I have to wrangle you two,” Taehyung muttered, eyes flickering to the outside world, hoping the owners of the two cars next to you were not going to come back anytime soon. “Otherwise, both of you would be arrested for indecent exposure.”

Jungkook grinned. “Sorry, hyung.”

��Don’t you ‘hyung’ me.”

You gasped as Jungkook ripped your thong apart, turning it into useless scraps of wet red fabric. The strings on the sides snapped as well and it fell off your body. Jungkook swept the shreds from the seat onto the car floor.

Taehyung glared at him. “And I’m supposed to explain that to the car cleaners, how?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Tell them you had a very horny woman you needed to please.”

Taehyung looked up at the sky, exasperated, mouthing silent words before he addressed him again. “I’m first, then you. Then we’ll switch again.”

The younger man grinned. “Okay.”

You blinked as Taehyung handed Jungkook the silver bullet vibrator. “Excuse me,” you said quietly, “I would like to know exactly what you mean by–”

You were abruptly cut off by Taehyung shoving two fingers into you, your words turning into a sharp yelp as your drenched hole was suddenly filled, all the way up to his knuckles. Jungkook lifted you slightly, perching your leg on his so your hips were raised, giving Taehyung a better angle. You felt Taehyung’s lips against your ear as he slowly slid his fingers out, whispering your name.

“We’re going to make you cum so much you can’t stand,” he growled. “And then we’re going to take you home and stuff you so full of cock that you’ll think twice before teasing us like this again.”

Jungkook chuckled, appearing in your vision, speaking in Taehyung’s ear.

“She’s going to take it as encouragement to do more dangerous things.”

Taehyung sighed knowingly, forcefully jamming his fingers back into you. You gasped, pressing yourself against Jungkook’s hard body so you could raise your hips as Taehyung began to pump his fingers into your dripping pussy, wet sloppy squelches accompanying his movement. You could barely register the sound of the vibrator turning on again, but you felt it, sliding down your stomach, skin tingling as you panted.

“D-don’t…” you whimpered, already knowing it was falling onto deaf ears. You were clenching so tightly around Taehyung’s fingers that there was absolutely no way you meant it.

Taehyung smirked. “Jungkook’s allowed to do whatever he wants while I finger you.”

The pulsating vibrations attacked your clit, shooting bolts of pleasure up your torso, hips shaking as Taehyung’s fingers repeatedly rammed into you. Your eyes slid closed, a moan tearing from your lips, Jungkook’s snicker above you, his free hand pinching and rubbing your nipple as he massaged your clit with the bullet vibrator.

“Noona, you’re so fucking hot,” Jungkook praised, breath heavy against your skin. “The most perfectly fuckable body I’ve ever touched.”

You bit your lip hard, pleading noises in your throat, getting wetter at Jungkook’s words, one of your hands clutching Taehyung’s thigh, digging your nails into his pants, indicating you were close. Jungkook changed the setting, increasing the vibrations, and your hips bucked violently, burying your face into Taehyung’s shoulder as you came, screaming into his brown coat.

“A-ah, Taehyung, Jungkook!”

You gasped sharply as Taehyung removed his fingers, moaning as they touched his tongue.

“Fuck, you taste so good.”

Jungkook’s lips pressed against your ear, teasing you. “My turn.”

And then his two fingers slid in, slightly different from Taehyung’s, but just as good, filling you up. He scissored them in you and you lifted your head from Taehyung’s shoulder, panting, watching Jungkook and his sharp jawline, pupils so dilated that his eyes looked black. He seemed to feel your gaze and he turned his head to look at you, the tiny mole underneath his lips flashing as he grinned.

“Who’s a good girl?” Jungkook hummed, tilting his head, pink tongue darting out.

“I-I am…” you breathed, whimpering as you saw his tongue. “I am, Jungkook…”

He cocked his head as the vibrator sounded again, Taehyung pressing it against your swollen nipple, smearing your orgasm all over your tits. You moaned wantonly, leaning back into Taehyung as Jungkook began to finger you roughly, a bruising pace, sliding you up the seat a little with his force.

“What do you think, Taehyung?” Jungkook purred. “Do you agree with her?”

Taehyung chuckled into your hair. “Maybe if she cums for us a few more times, I’ll be convinced.”

He slid the vibrator down, down and you were there again, drowning in copious, sinful pleasure as Taehyung assaulted your sensitive bundle of nerves with relentless vibration and Jungkook fucked you hard and fast with his fingers, your juices sliding down his palm, probably sticking to the seat and your coat, but none of you cared, all three of you chasing your next orgasm, pushing you to the edge, going, going, gone.

It came fast and it came hard, ricocheting through you, so hot, so intense, clit and pussy throbbing together, sucking in Jungkook’s fingers, moaning their names deeply as you rocked your own hips through your orgasm, extending it. You shuddered when Jungkook pulled his fingers out, licking them off noisily as Taehyung pressed the bullet vibrator against your puffy, soaked pussy lips, watching your erotic expression, mouth open, tongue lolling.

“We’re not done, noona.”

Taehyung’s deep voice, warning you, but you couldn’t think, couldn’t believe there was more, more. He turned off the vibrator and switched it for his fingers again, dipping them in, the feeling of his joints and calluses rubbing against your walls, and then he added a third finger. You gasped, throat dry from all your noises as you opened your eyes to see Jungkook’s head lower, pushing your hips down so your knees hit the backs of the front seats, uncomfortably spread wide, ass half-hanging off but feeling so good that you didn’t notice. Didn’t notice until Jungkook’s tongue was on your swollen clit.

Your eyes rolled back into your head.

So fucking good.

Taehyung shoved his fingers into you, fucking you hard and deep as Jungkook lapped at your raw clit, teasing it, nipping at it. It throbbed against the tip of his soft tongue, so sensitive you were a whimpering, moaning mess, even more so as Taehyung’s and Jungkook’s free hands played with your nipples, pinching them as they drove you crazy, ruining you with fingers, lips, and tongue. Your name, coaxing you in heart-shaking baritone, telling you to come in Jungkook’s mouth and all over his hand.

“Aren’t you Taehyungie’s good girl?”

“F-fuck, yes, fuck, Tae, I’m your good girl, oh, fuck–”

Your words tumbled together in a hoarse hiss, hips rutting into Jungkook’s face as you came, liquid gushing everywhere, walls spasming and clamping around Taehyung’s fingers, one of your hands pulling out of your coat and grabbing Jungkook’s head, forcing him down as you rode your high into his mouth, messing up his long hair. Jungkook gave you a muffled groan, twisting your nipple slightly.

Your core was aching with pleasure and overstimulation, never before having been pushed this far, intoxicated by the feeling. You loved every second of Taehyung and Jungkook having their way with you, drunk on the feeling of back-to-back orgasms. Your hand slipped and Jungkook resurfaced, lips shiny with your juices, licking them off slowly as Taehyung sucked on his fingers.

Then Jungkook flexed his right hand at you, tattoos dancing as he did so.

“Round two.”

And then the positions changed, Taehyung’s lips on your inflamed clit, Jungkook’s three fingers knuckle-deep inside you, except Jungkook craned his body to place his lips on your abused right nipple, sucking on it as Taehyung pressed the slippery bullet vibrator against your other nipple, vibrations jarring you right to your heart. Taehyung’s tongue was gentle and firm, still too much as it was paired with Jungkook’s wet muscle teasing you as his fingers thrust into your pussy, slow, deep, hitting your favorite spot. You completely forgot you were in Taehyung’s car in some random parking lot, partly out in the open, lost in the ecstasy and elation.

It took them no time at all since you were already so sensitive that you were the one holding back, trying not to give in, trying to prolong the pleasure, but eventually you lost and the taut coil in your stomach snapped.

“O-oh, Jungkook, Taehyung…”

Your hips jerked into Taehyung’s face, your orgasm leaking onto the floor of his car, fingers curling into his hair, so lovely and soft, wild torrents of pleasure soaring through you. So very, very good. Dirty, deviant, and glorious. Taehyung removed the vibrator from your nipple, turning it off. You moaned softly, coming down from your high, clutching Taehyung’s head, your fingers massaging his scalp as he continued licking you gently. You gazed into Jungkook’s eyes as he slowly removed his lips from your nipple, glassy eyes locking with his.

“You taste so good,” Jungkook murmured, face centimeters from yours. “Smell so good, look so good, feel so good, sound so fucking sexy.” He kissed you, your taste still on his tongue, breathing your name like a caress.

Taehyung finally untangled his head from your hand, panting softly. He came up to your face too, and Jungkook moved to make space, tenderly kissing your cheek and ear.

“Noona,” Taehyung mumbled, smearing your own orgasm onto your chin as he placed a chaste kiss on your lips.

Your voice was raspy and gravelly from all your noises. “W-what?”

“You’re going to spend Christmas with us, right?”

Your lips curved into a mischievous smirk. “Well, I was going to slide down your chimney and–”

Taehyung prodded you as Jungkook laughed heartily. “We don’t have a chimney.”

You shrugged. “Same idea, break in and fuck you both.”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “Santa doesn’t do that.”

“All I’m saying is that Mrs. Claus definitely gets some–”

Taehyung shut you up by kissing you once again.

-

part ii: gold light

--

masterpost

[erintoknow]

so unfamiliar now

Spiraling - A Fallen Hero: Rebirth Fan-fiction

Unless you want Ortega hounding you to the end of your days, you’re going to have to put on a show and convince her she doesn’t need to keep worrying about you. You’re fine. Everything’s fine. She’s fine. Wait – [Horseshoe Crab]

It’s my birthday today so have a second update this week!!!!!

[Read on AO3]

If you’re going to get Ortega to lay off of you, you need to start thinking about your appearance again. Dressing in hoodies to look inconspicuous doesn’t do you any good if it actually ends up drawing more attention to yourself. So… What do you dress like?

Once upon a time Ariadne fancied anything and everything from skirts and the femmest outfits she could get her hands on all the way to shrugging on a leather jacket and gloves as part of her roller derby get-up. What could possibly be a logical progression from that?

Don’t want to look too affluent. A waste of resources. But you don’t want to look destitute either. So… Clean, some color. Mostly greens, some purples and black for variety. Cloth and cotton, things you can layer. Mix in some new items with thrift store purchases to fill out the rest.

One day at the mall, you stumble across a cute pair of shoes with a 1” heel and add them to the pile. The old Ariadne would never have worn something like that, but fuck her. She’s dead.

Should you start doing make-up again? Stare yourself down in the mirror in the morning and make a face. Bad enough you have to see that wretched thing as much as you do already. The concealer work is enough. Leave the eyeshadow and lipstick in the past. Anyone misgenders you, you can just beat the shit out of them. It’s 2020 now, you’re totally allowed to do that, super villain or no.

God. Do you look human yet? You don’t feel it. What is Ariadne like? How do you play this? Do you play up the stutter or tamp it down? Does she find it cu– Fuck. Fucking hell. No. No you are not thinking about that. Jesus fucking christ.

You pull fabric around your shoulders, frowning in disapproval at the mirror. Once upon a time, Ortega’s mother gave you a serape like this for Christmas. That one was a rainbow of color. This shawl is a duller green, with a white geometric pattern along the edges. Still, it’s long enough, draping down to your waist. You could hide your arms completely underneath, maybe a few other things if there was a call for it. Kind of like the cape for your villain suit.

So is this you, now? Or at least, if not you; is it Ariadne? You’re allowed to change, right? Will she even buy it? You’re not sure that you do.

When you get the phone call from Ortega one evening you go along and let her make plans. You’ve got time to kill before your next big operation anyway. And you can field test your new wardrobe.

–––

“Ariadne! Hola!” Ortega raises her arm, a bright smile on her face. Looks like the last of the stitches are gone. Thank god. She’s got jeans on, another flannel shirt. No jacket today? If it wasn’t for the gave-away glint of metal embedded in her arms and hands she’d look like a textbook middle-age butch lesbian.

Did she always dress like that? Is it because she’s seeing Jane now? Swear she flirted a little more femme when she was with men. Not that you were paying attention at the time. Of course not.

Shut up.

You raise your hand back, “Hola yourself. Y–you look happy today.”

“I like the new look.”

You blink, glance down at yourself. Doubt creeping back into your head. “Uh. Well. It’s uh, it’s just stuff I had… laying around… you know.”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure.” She doesn’t believe you at all, damn her.

“D–don’t think it’s for your benefit!” You hiss back, you reach up and grab the edges of your shawl, pulling the green fabric closed over your body. “B–because it’s not!”

Her smile broadens. “I didn’t say anything, Ariadne.”

“F–fuck you.”

“I like the shawl, it’s cute.”

Oh god. You can’t look at her. Face warm. Ortega has a girlfriend, what the hell is she doing? “G–good for you. You um, you want to – to get on with w–whatever the fuck we’re doing today?”

“Alright, alright.” She laughs, turning and beckoning you to follow. “We’re already here actually.” Ortega gets about halfway to the front doors before she realizes (acknowledges?) that you aren’t following her. She turns her head, flaps her arms in a ‘what?’ gesture.

Pulling your shawl tight around you, there’s newfound gratitude for how your sunglasses help to mask your eyes.

You stare up at the front facade of the Los Diablos Children’s Hospital, white tiling and red brickwork and dozens of little panes of glass like too many eyes. “Ortega…” you try to keep the panic out of your voice. “I thought you said we were doing something fun.”

She walks back to you, tight frown on her face. “We used to do this all the time, remember?”

You stare at her, “Do what?”

“Visits? Readings? You know?”

Bite your lip, is that true? Ortega seems so sure of it, but… Thinking back to hospitals all your memory coughs up is a very different kind of picture. One that makes your stomach roil and your head dizzy. True or not there’s still one problem: “Ortega… I’m trying to keep a low profile, remember?”

Ortega sighs and pats you on the shoulder. “Look, there’s no PR crew, no cameras, I haven’t even told Chen. The only person who knows we’re coming is the lady in charge of managing volunteers, Sue, and as far she knows you’re just a friend I’m dragging along.” She steps beside you, hooking her arm in yours. “So, you’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?”

You tense up as Ortega half-walks, half-drags you to the doors. “If – if, um – ninjas descend from the ceiling and kidnap me, I want you to know…”

“Yeah?”

“I f–f–fucking hate you.”

Ortega laughs, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Bright lights and white walls, men and women in scrubs, medical masks. You keep your shades on, damn politeness. Mercifully, hardly anyone spares you a thought, eyes sliding off. Fewer people than you'd believe recognize Ortega out of her Ranger’s outfit. At the same time, you do get the sense she’s a known quantity here, this isn’t her first rodeo. You’ll just have to trust her; there’s an uncomfortable thought.

You wish you had the Rat-King handy, you can wrap a song tight around your head but you could stand to have a little help filtering out the background noise. Maybe it’s your own baggage, but the chatter of hospital thoughts always has this tension to it – forced cheeriness.

Hang back and let Ortega talk to the front desk, a few minutes of waiting and the woman, she mentioned, Sue? –Susan?– comes out frowning behind the too-thick fireproof doors. Straight brown hair, dressed in white, stud earrings.

It makes an interesting contrast between her and Ortega. Ortega’s sporting her Ranger-branded sports jacket today. Ranger-blue indigo shirt underneath. Her bronzed skin a touch darker in shade than her conversation partner. It’s a good look for her – the outfit that is.

You guess.

Not that you’re an expert on Ortega’s style choices or anything.

What do you care what she looks like?

You don’t.

Shut up.

Sue and Ortega make small talk, and Ortega keeps glancing your way. Expecting you to join in? You’d rather hang back. Not talking to any doctors today, thanks.

You worry the sleeves of your shirt, pulled down to the wrists. Rub the fabric between your fingers, trace patterns over your thigh, anything to do that isn’t further chewing up the inside of your cheek.

It’s been weeks now and neither one of you have discussed the kiss in the Hospital. Maybe Ortega doesn’t even remember. Some drug-fueled fever dream.

Or…

Or maybe she hated it? Is politely letting you pretend it never happened. She’s with Jane, you have to remember. Ortega is a lot of things, but she’s not a cheater.

And now Ortega’s beckoning you over. Welp.

Take a breath, in – hold – out. You’re not scared. What are you scared of? You are Ghost, the mysterious plight of Los Diablos. They ought to be scared of you. Ortega taps the side of her head. No shades? You make a face and she gives you a serious look. You huff and pull them off, fold up and tuck them in your purse. White walls. White lights. Can feel your heart jump. Fuck. Ortega smiles at you, you fake a smile back.

You’ve got this. Everything’s under control.

Here we go.

Sue hands the two of you off to a nurse who in turn acts as your guide. You trail behind, not paying much attention to his and Ortega’s conversation. What you bother to pick up confirms that Ortega’s made a habit of these low-key visits apparently, to different hospitals across the city. Ever since returning to the Rangers.

Did Ortega used to drag you along to official Ranger PR events? You can almost remember. The memory of remembering. Try to think too hard about hospitals though, and you get panicky. Short breath. Little dizzy. A hospital is the last place you want to pass out at, thanks but go fuck yourself.

–––

A pair of tiny arms clings to your leg and a jolt of panic shoots through you. “Uh… H–h–hello?”

A girl with cropped brown hair stares back up at you. “HI LADY! I like your hair!!”

You glance at Ortega, she’s got her back to you, teaching a boy how to do some fancy handshake. You catch the eye of the nurse, hanging back by the doorway. He gives a small smile. No help there. Look back down at the kid, “T–th–thanks? Um– Don’t you want to talk to Charge over there?”

She remains undeterred. “What’s your name?”

“Ari?”  You glance towards Ortega again. Help. She remains utterly unaware of your plight.

“Are you a boy or a girl?”

You choke. “W–w–what? I’m uh– I’m a girl.” Fuck. What did she pick up on? You usually pass just fine these days. Could just die right now, that would be great, thanks.

“Oh. Okay!” There is absolutely no hint of embarrassment in this girl’s mind. “Are you Ms. Charge’s girlfriend?”

You hunch down and very gently try to pry her arms off your leg. “What um, what gives you that idea?”

She tilts her head, staring you down with full intensity. “‘cause you keep looking at Ms. Charge AND everyone knows the hero’s girlfriend ALWAYS has red hair!!”

You smile to hide the panic. “W–what uh, what makes you say that?”

She gives you a doubtful look, can’t believe an adult doesn’t know this. “‘cause it’s in all the movies!! Duh!!”

“Ari!’ Oh thank god. You breathe a sigh of relief as Ortega walks over, the other kids curiously watching behind her. “Making friends?”

“Hi Ms. Charge!!” The little girl fixes her full attention to Ortega.

“Hello!” She smiles widely, “Introduce me to your friend, Ari?”

��Uh–”

“My name is Casey!” The little terror cuts in. “SHE never asked!” Casey huffs. “Your girlfriend is RUDE Ms. Charge.”

“Girlfriend?” Ortega raises her eyebrows at you.

You shake your head wildly, suddenly way too warm. “S–s–she came up with that one herself!”

An hour and a half later of helping Ortega handle the meet and greet and you’re free again.

You slip your shades back on as the two of you exit the hospital. Run a hand through your purse to find the chocolate bar, peel off the wrapper at one end with shaking hands. “That was… that was something.”

Ortega claps you on the back and you stumble forward a step. “See? I told you you’d be fine.”

“Y–yeah, well…” You frown, “If you d–don’t hear from me in a week, you only have yourself to blame.” You break off a piece of chocolate, “Want any?”

“I’m good.”  Ortega smiles, you shrug and pop the candy into your mouth “So…” Her smile fades as she glances towards you, “what did you think?” The two of you leave the parking lot, walk the sidewalk, you follow her lead through the streets.

“What d–did I think?”

“Want to come with me the next time I go?”

You give her a wry smile, “Y–You’re not gonna just, uh, just spring it on me again?”

She smirks back at you, “Me? Spring something on you? Never.”

“F–f–fucking smug-ass liar.” You punch her in the shoulder, and Ortega overplays it, comically swinging to the side. “W–why do I keep letting you do this to me?” You keep asking yourself that, and the answer hasn’t gotten any less terrifying.

“Do you remember the last time we did one of those visits?” Ortega glances at you as the two of you hurry across the street.

“When was that?”

“It must have been… well, right before–” She grimaces.

“Oh.” You chew your cheek, trying to think back. Can feel your stomach lurch as the world tilts under you. You have to stop and steady yourself. Cover it up by shaking your head. “I… kind of do? I–I–I haven’t thought about this in years, sorry.” You furrow your eyebrows, “I…”

“You were–” Ortega stops herself, “Oh, sorry, go ahead.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, finish your thought, it’s fine.”

Damn.

“I… think this might be… um, the first positive experience I’ve had with a hospital in… in years.” You grimace, keenly aware of the line you’re skirting. “Between uh… you in the hospital and…”

“And…?” Ortega slows down to match your pace.

Shake your head, “No, it’s – it’s nothing. Sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.” You try to smile even though it feels fake. “What were you going to say?”

“Oh, well–” Ortega rubs the back of her neck, “I was just going to say; I had to step outside to handle a phone call. And–” She laughs, “You were on the verge of panicking, all ‘Charge! Don’t leave me alone with these kids!”

You come to a stop, and groan, run a hand over your face. “Oh my god.”

“You remember now.”

You bite your lip, nod your head. “Uh-huh.”

“How did you get into teaching them about taxonomy? You never told me.”

You can feel the heat on your face now. “Okay. Look. It–it–it made sense at the time okay!? I thought it’d be easiest to keep them from going crazy if I r–r–read them a story?”

“Okay?” Ortega stops walking, leans her shoulder against a boutique storefront’s window, watching you with a smile. You cross your arms under your shawl to try and keep your hands from shaking.

“Okay. So. I just – just grabbed the first children’s book I saw. It–It–it was this animal book? I think? But it was all cutesy and inaccurate.” You bite your lip. “And when I pointed out a mistake, they all laughed so… I just… kept… doing… that…?”

She laughs at you.

You cover your face in your hands, heat going straight to your ears. “D–don’t laugh!”

Ortega covers her mouth, “Okay, okay. Sorry, you’re just so–”

You drop your hands to your sides, “I’m just so what?” You narrow your eyes at her.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “We’ll have to get you a book to read, the next time we go.”

Oh god.

“You’re going to – to kill me Ortega…”

Her smile falters, “I hope not.”

The two of you walk the next block in silence. Is it as awkward for her as it is for you?

Finally Ortega stretches her arms over her head and says, “I don’t do these hospital visits often enough these days.”

Watch her face from the corner of your eye, trying to get a read on her. “How come?”

Ortega sags, shoulders slumped forward. “Too easy to get caught up in work. Especially lately.”

Ah.

You have to keep your face blank, don’t let your heart race. “S–still obsessed with trying to figure out Ghost?”

She gives you a grim smile. “You know it.”

[coffeeandcas]

To continue this? Or? It's gonna be super angsty, like Dean-Winchester-has-an-awful-past angsty. WDYT? Destiel AU, obviously.

“Six dollars? For coffee? Is that a joke?”

The girl, pigtailed and snub-nosed, stares at Dean in utter indignation as he holds out her decaf, sugar-free, no-foam monstrosity. It’s got so much fake caramel syrup in it that it barely even qualifies as coffee at this point and it definitely isn't worth six dollars but hey, he doesn't make the rules. Bored, Dean wiggles the paper cup at her.

“Yuh. Don't like it? There's a Starbucks across the road, go get diabetes there, instead.”

Affronted, the girl huffs and puffs at him while she digs in her purse and Dean dumps the coins in the cash register with an extremely fake, ‘Have a great day!’ before leaning back against the sink and rubbing the back of his neck. Outside the sun is shining but it's chilly and autumnal and red-brown leaves skitter and swirl along the sidewalk, carried by a gentle breeze and stopped in their journey by people’s boots and sneakers. It's warm in the coffee shop and he tugs restlessly at the deep V of his black t-shirt, leaving a smear of wet coffee grains on his collarbone. It's a rare moment when the shop is quiet, and he takes in their few customers listlessly. Two girls sit huddled together on their iPhones, giggling at something, wrapped up in scarves and mittens despite the indoor warmth. An Asian kid, Kevin he thinks his name is, is dozing off in front of his laptop and a pile of textbooks in the corner. A couple sit in silence, both staring out of the window with empty cups in front of them, tension pulling into faint lines at their mouths. And a cute guy with short, military-cut hair and pouty lips talks on his phone loudly, laughing as he talks about some woman named Anna. Dean rolls his eyes. One of his many, many pet peeves is hearing someone yack loudly on their cell phones in public. He turns away, washing his hands under too-hot water and wiping down the bar. He had averted his eyes from the father and son sitting near the door, the kid colouring in a picture energetically and the father ruffling his hair with a fond smile. The boy only looked about eight years old. He swallows bitterly and grits his teeth, muttering to himself. Only two hours left of his shift then Ruby will be here to take over from him and he can head home to catch up on Dr Sexy and maybe hit the gym.

The bell at the door signals someone’s arrival and Dean plasters on his usual fake smile, feeling it melt into a small, more natural one as he sees his customers. He even manages to ignore the flurry of leaves that have blown in with them. These two are regulars, coming in together most days, sometimes twice a day if it's cold and blustery like today. They're both blue-eyed and painfully handsome, and today wearing matching blue scarves; one of them is in a slightly ill-fitting tan trench and the other in a long wool thigh-skimming coat with a black beanie covering a shock of dark hair. They're twins, and the most identical twins Dean has ever seen. They're talking intensely about something as they approach the bar, one of them shaking his head and laughing, and their faces split into identical smiles as they see their barista.

“Dean! Hi!”

“Hello, Dean.”

And Dean’s lips incline just a tiny bit, the closest to a genuine smile he ever manages when it comes to customers. Or to most people, really. He doesn't exactly like these two; they just annoy him less than most people. They're… he has no other word for it. They're both sexy. Nice to look at. Some might say intimidating. They seem to walk with the kind of purpose that evades most people, like they're constantly on some sort of heaven-sent mission, and he's forever watching other customers follow them with their eyes whenever they leave with their coffee cups clutched in their hands.

“Hi.” He wipes his hands and tosses the towel. “The usual?”

“For me, yes. Please.” Tan trench-coat smiles at him, pulling a black leather wallet from his pocket. Black beanie is tapping his teeth wth a manicured fingernail and looking up at the board behind Dean’s head.

“You've got plenty of new drinks. Pumpkin spice season is always my favourite. Is there anything you recommend?”

“No. Are these to go?”

“I'm so glad I asked, thank you for your expertise.” Black beanie grins at him, displaying a row of flashing white teeth, and trench-coat elbows him.

“Jimmy, be nice. And choose your own drink. Yes please, Dean, both to go.”

He knows they're called Cas and Jimmy, and he knows they own Novak & Novak, an art gallery a block away, but he can never work out which twin is which. Normally he has to wait for one to say the other’s name, because firstly it feels rude to ask but secondly, he doesn't really care. They're Cas and Jimmy. Why should it matter to him which one is which?

“Fine, I'll have… a vanilla brûlée latte with foam and extra whip please, Dean-o. And a slice of carrot cake, or whatever that is.”

Jimmy smiles at him again and Dean’s teeth ache from the amount of sugar in the drink the man is requesting. Around Jimmy’s neck is slung a camera, a white and tan Olympus with matching strap, which he has to push aside to find his wallet in his pocket. Cas elbows him before he can pull it out.

“My treat. Your turn tomorrow. And what about you, Dean?” Cas’ smile is more reserved, almost shy, but his blue eyes twinkle as he turns back to the bar. Nonplussed, Dean just stares at him.

“What about me?”

“Can I buy you something? You look like you've had a long day.”

“Oh, gee, thanks pal.” Dean rings up their order, irritably. He hates being told he looks like shit. “Way to make a guy feel good about himself. And no. I don't want a coffee. I get them for free anyway.”

“Oh. Right. I…” Cas has gone pink all the way to the tips of his ears. Jimmy is staring at the floor, a lock of dark hair curling onto his forehead, and he looks like he's got his lips clamped tightly together to suppress a laugh. Or a giggle. Jimmy Novak looks like the type to giggle. “I apologise, Dean. I didn't mean to offend you-”

“Whatever.” He hands Cas his change and turns away. “Your drinks will be ready soon, gimme five.”

“Alright.” One of the twins responds, then Dean is sure he can hear whispering over his shoulder. Or hissing, more like. One twin berating the other about something. Their voices sound so alike he can't tell who's speaking, and he doesn't really give a shit anyway. He's used to being talked about. People have been talking behind his back ever since his thirteenth birthday, he's grown a thick enough skin that it doesn't bother him any more. He doesn't care what they're saying.

He slides Cas’ extra-shot latte across the bar to him, frowning when the other man offers a shy smile. Cas is possibly, maybe, potentially the more attractive of the two, at least in Dean’s eyes. He's got to know the twins a little since they moved to Vancouver last year, after Jimmy almost fell into the coffee shop with an exaggerated gasp about his need for caffeine, and in that time he's noticed a few subtle nuances about the men that make them different. They're so subtle, however, that most of the time he still can't tell them apart at a first glance. Jimmy is the more talkative of the two, and seems the more energetic. Cas is shyer and more studious, and has a few more fine lines at the corners of his eyes than his brother, lines which Dean notices now as he looks at him and immediately feels irritated with himself. Why has he even noticed? Stupid of him. Cas must be at least a decade older than him. Eight years, maybe.

He finishes Jimmy’s drink and hands it over, turning away abruptly before either of them can attempt a conversation with him. He isn't interested. He's tired, crankier than usual, and just wants to be left alone. Honestly, he feels like Shrek half the time, wanting to be left in peace in his own solitary life. But, annoyingly, people do keep insisting on talking to him.

“Well, bye Dean-o.” The nickname grates on him. Jimmy sips his drink thoughtfully then nods, apparently satisfied. “See you tomorrow, I'm sure!”

“I'm already looking forward to it!” Dean matches Jimmy’s cheerful tone with unconcealed sarcasm and both twins bark out identical laughs. Jimmy gives him a two-fingered wave and saunters off, fussing with his camera, while Cas lingers.

“Did you forget something?” Dean asks, blunt as ever, and Cas turns his blue eyes on him, eyes as clear as the ocean and for a split-second Dean is captivated. Then he coughs and looks away awkwardly.

“No. I just wondered… I just thought…”

Cas is tracing a swirl in the rustic oak bar top with a finger and Dean follows its path. Cas has nice hands, objectively. If he were interested in peoples hands, or in Cas, he would say they were nice. Strong. Artistic, if the dents in his knuckles are anything to go by. They look like they would be nice to hold, his fingertips smooth and his palms soft, nails short and well-kept but not groomed like Jimmy’s. Dean would think those things if, you know, he was interested in Cas at all. Which he isn't.

“If maybe you, uh,” Cas falters and stops and Dean has to resist drumming his fingers on the bar. The bell at the door rings again and a small gaggle of teenage girls come in, jostling each other out of their way as they approach, all clutching their phones and with a little too much make-up on for Dean’s tastes. Cas, oddly, goes beet red and seems to think better of whatever he was about to say.

“See you, Dean.”

“Uh, OK, bye…” He scowls, watching Cas walk away to join his brother by the door then they both leave in another flurry of leaves. The hell was that about? “Weirdo,” He mutters under his death then turns to the teenagers with his fake-happy smile plastered on his face.

“What can I get for you guys?”

[toast-connoisseur]

All the "weird asks"

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans? -I’m actually obsessed with coffee mugs and tea cups even though I don’t drink coffee nor tea.

2. chocolate bars or lollipops? -Chocolate bars

3. bubblegum or cotton candy? -Cotton Candy!

4. how did your elementary school teachers describe you? -It’s funny because I actually found some of my old report cards recently... they range from “a pleasure to have in class!” to “danger of failing the course” even though my grade for both of those would be an “A” ?

5. do you prefer to drink soda from soda cans, soda bottles, plastic cups or glass cups? -The soda from a bottle from Mexico hits completely different.

6. pastel, boho, tomboy, preppy, goth, grunge, formal or sportswear? -Personally, I don’t dress like any of those but I am attracted to tomboys.

7. earbuds or headphones? -Depends. Mostly, earbuds.

8. movies or tv shows? -Movies.

9. favorite smell in the summer? -All the seasonal smells from the stores!

10. game you were best at in p.e.? -Softball or tennis.

11. what you have for breakfast on an average day? -One slice of toast and one egg.

12. name of your favorite playlist? -I made my friend a playlist called “Emo Turn Up” and I like that one a lot.

13. lanyard or key ring? -Key ring, but I have a lanyard because I tend to leave my purse in the car and that way I can just carry my keys around my neck. Also, my lanyard is Nightmare Before Christmas themed, so she’s beautiful.

14. favorite non-chocolate candy? -Lollipops, actually lol

15. favorite book you read as a school assignment? -Rosemary’s Baby. Although, I kind of got to pick the book for my assignment.

16. most comfortable position to sit in? -One leg is usually elevated while the other has my foot flat on the ground.

17. most frequently worn pair of shoes? -My Chuck Taylor’s!

18. ideal weather? -I have two technically. I love blue skies with a slight breeze but I also love windy rainy weather.

19. sleeping position? -On my side, on leg curled up and the other straight (kind of like how I sit) while I hold a pillow to my chest.

20. preferred place to write (i.e., in a note book, on your laptop, sketchpad, post-it notes, etc.)? -Notebook and post its!

21. obsession from childhood? -Stickers!! Although I never actually stuck them anywhere except on other papers or just left them on their page. I collected them so I didn’t like them getting ugly.

22. role model? -Dita Von Teese!

23. strange habits? -I guess if it’s habit, I probably wouldn’t consider it strange. I do write everything down. Like, everything. I have a list of every movie I’ve ever watched (I had to stop updating it because it was giving me anxiety due to how many movies I watch), I make post it notes that I eventually compile into notebook pages. Any information I never want to lose gets written down somewhere.

24. favorite crystal? Aventurine

25. first song you remember hearing? -It would’ve been something in Spanish. Most likely one of the many songs my mom used to sing to me.

26. favorite activity to do in warm weather? -Although I rarely get to do it: sitting in the sun/going to the beach or a pool. If it’s warm with a breeze I can lay outside for quite some time.

27. favorite activity to do in cold weather? -Watch movies on the couch with a blanket over me.

28. five songs to describe you? -Brown Eyed Girl (the original is nice but I love the Reel Big Fish version), Because I’m Awesome (The Dollyrots), Hot Mess (Cobra Starship), I’m Just a Kid (even though I’m almost 25. Simple Plan), Independent (Webbie)

29. best way to bond with you? -Be open and honest. I love talking about books, movies, and music but talk to me about conspiracy theories and ghost stories and you’ll have my heart. I love when people have stories revolving around their culture. I’m Mexican and we have lots of myths and stories to swap so it’s awesome.

30. places that you find sacred? -A person’s bedroom can be sacred. Call me silly but Disneyland is kind of sacred to me. It hold so many wonderful memories. I only like to share certain spots with certain people sometimes.

31. what outfit do you wear to kick ass and take names? -Probably whatever outfit I have on at the moment. I don’t really plan to kick anyone’s ass let alone want to plan a whole outfit for it. I assume leggings and a t shirt will do?

32. top five favorite vines? -omg I miss vine! I was actually going through vines on YouTube recently... The “Miss Keisha” vine always kills me, any vine with Sarah Baska, anything that Zane and Heath ever made, Jay Versace has really funny vines too, and I still quote the “welcome to Chilis” vine constantly. Picking 5 is way too hard.

33. most used phrase in your phone? -“it be like that sometimes” or “yaaaaaaas”

34. advertisements you have stuck in your head? -The Red Robin commercial and the O’Riley Auto Parts one play in my head on loop at the worst times.

35. average time you fall asleep? -I lay down around 9ish but don’t actually fall asleep until 10PM

36. what is the first meme you remember ever seeing? -That’s way too hard to remember. Probably something I would consider really stupid now.

37. suitcase or duffel bag? -Depends on how long I’ll be away/how many clothes I’ll need. Usually, a suitcase.

38. lemonade or tea? -Lemonade.

39. lemon cake or lemon meringue pie? -omg why would you make me pick?! Lemon meringue pie though...

40. weirdest thing to ever happen at your school? -I went to a public high school in LA. We mostly had riots and fights and I stayed away from all of that.

41. last person you texted? -Jayla. I need her to wake up so I can tell her about my dream about Beyoncé.

42. jacket pockets or pants pockets? -Por que no los dos?! I like buying men’s jean jackets because they have pockets inside though...

43. hoodie, leather jacket, cardigan, jean jacket or bomber jacket? -Depends. I tend to get cold easily so I usually start with a cardigan but I love jean jackets.

44. favorite scent for soap? -just plain ol clean??

45. which genre: sci-fi, fantasy or superhero? -Fantasy

46. most comfortable outfit to sleep in? -Depends on the weather but usually just shorts and a t shirt.

47. favorite type of cheese? -Mozzarella

48. if you were a fruit, what kind would you be? -Grapes. Sweet and sometimes a little sour lol

49. what saying or quote do you live by? -“Let your imaginarlo run free”. I actually have it tattooed on my right bicep.

50. what made you laugh the hardest you ever have? -My friends always get me to laugh really hard. I think the hardest I’ve ever laughed was when my friend tried to say something and she completely botched the sentence so it was pure gibberish and yet I understood her? We just looked at each other and burst into laughter.

51. current stresses? -Work, school, life... the usual??

52. favorite font? -Arial

53. what is the current state of your hands? -I am typing my answers to these questions on my phone...

54. what did you learn from your first job? -I only have infinite patience for kids, not adults.

55. favorite fairy tale? -Used to be Cinderella, but I was never really one for fairy tales tbh

56. favorite tradition? -I don’t actually have any. Never really had anyone to have traditions with.

57. the three biggest struggles you’ve overcome? -2018 was an entire struggle, car crashes because idiot drivers crashed into mine and totaled mine (TWICE), my entire life as a whole has been a struggle tbh. Every day is one that I try my hardest to overcome.

58. four talents you’re proud of having? -I don’t really consider myself as someone with any talent, let alone four, but... A mathematician once taught me how to divide any number by five in my head, I’m pretty good at mimicking certain accents, idk of this counts as a talent but I can drink quite a bit before I actually feel anything, I can recite certain movies down to what song will play during certain scenes, and I would consider myself the ultimate Disneyland tour guide. That’s five but it’s all I can think of so if one doesn’t sound like one, we have an extra.

59. if you were a video game character, what would your catchphrase be? -“Oh shit, here we go again...”

60. if you were a character in an anime, what kind of anime would you want it to be? -I know nothing about anime so I wouldn’t even know. I would want to make a joke about being in the ones that are essentially pornos but I’m probably wrong with that too.

61. favorite line you heard from a book/movie/tv show/etc.? -“The greatest thing you will ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.” Idk if the line comes from elsewhere but I first heard it in the movie Moulin Rouge and it has stuck with me since.

62. seven characters you relate to? -Oh geez, I don’t really relate to any tbh but seven characters I like: Princess Tiana, Shane from The L Word, Theo from the Netflix version of A Haunting of Hill House, Satine from Moulin Rouge, Wall-E, Cassandra from Saved!, and The Grinch (as wonderfully played by Jim Carrey)

63. five songs that would play in your club? -Act Up (City Girls), Motivation (Normani), LGBT (Cupcakke), Alcohol (Millionaires, lol), My Type (Saweetie)

64. favorite website from your childhood? -Neopets!

65. any permanent scars? -I have one from when I stuck my hand in a garbage can because I was looking for something and wound up cutting myself on all the glass that had been thrown in. The scar is super tiny and on my pinkie lol

66. favorite flower(s)? -Roses and carnations

67. good luck charms? -I don’t have any anymore.

68. worst flavor of any food or drink you’ve ever tried? -I tried sea urchin once and I swear I can still taste it.

69. a fun fact that you don’t know how you learned? -All leaves have symmetry (unless tampered with)

70. left or right handed? -I’m right handed but I use my left hand as dominant for a lot of stuff? It’s weird.

71. least favorite pattern? One that isn’t symmetrical.

72. worst subject? -I was once good at math and now I’m horrible.

73. favorite weird flavor combo? -Some think syrup on bacon is gross but I love when the syrup from my pancakes falls on it!

74. at what pain level out of ten (1 through 10) do you have to be at before you take an advil or ibuprofen? -10

75. when did you lose your first tooth? -I have no idea. I lost all my baby teeth early on. I’ll go with 5 or 6...

76. what’s your favorite potato food (i.e. tater tots, baked potatoes, fries, chips, etc.)? -Can’t go wrong with French Fries!

77. best plant to grow on a windowsill? -I recently revived the orchid my boss has on his windowsill and I’m quite proud of that.

78. coffee from a gas station or sushi from a grocery store? -I don’t drink coffee but I love sushi...

79. which looks better, your school id photo or your driver’s license photo? -Now, my driver’s license photo. I retook it recently lol

80. earth tones or jewel tones? -Jewel (with a mix of earth?)

81. fireflies or lightning bugs? -There’s a difference? Fireflies, I guess?

82. pc or console? -Console, though I love PC games.

83. writing or drawing? -I’m shit at drawing but I love to doodle. Writing is my favorite though.

84. podcasts or talk radio? -Podcasts

84. barbie or polly pocket? -My childhood nickname is Barbie (my middle name is Barbara) so I only played with Barbies even though I only dressed them because I liked their clothes and then then threw them to the side to play other games.

85. fairy tales or mythology? -Mythology

86. cookies or cupcakes? -Cookies

87. your greatest fear? -Being buried alive.

88. your greatest wish? -To be truly happy.

89. who would you put before everyone else? -My family/close friends.

90. luckiest mistake? -My entire life? I guess it would be taking a job in a field I knew nothing about which led me to learn about said field. I’m now somewhat successful in that field.

91. boxes or bags? -Depends on what I’m carrying but I love boxes. Bags are much easier though... I guess I’ll go with bags.

92. lamps, overhead lights, sunlight or fairy lights? -Sunlight/sunset.

93. nicknames? -Barbie, a friend in high school used to call me West Side Story because my first name is Maria, Barbz...

94. favorite season? -Fall

95. favorite app on your phone? -I like IG

96. desktop background? -Wildflowers

97. how many phone numbers do you have memorized? -5? My friends have changed their numbers before so I remember their old numbers only lol

98. favorite historical era? -I love the fashion of the fashion and cars of the 1940s but I would never want to go back. We’re barely making any progress towards equality as is so going back would not be an option for me.

Thanks for the questions, Anon!💞

[impala-dreamer]

Stitches and Whiskey

SPN FanFic

~Y/N patches Dean up after a rough hunt~

Dean x Reader, Sam

1,164 Words

Warnings: Extreme Sass and Banter between Dean x Reader. Also Fluff. And some wandering hands.

A/N: This sprang from my question of, “Why don’t they just go to CVS and get a real first aid kit?” Thanks to @idreamofhazel and @inmysparetime0 for their help and @jpadjackles for the gif (i’m a mess tonight. lol)

Dean crashed through the motel room door, Sam in his wake, and Y/N close behind. They were drenched in sweat, covered in dirt, and dripping with blood. The hunt had gone just about as expected, perhaps with a few more baseball bats to the face than Dean would have liked, but it wasn’t anything the trio couldn’t handle.

Sam’s nose was bleeding, his lip and eye cut; dried blood stained his flannel and he ripped it off, retreating quickly into the bathroom. Dean collapsed onto his bed and slowly peeled off his shirt. A deep gash marred his upper arm, the flesh torn and oozing. Y/N gasped when she saw it, and ran to her duffel bag.

“You’re gonna need stitches,” she said as she dug through her clothes to pull out the first aid kit from the bottom of the bag.

Dean rolled his eyes, “Ya think?” He touched the cut and pulled back, wincing in pain.

“Well don’t touch it, dummy!” Y/N shook her head and set the white box down on the bed. She sat next to him and gently touched his arm, her fingers dancing around the wound, assessing the damage. “Yup, that’s a doozy!”

“Who even says ‘doozy’?” Dean scoffed, “How old are you?”

“Younger than you, Grandpa. Now, shut up and hold still.”

Dean huffed and let his head fall back, waiting impatiently for Y/N to stitch him up. She opened the kit and carefully laid out what she would need. Dean peeked down at her, “What is that?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow as she ripped open out a pack of gauze, shaking her head, “A first aid kit. For to administer first aid. Works much better than floss and whiskey.”

“Nothing wrong with floss and whiskey, Y/N.”

“Yeah, well, I happen to know about these magical places called drug stores, and in them you can purchase medical supplies so you don’t die of sepsis after being cut with rusty, jagged pipes,” she sassed and opened the brown bottle of peroxide, holding it to the gauze pad in her hand. “By the way, when was your last tetanus shot?”

“What’s a tetanus shot?” Y/N rolled her eyes and pressed the wet gauze to his skin. He yelped like a child and pulled away. “Holy shit!”

“Relax! It’s killing the germs!” Y/N scolded.

“Why is it bubbling?”

“It’s peroxide. It does that. Now, hold still!”

Dean shook his head, his teeth clenched, his lips twisted in a deep frown. “God damn it Y/N! You’re a crappy nurse, you know that?”

“Hey! I’m the best damn nurse you’ve ever had!” Y/N dabbed at the cut and then turned her attention back to the medical equipment. She carefully chose her needle and thread, and took a deep breath, looking up at Dean. “This is gonna suck,” she cautioned.

Dean sighed, “This is why we use whiskey. I can’t drink that peroxide shit.”

Y/N took pity on him and went to the table by the door, bringing back his bottle of Jack. He twisted the cap off with his teeth and took a deep drink. “You want some?” He asked, holding the bottle towards her.

“That might help actually, it’s been awhile since I’ve done this.” Dean’s entire body tensed with fear as she spoke, but she laughed it away, “Just kidding.” She winked and took a quick sip. “OK, hold still…”

“Wait!” Dean scooted back and grabbed the bottle once more. “Maybe we should wait for Sam.”

“Dean, I know what I’m doing. Hold still.”

“Well just… I like the way he does it.”

Y/N let out a frustrated breath, “Are you kidding me? Hold still or I’ll tie you down!”

A sly smirk formed on Dean’s lips, “Promise?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Y/N shook her head and set to work.

Eleven perfect stitches later, Y/N sat back and smiled proudly. “Looks perfect.”

Dean twisted his neck to look down at her work. He gave a tiny nod of approval. “Not bad,” he praised halfheartedly.

“Not bad?” Y/N feigned shock, “It’s beautiful. I haven’t seen stitch work like this since I had my appendix out in the ninth grade.”

Dean laughed and watched as Y/N went back to the kit once more. She tore open a tiny square package and pulled out an alcohol soaked towelette as Dean looked on, worried.

“What is that?” he asked, his brows knitted in concern once again.

“An alcohol swab.”

“Whoa, I don’t need to be swabbed. What are you swabbing?”

Y/N growled in annoyance. “You are such an infant, Dean! It’s alcohol. I’m gonna wipe your stitches and make sure no nasty little germs sneak in there before I bandage you up. Good Lord, it’s like you’ve never been to a doctor or anything.”

“Hey, just because we have our own way of doing things, don’t make it bad.” Dean hissed as Y/N passed the cold wipe across his freshly sealed cut.

“Yeah and the proper way isn’t bad either, is it?” Y/N asked, titling her head up at him.

“I guess not,” he conceded, his mouth twitching as she wiped him again. “Your way hurts more though.”

Y/N softened, “Does it really?” She tossed the swab onto the floor. “I’m sorry baby.” Slowly she leaned down close to his arm. “I just want to take care of you.” She pursed her lips and blew across the cut, soothing his pain with her warm breath. “Is that better?”

“Mmm… I take it back,” he smirked, “You are a pretty good nurse. And sexy too.” Dean winked and touched her cheek with his free hand.

“You think so? Well maybe I can give you a proper check up.” She teased and placed her hand on his knee, slowly dragging it up to settle against the bulge in his jeans.

“I’d like that,” he moaned as she rubbed her palm down over his crotch. “Do you make house calls?”

“Only for my favorite patients.” Y/N leaned in even closer, pressing her breasts against his chest. Just as their lips were about to meet in that sweet, exhaustion fueled kiss they so craved, the bathroom door popped open, and a fresh-faced Sam emerged.

“Oops,” Y/N laughed, “I guess we’ll have to reschedule your appointment.” She pecked Dean’s cheek and pulled away with a pout.

“Damn it Sammy! Alone time!” Dean shook his head and pulled his shirt back on, glaring at his brother. “You ever hear of knocking?”

Sam returned Dean’s glare with one of his own, raising his shoulders in question, “What the hell, Dean? I was in the bathroom.”

Dean sighed and watched as Y/N cleared away the trash from the bed, knowing his time at the doctor’s office would have to wait until they were back at home. Grumbling, he pulled his shirt back on and sneered at his brother, “Still shoulda knocked.”

Forevers: @1-800-misha @27bmm @amanda-teaches @applepie-and-angelwings @arryn-nyxx @atc74 @autopistaaningunaparte @ayeeitsemry @bea789 @because-imma-lady-assface @babypieandwhiskey @blanketmadeofstar @brewsthespirit-blog @britt-spn @buckysmetallicstump @bulletscrossbowpie @charliebradbury1104 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @chelsea072498 @chumi-la-chula @cici0507 @clairese1980 @collectivekiera @cosmicpeanuthologram @createdbybadappreciation @cyrilconnelly @dannnyphantomm @dancingalone21 @deadinside-muser @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @demonangelimpala @docharleythegeekqueen @dustycelt @evansrogerskitten @evyiione @faithfulpanicmoon @fangirl1802 @feelmyroarrrr @flowermisha @freaksforthewin @frenchybell @fuckyeahfeysand @gemini75eeyore @ghostkitty1103 @hamartiamacguffin @impalaimagining @im-super-potter-locked @inmysparetime0 @jealousbitxh @jpadjackles @joanne-thefangirl @jotink78 @kristaparadowski @kas-not-cas @katrodriguez99 @lavendellove @likesiriusly @love-kittykat21 @luciisthebest @maddieburcham1 @mamaredd123 @meganwinchester1999 @mogaruke @megansescape @mija-novella @milkymilky-cocopuff @mogaruke @mrsbatesmotel53 @mrswhozeewhatsis @my-life-is-here-soo @myfand0msandm0re @mysteriouslyme81 @naadestiel @notesfromalabprincess @notnaturalanahi @obi-wan-my-only-ho @overcastmisfitkid @pain-of-artifice @percussiongirl2017 @percywinchester27 @petrovadixon @pinknerdpanda @poukothenerd @riddikulus-obsessions @riversong-sam @sam-winchesters-long-locks @sandlee44 @sarahgrace-1989 @scxrchy @smoothdogsgirl @spectaculicious @spontaneousam @summer-binging-spn @superbasementflower @supernaturallymarvellous @supernaturalyobessed @tennesseewhiskey-and-pie @trexrambling @thecynicalnerd @the-latina-trickster @therewillbeblood @tom-is-in-my-tardis @typicalweirdbookworm @thegreatficmaster @vine-colored-assbutt @whatareyousearchingfordean @wi-deangirl77 @winchestersmut @wordstothewisereaders @wvnchxstxr @xxthevampirediariesexpertxx @yearoftheweasley @youtubehelpsmesurvive @yvngkinggchristyy

The Dean’s List:  @anokhi07 @assbutt-fan @bringmesomepie56 @deangirl-withanimpala @delessapeace-blog @ellexirmalfoy @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @leather-moccasin-hero @msdooos @mskitty416 @ruprecht0420 @soullessbabee  @tmccarney @torn-and-frayed @twoboys-and-afallenangel @vesperlady04

[neverending2012]

My Journey to You Chapter 22

CHAPTER 22

SUMMARY: Rachel has a birthday party and connects with Finn. LaTonya and Cooper face issues in their relationship.

RATING: Mature. Sexual situations. Mild cursing.

NOTES: I hope you enjoy this chapter!

LUCKY

Sam pushed the shopping cart down the baking and spices aisle in the Super Fresh supermarket; while Jake cried as he sat in the flip-up child seat in the front of the cart because Sam wouldn't let him pull the jars of honey off the shelf. Jake's face turned red and he let out a helter-skelter scream at the injustice of being denied the right to grab jars of honey; he slammed his little fists against the shopping cart handle, shaking his head, while his straight black hair stuck up every which way; his red denim overalls were stained with apple juice due to a mishap during the car ride to the market. Needless to say, it wasn't a great start to their day.

"Jacob Blue Hummel, that's enough," Sam said glaring down at his son, whose brown eyes were exactly like his mother's from their doe shape to that special sparkle in them when he laughed or smiled. He was Mercedes' son all the way, except for his creamy pale skin and straight hair, which Sam figured came from him.

"No!" Jake said, still crying, "Honey!"

Sam sighed. People were starting to look at them. He remembered when he was single and childless, and how he would judge the parents whose kids as Aunt Josephine would say, "act a fool" in the grocery store and throw tantrums. He was the ringleader of the eye-roll and dirty look whenever a child went into brat mode in the middle of a store. Now, as they say, karma is a bitch, because all those disapproving looks and silent judgments he doled out in his single days were now royally biting him in the ass.

A brunette who looked to be in her late 50s with a frumpy figure, and wore a rhinestone studded denim jacket, shook her head at them in disgust as she picked up few boxes of baking soda; and another man, in a baseball cap, with a mountain man beard that reached his stomach, sucked his teeth and said "Shit, that kid's loud," under his breath.

Sam wasn't going to let their remarks take his focus away from his son.

"Jake, do you want a time out?"

Then someone touched his shoulder. It was an old Latina woman, she had a wooden cane, and her dark eyes shined from behind her glasses that were connected to a silver chain around her neck.

She spoke in Spanish to Sam, who had no idea what she was saying; but the sound of her voice was soothing, and Jake stopped crying and stared at her. She then patted Jake on the head, making sweet little sounds with her tongue and smiling; she reached into her purse and handed him a small red rubber ball that you got out of those cheap toy vending machines, and put it in Jake's chubby little hands. Patting him on the head once more, she walked away, waving good-bye. Then Sam called out after her:

"Gracias!"

That was the only Spanish he knew. Whatever the woman said to Jake worked because he calmed down, clutching the box of cookies. Sam took a pack of tissues out of his jacket pocket and wiped Jake's tear stained face. Soon, his son was smiling at him. Whatever storm they were in had passed. He kissed the top of Jake's head.

"We need to finish shopping, so we can meet your Mom and Rosy at the check out line."

Jake opened his arms, gazing up at his father.

"You want a hug?" Sam asked him.

Jake nodded.

Sam picked up his son and hugged him close, then spun around in the middle of the aisle, laughing, and Jake laughed with him.

"Love you!" Jake shouted.

Sam kissed his fat little cheeks.

"Love you, too."

He put him back in the child-seat and began getting the items on his list with new vigor. Jake would point to things, but no longer demanded them. When they were finished getting everything, they went to the check out line where Mercedes was waiting with Rosy. She was talking to their daughter and laughing, her hair was braided in one long braid and she wore sneakers and blue sweats; and Rosy daughter was smiling up at her, clapping her hands, and all Sam could think was: "Damn, I'm lucky."

They were both so beautiful to him. He wheeled up his cart next to hers and grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him, he kissed her wonderfully plump lips that tasted like vanilla lip-gloss and a chai latte, and he could feel her standing on her tiptoes.

"Wow," she said, smiling at him, "What was that for?"

"I love you. I love our kids. I love our life. That's what that is for."

"I feel the same way," she said.

Rosy clapped her hands.

"Da!"

Sam picked her up and hugged and kissed her, smelling the coconut oil on her hair, and rubbing her soft cheek against his.

"Hey, Miss Pretty," he said.

After he put her back in the child seat, they began loading the groceries onto the conveyer belt. When they had checked out, they made their out to the parking lot, unloaded the groceries into the SUV and started their journey home.

During the drive home, Mercedes said to Sam:

"I hope tonight goes well."

"Me too," Sam said, as he changed lanes, "I hope Rachel enjoys it."

"She should. It was all her idea."

"Yeah."

Rachel had asked for a small birthday party even though her birthday wasn't for another six months; nobody questioned why because they knew why, instead they focused on the party. She didn't want any gifts, but everyone had to wear white. It was going to take place late that night because Rachel wanted to watch the Perseids meteor shower that was scheduled to begin at about 11:00 pm. And she made one other request: Nobody could cry. Sam wasn't sure if he could follow through with that, but he would give it his best shot, after all it was her party.

"How are you and Finn doing?" Mercedes asked him.

Sam took a deep breath while getting off the freeway to take the exit home.

"Much better. Finn's opening up to me again. We feel more like brothers."

"I'm glad."

"So am I. I missed him."

"I know, sweetie," she said, reaching for his hand and squeezing it.

Sam felt a warmth spread through him at her touch.

"Schätzchen?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for being so great about all of this. I mean we just had Rosy and Jake, getting our new house, and all and then this happens and you've been so kind and so amazing through everything. Thank you. I appreciate everything you've done."

"Sam, I love them too. I can't imagine how any of them are feeling. They're not just your family. They're our family and I'm glad we can help them."

Sam picked up her hand and kissed it.

"God blessed me twice over when he sent you to me."

Mercedes got teary-eyed and she squeezed his hand once again.

TODAY I LIVED

Everyone sat around the outdoor fire pit in the back yard, the light from the orange flames, flickering on their faces. Stars sparkled in the black velvet sky. The breeze was cool, carrying the fragrance of the wild evening primroses, their scent reminiscent of springtime with earthy, spicy undertones. Crickets and cicadas chirped, adding to the night sound landscape; their distinct song echoing through the yard. When they bought the house, Mercedes was surprised that Sam wanted to have a fire pit built, but now she was glad that they had.

It was round and made of cathedral gray granite stones, and it was surrounded by a circular stone floor, which they placed their patio chairs around. Rachel was lying on the outdoor recliner, her feet elevated, her toes were painted rose red. She wore a long, white sundress, made of delicate woven lace, her wig was sleek and shiny; teardrop diamond earrings dangled from her ears, twinkling in the firelight; and red lipstick coated her lips. And per Rachel's request, everyone wore white, Mercedes thought that the request was odd, and even joked that she must think that she was Sean Combs throwing his annual Labor Day party, but Rachel never gave her reason; only that she thought it was peaceful and serene. Mercedes admitted that it was calming: seeing the bold white in the glowing firelight.

Everyone was enjoying a piece of the three-layer strawberry birthday cake that Sam had baked; it was fluffy and light, and had sweet strawberry filling between each layer, and frosted with strawberry buttercream frosting. They balanced the plates on their laps as they ate, talking and joking with one another.

Finn was beside Rachel, assisting her when needed, as she ate tiny bites of cake, her face more alive than usual. The neuropsychologist had given her memory exercises that helped a lot with her chemo brain, and she took herbal supplements that Sean found for her online. Both tactics improved her memory.

Matt, Lucy, and Abby sat on the other side of Finn. Matt was in a white button down shirt and shorts; while Lucy and Abby wore matching white sundresses and white satin headbands on their hair. Hiram and Sean sat beside Sam and Mercedes, sipping on club soda and taking small bites of cake; their faces solemn, their white linen suits reminded Mercedes of lawn parties where people played croquet and ate watercress sandwiches.

Finally, after everyone was finished eating, Rachel tapped her fork against her wine glass to get everyone's attention. When the chatter quieted down she said:

"Thank you for giving me my party. I have something for all of you. I wrote each of you a letter. I want you to read them in private."

Finn got up from his chair and handed everyone a white sealed envelope with everyone's name written in metallic gold ink across each one. After the letters were handed out, she unfolded a piece of notebook paper and said:

"I want to tell you about how good today was for me, so I wrote every thing down." Then she began to read aloud:

"I'm happy tonight. I ate a wonderful French meal that took me back to my Paris years with Aba and Pop, when I wore plaid skirts and patent leather shoes and each morning I could hear the cathedral bells ring.

This afternoon Lucy painted my toenails red and told me about a dream she had, she flew over mountaintops and I was holding her hand; this made us happy.

Then Matt lay his head on my lap while we watched a documentary about rocket ships and he asked me if he would ever be tall, and I told him to worry about the size of his heart instead; and he smiled up at me and he looked like the baby boy that I once held in my arms.

During nap time, Finn sang me a song when he thought I was asleep; I heard every word and I keep the lyrics in my heart the way I do the first time we kissed and it was raining and my sneakers got muddy and the thunder clapped, and his hands tangled in my hair.

Later on, Abby brought me a bouquet of wild violets and we looked at the petals under her magnifying glass. I saw clear glass dewdrops and thin lines running together on the surface and it was a whole world I've never seen. Abby said that's how she sees people, you just have to be close enough. I agree.

And when I was getting ready for the party, Mercedes combed out my wig; and I was sitting there with my bald head, oxygen tubes in my nostrils and she told me I had beautiful eyes, and then we talked about our kids, our husbands, our lives, and it was wonderful.

Afterwards, I watched Sam bake my birthday cake, he told me a story about how he liked to pick strawberries as a little boy in Tennessee; how the sun felt beating down on them in the strawberry fields, how sweet the berries smelled as they dropped them into the basket; he sang as he worked and then he let me lick the spoon, and wished me a Happy Birthday. I felt joy in that moment.

Then later, Aba and Pop said a beautiful prayer for me; taking me in their arms, they thanked God for giving them such a wonderful daughter to love. It was in the den and the sun was setting and purple light filled the room, and I thanked God for my fathers.

This may not be the day that I was born. But it was certainly a day that I lived.

I love you all."

It was hard for Mercedes not to cry or anyone else for that matter. Never before had she heard such remarkable words of gratitude. Everyone gave Rachel a hug, pretending that tears weren't forming in their eyes, and she received their embraces, telling them again that she loved them.

Then the Perseids meteor shower began, and the meteors resembled tiny points of light that flashed across the sky, leaving bright white streaks of light behind them.

Rachel looked up. Her face breaking into a huge smile.

"Beautiful," she said, pointing to the sky.

Mercedes gazed at the sky too, and Sam put his arm around her.

"It's like a sci-fi movie," he said, "Only better."

"I want to catch one," she said.

He leaned down and kissed her, holding her close. His green eyes shined by the light of the fire, just like emeralds, and Mercedes thought of his kiss in the supermarket; and the tender hug he gave her when she stepped out of the shower that morning, saying he felt like holding her as he wrapped her in a towel. Those were the moments that Rachel talked about, so tiny, but so wonderful that you kept them forever.

Everyone stayed outside a long time. Rachel held Finn's hand as they peered up at the sky together.

"They're like jewels," she said to him.

Matt, Lucy, and Abby tried to capture the event on their phones. Hiram and Sean were nearby with Hiram standing behind Sean, his arms wrapped around his husband's slender waist; and they sort of swayed together, stealing kisses now and then.

After it was over, and the fire died out, everyone went into the house to go to bed. Mercedes and Sam checked on the twins and then crept into their bedroom. As they stood side by side at the double sink in the bathroom, brushing their teeth, Mercedes dropped her toothbrush into the sink, and began crying. Sam stopped brushing his teeth and held her. There was nothing to be said. It was a beautiful night, but it couldn't stop the pain and grief that filled her heart and tore her to pieces.

MY SKIN

Rachel stood still as Finn unzipped her dress, gently pulling it down her thin, fragile body, the white lace pooling at her feet. He kissed her shoulders as she stepped out of the circle and he picked up the dress, hanging it up in their closet. She sat down on the bench in front of the vanity table, her back to the mirror, and Finn removed her lipstick with a tissue, Rachel's breathing was somewhat labored and she sat perfectly still.

Next her wig came off and Finn carefully placed it on the Styrofoam head sitting on the vanity table. Then he removed the beige wig cap, leaving her bare baldhead exposed, with sparse remains of her once long dark hair. She sat there in her bra and panties, looking up at him, staring into his eyes.

"Thank you," she whispered.

He kneeled down before her, holding her face in his big hands.

"Remember what you said about our first kiss?"

"Yes."

He kissed her, pressing his lips against hers, treating her like crystal, careful, gentle, doing his best not to break her and Rachel accepted his kiss, her mind going back to all those years ago, before Matt and Lucy, and engagement rings, and disapproving parents, and betrayal and reconciliation, and cancer; she went back to the beginning, to that moment when she stood in the rain with Finn, and she pulled him closer.

Did he see her that way? Despite how she looked now? Was she still that girl to him? As if hearing her thoughts, he broke the kiss, and caressed her sunken cheeks.

"Your spirit is still there. That's what I see," he said.

"I know how I look."

"Baby, I don't care about that. When I'm holding you, I'm always with that girl, but honestly, you're better than her."

"How?"

"You've grown. And so have I."

They hugged and he kissed her neck.

"May I make love to you tonight?"

"Finn, I want to, but I'm scared."

"Dr. Rhoden said it was safe."

"I know. I don't know what it is. I just, it's been a while, ok? I haven't felt the urge for a long time, but I feel it tonight."

"Blame it on the meteors."

Rachel laughed, kissing his cheek.

"I love you, Finn."

"I love you too."

They kissed some more, and Finn cupped her small breasts covered by the white cotton bra, squeezing them gently. Rachel felt her arousal heighten.

"I'm willing to try," she whispered.

He picked her up and carried her to the bed, along with the oxygen tank too. Once he laid her on the bed, he undressed, and joined her. Finn had lost his pudgy stomach and thighs and was more lean and muscular.

"Turn off the lights," she said.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I want to see you. I love you. There's no reason for you to hide from me."

For the first time that night, Rachel let herself cry.

He held her as she cried, and she was glad that he didn't offer useless words of comfort, but stayed silent, and let the tears flow down her cheeks; she only wanted to release the agony inside her; and when she was done; she felt some relief and serenity in his arms, and she wanted to connect with him, and they began kissing and touching. He helped her take off her bra and panties, and when she was nude, he stroked every part of her body and she did the same with him. Her nipples grew hard like small pebbles, and when he touched her between her thighs, she gasped at the sensation.

"Was that too much?" he asked, pulling his hand away.

"No, it felt good."

"I'm turning on the ceiling fan."

"Why?"

"Remember, Dr. Rhoden said it was best not to get overheated."

"Thank you for remembering."

"You're welcome."

Once the fan was on, they began touching again. Finn grew hard as Rachel's delicate hands gripped his member, fondling it.

"I need you," he said.

He got behind her and they spooned.

"This is the safest position," he said.

Rachel looked over her shoulder and smiled at him.

"I feel like we're making a how-to guide for how to have sex with chronically ill spouses."

Finn chuckled and kissed the back of her baldhead.

"You're the sexiest cancer patient I know."

"Finnegan Hudson, you can't be serious."

"Hey, I'm only telling the truth. Nobody works an oxygen tank quite like you."

"Oh, God," she said and laughed out loud.

Finn put his arm around her tiny waist and held her tight against him.

"I haven't heard you laugh like that in a long time."

"I know."

"Baby, it was nice to hear."

"Thanks, it was nice to feel it."

They went slow, and when he entered her, Rachel forgot how much she loved the feeling of having Finn inside of her, filling her up; it was so sweet, he gyrated his hips with a cautious rhythm, and she enjoyed every pleasurable moment of it, his hands wandered to her breasts, squeezing them and she closed her eyes, touching her clitoris, and he kept pumping his hips, moving within her, giving her so much love and care that tears sprang from her eyes; she wasn't expecting fireworks, in fact that's not what she needed, what she needed was this intimacy with Finn, this vulnerability that let him see her cancer stricken body, and make love to her anyway, even though he had been her caretaker through her treatment, and had seen her naked plenty of times; this was different; this was seeing her illness and finding her beauty and spirit within; she bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out, but Finn said:

"I want to hear you."

"But what if – "

"Forget, what if."

She released a low-pitched cry as she came, her breathing was shallow, and she began to cough as she shook in his arms, feeling his come filling her up. Finn immediately stopped.

"Baby, are you ok? Look at me."

"I'm fine. Just winded. Could you get me some water?"

Finn hopped out of the bed and went into the bathroom, coming back moments later with a glass of water.

He rubbed her back as she drank the water.

"Take it slow, that's my girl," he said.

Her breathing returned to normal, but suddenly she was so tired that she could hardly move. Finn caressed her face.

"Are you sure you're ok?"

"Yes, that was great."

Finn kissed her, his eyes were worried.

"I think we should call Dr. Rhoden."

"Finn, I'm fine. Thank you so much for that. It was wonderful. I felt beautiful and alive."

He leaned down and kissed her.

"It was wonderful for me too. I'm checking your tank."

He checked her tank and replaced it, and he got her pink silk scarf that hung on the side of the vanity mirror and tied it on her head, since her head grew cold as she slept. Mercedes taught him how to tie the scarf so it wouldn't fall off. He also turned off the lights and ceiling fan and finally got back into bed. Rachel yawned, snuggling up to him. Finn covered them up with the blanket and they both fell asleep.

MORALS AND CONSEQUENCES

Cooper stood beside the man's bed. The gun pointed to his head. As he was about to pull the trigger, the man woke up and turned around.

"Oh my God!" he said.

He was young. Not much older than 30. His baby girl slept in a crib in the next room. His wife was downstairs in the kitchen drinking hot cocoa because she couldn't sleep, completely unaware that her husband was about to be killed. Cooper remained silent. His face covered with a mask.

"You can have anything. Don't hurt my wife and baby."

Cooper saw the fear in the man's eyes. He probably dreamed one day of becoming somebody important like a fireman or policeman; he went to college, fell in love, got married had a child, but did his future also include child sex trafficking? Were there pictures of missing children amidst his Crayola drawings of a bright future?

Because that's exactly what business this man was in and on an international level.

He was Cooper's hit. And Cooper always followed through.

"Please don't kill me."

Cooper stared at him, saw the tears in his eyes; in the darkness, those tears shined, a car drove past outside, it's headlights shining into the bedroom.

"Please…"

He heard his wife coming up the stairs, walking slowly, each step creaking under her weight. The Grandfather clock in the hall chimed off the hour. It was 2:00 in the morning.

"I can give you anything just let me –"

Cooper pulled the trigger. Once. Then twice.

The gun had a silencer. Nothing could be heard.

The man fell back on the bed, blood spilling from his forehead onto the pristine white pillow. Cooper slipped out the window. His wife came into the bedroom. He heard her scream.

One down. Ten more to go.

ooo

Cooper shot the grandmother in the chest. She headed the operation. No one would ever suspect that a plump, white haired Australian woman who was known for making wonderful Pavlova for church gatherings could ever do something so heinous and profit from it.

It was in Sydney. It was early evening and a heavy rain fell from the sky; she wore a yellow slicker and she carried her famous desert as she walked through the dark parking lot on her way to St. George's Presbyterian Church for the evening service. Her hair was covered with one of those old lady plastic scarves and a big black purse was slung over her shoulder. She had six grandchildren and five children of her own.

He stood in front of her, blocking her path.

"G'day," she said smiling at him, there was a smudge of pink lipstick on her otherwise pearly white teeth.

He didn't give her a chance to say anything. He just shot her. And she stumbled and fell, the white meringue dessert hit the pavement splattering on the dark surface.

ooo

That night he drank vodka in his hotel room. He looked up her six grandchildren and five children and saw their happy, smiling faces on social media: sunny beaches, brick homes, picnics and flying kites.

And then he remembered the victims, and recalled the god- awful pictures he saw of them performing disgusting acts with government officials. Bought, traded, and sold.

It was enough to keep him going.

In Japan, a little boy cried over his father's body, poking him in the chest.

In Bangladesh, a man said a prayer, before he shot him in the back.

On a cold morning in Ireland, he talked to a priest in the park, told him fantastic lies about how he lived a moral life, and the priest listened, smiling, offering him some bread and cheese before leaving; and Cooper wanted to call him back and tell him the truth. That he was a worthless killer, that he believed in justice, that blood was shed, and it couldn't wash away; but he heard the children's voices and he kept going until he had nothing left.

But there were too many bodies, too many screams, and too much pain.

THE UNIVERSE COLLIDES

A bar of Cooper's bath soap was on his pillow, it had a rugged, spicy, herbal fragrance with notes of chamomile and lavender that LaTonya loved smelling on his skin. She kept the soap there whenever he was away; so that for a moment, when she woke up, she could smell his scent and pretend that he was in the room with her. Though it smelled stronger on his skin, the illusion was enough to soothe her.

It had been three months since she saw Cooper, but every day she felt him, and he surrounded her in that house; she heard echoes of his voice, deep and reassuring, telling her that everything would be fine; saw his reflection in the windows, when the sunlight hit the glass at certain angles, and for a brief second, Cooper flashed before her; his blue eyes pensive.

But it wasn't his physical form that she encountered the most, it was his spirit that was even stronger; his essence dwelled in that house. He was on a secret assignment; she believed he was working with government intelligence though she couldn't be certain; and he couldn't tell her anything. He gave her a special, untraceable phone that could pick up reception anywhere in the world from mountaintops to dense, lush forests, and arid deserts, and it also worked in any type of weather.

It was an expensive phone, costing thousands of dollars. He would only communicate with her by calling her on this special phone. She never knew when he would contact her so she kept it with her all the time, and jumped whenever the odd ringtone would play, it sounded like a teakettle's forlorn whistle. They never spoke longer than five minutes. He missed her. He loved her. She knew that. She also knew that she wanted him home. The worst part was that she had to lie to everyone and say he was in London for business. She hated lying. The only one who figured it out was Abby.

"Abby, he's still in London," LaTonya said, when the girl called a few weeks before. She was in the kitchen sorting through the mail, drinking tea, pretending to be normal. But what was normal about waiting for a strange phone to ring and hear Cooper's breathless voice saying he's ok, while gunshots were in the background.

"He isn't in London," Abby said.

LaTonya didn't confirm or deny it. Instead she said:

"Have you been using your magnifying glass?"

"Yes. That's how I know."

"Abby?"

"God will help him," Abby said.

LaTonya turned over and looked at the empty space beside her in bed. She picked up the soap and held it, her fingers gliding across the smooth yellow surface.

Suddenly, the bedroom lamp came on, and she heard Cooper's voice:

"That's a poor substitute, don't you think?"

LaTonya sat up, crying out in surprise, and Cooper stood before her, his hair cut so close you could see his red scalp beneath the sparse white-blonde hair, he was dressed all in black, the outline of his gun visible beneath his thin black sweater, he held a silver steel brief case which he sat on the floor.

"Why don't I ever hear you come in? She said gazing up at him, the soft lamplight, shining on him; he appeared unreal, as if he were just another mind trick that made her see him everywhere in quick flashes before disappearing into air.

"Because you've convinced yourself that I'm not coming back."

"That's not true."

He sat beside her on the bed and held her close. He smelled like smoke and death. She pictured him standing in ashes.

"I'm here," he said, rubbing her back.

She pulled away and touched his cheek, her thumb grazing over a tiny jagged scar he got in a schoolyard fight as a boy.

"I still think you're some sort of magician."

Cooper kissed her, his gun pressed against her stomach.

"I love you," he said.

"Were you in a fire?"

"I can't tell you that."

"What can you tell me?"

"That I'll be home for a while this time."

"How long is a while?"

"I don't know. A long time."

LaTonya wasn't sure why but she began crying and he held her in his arms.

"Shhh, sweetheart, it's ok," He said, whispering into her ear, rocking her gently.

She stayed in his arms until he said:

"Let's take a bath."

He pulled her long, lacy nightgown over her shoulders, leaving her nude as he hurriedly undressed, piling his clothes in a black heap on the floor, and putting his gun on the nightstand.

He picked her up and carried her to the bathroom. Her prosthesis wasn't attached; she felt like a child and woman all at once; she recalled how her father used to carry her around in the hospital, and sometimes he pretended that he was a plane and would make ridiculous motor sounds and she would laugh until the nurses were annoyed and told them to keep it down. She would be in so much pain but the laughter cut through it all.

Yet Cooper carrying her was a different story, it wasn't paternal, though it was protective, and he hummed a soft, sweet melody that settled into her chest; he knew how to soothe her, make her anxiety dissipate into fragments.

Her large bathroom had a safety shower with a a bench that was wide enough for two people; and it also had a separate rectangular walk-in bathtub with safety bars, and an U-shaped door that was made of tempered glass and stainless steel which opened to get inside the tub which had hyrdojets and built-in heated seats at each end.

He opened the bathtub door and sat her on one of seats and then he got in, closing it behind him. He turned on the faucet and the tub began to fill; he kneeled before her and rested his head on her lap, as the water flowed in around them, she stroked his head, and felt a few of his tears fall onto her bare thighs; it was his turn to cry.

She comforted him as he had done for her, whispering that she loved him so much and how brave he was; he cried into her lap, choked sobs escaped from deep within him; it was only in moments like this that he was a vulnerable little boy again, wanting his parents to love him, wanting the shadows and darkness to go away. As the water rose, he lifted his head and she hugged him to her heart.

When the tub was full, he turned the faucet off, and grabbed a washcloth hanging from one of the safety bars. He squirted blue bath gel that smelled like beaches and oceans onto the washcloth and began washing her body: arms, legs, breasts, shoulders, belly and then he leaned her forward, resting her against his chest, so he could wash her back. Each stroke of the washcloth was gentle and loving, sometimes he kissed her wet skin; his tear filled eyes gazing at her, but try as she might, no matter what she did; she couldn't save him.

The nightmares that left him trembling in the darkness, and made him reach for her in his sleep, and the blood that stained his clothes and the bullets that pierced his flesh… she couldn't stop any of it. And that haunted look in his eyes when he knew he she couldn't save him … it was awful but she faced it anyway; because some roads were walked alone. Even so, she could hold and love him, wait for his call, and listen to his screams, let his tears and blood mix with her own, and that's what she did. Because in the end, he could never tell his whole story.

When he was finished the ritual of washing her body, leaving her clean and warm and feeling loved and broken-hearted all at once, Cooper bathed himself, though she tried to reciprocate, he waved her away and began soaping up the other washcloth with his favorite soap. He carefully washed himself and she noticed the new scars on his body; his back had a healed gash, shiny and raised, like a red serpent living beneath his skin; on his shoulder it looked like someone had burned cigarettes into his flesh, and his torso had a round purple bruise that was beginning to heal; because it's color was faded. When he was done, he drained the tub, picked her up, opened the door and sat her on the closed toilet seat. He grabbed a big, fluffy towel from the shelf behind him, wrapped it around her shoulders and carried her to the bedroom where he gently lay her on the bed, and dried her off.

He rubbed lotion all over her skin, massaging her arms, legs, and the full globes of her buttocks, giving teasing squeezes to each cheek and then turning her over and pinching her plump, sensitive nipples, and ghosting his fingers over the surface of her vagina, but never plunging inside. She bit her lip and moaned and he kissed her before he pulled away and quickly dried his damp skin, returning to the bed, and gathering her in his arms, kissing her again; he was hard, his pale skin was flushed red, and his breathing was shallow.

She touched his face and nodded; he smiled as she opened her legs, and he didn't hesitate before pushing himself inside her, and she clenched her walls around him, as he stroked her. His hand glided over her residual limb, while she lay beneath him, accepting his thrusts; he grew urgent, each stroke became harder and faster until she couldn't hold back and neither could he, and they came within moments of each other, shaking as they held on to one another for support; his heart beat against hers; she wrapped her arms around him, feeling the new scar, trying not to cry, thinking about how it got there, and he kissed her face.

"I'm ok."

Her tears fell; she looked up at him.

"There's scar gel in the bathroom cabinet."

"Thank you," he said kissing her.

LaTonya said nothing; they lay tangled together, resting until they needed each other again, and they made love all night.

ooo

Cooper had to decompress. Sleeping was futile. So he wandered the house at night reliving what happened during his assignment.

He got a lot of money for it. So much in fact that he probably wouldn't have to work for the rest of his life; especially if he invested well. He and LaTonya could spend their time, just living their lives, raising a family, traveling… anything.

But then darkness came.

And it began.

He hated headlights flashing into the window from the street. Hated the sound of car alarms and dogs barking and thumping hip-hop music those stupid teenagers played across the street when their parents weren't home.

Everything was magnified and too close. He always felt someone was behind him, waiting. He looked over his shoulder as he walked down the hall to the living room or as he went up the stairs to the bedroom.

Shadows appeared on the walls, and he felt the breath of his captors on his skin, hot and menacing, taking him back to the sun-drenched desert with visible heat waves that left you feeling as if you were dreaming; and when he did dream; it was of LaTonya, her voice, her smile, her scent, all taking him back to their home in Tennessee with cement steps and a dilapidated gazebo in the backyard.

But now that he was back home, he was also someplace else, back in the secret world he couldn't talk about. He checked on LaTonya more times than he could count; and she would wake up and stare at him with those beautiful, dark eyes of hers, reminding him of black pearls shining in the moonlight, and she would beckon him, holding open her arms and he would go to her and she would hold him, kissing his cheek, whispering her love for him. But it wasn't enough.

Though he finished most of his assignment, one piece remained to be done, and it was tricky.

Now he sat in the kitchen. His untraceable phone by his side. A cup of steaming hot tea and a plate of warmed over Chinese take-out was in front of him but the food turned his stomach and the tea tasted funny. He drummed his fingers on the table and at 2:00 in the morning; he got the call from Paul Dill, his employee now working for him on some operations overseas.

"We got rid of all the bodies. It wasn't easy."

"Ok."

"Is LaTonya ok?"

"She's fine, why?"

"I know it's not my place but…"

"I can't stay on the phone. Be brief."

"She agreed to marry you."

"I'm aware of that."

"Did she agree to this lifestyle?"

"She knows what I do for a living."

"That's not my point. When she was your assistant she only knew about your legit cases. What we're doing now well, it isn't exactly."

"I understand the morally ambiguous nature of certain assignments."

"Cooper, I like LaTonya and she loves you. I don't want to see her life in danger and it could come to that with some of these cases we work on. Intelligence communities are getting stronger in other countries; they could strike back out of revenge and hurt those you love."

"I'm aware of that."

"And are you also aware that you're no spring chicken and can't escape death like you used to?"

"Since you brought all of this up, I need to tell you - "

Suddenly, LaTonya appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Cooper who are you talking to at this hour?"

She glanced at the phone.

"You're going away again, aren't you?"

Cooper wanted to take that hurt from her eyes. He gripped the phone.

"Paul, I'll have to call you back," he said and pressed the end button, placing the phone on the table.

"Sweetheart, come here."

"You've only been back a few days," she said, shaking her head, "I thought –"

Cooper stood up and walked over to her, kissing her forehead. He took her by the hand and sat down again, pulling her onto to his lap.

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You're not?"

"No, in fact, I've made a decision."

"And what would that be?"

"That was my last assignment."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm not doing that type of work any more; I'm retiring."

"Cooper, are you sleep deprived?"

"I am sleep deprived but my mind is fine. I've made enough money for us to live comfortably."

"But you love your work."

"I do. But I love you more."

"I can't ask you to give up what you love for me. I've seen that happen with other couples; and they end up breaking up."

"We're not other couples. I've thought about this a lot and while I love seeking justice, it's weighing down on me too. The death that I see is finally getting to me more than usual. When I come home, all I want to do is grieve; and it follows me. I don't want to live in two worlds any more; I only want one world with you."

LaTonya kissed him.

"I love you."

"I love you too," he said, caressing her cheek, grateful that he had her.

"You're not one to sit around, so what will you do?"

"I'll do some consulting. Remember that idea you had about running an online business that specializes in security clearances?"

"Yes."

"It's an excellent idea and I figure we can run the business together; I love working with you. Don't worry, we'll be financially sound."

"I'm not worried about that, but will that be enough for you? You like being challenged, what will challenge you now?

"I don't know," he smiled, "I suppose the challenge will be in finding a challenge."

"We'll figure it out together."

"I know we will."

"You know," she said, looping her arms around his neck, "I can defend myself while you're away. I'm a good marksman and I own – "

"You own a Smith and Wesson Shield 9mm, a Ruger LCR, and a Bersa Thunder."

"How did you know?"

"It's difficult to keep secrets from me."

"I wasn't keeping secrets."

"Why are you bringing up your shooting skills?"

"I love that you protect me and I know you worried about my safety while you were away, and I miss you something awful when you're gone, but if your decision is based solely on keeping me safe, then I need you to understand that I do know self defense and I can shoot."

"I know this. And even the most well-trained soldiers couldn't face the things I was up against; I'm not denying your abilities, but the forces I was reckoning with surpassed a lot of what most of us could handle. I don't want those forces hurting you. I love you."

"I understand. Come on, let's go to bed," she said getting up from his lap.

He yawned.

"I'm suddenly sleepy."

"Did Paul give you good news?"

"He gave me news."

LaTonya chuckled as they walked up the stairs with their arms around each other; and Cooper felt a peace that he hadn't felt in a very long time.

ooo

Two weeks later…

"Honey, I need to talk to you," LaTonya said as she walked into the kitchen early on a Sunday morning.

Cooper sat at the kitchen table; he was shirtless and only wore a pair of gray sweatpants that were snug on his muscular legs and sculpted buttocks. The bullet wound scars on his chest and torso did not detract from his masculine beauty. The table was cluttered with stacks of manila file folders containing old cases he worked on; and he was in the process of deciding which files would be scanned into their archival database. A small plate of fried bratwurst links and bröchten rolls with butter was next to his elbow.

He was staring at his laptop and smiling. He looked away from the screen.

"Abby sent me pictures from the Daddy Daughter Ball that she went to with Sam. They look so happy," he said, and turned the computer around so she could see.

The pictures showed Abby in her pretty green ball gown with Sam in a tuxedo in various candid shots: dancing together under a crystal chandelier; standing in front of the museum on a red carpet; sitting inside the limo holding glasses of soda… in all of the pictures, Abby looked radiant and Sam looked like the proudest father in the world, his protective arm was around her small shoulders, signaling to the world that this was his daughter, and that he kept her safe from harm.

"They're beautiful," LaTonya said sitting down beside him, "Sam is a good father. Now I need to tell you that - "

"Yes he is," Cooper said, looking down into his blue speckled coffee mug and frowning a little.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you think I will be a good father too?"

LaTonya placed her hand over his, her soft fingers, stroking his rough, ruddy knuckles.

"Of course."

Cooper sighed.

"I'm not like Blaine. I don't have this sixth sense with kids. He's great with Carrie."

"Thank God, you're not like him."

Cooper raised his white blond eyebrows, his blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Excuse me?"

"I'm glad you're not like Blaine. I'm glad you're you. Everything different about you is what makes you so special. I fell in love with your quirks. Who cares if you're not like Blaine? You're an original and I wouldn't have you any other way. So no more brother comparisons, alright?"

He leaned over and hugged her, giving her a kiss.

"Alright."

"And you are good with kids. Look at what you have with Abby. You connected with her at her darkest time. I wish you could see how wonderful you are," LaTonya said, as he held her in a strong embrace, "You're fine, Cooper, just as you are."

As loving as her words were, he still had his doubts, considering how he handled justice, but he didn't want to bring it up, so he said:

"I love you so much," he said, kissing her again.

LaTonya kissed his cheek.

"I love you too. And don't think I can't hear your thoughts. I know your job has you doing things I could never comprehend. But I don't care. I love the man that you are. And if you want to know what kind of father you'll be, you'll find out in nine months."

He leaned back to look at her.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said you'll find out in nine months."

"Are you saying that you're – "

"Yes, sweetie, I'm pregnant."

Tears formed in Cooper's eyes.

"LaTonya, are you serious… when… when did this happen?"

"My period is late and I just took a pregnancy test . It was positive," she said reaching into the pocket of her robe and taking out the stick.

Cooper looked down at the stick that proudly said pregnant on the LCD display.

"I can't believe this," he whispered.

"Neither can I."

"I'm so happy," he said and pushed his hand under her faded blue t-shirt, rubbing her bare stomach, "I can't wait to see your belly grow."

"That's not the only thing that will grow," LaTonya said.

"What do you mean?"

She pointed to her chest and hips.

"They will take on a life of their own," She said, smiling at him, "So be prepared."

"I think it's beautiful. Your body transforming for the baby. Besides, what's wrong with a fuller bosom and hips? You're gorgeous, LaTonya, nothing changes that for me."

He patted his lap.

"Come here."

She sat on his lap, and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Let's get married weekend," she said.

"Ok, we can arrange something. I don't want to put it off any longer either. Even if you weren't pregnant. I'm sure Blaine will be shocked," he said, rubbing her belly again.

She ran her hand over his closely cropped hair.

"Is this going to be a thing with you now?"

"A thing?"

"Yes."

"What are you referring to?"

"Rubbing my belly like I'm Buddha."

Cooper laughed nuzzling her soft neck.

"Yes, I suppose it will be a thing. It's suddenly become my favorite part of you."

She kissed him.

"Mine too."

END NOTES: Thank you for reading and reviewing my story!

[pitz182]

How I Supported My Heroin Addiction by Selling Meat

It was the blistering hot summer of ‘75 in Los Angeles. I was over-dressed as I headed to the supermarket in a brown corduroy jacket, jeans, and a faux leather purse that bounced off my bony hip.I pushed my cart through the automatic doors, my eyes darting back and forth behind my $10 aviator shades. I was on the lookout for the store manager. I knew that he was in his early 40’s, with a crew cut and a paunch belly that hung over his belt.Relieved that he was helping a customer on the far end of the store, I rolled straight for the cereal aisle, but I wasn’t there for the Cocoa Pebbles or Frosted Flakes. I just used the boxes for cover. I was there for meat. And not just any meat would do. I wanted only the most tender, most expensive cuts, with the USDA stamp of approval on them.I was 21 and strung out on heroin for the first time. I had been shooting up in moderation for years until my boyfriend Max and I crossed some sort of invisible line. I can still remember the first morning I ran to the toilet throwing up until there was nothing but slimy yellow bile.That was a game changer for me. I was now addicted and had to find a way to support my habit. But how? I couldn’t sell my body like some of the junkie girls did. The thought of sleeping with a greasy old man made my skin crawl. Instead I asked Sammy, another junkie, to teach me his trade. Boosting: what the police would refer to as petty theft.At my first day of on-the-job training with Sammy, we pretended to be a married couple grocery shopping. But in reality I was watching him steal with laser-like focus. By the end of the day it was apparent I had a natural talent for stealing meat. After we stole the meat we’d sell it half price and get our dope money. It didn’t take long before I had customers all over town who wanted to buy my meat. I soon had a reputation with other junkies for being the best cattle rustler west of the 405.I sped down the cereal aisle and grabbed three boxes of Corn Flakes. I then headed to the butcher section. My gaze landed lovingly on the bulging pink meat packaged in tight saran-wrap that lined the open freezer. I took a deep breath before loading my cart up with filet mignon, New York and T-bone steaks. In less than a minute I had what I considered to be a pretty good haul. I covered the packages with my Corn Flakes boxes and did a 180 with my cart.I headed down the back of the supermarket until I found an empty aisle. There, I stopped midway and loosened my belt. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it beating inside my brain. I bent over, grabbed a steak, and shoved it down the back of my pants. It was cold. Goose bumps erupted all over my sun-starved flesh. I moved fast, stuffing one steak after another around my waist.Suddenly, a fresh-faced mother with a toddler tucked in her cart headed toward me. I dropped the steak back into my cart and reached for a can of Campbell’s soup, pretending to read the ingredients. The click-clacking of the other cart’s wheels drew closer.Whenever I boosted, my super powers kicked in. My mind could easily shift between thinking, observing, and analyzing my surroundings for any threats. This hyper-vigilant state was the direct result of growing up with a schizophrenic mother who was loving one minute and ballistic the next. When I was 7, my mother drowned herself in the bathtub but by then the neural pathways in my brain had already been set. This vigilance, which had once been a handicap, became a gift whenever I boosted.The cart was behind me now and the mother’s voice sounded soothing as she spoke to her child: “You can have a cookie after dinner sweetie.”Hearing their tender interaction turned my stomach into a tight fist. I felt the familiar pang of resentment. I often imagined how things might have been different if my family hadn’t been so fucked up. What if I’d had a loving mother who was there for me through all the benchmarks in my life? Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be standing in a market with a steak stuck in my pants and blood dripping down the back of my legs.I watched them disappear around the corner before stuffing more meat around my emaciated waistline. By the time I was done I resembled a suicide bomber ready to blow the place up. With meat.Once the last two steaks were securely tucked away I abandoned the cart and moved stealth-like towards the front of the store. My goal was to slip out without any employees noticing me. But with blood seeping down my legs I was afraid I’d draw unneeded attention to myself. All my favorite jeans were ruined.My breath grew shallow as I turned sideways through a closed cash register aisle. I was several feet from freedom when the paunch belly store manager yelled from his station, “Excuse me miss. Hold it right there!”I quickly assessed the situation. The manager was walking toward me. I could see my car parked close to the front of the store. I asked myself if I should run or wait to see what the manager wanted. It turned out to be a no-brainer. My foot instinctively hit the rubber mat causing the automatic doors to spring open. I ran as fast as I could, my arms and knees pumping, my tennis shoes slapping the hot asphalt ground beneath me. A steak slipped out of my pants. I hoped this minor obstacle would slow the manager down. But no.Having watched plenty of nature shows as a kid, I could imagine how this scene might have resembled a cougar chasing his prey. Unfortunately, in this action adventure I was the prey and I was afraid a claw would reach out and grab the back of my coat any second. And then what? I’d be arrested. I’d heard plenty of horror stories from junkies kicking heroin in jail. I was determined not to let that be my fate.I don’t know if I imagined it but I felt the manager’s hot breath at the base of my neck. I leaped inside my Volkswagen Bug and punched down the lock. The manager grabbed the door handle at the exact same time. With his face inches away, I could see his nostrils flaring, his eyes wild with rage.“Open this fucking door!” he yelled.My hands shook as I fished inside my jacket pocket for the keys. The car rocked as he pulled on the door, the peace sign hanging from the rear-view mirror swaying back and forth. I slipped the key into the ignition and the engine sputtered and popped. I made a mental note: If you don’t want to go jail, get a frigging tune up ASAP.I hit the clutch and threw the gears in reverse. As I backed up the manager pounded the driver’s window with his fist and yelled “Get the hell out of the car!”After clearing the parking spot, I shifted into first gear just as this wannabe hero stepped onto the running board. He grabbed the mirror with one hand and the door handle with the other. All I could think was: What the fuck? What the hell is wrong with this crazy idiot?I pushed the pedal to the floor, picked up speed, and shifted into second gear thinking surely he would jump off. But he appeared to hold on even tighter. I yanked the steering wheel and made a hard right. He finally lost his grip. I watched him in my rear-view mirror tumble away like a loose hubcap.Oh God! Had I killed him?Relief coursed through me when he hopped up, yelling and waving his fist as I pulled onto Venice Boulevard. My chest heaved as I peeled the steaks from my waist and tossed them onto the passenger side floor. My mind raced with paranoid thoughts: someone must have gotten my license plate number, the entire police force would be out looking for me. I had to get the hell out of there.My eyes darted to the rear-view mirror and I twisted my head from side to side like the Exorcist on the lookout for any patrol cars. I had to get rid of the evidence and fortunately, I had plenty of people around town who would buy it.Fifteen minutes later I pulled up in front of a house in the suburbs. I hopped out of the car, walked up the path and rang the front door bell as casually as an Avon lady. Moments later, Mrs. Wilson appeared, dressed in polyester pants, head crowned with pink sponge curlers under a paisley scarf. She squinted over my shoulder. “Oh, hi there, Wendy.”I nodded toward my car. “I have something for you, Mrs. Wilson.”After we did a quick exchange, I had 100 bucks and she had double that in meat.Ten minutes later, I was a rat-a-tat-tatting on the drug dealer’s door. Eddie opened it just a crack and glared at me with bloodshot eyes. With a taut nod of my head I handed over all my cash. In return, I got four colored balloons the size of marbles. I followed standard junkie protocol and tossed them inside my mouth. This was done as a precaution in case you got busted. Hopefully you’d have enough time to swallow the evidence before the cops could get their hands around your throat. Thankfully, I made it home that day in one piece.Max was still at work so I had the place to myself. Our apartment was six blocks from the beach. A tourist destination for some, but the ocean wasn’t even on my radar back then. Beauty and nature ceased to exist when I was doing drugs.The living room was a strange landscape of overflowing ashtrays, beer bottles, and trash from the night before. Others could accuse me of slacking on my domestic duties but who had time for dishes or dusting when you were supporting two people’s habits every day?After retrieving the tied red bandana in my panty drawer, I headed for the bathroom and straddled the toilet to face the wall. I laid everything out on top of the tank. Syringe, matches, a cup of water, spoon and cotton. Biting the tiny knot of the balloon I ripped it open with my teeth. I was careful not to spill any as I poured the contents into the spoon. I used the syringe to squirt water and then lit an entire book of matches, holding the flame underneath the spoon until it started to simmer. As the powder dissolved, the smell of Sulphur, burnt sugar and dope filled the air.I pulled the brownish liquid into the syringe, spun around and wrapped my left bicep with a belt. There was a bit of resistance before the needle popped through my calloused vein and then my blood mushroomed like a bomb going off inside the syringe. I pushed down on the plunger with my thumb and I was instantly filled with a soothing warmth as the heroin turned me inside out.Afterward, I dabbed the blood with toilet paper while my chin drifted down to my chest.All the anguish, self-hatred and regret faded into blackness. Heroin was an anti-depressant and the only thing I found to ease the constant sadness that clutched my throat.My life was never meant to look like that. I went to a private Catholic school, for Christ’s sake. I knew the difference between right and wrong. When I was a little kid I didn’t see myself growing up to be a junkie. What happened to the little girl who desperately wanted to make a difference in the world? Sadly, she was in a dark place where she would remain for nearly two decades before reappearing tattered and broken in the county jail.It was there, while lying in a cell, I realized I had been blaming others for everything that was wrong with my life. It was my mother’s fault, my father’s fault, and then, in a moment of clarity, I realized I was the one who had broken my own heart. And if that were indeed the case, only I could fix it. But how?I knew I’d have to be sober to find out.In the last 25 years I’ve learned that my mother’s absence left a huge black hole inside my heart. Everything I knew, planned, or imagined for myself changed in an instant. But I was a 7-year-old child and no one seemed to notice my despair. My sadness eventually morphed into anger and I took my anger out on the world. If I were to stay sober, I needed to forgive my mother. It didn’t happen overnight but over time. When I was finally able to let her off the hook, I was the one who was set free.I underwent a deep and profound transformation, but some things never change. Every once in a while I find myself craving a steak: medium rare.

[alexdmorgan30]

How I Supported My Heroin Addiction by Selling Meat

It was the blistering hot summer of ‘75 in Los Angeles. I was over-dressed as I headed to the supermarket in a brown corduroy jacket, jeans, and a faux leather purse that bounced off my bony hip.I pushed my cart through the automatic doors, my eyes darting back and forth behind my $10 aviator shades. I was on the lookout for the store manager. I knew that he was in his early 40’s, with a crew cut and a paunch belly that hung over his belt.Relieved that he was helping a customer on the far end of the store, I rolled straight for the cereal aisle, but I wasn’t there for the Cocoa Pebbles or Frosted Flakes. I just used the boxes for cover. I was there for meat. And not just any meat would do. I wanted only the most tender, most expensive cuts, with the USDA stamp of approval on them.I was 21 and strung out on heroin for the first time. I had been shooting up in moderation for years until my boyfriend Max and I crossed some sort of invisible line. I can still remember the first morning I ran to the toilet throwing up until there was nothing but slimy yellow bile.That was a game changer for me. I was now addicted and had to find a way to support my habit. But how? I couldn’t sell my body like some of the junkie girls did. The thought of sleeping with a greasy old man made my skin crawl. Instead I asked Sammy, another junkie, to teach me his trade. Boosting: what the police would refer to as petty theft.At my first day of on-the-job training with Sammy, we pretended to be a married couple grocery shopping. But in reality I was watching him steal with laser-like focus. By the end of the day it was apparent I had a natural talent for stealing meat. After we stole the meat we’d sell it half price and get our dope money. It didn’t take long before I had customers all over town who wanted to buy my meat. I soon had a reputation with other junkies for being the best cattle rustler west of the 405.I sped down the cereal aisle and grabbed three boxes of Corn Flakes. I then headed to the butcher section. My gaze landed lovingly on the bulging pink meat packaged in tight saran-wrap that lined the open freezer. I took a deep breath before loading my cart up with filet mignon, New York and T-bone steaks. In less than a minute I had what I considered to be a pretty good haul. I covered the packages with my Corn Flakes boxes and did a 180 with my cart.I headed down the back of the supermarket until I found an empty aisle. There, I stopped midway and loosened my belt. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it beating inside my brain. I bent over, grabbed a steak, and shoved it down the back of my pants. It was cold. Goose bumps erupted all over my sun-starved flesh. I moved fast, stuffing one steak after another around my waist.Suddenly, a fresh-faced mother with a toddler tucked in her cart headed toward me. I dropped the steak back into my cart and reached for a can of Campbell’s soup, pretending to read the ingredients. The click-clacking of the other cart’s wheels drew closer.Whenever I boosted, my super powers kicked in. My mind could easily shift between thinking, observing, and analyzing my surroundings for any threats. This hyper-vigilant state was the direct result of growing up with a schizophrenic mother who was loving one minute and ballistic the next. When I was 7, my mother drowned herself in the bathtub but by then the neural pathways in my brain had already been set. This vigilance, which had once been a handicap, became a gift whenever I boosted.The cart was behind me now and the mother’s voice sounded soothing as she spoke to her child: “You can have a cookie after dinner sweetie.”Hearing their tender interaction turned my stomach into a tight fist. I felt the familiar pang of resentment. I often imagined how things might have been different if my family hadn’t been so fucked up. What if I’d had a loving mother who was there for me through all the benchmarks in my life? Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be standing in a market with a steak stuck in my pants and blood dripping down the back of my legs.I watched them disappear around the corner before stuffing more meat around my emaciated waistline. By the time I was done I resembled a suicide bomber ready to blow the place up. With meat.Once the last two steaks were securely tucked away I abandoned the cart and moved stealth-like towards the front of the store. My goal was to slip out without any employees noticing me. But with blood seeping down my legs I was afraid I’d draw unneeded attention to myself. All my favorite jeans were ruined.My breath grew shallow as I turned sideways through a closed cash register aisle. I was several feet from freedom when the paunch belly store manager yelled from his station, “Excuse me miss. Hold it right there!”I quickly assessed the situation. The manager was walking toward me. I could see my car parked close to the front of the store. I asked myself if I should run or wait to see what the manager wanted. It turned out to be a no-brainer. My foot instinctively hit the rubber mat causing the automatic doors to spring open. I ran as fast as I could, my arms and knees pumping, my tennis shoes slapping the hot asphalt ground beneath me. A steak slipped out of my pants. I hoped this minor obstacle would slow the manager down. But no.Having watched plenty of nature shows as a kid, I could imagine how this scene might have resembled a cougar chasing his prey. Unfortunately, in this action adventure I was the prey and I was afraid a claw would reach out and grab the back of my coat any second. And then what? I’d be arrested. I’d heard plenty of horror stories from junkies kicking heroin in jail. I was determined not to let that be my fate.I don’t know if I imagined it but I felt the manager’s hot breath at the base of my neck. I leaped inside my Volkswagen Bug and punched down the lock. The manager grabbed the door handle at the exact same time. With his face inches away, I could see his nostrils flaring, his eyes wild with rage.“Open this fucking door!” he yelled.My hands shook as I fished inside my jacket pocket for the keys. The car rocked as he pulled on the door, the peace sign hanging from the rear-view mirror swaying back and forth. I slipped the key into the ignition and the engine sputtered and popped. I made a mental note: If you don’t want to go jail, get a frigging tune up ASAP.I hit the clutch and threw the gears in reverse. As I backed up the manager pounded the driver’s window with his fist and yelled “Get the hell out of the car!”After clearing the parking spot, I shifted into first gear just as this wannabe hero stepped onto the running board. He grabbed the mirror with one hand and the door handle with the other. All I could think was: What the fuck? What the hell is wrong with this crazy idiot?I pushed the pedal to the floor, picked up speed, and shifted into second gear thinking surely he would jump off. But he appeared to hold on even tighter. I yanked the steering wheel and made a hard right. He finally lost his grip. I watched him in my rear-view mirror tumble away like a loose hubcap.Oh God! Had I killed him?Relief coursed through me when he hopped up, yelling and waving his fist as I pulled onto Venice Boulevard. My chest heaved as I peeled the steaks from my waist and tossed them onto the passenger side floor. My mind raced with paranoid thoughts: someone must have gotten my license plate number, the entire police force would be out looking for me. I had to get the hell out of there.My eyes darted to the rear-view mirror and I twisted my head from side to side like the Exorcist on the lookout for any patrol cars. I had to get rid of the evidence and fortunately, I had plenty of people around town who would buy it.Fifteen minutes later I pulled up in front of a house in the suburbs. I hopped out of the car, walked up the path and rang the front door bell as casually as an Avon lady. Moments later, Mrs. Wilson appeared, dressed in polyester pants, head crowned with pink sponge curlers under a paisley scarf. She squinted over my shoulder. “Oh, hi there, Wendy.”I nodded toward my car. “I have something for you, Mrs. Wilson.”After we did a quick exchange, I had 100 bucks and she had double that in meat.Ten minutes later, I was a rat-a-tat-tatting on the drug dealer’s door. Eddie opened it just a crack and glared at me with bloodshot eyes. With a taut nod of my head I handed over all my cash. In return, I got four colored balloons the size of marbles. I followed standard junkie protocol and tossed them inside my mouth. This was done as a precaution in case you got busted. Hopefully you’d have enough time to swallow the evidence before the cops could get their hands around your throat. Thankfully, I made it home that day in one piece.Max was still at work so I had the place to myself. Our apartment was six blocks from the beach. A tourist destination for some, but the ocean wasn’t even on my radar back then. Beauty and nature ceased to exist when I was doing drugs.The living room was a strange landscape of overflowing ashtrays, beer bottles, and trash from the night before. Others could accuse me of slacking on my domestic duties but who had time for dishes or dusting when you were supporting two people’s habits every day?After retrieving the tied red bandana in my panty drawer, I headed for the bathroom and straddled the toilet to face the wall. I laid everything out on top of the tank. Syringe, matches, a cup of water, spoon and cotton. Biting the tiny knot of the balloon I ripped it open with my teeth. I was careful not to spill any as I poured the contents into the spoon. I used the syringe to squirt water and then lit an entire book of matches, holding the flame underneath the spoon until it started to simmer. As the powder dissolved, the smell of Sulphur, burnt sugar and dope filled the air.I pulled the brownish liquid into the syringe, spun around and wrapped my left bicep with a belt. There was a bit of resistance before the needle popped through my calloused vein and then my blood mushroomed like a bomb going off inside the syringe. I pushed down on the plunger with my thumb and I was instantly filled with a soothing warmth as the heroin turned me inside out.Afterward, I dabbed the blood with toilet paper while my chin drifted down to my chest.All the anguish, self-hatred and regret faded into blackness. Heroin was an anti-depressant and the only thing I found to ease the constant sadness that clutched my throat.My life was never meant to look like that. I went to a private Catholic school, for Christ’s sake. I knew the difference between right and wrong. When I was a little kid I didn’t see myself growing up to be a junkie. What happened to the little girl who desperately wanted to make a difference in the world? Sadly, she was in a dark place where she would remain for nearly two decades before reappearing tattered and broken in the county jail.It was there, while lying in a cell, I realized I had been blaming others for everything that was wrong with my life. It was my mother’s fault, my father’s fault, and then, in a moment of clarity, I realized I was the one who had broken my own heart. And if that were indeed the case, only I could fix it. But how?I knew I’d have to be sober to find out.In the last 25 years I’ve learned that my mother’s absence left a huge black hole inside my heart. Everything I knew, planned, or imagined for myself changed in an instant. But I was a 7-year-old child and no one seemed to notice my despair. My sadness eventually morphed into anger and I took my anger out on the world. If I were to stay sober, I needed to forgive my mother. It didn’t happen overnight but over time. When I was finally able to let her off the hook, I was the one who was set free.I underwent a deep and profound transformation, but some things never change. Every once in a while I find myself craving a steak: medium rare.

from RSSMix.com Mix ID 8241841 http://bit.ly/2T1T1a7

[emlydunstan]

How I Supported My Heroin Addiction by Selling Meat

It was the blistering hot summer of ‘75 in Los Angeles. I was over-dressed as I headed to the supermarket in a brown corduroy jacket, jeans, and a faux leather purse that bounced off my bony hip.I pushed my cart through the automatic doors, my eyes darting back and forth behind my $10 aviator shades. I was on the lookout for the store manager. I knew that he was in his early 40’s, with a crew cut and a paunch belly that hung over his belt.Relieved that he was helping a customer on the far end of the store, I rolled straight for the cereal aisle, but I wasn’t there for the Cocoa Pebbles or Frosted Flakes. I just used the boxes for cover. I was there for meat. And not just any meat would do. I wanted only the most tender, most expensive cuts, with the USDA stamp of approval on them.I was 21 and strung out on heroin for the first time. I had been shooting up in moderation for years until my boyfriend Max and I crossed some sort of invisible line. I can still remember the first morning I ran to the toilet throwing up until there was nothing but slimy yellow bile.That was a game changer for me. I was now addicted and had to find a way to support my habit. But how? I couldn’t sell my body like some of the junkie girls did. The thought of sleeping with a greasy old man made my skin crawl. Instead I asked Sammy, another junkie, to teach me his trade. Boosting: what the police would refer to as petty theft.At my first day of on-the-job training with Sammy, we pretended to be a married couple grocery shopping. But in reality I was watching him steal with laser-like focus. By the end of the day it was apparent I had a natural talent for stealing meat. After we stole the meat we’d sell it half price and get our dope money. It didn’t take long before I had customers all over town who wanted to buy my meat. I soon had a reputation with other junkies for being the best cattle rustler west of the 405.I sped down the cereal aisle and grabbed three boxes of Corn Flakes. I then headed to the butcher section. My gaze landed lovingly on the bulging pink meat packaged in tight saran-wrap that lined the open freezer. I took a deep breath before loading my cart up with filet mignon, New York and T-bone steaks. In less than a minute I had what I considered to be a pretty good haul. I covered the packages with my Corn Flakes boxes and did a 180 with my cart.I headed down the back of the supermarket until I found an empty aisle. There, I stopped midway and loosened my belt. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it beating inside my brain. I bent over, grabbed a steak, and shoved it down the back of my pants. It was cold. Goose bumps erupted all over my sun-starved flesh. I moved fast, stuffing one steak after another around my waist.Suddenly, a fresh-faced mother with a toddler tucked in her cart headed toward me. I dropped the steak back into my cart and reached for a can of Campbell’s soup, pretending to read the ingredients. The click-clacking of the other cart’s wheels drew closer.Whenever I boosted, my super powers kicked in. My mind could easily shift between thinking, observing, and analyzing my surroundings for any threats. This hyper-vigilant state was the direct result of growing up with a schizophrenic mother who was loving one minute and ballistic the next. When I was 7, my mother drowned herself in the bathtub but by then the neural pathways in my brain had already been set. This vigilance, which had once been a handicap, became a gift whenever I boosted.The cart was behind me now and the mother’s voice sounded soothing as she spoke to her child: “You can have a cookie after dinner sweetie.”Hearing their tender interaction turned my stomach into a tight fist. I felt the familiar pang of resentment. I often imagined how things might have been different if my family hadn’t been so fucked up. What if I’d had a loving mother who was there for me through all the benchmarks in my life? Maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be standing in a market with a steak stuck in my pants and blood dripping down the back of my legs.I watched them disappear around the corner before stuffing more meat around my emaciated waistline. By the time I was done I resembled a suicide bomber ready to blow the place up. With meat.Once the last two steaks were securely tucked away I abandoned the cart and moved stealth-like towards the front of the store. My goal was to slip out without any employees noticing me. But with blood seeping down my legs I was afraid I’d draw unneeded attention to myself. All my favorite jeans were ruined.My breath grew shallow as I turned sideways through a closed cash register aisle. I was several feet from freedom when the paunch belly store manager yelled from his station, “Excuse me miss. Hold it right there!”I quickly assessed the situation. The manager was walking toward me. I could see my car parked close to the front of the store. I asked myself if I should run or wait to see what the manager wanted. It turned out to be a no-brainer. My foot instinctively hit the rubber mat causing the automatic doors to spring open. I ran as fast as I could, my arms and knees pumping, my tennis shoes slapping the hot asphalt ground beneath me. A steak slipped out of my pants. I hoped this minor obstacle would slow the manager down. But no.Having watched plenty of nature shows as a kid, I could imagine how this scene might have resembled a cougar chasing his prey. Unfortunately, in this action adventure I was the prey and I was afraid a claw would reach out and grab the back of my coat any second. And then what? I’d be arrested. I’d heard plenty of horror stories from junkies kicking heroin in jail. I was determined not to let that be my fate.I don’t know if I imagined it but I felt the manager’s hot breath at the base of my neck. I leaped inside my Volkswagen Bug and punched down the lock. The manager grabbed the door handle at the exact same time. With his face inches away, I could see his nostrils flaring, his eyes wild with rage.“Open this fucking door!” he yelled.My hands shook as I fished inside my jacket pocket for the keys. The car rocked as he pulled on the door, the peace sign hanging from the rear-view mirror swaying back and forth. I slipped the key into the ignition and the engine sputtered and popped. I made a mental note: If you don’t want to go jail, get a frigging tune up ASAP.I hit the clutch and threw the gears in reverse. As I backed up the manager pounded the driver’s window with his fist and yelled “Get the hell out of the car!”After clearing the parking spot, I shifted into first gear just as this wannabe hero stepped onto the running board. He grabbed the mirror with one hand and the door handle with the other. All I could think was: What the fuck? What the hell is wrong with this crazy idiot?I pushed the pedal to the floor, picked up speed, and shifted into second gear thinking surely he would jump off. But he appeared to hold on even tighter. I yanked the steering wheel and made a hard right. He finally lost his grip. I watched him in my rear-view mirror tumble away like a loose hubcap.Oh God! Had I killed him?Relief coursed through me when he hopped up, yelling and waving his fist as I pulled onto Venice Boulevard. My chest heaved as I peeled the steaks from my waist and tossed them onto the passenger side floor. My mind raced with paranoid thoughts: someone must have gotten my license plate number, the entire police force would be out looking for me. I had to get the hell out of there.My eyes darted to the rear-view mirror and I twisted my head from side to side like the Exorcist on the lookout for any patrol cars. I had to get rid of the evidence and fortunately, I had plenty of people around town who would buy it.Fifteen minutes later I pulled up in front of a house in the suburbs. I hopped out of the car, walked up the path and rang the front door bell as casually as an Avon lady. Moments later, Mrs. Wilson appeared, dressed in polyester pants, head crowned with pink sponge curlers under a paisley scarf. She squinted over my shoulder. “Oh, hi there, Wendy.”I nodded toward my car. “I have something for you, Mrs. Wilson.”After we did a quick exchange, I had 100 bucks and she had double that in meat.Ten minutes later, I was a rat-a-tat-tatting on the drug dealer’s door. Eddie opened it just a crack and glared at me with bloodshot eyes. With a taut nod of my head I handed over all my cash. In return, I got four colored balloons the size of marbles. I followed standard junkie protocol and tossed them inside my mouth. This was done as a precaution in case you got busted. Hopefully you’d have enough time to swallow the evidence before the cops could get their hands around your throat. Thankfully, I made it home that day in one piece.Max was still at work so I had the place to myself. Our apartment was six blocks from the beach. A tourist destination for some, but the ocean wasn’t even on my radar back then. Beauty and nature ceased to exist when I was doing drugs.The living room was a strange landscape of overflowing ashtrays, beer bottles, and trash from the night before. Others could accuse me of slacking on my domestic duties but who had time for dishes or dusting when you were supporting two people’s habits every day?After retrieving the tied red bandana in my panty drawer, I headed for the bathroom and straddled the toilet to face the wall. I laid everything out on top of the tank. Syringe, matches, a cup of water, spoon and cotton. Biting the tiny knot of the balloon I ripped it open with my teeth. I was careful not to spill any as I poured the contents into the spoon. I used the syringe to squirt water and then lit an entire book of matches, holding the flame underneath the spoon until it started to simmer. As the powder dissolved, the smell of Sulphur, burnt sugar and dope filled the air.I pulled the brownish liquid into the syringe, spun around and wrapped my left bicep with a belt. There was a bit of resistance before the needle popped through my calloused vein and then my blood mushroomed like a bomb going off inside the syringe. I pushed down on the plunger with my thumb and I was instantly filled with a soothing warmth as the heroin turned me inside out.Afterward, I dabbed the blood with toilet paper while my chin drifted down to my chest.All the anguish, self-hatred and regret faded into blackness. Heroin was an anti-depressant and the only thing I found to ease the constant sadness that clutched my throat.My life was never meant to look like that. I went to a private Catholic school, for Christ’s sake. I knew the difference between right and wrong. When I was a little kid I didn’t see myself growing up to be a junkie. What happened to the little girl who desperately wanted to make a difference in the world? Sadly, she was in a dark place where she would remain for nearly two decades before reappearing tattered and broken in the county jail.It was there, while lying in a cell, I realized I had been blaming others for everything that was wrong with my life. It was my mother’s fault, my father’s fault, and then, in a moment of clarity, I realized I was the one who had broken my own heart. And if that were indeed the case, only I could fix it. But how?I knew I’d have to be sober to find out.In the last 25 years I’ve learned that my mother’s absence left a huge black hole inside my heart. Everything I knew, planned, or imagined for myself changed in an instant. But I was a 7-year-old child and no one seemed to notice my despair. My sadness eventually morphed into anger and I took my anger out on the world. If I were to stay sober, I needed to forgive my mother. It didn’t happen overnight but over time. When I was finally able to let her off the hook, I was the one who was set free.I underwent a deep and profound transformation, but some things never change. Every once in a while I find myself craving a steak: medium rare.

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