#and walls painted in a variety of colors

[richtigezahnpflege]

Farmhouse Living Room

[f-airchilds]

Living Room Home Bar

[rebelsocialitenyc]

Open - Farmhouse Living Room

[worldoflunatriix]

Bathroom - Kids

[shutupanddiehl]

Raleigh Kitchen

[los-angeles-county-limousine]

Bedroom Paneling (Atlanta)

[oldmanweldon]

Bathroom (Tampa)

[mistydeyes]

opposite occupations

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summary: all the 141 boys have different plans while on leave, each having their own idea of how to spend the time. but when they run into a lovely civilian, they realize that all the long hours, deployments, and trainings worth it.

pairing: 141 x civvie!fem!Reader

warnings: swearing, all fluff :)

a/n: I love me a good little meet cute

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price - florist

Everyone knew that the minute Price went home, he would be making the trek to his favorite cigar shop. It had been one he frequented for years, the familiar sign welcoming him home. Most shops on the street stayed the same. He liked the constancy, the familiarity.

As he rounded the street corner, he noticed a new shop had filled the unoccupied next door. The pale pink awning and rose-tinted glass were a new sight to see. "Sentiments of Carnations" he read as he walked past. He could see through the window that the shop had not yet been opened, noting the smell of fresh paint and empty displays. He wondered what grandma had put their retirement money into this florist shop.

He continued, opening the cigar shops store and smelling the musk of smoke and tobacco. "Ah John, I have your regulars set aside," the old shop owner said with a smile. "Back again for long?" he asked upon his return with a dark oak box. "Just waiting for another phone call from his majesty," he joked and slid over the usual bank notes. "I'll be seeing you," Price said as he opened the door and exited with the familiar chime of the bell.

As he embraced the warmth of the summer England weather, he pulled out one of his fresh purchases, excellently wrapped and balanced. He flipped open his lighter from his pocket and sat down to have his first smoke at home. He closed his eyes and savored the notes of espresso and hickory. As he sat in his small nirvana, he heard the florist's doors open.

He turned as he saw you, a flower behind your ear and a pink apron that perfectly matched the outside of the shop. You were not the grandma he had expected and instead were beautiful, the sun catching your lovely features. You had placed an antique table outside, along with a bucket of a colorful array of flowers adorned with a handwritten tag. You hung a small sign on the table that read, "Take one for a friend, family member, or loved one." You smiled at yourself, proud of the little display. You turned your head and noticed the mature man enjoying his smoke only a meter away from you. You picked out a scarlet carnation and walked over to the man, handing it to him.

"Here, you go," you said as his calloused fingers held the flower delicately. "A flower to brighten someone's day," you said with a smile. "Thank you, although I am not a man for flowers," he replied and extinguished his cigar. "Well, flowers can be for a variety of reasons, a friendly gesture, a gift for someone you fancy, or even something to brighten up your flat."

You ended with a sweet smile and he could feel himself melt on the spot. Something about the floral aroma emanating from the flower behind your ear along with your soft voice and pleasantries added to his current state of nirvana. You were so radiant in this light and he appreciated the kind gesture, especially upon his return home.

"No one to give a romantic gesture to, but thank you," he replied. "Well if that ever changes, my shop opens later this week! The shop's number is on the tag" you said before giving him a small wave and wink. He could hear the shop's door close as you began to set up your display and paint a mural on one of the walls. As he twisted the carnation in his hand, he knew he would be adding your shop to his routine becoming your most frequent customer.

soap - tattoo artist

Soap looked at his phone, making sure he was in the right place. His favorite tattoo shop near his Scottish home had closed and he was taking a recommendation from Ghost.

"She's got an attitude but her work is amazing," Ghost had said before Soap's deployment. He couldn't deny the craftsmanship of her work on Ghost's arm. He marveled at the attention to detail as Ghost proudly shoved off his ornate sleeve.

Soap had an appointment for today, previously approving of the artist's rendition of his vision. A black-and-white thistle, a charm his mother had said. It was commonly known to keep its owner away from danger and bad acquaintances. Something Soap needed on the battlefield.

He pushed the maroon door open, admiring the many gold frames with what he assumed were some of the artists' work. He let out a light chuckle as he noticed a framed sketch of Ghost's sleeve. He was just about to snap a picture when a voice called out, "Hey Mohawk, this isn't a museum."

He turned around to see a woman, a gorgeous one at that. You were wearing a tank top that showed off a collage of various tattoos in different styles. You had been taking a break and relaxed, sitting behind a desk, feet propped up.

"Actually, lass, I'm here with an appointment," he said, walking over to you. "Name's John MacTavish." he finished with a cheeky smile.

"Ah MacTavish, one of Riley's military boys I'm guessing. How's that masterpiece of mine doing?" you joked, Soap didn't know what to say. Were you and Ghost a thing?

You laughed at his pause, "My tattoo, Mohawk. There's no way I'd be shagging his Halloween-looking-arse." Soap appreciated the heads up about your attitude and knew this was gonna be a fun session.

"Looks gorgeous, Sweetheart. Just like yourself," he poked back and you let out a loud laugh, almost doubling over. "Don't flatter yourself, you can go make yourself comfortable in my station over there. Looks like you're only getting a bicep tat, so I better not see your shirtless arse back there."

Soap made his way to where you motioned, sitting down in the black velvet chair. You came in a few minutes later with your sketch and supplies. You closed the scarlet curtains behind you before walking over to prep his arm.

As you sat in relative silence, Soap asked, "So what do the tattoos mean, Lass?" You finished your prep work and were working on the correct tattoo placement. "Travels from around the world. I took it upon myself to get a tattoo in every new country."

With that, you offered him a mirror so he could approve of the sketch and placement. The tattoo rested on his right bicep and he made sure to look at it at every angle and made sure to flex for your enjoyment.

"Alright, muscle man, this should only take a few hours as long as you don't pass out on me," you said and began to tattoo your next masterpiece. During the next two hours, you made conversation about the tattoos meaning, his life in Scotland, and you even shared more intimate details about your travels.

The hours flew by like minutes to Soap as you let him know you were finished. He admired the detailed flower and you handed him some care instructions with some cream. "And your buddy paid for you ahead of time, so you're all set, Mohawk" you replied and Soap got off of the chair.

"See you around, my world-class woman," he joked as he exited the door. You slightly cringed, wondering if writing your number on the tube of aftercare cream was a good idea or not.

gaz - primary school teacher

Gaz looked at himself in his flat's mirror. He brushed a hand over his freshly cut hair and evened out his dress shirt. "Just a favor for a friend," he said to himself as he walked to catch the next tram. Two days ago, an old colleague during his days working with the metro police force had reached out to him. They called in a favor, "Kyle c'mon it's just a couple of primary students, all you need to do is give a little talk about stranger danger." Knowing he had nothing else better to do, Gaz agreed.

As he signaled the tram to stop, Gaz looked at the brown brick building reminding him of his younger days. Gaz walked in, checking in with the receptionist who directed him to the classroom where he'd be giving his talk. He was early, the school had not yet opened but he was asked to have the presentation at the beginning of class before the children's lessons. He admired the walls filled with the artwork of the students, silly attempts at drawing their families. He finally reached your classroom, noting the smiling sunflower on your opened door. He knocked softly and he saw you lift your head to greet him. If he had known you would be so beautiful, he would have not needed his friend's encouragement.

"Ah you must be Sgt. Garrick," you said, beginning to get up from your desk to greet him. You smoothed out your skirt and placed your glasses down. "It's just Kyle," he said and returned your friendly smile and warm handshake.

"Well Kyle, the children should be arriving in a few minutes. I'll get them settled and introduce you for your small talk today," you said with a grateful nod. You motioned for him to sit at your desk as you stood at your door to greet your excited second-year students. Gaz played on his phone and smiled as he heard you return the children's happy good mornings with a similar high-energy one. The students began to file in, placing their bags in their cubbies, and sitting with their friends. You heard small whispers from the children, wondering what you were doing at their teacher's desk. He let out a chuckle when he heard one boy whisper, "Is that Miss Y/N's husband? He's sitting in her chair."

Finally, with all the children in their seats, you walked to the front of the classroom and greeted your students warmly. "Good morning everyone, today we have a very special guest with us. This is our friend, Kyle, and he's here today to tell you all a little something before we start our lessons."

Kyle knew this was his cue, he rose from your desk and swapped places with you at the front of the room. "Hi everyone, today I'm going to teach you smart kids about something called 'Stranger Danger'." The children oohed in response as Kyle waved his hands in a fake menacing manner. You smiled as he was a natural. The children were attentive, writing down the information as he spoke and working together with their classmates to fill out the worksheet answers. Kyle ended his talk and asked if anyone had any questions. One child raised her hand and Kyle called on her. "Is Miss Y/N a stranger? I'm confused."

"I'm your teacher, Amelia. Teachers that you know aren't strangers," you responded and Kyle nodded in agreement. Another kid raised their hand and asked, "But you aren't Kyle's teacher, so you're a stranger to him."

Before either one of you could respond, his friend boasted, "It's because they're married, your Mum and Dad aren't strangers to each other." Both you and Kyle shared a look and he saw the soft blush rise to your face. "Ah we're just friends," he said and saved you the embarrassment.

Little did Kyle know, his email would chime that night with a thankful message from you along with your number at the bottom asking him to breakfast that weekend.

ghost - veterinarian

Unlike most people, Ghost loved the quiet ambiance of London's rainfall. The streets were empty and peaceful as people were cozying up in their homes with a blanket. Enjoying the evening air and cold, he walked with an umbrella in one hand and a warm cup in the other. His boots resounded on the cobblestone street as he sipped his Earl Grey tea. His chest was warm from the bold citrus and bergamot liquid. This was, in his opinion, an ideal leave well spent.

The rhythmic rain fell and his walking was interrupted by a soft mewing. Simon hurried down the street to find the source of the noise. In front of a grocer's, he noticed a small cardboard box being drenched by the unrelenting rain. He placed his cup down and gently lifted the box. Underneath was a small grey cat, cuddled into a ball to experience some semblance of warmth. Simon placed his umbrella to shield the box and lifted the tiny meowing animal into his hands.

As he cradled the cat to his chest, he heard a click of heeled boots behind him. He turned his now-drenched head to notice you walking up with a bright orange umbrella adorned with cat paws. "Excuse me, Sir, but is he yours?" you asked gesturing to the ball of grey that laid meowing in his arms. "Uh he's not, I found this little fella underneath this box here."

"Ah a Good Samaritan, I see. Well, I own the veterinarian shop down the way, I can take him off your hands if you'd like and make sure this little lad gets the care he needs," you said and offered a hand to hold the kitten. You noticed his slight hesitation and said, "If you'd like, I'll give you my card so you can take the little one home when he's all better."

"That would be nice," he smiled underneath his black face mask. Simon loved animals, never being permitted to have one as a child. As you held the kitten in your arm, you handed him your umbrella. He initially tried to refuse but you insisted saying, "You're soaked, I'll be alright." You ended with a small giggle which made Ghost warmer than his now cold cup of tea.

"The least I can do is walk you back to your shop," he replied a little too quickly. He instantly realized the surprising force he had said that with and followed up with, "You know, just so you and Earl Grey can make it there in this weather.

"Earl Grey, I like that. That's my favorite order, especially on days like this." Simon moved slightly behind you, holding the umbrella to shield the three of you on your walk. The air was filled with the familiar scent of rain and the notes of your floral perfume. "I'm Dr. L/N by the way, but most people just call me, Y/N," you said as you continued on your way. "I'm Simon, a pleasure to meet you doc."

Three weeks later Simon's house was filled with all the necessities for a new cat father. As he grabbed his coat, he pulled out a water-stained business card with the vet's office address and your number written on the back. He smiled to himself as he traced his fingers over the small handwriting saying, "To Earl Grey's owner, fancy a cup of tea with me?"

[moralesmilesanhour]

Hi! May I request a small fic where miles 42 dates a male reader who's very bubbly, glittery, fashionista, and dresses in very bright colors or pastels. Maybe Rio and Aaron finally get to meet him and try their best not to tease or laugh at how ironic it is?

They find it even funnier knowing he's the who's been stickers all of his jackets or just anything that came out of his room.

Got carried away with this one oopsie

take it or leave it.

Miles peeled off his dark green puffer jacket, brushing off stray rain drops that hadn’t evaporated yet. In doing so his fingers ran over something smooth like plastic. Already knowing what it was, he took his forefinger and thumb and removed it.

The face of a rabbit with an ‘x’ for a mouth stared blankly at him. Miles held it up to the light and smiled to himself as little dots of color shifted from orange to green, having a good idea who it was from.

You liked to slap these things everywhere–anywhere–that you could reach. Though you never explained yourself to him, Miles suspected that your reason was the same as his when he spray-painted the walls of abandoned buildings: to make your presence known in a world that seemed set on ignoring you.

Your bleach-blonde curls, pastel shirts and flared pants made you quite difficult to ignore in the first place.

Even Miles, who hid beneath his hoodies and oversized jackets, couldn’t take his eyes off of you from across the basketball court that fateful day as you sat on a bench crowded with your friends. They were dressed just as elaborately, but not with nearly as much variety of color.

One girl draped head-to-toe in black lace and silver jewelry leaned over to whisper something to you. Whatever was said made you turn and meet his eyes just as he caught the basketball that had just sunk through the net above him. 

He froze momentarily and could’ve sworn he saw you grinning at him before he started dribbling again.

You were too far away for Miles to commit the details of your face to memory, but he recognized the blonde sitting at the top of your head when you rammed into him in the middle of the hallway the very next day.

Now in full uniform–save for the fashionably-loosened tie–his eyes were drawn to the row of helix piercings lining your right ear, and the faint glow of metallic eyeshadow swiped across your lids with lashes that curled sharply upwards like–

“Yo,” your voice brought him back to reality. “Are you okay? I said ‘my bad’.”

Miles blinked.

“Oh,” he replied dimly.

You laughed good-naturedly.

“Just ‘oh’?”

“I-I mean,” Miles stumbled over his words, “You’re…good. I guess.”

“That’s…good,” you parroted with a teasing smile. “See you around!”

You pulled the strap of your book bag further over your shoulder, causing the cluster of charms and trinkets hanging from it to click-clack together with every bouncy step you took as you weaved through the stream of oncoming students.

That was how it began.

“I think he likes you.”

Sela took a bite of her french fry, which she then pointed towards the next table ahead of her. You followed her line of vision right back to the mismatched eyes that had burned two holes into the back of your skull in the hallway. 

And P.E. 

And A.P. Bio. 

The more you thought about it, the more your friend’s hypothesis began to sound believable.

Still, you shook your head and chuckled.

“He’s definitely straight, first of all.”

“You don’t know that! What happened to not assuming?”

“Hm, I dunno…”

You looked again. This time, Miles was fiddling with the sleeves of his uniform, avoiding eye contact. Presentation aside, you’d never really seen him running with the sort of boy that said “Pause!” every five minutes, so that was a plus.

…Then again, you’d never seen him running with anyone. He even hooped alone. You recalled him making several lay-ups in a row as clean as the twin braids that brushed his shoulders. No team required.

Sela interrupted your quiet deliberation.

“Go talk to him and find out, then. Not like he’s gonna kill you if you ask.”

She tapped her long black coffin nails on the lunch table, awaiting your answer. 

“I don’t feel like getting up,” you groaned lazily. 

“Fine, I’ll call him over.”

“Hey, wait–”

“Aye, Morales! Miles Morales!”

Miles looked startled. “Huh?”

Sela waved at him while you ran your palm over your face.

“C’mere!”

He eyed her suspiciously, but slowly got up and shuffled over to your table.

“Do you…” he looked around. “Need something?”

The girl gestured enthusiastically towards you, and you rolled your eyes mentally before replacing the irritation with a smile and taking the lead.

“You looked lonely over there, man. Come sit with us!”

Miles bit his bottom lip once you spoke up, appearing to take in a sharp breath before taking the empty seat across from you.

“So do you have any, like, actual friends–? Ow!”

Sela rubbed her arm after you gave her a good smack.

“Sorry about her. She meant to ask if you were doing alright. You seemed kinda out of it.”

“I’m…fine,” he answered slowly. 

“Well, that’s good. You were staring at me somethin’ fierce, I thought I had done something to you.”

Miles felt a rush of heat travel straight to his cheeks.

“N-nah, it’s just that–well, I saw you at the basketball court, and…” he trailed off and began messing with the end of one of his braids.

You leaned in closer to hear him better, which didn’t help his situation.

“One more time?”

“I saw you. At the basketball court.”

The teasing grin returned to your face.

“Yeah, I saw you too. What about it?”

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, trying to piece the right words together. Then he tried again.

“I liked your ‘fit.”

You held back an obnoxious snort of laughter. 

“That’s it?”

“Yeah, you have…good…fashion sense.”

Miles wrinkled his nose. He didn’t even believe his own lie. Why would you?

Mercifully, you narrowed your eyes but didn’t say anything. 

“Thanks. You got good taste in sneakers.”

You paused, then added, “Meet me at the basketball court after school and I’ll show you how I put my outfits together. How's that sound?”

The offer hung in the air. Miles considered the possibility that you were just pulling his leg and that he’d wind up standing alone in an empty court, but there was no sign of a joke in your expression. 

He shrugged in a fake show of nonchalance.

“Sure.”

The two of you went on like that for two long months. Meeting each other on the court, sitting on the bench and making light conversation while shooting compliments at each other that always just missed the mark of what you really meant to say, until one day you finally got tired of meandering.

“Miles, can I ask you something?”

“I dunno,” he answered, sipping on a pouch of Capri-Sun. “Can you?”

“You promise that if I ask, you’re gonna give me an honest answer?”

“If it won’t get me arrested, sure.”

“Miles, I’m serious.”

Your gaze intensified, making his heart rate quicken.

“Alright.”

“Are you into me?”

His blood ran hot and icy cold at the same time. 

The thumping in his chest whenever you got close and he could smell what soap you used, the absent-minded doodles in his sketchbook, and finally, the staring, had been given a name. And in being named, it took on a physical form - something blinding and liquid that shot through his bloodstream.

Miles wanted to be able to say no. Give a straight answer, and move on to a more comfortable topic. But you’d read him like a book the last time he tried to lie to your face.

You noticed his hesitation, and the vice grip he had on his now-empty Capri-Sun.

“It won’t change anything, I just wanna be sure.”

He looked unconvinced. How do you just go back to normal knowing that your friend is in love with you? They could pretend nothing had changed for maybe a couple weeks, maximum, before conversations became clipped greetings in the hallway, then fizzled out into nothing. Impossible.

But again, it was no use lying.

He avoided your eyes as he answered, “I think so.”

Cold, delicate fingers suddenly found themselves beneath his chin, and his eyes widened as you turned his face towards yours.

“Miles, look at me. You either do or you don’t.”

His heartbeat was in his ears now, making his breaths shallow and the veins in his eyes pulse. The setting sun cast a sentimental glow over everything that filtered through your hair. No one else was around, save for the warm breeze.

“Miles, are you good–?”

He pressed his lips against yours before he could stop himself. Your lips were smoother than he’d expected, just slightly tacky with mentholated lip balm.

And, more importantly, they kissed him back. 

-

Miles grabbed his sketchbook from his desk drawer and opened it to a page filled with tiny sketches of your outfits. Carefully, he placed the sticker next to the baby blue puffer you’d worn yesterday so that the two of you could be “twins”.

He should really call you, he thought.

-

You sighed, leaning your head back on the couch beneath the cool air-conditioning of Miles’ uncle Aaron’s apartment. The tall, lean man that you’d guessed Miles had probably gotten his accent from (and sayings that could only come out of the mouth of an older man) had gone out momentarily to grab food for all three of you. 

Feeling his eyes on you, you turned to your now-sort-of-official boyfriend with a questioning look.

“What?”

Miles was holding back a laugh.

“Why’d you switch up like that in front of my uncle?”

“I didn’t ‘switch up’ anything.”

“I have never heard you talk like that in my life.”

You copied his pose, slouching and man-spreading with your hands resting on your thighs. You flattened and lowered your voice into the boring monotone that teenage boys liked to adopt when they wanted to be taken seriously.

“You mean like this?”

This earned a snicker from Miles, whose expression then became earnest.

“Seriously, though, you don’t gotta do the whole act around my unc. He’s not like that.”

“Then why do you do it?”

The boy paused. 

Your observation was correct - Miles tended to lengthen and smooth out his stride when he walked next to Aaron on their ‘grocery runs’. He would remove the playful lilt in his voice, like when you strain freshly-brewed tea, leaving only the mellow liquid behind. 

“That’s…different.”

We’re trying to impress him for two different reasons.

You let it go. 

“Whatever you say. You are gonna tell him about us, though, right? Since he’s ‘not like that’.”

Miles scoffed, “You’re the one that introduced yourself as ‘a close friend of mine’. I ain’t tell you to say any of that.”

“I wasn’t sure if you felt safe!” you laughed.

“We were holding hands before he even opened the door, he definitely saw that shit.”

“Alright, alright, you win. We’ll both tell him, then. Sound good?”

“Sounds great.”

-

“Miles! Tu novio!”

“Coming!”

Miles padded over to the living room, where you stood in a bright yellow jacket covered in vibrant patchwork, and those jeans with the spray-painted stars all over them. Your hair was hidden beneath a red beanie you had stolen from his closet.

Aaron sipped on a fresh cup of coffee in the kitchen, well-within earshot as Miles greeted you.

“Hey.” The boy smiled, awkwardly sticking his hands in the pockets of his plain, dark-wash jeans.

His mother Rio shut the door and looked on in amusement at the two boys standing in front of her. You would think her son would add some more color to his wardrobe, being with someone that looked like that. But the all-black ensemble wasn’t going anywhere.

“¿Ustedes dos siguen fingiendo ser amigos?” the woman teased. “I’m not sensing any affection over here, guys!”

Miles gave his mom a blank stare, while you laughed. Even months later, the other boy wasn’t one for PDA.

“Oh they real affectionate, alright,” Aaron chimed in. 

“Here we go…”

“I go out to get these boys some Domino’s one time, right? I come back up, and these two are cuddling on my damn couch after they told me they were ‘just good friends’. Now mind you, I ain’t believe ‘em for a second–”

“That’s great, unc,” Miles was already tugging you in the direction of his room, “We’re leaving now!”

“Don’t get too touchy in there!”

Once inside, he shut the door behind him. You struggled to suppress a laugh at the weary look on his face as you sat on the edge of his bed.

“She’s kinda right, y’know.”

“About?”

“It wouldn’t kill you to spare me a hug or something, once in a while.”

He said nothing.

You scanned Miles’ bedroom. All of his manga had been cleared off of his desk, and his swivel chair was no longer burdened with a pile of clothes. He just cleaned his room, you think.

The only thing left sitting there was his notorious sketchbook, a ballpoint pen, and a couple of Tombow markers scattered about. 

And of course, your stickers. 

You got up to take a closer look at the loose sketches and hummed in satisfaction.

“You’re really good at getting clothing folds right. You sure you never wanna study fashion design?”

He smiled, and shook his head.

“I’ll leave the fashion shit to you.”

“We could go to F.I.T. together, you and me.”

Without so much as making a peep, Miles and his long legs had snuck up behind you to wrap his equally-long arms around your waist.

“I’ll visit you.”

“What are you doing?”

“You asked for a hug.”

“That’s not what I mea–”

“Take it or leave it.”

The smell of paint and Jergens lotion enveloped you as you pulled him closer. You inhaled deeply, then sighed.

“You’re real stubborn, you know that?”

His chest shakes as he laughs.

“One of us has to be.”

[kinascum]

LAST HIT - C. STURNIOLO

SUMMARY: A drug deal turns into a night of unexpected twists and revelations for two lost souls seeking escape.

CONTENTS: drugs, reader is described (sorry, 1st pic of moodboard), sexual content (head, degradation, praise, cum eating), cursing, lmk if I missed anything

words: 1.5k (crazy ik)

Chris's sneakers squeaked against the linoleum floor of the dilapidated apartment complex, echoing through the empty hallway. His hand hovered over the doorbell, hesitating for a moment before he finally pressed it. The sound of a TV, muffled by layers of paint and cigarette smoke, filled the silence that followed. He adjusted the baseball cap on his head, tugging it slightly lower over his eyes. The door cracked open and a pair of brown eyes peered out from the shadows, scrutinizing him before the door swung open wider.

"You're early," Y/N said, her voice a mix of surprise and annoyance. She was leaning against the doorframe, her hair a wild mess of curls that framed her face. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt that barely covered her midriff, and her legs were a canvas of freckles and ink.

"Couldn't wait," Chris replied with a cocky smirk, flashing a bag of goodies at her. She rolled her eyes but stepped aside to let him in, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor. The apartment smelled faintly of patchouli and weed, a scent that was as much a part of her as the piercings that lined her ears and the lip.

He made his way to the couch, the springs groaning beneath his weight as he dropped his duffel bag beside him. She followed, curiosity piqued as she eyed the bag. "What'd you bring?"

"The usual," he said, unzipping the bag to reveal a collection of small plastic baggies filled with a variety of colorful pills and powders. She licked her lips, eyes darting to the digital clock on the wall. It was almost time for their rendezvous. "But I brought something extra for us to try later," he added, a glint in his eye.

"You always know how to make a girl feel special," she quipped, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes narrowed as she took a seat beside him, her legs curling underneath her. "But first, I need to take care of some... business."

Chris nodded, understanding the unspoken agreement between them. They had been doing this dance for months now, ever since she had stumbled into his life, a lost soul looking for a quick high and an even quicker escape from reality. He pulled out a lighter and a blunt, lighting it with a flick of his thumb. He took a deep drag, the smoke filling his lungs before he exhaled it in a slow, deliberate stream that curled around his head like a halo.

The girl leaned in, her breath hot against his neck as she began to unbuckle his belt. He could feel the anticipation building, a familiar ache in his groin. She was good at this, the best he had ever had. Her hands were deft, and she knew just how to make him squirm with pleasure. As she slid down to her knees, he leaned back, closing his eyes and letting the warmth of the apartment and the buzz from the weed wash over him. Her mouth was soft and eager, and he couldn't help but let out a low groan of satisfaction.

"Mm, you're the best," he murmured, his hand finding its way into her hair. She smirked around his length, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

The TV flickered in the background, casting strange shadows across the room as she worked her magic. The only sounds were the crackle of the blunt and the quiet, wet noises of her sucking him off. The tension grew, tightening in his stomach like a coiled spring. But as much as he enjoyed this, he knew it was just the prelude to what was to come. The real show would start once the sun went down and the shadows grew long. And he had a feeling tonight was going to be one for the books.

"Take it deeper," he ordered, his voice gruff and demanding. She complied, her eyes watering slightly as she took him all the way in, her throat constricting around him. He watched her, his eyes hooded and dark, a sadistic smile playing on his lips. "Yeah, that's it. Like you're starving for it." He knew she wasn't, of course. This was just their game, a dance of power and submission that they both found thrilling in their own twisted ways.

He tangled his fingers in her hair, gripping tightly as he began to thrust shallowly into her mouth. She gagged, and he felt a surge of power, a rush of control that was almost as intoxicating as the weed. "You're such a good little slut," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. She moaned in response, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure through him. He knew she didn't like being talked to like that, but it was part of the thrill for her, the edge of degradation that made her feel alive.

"Look up at me," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. She obeyed, her eyes meeting his, and he could see the mix of defiance and desire in them. He smoked the blunt, letting the smoke drift into her face, watching as she coughed and sputtered around his cock. "That's right, breathe me in," he said, his tone mocking. She glared at him, but there was a spark in her eyes that told him she loved every second of it. This was their dynamic, a push and pull that kept them both coming back for more.

The tension grew, the air in the room thick with it, until he couldn't hold back anymore. He felt the warmth building in his balls, the pressure mounting until it was all he could focus on. With a final, deep thrust, he came in her mouth, filling it with his hot seed. She choked, but she didn't pull away, her eyes never leaving his as she swallowed every drop, a look of triumph on her face.

He sat back, his chest heaving as he took another hit of the blunt, watching her wipe her mouth with the back of her hand. "Good girl," he said, his voice a little softer now. She stuck her tongue out at him, a playful gesture that made him laugh despite the heaviness in the air. They had an understanding, a bond that went beyond the physical. They were both damaged in their own ways, but together, they found a strange solace in their toxic little rituals.

Chris took a moment to compose himself, his heart racing from the intense climax. He reached down to help her up, pulling her onto the couch beside him. She curled into his side, her head resting on his shoulder as they both took a moment to catch their breath. The TV flickered on in the background, the mundane sitcom laughter a stark contrast to the raw intimacy they had just shared.

"So, what's the plan for tonight?" she asked, her voice a little hoarse from her earlier exertions. He could feel her body relaxing against him, the adrenaline slowly draining away. He took another drag, holding the smoke in his lungs before exhaling. "Got a big score lined up," he said, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Should be enough to get us out of here for a while."

Her eyes lit up at the mention of leaving this run-down apartment behind, if only temporarily. "Where are we going?" she asked, a hint of hope in her voice. He wrapped his arm around her, his fingers tracing idle patterns on her bare skin. "Somewhere warm, with a beach and no worries," he said, his voice a promise.

The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes, each one bringing them closer to the night's main event. But for now, they were content to sit in the quiet, their bodies entwined and their minds racing with the possibilities of what the future could hold. The blunt burned down to a nub, the embers casting a warm glow over the room.

As the last of the light faded, the apartment felt like a cocoon, a temporary escape from the harsh realities of their lives. But outside, the world was waiting, and with the promise of a big score, the stakes had never been higher. They both knew that this could be their ticket to a better life, or the end of the line. But for now, all they had was each other, and the thrill of the unknown.

the vibe dwb!chris brings to the function

[is-the-fire-real]

Three cercolons. Literally translates to "big circles", cercolons are decorative wall plates and a specialty of Andalusia. These are ceramic and hand-painted. The first two depict the Temple menorah (with seven branches), one in various shades of blue and one in a variety of colors. The other depicts a Magen David lined with leaves and flowers.

All of the golden-colored edging and accents are 24-carat gold. The flowers and decorative edgework are examples of cuerda seca (dry cord), a technique for painting tiles and ceramics which dates to the period of Arabic colonization of Spain.

[girlkisser13]

dionysus cabin headcanons

children of dionysus

• HUGE theater kids.

• being highly emotional, wine children make great actors.

• they throw the best parties.

• they have extra beds in their cabin for people who pass out and can't handle their liquor.

• when one of them is upset, others around them get upset too, due to dionysus having influence on the mind.

• they hate the indoors and prefer open spaces.

• even when sober, they can't pass a breathalyzer test because they naturally have the scent of wine on them.

• they are all great cooks and know which wine to pair with each meal.

• they are all very good at directions and are rarely lost (a blessing from their stepmother).

• gender fluidity is common with dionysus kids.

• they all have thick, curly hair and strange color eyes.

• they are prone to depression and anger and are often bipolar.

• daughters of dionysus are rare so they are as powerful as big three kids (canon in the myths).

• they are harder to charmspeak due to their connection with the states of mind.

• arguments last for months because anger runs in their blood and the wine influence makes it worse.

• when they’re sad, they can make vines wilt by just looking at them.

• on very rare occasions, wine children can be born with the ability to affect another's mental state temporarily.

• this ability makes them feared by many, because they can cause hysteria and hallucinations, but they are also sought out by some suffering from depression or anxiety to help relax them.

• they get really thirsty really easily. they always have a bottle of water on hand.

• they are able to recognize all kinds of alcohol with just a sniff, but they all hate wine-tasting.

• they can automatically tell if a beverage has been tampered with, laced with something unwanted or if the ingredients used to make said alcohol are not safe for consumption.

cabin exterior

• the cabin is draped in grapevines and ivy, with the plants growing in a seemingly chaotic yet aesthetically pleasing manner.

• the exterior features vibrant and rich colors like deep purples, greens, and golds. they are reminiscent of a vineyard in full bloom.

• their cabin has a rustic, almost ancient greek villa vibe, with wooden beams, stone walls, and terracotta roof tiles.

• strings of fairy lights, lanterns, and other festive decorations hang around the cabin, creating a lively, celebratory atmosphere even when there's no party.

• comfortable outdoor furniture like hammocks, cushioned chairs, and wooden benches are scattered around for lounging and socializing.

• the doors in their cabin occasionally change colors and vines tend to move on their own.

cabin interior

• their cabin is almost entirely purple on the inside, which makes everything a little bit dark and dramatic. it's also usually very cool and damp inside- the perfect climate for storing wine.

• plush, comfortable furniture in rich fabrics and colors create a cozy yet opulent atmosphere. think velvet couches, silk cushions, and ornate rugs.

• they have a central bar area with stools and a variety of non-alcoholic drinks (and a secret stash of wine). nearby, they have a lounge area with low tables, bean bags, and cozy chairs for socializing and relaxing.

• soft, warm lighting from chandeliers, lanterns, and fairy lights create a magical, inviting ambiance. there are also be candles and fireflies in glass jars scattered around.

• the interior also features plenty of natural elements, like potted plants, hanging vines, and flowers. some walls might even have living plants growing on them.

• decorations include garlands, streamers, and masks hanging from the walls and the ceiling, giving the cabin a perpetual party vibe.

• the walls are adorned with art pieces, ranging from classical paintings to more whimsical, modern interpretations of dionysian myths. sculptures of satyrs, nymphs, and other mythological creatures are scattered around the cabin.

cabin traditions

• when a child of dionysus falls in love, it's a cabin tradition that they give their partner a hideous leopard print shirt.

• they put on regular plays, improv sessions, or storytelling nights, often featuring greek and roman myths and tales related to their father.

• new wine children undergo a playful initiation rite, involving a series of fun challenges and games, ending with a toast (with grape juice) welcoming them into the cabin.

• inspired by traditional wine-making, they hold an annual grape-crushing competition, with teams competing to crush the most grapes by stomping on them, followed by a big party to celebrate.

divider by @plutism

[shankss-magnificent-ass]

Imagine Shanks finding out you're a painter

You: *humming along to some music as you apply a fresh coat of paint to the wall of the galley*

Benn and Lucky Roux: *walk in*

Benn: Hey Kid.

You: Hey

Lucky Roux: Did you make sure to use the mold resistant paint?

You: Yes Roux.

Benn: And you applied the sealant before the paint?

You: *nods your head* And the primer, I got this man, thanks for checking in on me.

Benn: Alright then, I'm just gonna open this here winder to get some fresh air in here, so you don't get high off the paint fumes.

You: aww, but that's the best part.

Lucky Roux: *snorts* Let me know when you're done, so I can start dinner. Also, when you are done, you might want to put up a barrier, so none of the others accidentally lean on it.

You: I enjoy seeing them covered in paint. So I think they're gonna be in for a surprise, or at least the boss will be. Because I bet you a thousand berry that he's definitely gonna lean in the paint.

Lucky Roux: I'll take that bet.

Benn: I ain't, because he'll definitely gonna do it.

The next morning

Shanks: *Still annoyed that he got paint in his hair the night before* is this shit finally dry?

Benn: yeah, the kid didn't paint in straight lines though.

Shanks: what! But they're usually so meticulous about doing tasks perfectly.

Benn: it was on purpose too, take a close look.

Shanks: *leans in and glides his fingers across a floral design in the brush strokes* do you think they like painting?

Benn: I believe so, that, or they inhaled too much paint fumes and decided to have fun with it.

Shanks: both are possible... Didn't they repaint the hallway, and bathrooms?

Benn: yeah? They painted patterns there too.

Weeks later

Shanks: Hey (y/n) I got you something! *Presents you with a colorful variety of house paints, and a bunch of supplies*

You: ... Wow, that's a lot of paint, are you wanting me to repaint every room on the ship?

Shanks: no silly, for you to have fun with. We noticed the patterns you painted in the galley and thought you might like more colors.

You: but where would I paint?

Shanks: where ever you'd like.

You: *Kisses him on the cheek, scoops up the supplies, and runs to your room*, Thank you!

Two days later in the galley

You: I finished my room is it okay if I paint this wall now?

Shanks: Go for it.

Benn: *watches you run off* they painted their whole room you know.

Shanks: I saw, I was impressed they managed to paint such steady line work with the ship moving so much.

Benn: I think the little maze design the pained on their door frame was my favorite. Do you think they take requests?

Shanks: I dunno.

You: *pushes the box of supplies onto one of the tables*

Benn: is it okay if I asked you to paint something?

You: sure!

Yassop: Wait, you take requests! I want the pillar in my room painted.

The crew: *crowd around you listing off the things they want painted*

Shanks: Guys, let em breathe for fuck's sake! Make a list so they can start painting.

Lucky Roux: I ain't writing down my request because it's simple, don't paint any more realistic bug on the damn walls. I nearly shit myself when I saw the cockroach you painted in the bathroom, that was not a fun surprise at three in the morning.

You: only termite holes, got it.

Lucky Roux: (y/n) no! No termite holes.

You: fine fine, although the fact that the paint on that cockroach didn't even get to dry before one of y'all smacked it, is hilarious.

Shanks: no more realistic bugs, dear, in fact avoid painting realistic critters all together please.

You: ugh fine.

Shanks: I have a project I'd like you to paint, but I'll need to get you a canvas for it. *Winks at you and wiggles his eyebrows*

Benn: Gross.... if he's getting a nude I want one too.

Shanks: You want my nudes too?

Benn: I want a nude of myself, ding-dong.

List of Up-and-coming works

Support me on Kofi and Patreon

[candysims4]

CC DROP | OCT 2023

BUY MODE EDITION

After taking a long break from posting Buy Mode cc, I put together a few random projects in my WIP folder and finished them. The result is this cc drop for October, which includes 13 clutter decor pieces.

THE DESCRIPTION OF EACH ITEM PLUS THE CREATOR’S NOTES BELOW THE CUT.

ALL ITEMS ARE:

BASE GAME COMPATIBLE

NON-DEFAULT

THUMBNAILS (HOSTED IN IMGUR)

MY SITE (NO AD.FLY): THE TRIO PAINTINGS (TWO VERSIONS) | CARINHA PLANT POT AND BOOKS | EQUILÍBRIO BOOKS (TWO VERSIONS) | OLD TIMES TRAY WITH LETTERS | ARGILA PLANTS | COMPANHIA BOXES (TWO VERSIONS) | UNEXPECTED UMBRELLA KEEPER | SUNKISSED SUNGLASSES Free release on 11th November 2023

PATREON EARLY ACCESS + MERGED OPTIONS

TERMS OF USE | SEND YOUR FEEDBACK | REPORT AN ISSUE

Thanks to all the cc creators that I used in the pic. And thanks to @maxismatchccworld, @simblrcollective, @s4library​, @wewantmods​, and everybody who reblog this post!

If you’re a cc finds and want to be tagged when I post, please, let me know. You can send me an ask or in DM.

With your help, more people can know about my work! 💖 Love you all, XOXO 💖

DESCRIPTION OF EACH ITEM:

THE TRIO PAINTINGS (TWO VERSIONS) You can search "The Trio Paintings" OR/AND “CandySims4″

WALL VERSION

38 swatches

138 polygons

§ 200

You will find in DECORATIONS/WALL

FLOOR VERSION

38 swatches

132 polygons

§ 200

You will find in DECORATIONS/CLUTTER

CARINHA PLANT POT AND BOOKS

32 swatches

978 polygons

§ 150

You will find in DECORATIONS/CLUTTER OR/AND PLANT

You can search by "Carinha Plant Pot and Books" or/and “CandySims4″

EQUILÍBRIO BOOKS (TWO VERSIONS)

14 swatches

578 polygons

§ 40

You will find in DECORATIONS/CLUTTER OR/AND STORAGE/BOOKSHELF

You can search by "Equilibrio Books" or/and “CandySims4″

OLD TIMES TRAY WITH LETTERS

35 swatches

70 polygons

§ 15

You will find in DECORATIONS/CLUTTER

You can search by "Old Times Tray with Letters" or/and “CandySims4″

ARGILA PLANTS You can search by "Argila Leafy Plant/Cactus/Succulent" or/and “CandySims4″

LEAFY PLANT

20 swatches

494 polygons

§ 38

You will find in DECORATIONS/PLANTS

CACTUS

20 swatches

262 polygons

§ 24

You will find in DECORATIONS/PLANTS

​SUCCULENT

20 swatches

298 polygons

§ 24

You will find in DECORATIONS/PLANTS

COMPANHIA BOXES (TWO VERSIONS)

38 swatches

92 polygons

§ 25

You will find in DECORATIONS/CLUTTER

You can search by "Companhia Boxes" or/and “CandySims4″

UNEXPECTED UMBRELLA KEEPER

40 swatches

796 polygons

§ 120

You will find in DECORATIONS/MISC

You can search by "Unexpected Umbrella Keeper" or/and “CandySims4″

Functional as an "umbrella rack"

SUNKISSED SUNGLASSES

38 swatches

992 polygons

§ 12

You will find in DECORATIONS/CLUTTER

You can search by "SunkissedSunglasses" or/and “CandySims4″

CREATOR’S NOTES:

I'll try to keep this creator's notes as short as possible, so let's right up start talking about the items individually, beginning with "The Trio Paintings." These paintings are absolutely stunning - they come in a variety of swatches, patterns, and landscapes (all Sims-themed, of course). You have two options to choose from: one that's wall-mounted and another that leans against the wall on the floor. Both options come with the exact same swatches.   

"Companhia Boxes" also come in two versions - one where they're side by side and one where they're stacked on top of each other. All of the swatches are color combinations, and few have patterns. They're different between the versions as they're made to complement one to the other. 

Name translation (from PT-BR): "Companhia" can mean a few things, but in this case, it is being used in the meaning of "companionship." Which totally makes sense to me because these boxes are always together.

"Old Times Tray with Letters" is a very random idea I had. I enjoy the aesthetic of letters, and I thought it would be cute to use as decor in a compartment, as a small place to leave the received mail when coming home.  My focus on it was the letters; I tried my best to make it very game-friendly with even tiny weenie stamps. 

"Sunkissed Sunglasses" are a simple yet stylish design, a wayfarer sunglasses folded. This versatile decor can go from adding a beachy vibe to your pool area to sprucing up your closet with some fun flair.

"Equilibrio Books" is another item that comes in two versions. The first version has all the books leaning towards each other and standing upright, while the second version is part stacked and part leaning in with the other books. Both versions have the same swatches with color/print variations.  I'm a big fan of these books' prints- they're so beautiful and game-friendly! It took me a while to make the diffuse for them because some of the base images were so tiny that I had to redraw them, but it was worth it in the end. Plus, they're functional as bookshelves.

Name translation (from PT-BR): "Equilíbrio" means "balance" in English.

The "Unexpected Umbrella Keeper" was a must-have for my game, and I hope it will be for yours too. Since there's only one in the game, I thought having something different would be awesome.  My idea for it was to be a decorative jar that was repurposed as an umbrella rack (from this concept came the name).  Not only is it a cool decoration, but it's also functional! You can click on it to grab an umbrella for your Sim, which makes it perfect for the hallway. 

"Argila Plants" has three plant varieties. A leafy plant, a cactus, and a succulent, all snugly placed in plant pots made of clay (or "argila" in Portuguese-BR). The leafy plant is comparatively bigger than the others, so it comes in a bigger pot. They all come in the same color swatches, so you can mix and match them however you like.

Last but would never be least, my favorite piece of this cc drop is the "Carinha Plant Pot and Books." I stumbled upon some images of similar plant pots on Pinterest and was so inspired that I knew I had to create one of my own! But, I wasn't feeling too confident in my skills, so I decided to design one that was more my speed and also low poly. And let me tell you, the end result is beautiful and adorable! I just love the little smile on its face. It's the cutest thing ever!

Name translation (from PT-BR): The term "carinha" is the diminutive of "cara"; it's a slang term that indicates or calls a person informally.  According to Google Translate in English, it's translated to "dude." 

I created these items at different times, so they all have their own unique designs and uses. Although I was never inspired to put them together in sets, I thought putting them in a cc drop would be better than posting them separately. I hope you don't find it too messy and can find something you like here. 

Even though they have different designs, I think they can all be used together without any problem. Personally, I'm really proud of how they turned out and all the hard work that went into them. I love every detail of them, and I'm especially happy that they're mainly low poly but still look nice.

Anyway, that's all I wanted to share for now. Thanks so much for reading my notes! I hope you have a fantastic day/night. XOXO

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Historic 1769 Colonial style home in Keymar, MD has been renovated and redecorated in a variety of styles. Firstly, they painted the distinctive brick exterior pale gray, with an orange door. It doesn't look bad, but it's not the traditional, iconic look. It has 4bds, 4ba, 5,227 sq ft, and they're asking $3m. If you are a purist when it comes to historic homes, you probably won't like it.

Now, remember- I said that it was done in a variety of styles. The entrance hall has Oriental themed wallpaper. They stripped the newel post and railing on the stairs and left it bare wood, (I like that look, but it needs a flat protective finish, b/c it's going to get very dirty), plus a new floor has an inlaid border.

The light fixture was removed from the ceiling medallion and they did a copper-look design on it.

The sitting room is very non-traditional with it's bright green walls but the ceiling mural has a colonial scene. Above the fireplace they have colored mirror squares.

The next room has a large jungle leaf print and a wooden hippo, elephant, plus a trunk.

This room has a wall of shelving and opens to hall stairs.

The family room has a dark, rustic, nautical look with black and deep green walls. This room has wood paneling that was painted over, plus a brick trim around the top. I wonder if they darkened the brick.

I have seen faux aged walls, but this one looks like black mold. It's well done, but unusual. They left the pocket doors and beadboard, but painted them dark gray. Ironically, the sink cabinet looks very colonial.

The tub has a framed skull print above it and some stuffed animals on the ledge. The shower is modern.

The dining room is gray & black with a French cabinet. The table is a pine colonial.

The large kitchen has a rustic ceiling and 3 different cabinet colors- blue, gray, and colonial red. The ceiling looks like flooring to me. The glassware cabinet looks French.

The open concept space has a dining room with a big stone fireplace and stripped doors on the patio. The gold glassware shelf is a French pastry stand.

The primary bedroom has a traditional look. Nice big fireplace in here. The wood paneling was painted white and there's a mural on the coffered ceiling.

This smaller bedroom has nice wallpaper. It even has a colonial rocking horse in the fireplace.

This is a lovely bath. I like the cabinet and closets.

There's a 2 car garage with a space between that they've turned into a home gym/man cave. There's also a sleeping area.

They painted this beautiful barn-turned-home a dark gray, including this wonderful brick wall on the side.

It's lovely inside with slate flooring.

There's also storage for the big Home Depot skeleton.

This garage has a sitting room downstairs and more of a hangout space upstairs.

The main house has a patio.

Lots of space. There's even another small stone building.

There's also a pond on the 25.02 acres of property.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/11210-Cash-Smith-Rd-Keymar-MD-21757/67480669_zpid/?

[oftenwantedafton]

weekend project | steve raglan x female reader

words | 2.9k

cw | explicit content, bondage, oral sex, vaginal sex

ao3 link

It’s the weekend, the perfect time to start that painting project you’ve been meaning to get to.

You’re at the hardware store late Saturday morning after enjoying a bit of a lie in, spending a few moments comparing paint sample colors beneath the neutral lighting provided before you decide on one that’s pale yellow. Anything has to be better than the garish shade of blue the previous owner had left behind.

You stand at the counter waiting for the gallon to be mixed and you become aware that there’s someone standing nearby, watching you. You can feel the weight of that gaze and you turn and the owner is a middle aged man that’s a series of almosts. Hair not quite one shade or the other, caught in the middle of shifting from brown to gray to white, with a matching moustache and beard. Blue eyes washed out, nothing like that horrible neon shade that’s coating your bedroom walls, and these spread just a little further apart than the average, studying you behind a layer of wide lensed glasses that dip well past the top arches of his cheekbones. Build on the leaner side, but not exactly what you’d call skinny; there’s a little extra around the middle there, just barely visible behind the tucked in long sleeve shirt. Taller than average, well over six feet, the hand curled around the shopping cart’s handle massive. There are a variety of things in that carriage that might seem innocent enough on their own, but compiled together, definitively less so: lengths of rope and chains, duct tape, an axe with a wicked looking blade. Your eyes rove over the items and his eyes rove over you before settling on yours, just watching and waiting to see how you’ll react.

You smirk, just the barest tease of a smile, because the guy’s attractive in an unconventional way, in a way that you can definitely appreciate, before you hear the sales associate behind the counter set your paint on the counter. You lift it up and grab a couple of paint stirrers and when you turn back your admirer has disappointingly left the aisle.

You suppose you could come up with an excuse to browse around and try to encounter him again, but you really should be getting home and getting started on this painting project. Besides, the can is heavy. The thin metal handle is digging into your fingers so you decide to leave the store, squinting against the bright sunlight that bathes you as you exit. You switch the paint can to the opposite hand to give that one a break, digging around in your purse still hooked over your shoulder for your car keys, and that’s when you see him again: the guy from the store with the kinky shopping list, just now shutting the trunk of a sedan that’s at least a couple of decades old.

You unlock the passenger door and set the paint can and wooden stirrers on the floor and then shut it, finding the man in the same position you’d last seen him, at the rear of his vehicle. No. Closer, now. Approaching you.

He says nothing, merely opening the door you’ve just shut, somehow folding himself into the compact automobile he’s much too tall for.

You know most people would’ve been surprised or creeped out or downright terrified, but you’re not most people and the man isn’t actually a stranger. He’s someone who drifts into your life from time to time, looking a little different, adopting a new disguise, using a different name. You’ve never questioned him about the reason why any of it is necessary, any more than you’d inquire about the concerning contents of the shopping cart moments before, and that’s probably why you’re still alive, while others undoubtedly aren’t. You play the game and don’t complain and you live to see another day.

You slide behind the wheel and start the engine, noticing your passenger’s knees pressing against the dashboard. Uncomfortable, you’re sure, but you don’t have far to go.

Less than ten minutes later you’re back in your driveway. Jerking the car key out of the ignition. Your uninvited guest carries the paint without you having to ask. He’s never seen your new place. He follows you up the three steps on the front porch, waiting for you to unlock the door.

Inside. Both of you. Door closed. Now what? You’re still in the process of unpacking. Boxes everywhere, some empty, some full. You’re still looking for more furniture. It’s your first home. You’re used to the square footage of an apartment, not an entire multi-story house to fill.

You end up guiding him up the stairs. Into the master bedroom, the room you want to paint. Just the bed in there right now. Didn’t make sense to move the rest of the furniture in before you’d repainted the walls.

You hear the sound of the paint can being set down behind you, the metal handle settling to the side with a soft clink. You’ve got the paint tray and the roller and a fresh cover already waiting. Bed stripped this morning, plastic over it just in case, headboard out in the hall. The frame, the box spring, the mattress, and the footboard in front of you and the man you’d let come home with you behind.

Another sound of shifting metal. You turn finally. He’s got his belt unfastened, pulling the leather strap through the loops of his olive slacks. A little thrill goes through you. A little scared, a little aroused. A lot aroused. He moves forward, the belt clutched in one hand, his other dragging the plastic off the mattress. Hand clamping around one of your wrists faster than you’d thought possible. The fear ratcheting up more now, desire still dominant and winning the battle. You’re fairly certain he won’t harm you, but there’s always the possibility. His grip is like iron. Your other wrist is grasped and manipulated until your pulse points kiss. Bounding beneath the blue threads. Belt secured around. Tight. The loops don’t reach that far in, but he manages to get the accessory maneuvered in such a way that it’s a perfectly fitting restraint. He’s had practice.

Speaking of confinement, he’s already working on your figure-clinging jeans. Button popped. Zipper parted. Those large hands hooking onto the sides, dragging them down, your panties going with them. Peeled down to your ankles. You lift your feet one at a time to oblige him, so he can remove your shoes and socks. Lower half bare now.

The window’s cracked open. The neighbors could see in. You would’ve preferred they not be able to, but you’re not the one running the show here. You’re pushed, his hand shoving somewhere along your hip, and you fall back onto the mattress. Watch him loosen his tie. Why is he dressed like he’s going to an office job on a Saturday? So formal. It’s a navy one with tiny embroidered diamonds. There’s a swishing noise as he drags it from underneath his shirt collar. The last time you’d seen him he’d been a little slimmer, a little younger. Less gray in the hair. Clean shaven. No glasses. Security uniform. Going by the alias Dave Miller.

His hand sits on your cheek now. Warm. Large. Gentler than you’d thought he’d be, given the mood he appears to be in, tying you up. Thumb dragging over your bottom lip. Pushing slightly until you grant him access, opening your mouth. He tastes like metal. From the paint can, maybe. Or something else.

Then you’ve got a mouthful of his tie. Bound arms lifted and hooked on the opposite post of the footboard, so that you’re stretched at an angle across the bed. You hadn’t bothered moving it, figuring it was out of the way enough. You wonder what he would’ve done in its absence. He sits on the edge of the mattress and shoves a hand beneath your tshirt and brassiere, flicking each nipple until they peak, hardening and rising with each strike of his nails. Your first sound emerges, a whimper against the material you’ve got clutched between your teeth. You would’ve liked a kiss first. A few. He’s great at that. A fucking master, if you’re being perfectly honest. That tongue. Christ.

No kisses for your mouth, but you’re getting them elsewhere, distracting you from the slight ache in your jaw, the drool that’s already starting to pool, your wrists slightly sore. You feel facial hair brushing each hip and that wet mouth sucking insistently along the crests, as if he can draw the bones right through the skin. You can feel the bruises as they’re being created, the vessels surrendering and bursting beneath the force of his mouth.

His hand rests against your mound, thumb just faintly teasing your clit, tugging at the beginning of your sex and you moan this time, your legs already spreading to accommodate him. You’re drenched and he brings that slick straight up to your bud, flicking just like he’d done with your nipples. A delicious kind of torture before his middle finger sinks inside your canal and his mouth descends to your drooling cunt.

Fucking perfect, even though the scratch of facial hair is something you’re not accustomed to, because this man is an artist when it comes to eating pussy. He knows exactly how to tease, how to bring you close to the brink of climax and how to drag you back from the edge, keeping you warm and humming until he shoves you right back towards bliss. His tongue flicks your pearl and strokes between your lips and even dips beside the thrusting finger.

He adds a second digit, stretching you further, clamping down and sucking hard and your back arches. His glasses have gone a bit foggy and he tosses them impatiently to one side and there are those eyes, those strange, captivating, pale blue gray orbs you see go dark, full of want and desire and a touch of bitter malice, never for you, specifically, but a kind of contempt and dissatisfaction with the world around him.

You hear noises outside and realize the neighbors are indeed home. Sounds like they’re starting up the barbecue grill. At least they’re not on the second floor, watching you getting eaten out. Maybe it’s just as well you’ve been gagged. William or Dave—or whatever the fuck he’s calling himself these days—is clearly done with foreplay. He’s got his fly undone and you catch a brief glimpse of that intimidating length of cock before he guides it to your entrance, pushing in, stopping just long enough to unhook you from the post—you were too far away, you know he wants to pound you good and deep—your pelvis dragged to the edge of the mattress and then he’s fucking into you fully, shoved right to the hilt, legs pushed back, upper body leaning. His teeth clutch part of the tie still stuffed in your mouth and he drags it free and you gasp for air, your flaring nostrils glad for the reprieve. Your mouth is an odd combination of dry and wet, your tongue the former and the inside of your cheeks the latter, but the older man solves that problem easily, spitting into your gasping maw and then immediately plunging his tongue down. His kisses are frenzied and he’s fucking you roughly—the sounds of his body meeting yours wet, obscene, lewd��and you savor every moment of it.

In the background, you’re aware of talking and laughter, a conversation to pass the time before there is the sound of meat touching heated metal, sizzling, a pleasant scent of smoke reaching you, making your stomach growl. You hear the hiss of caps being lifted off bottles—cold beer, most likely, that sounds so refreshing—but first, but first, there is this man drilling your pussy, filling you up so, so deep. There is his mouth at your throat now and a hand back at your breast and your wrists are still bound and trapped between your bodies, preventing you from carding through that silky hair that’s always been a guilty pleasure of yours. He’s such a strange, beautiful kind of creature. Dangerous, undeniably, not meant to be exposed to for any given length of time, just cautiously admired like an exhibit. He’ll never be caged like that, though. Never trapped behind bars, paying for whatever crimes he’s committed. He’s too clever for that, too adaptable.

He moans against your neck, the first sound he’s made with that wicked, talented mouth that tastes like your pussy, so loudly you wonder if the people outside can hear, can guess what’s happening indoors. Maybe they’ve heard the entire exchange; that wet, rhythmic slapping, the creaking of the mattress.

Sometimes, in the past, he’s had you ride him, guiding your hands to his throat, encouraging you to squeeze. Always dancing on that boundary between light play and serious injury. Flirting with actual harm. You’d never actually do it, and he surely knows it. You’re not a threat. The reverse, though…you’re never quite certain of. That’s where your fear originates. What excites you.

But for now he’s got you pinned beneath him, pummeled and drenched and whining because you’re teetering on that border again. Breaking through it. You’d cry out whatever alias he’s currently adopted if you’d known it, instead settling for a senseless sound of pleasure, muscles spasming around him, nerves sparking. The neatly parted hair is no longer so, now falling in damp tendrils across his forehead as his face hovers above yours, a choked sort of sound escaping and you feel him spill inside of you. There’s a lot as always, splashing that cavity and then leaking back out as he withdraws, flopping down beside you.

The neighbor’s cookout continues outside. The smell is truly enticing. Maybe you’ll invite yourself over. You’d bring your guest, too, but you know he wouldn’t want to attend. It’s never been like that between you. Just incredible sex and then you go your separate ways.

You feel a hand fumbling with the belt still lashed around your wrists, working it free. You rub the reddened flesh and flex the joints. Your arms are tingling. Your legs, too, but that’s for a different reason, the aftershocks still pulsing in your lower body.

His head tips to you, and you finally get to touch his hair, smoothing back the damp tresses. His glasses have been retreived, resting on his chest. You lift them and try them on. Clear plastic, of course. No correction necessary.

“What name are you using now?” You hand him back the eyewear.

“Steven Raglan, I think. Haven’t actually tried it out yet. This was a bit of a test run.”

“Hmmm. Steven, huh? It’s a little too formal. Steve might be better.”

He frowns, rummaging in his shirt pocket and handing you a business card. “I’ve already had these printed.”

You scan the embossed lettering. “Career counselor? Department of Social Services? Really?”

“Sure, why not?”

He plucks the card from your fingers and returns it to his pocket.

“Don’t get all huffy. I’m just not used to it yet. I was used to Dave. William.”

His breath hitches at your mention of the last one. You’ve always suspected that one might be his real identity.

“You look good. Even if this is a bit abrasive.” Your knuckles briefly brush his cheek. It was strange, this kind of pillowless pillow talk. He normally departed immediately afterwards. To be fair, it had been a rather aggressive session. And he’s getting older. So are you.

“These walls are atrocious,” he observes, scowling.

“I know,” you sigh. “Hence why I was at the store buying paint.”

“How does it feel being a homeowner?”

“It’s a lot to manage by myself. But yeah, good. Better than throwing rental money at someone and having nothing to show for it.”

The older man sits up and you mirror his movements. He stuffs the tie in his pocket and begins rethreading his belt through the loops.

“I don’t suppose you want to stick around and help me paint.” You know he won’t. But it can’t hurt to ask.

“I’ve got things to do.”

“That was an interesting assortment of items you purchased at the home improvement store.”

His hands freeze and he looks at you, and for a moment you think, This is it. This is where I push him too far. Outlive my usefulness. Become a liability.

Then he shrugs and stands, tucking his shirt in and refastening his fly. Your shoulder sag in relief. You’re going to live to see another day after all. You have to be more careful, though. He’s not your friend. You can’t talk to him so casually, even if it had seemed like, just for a moment there…

Outside now. The neighbors wave to you. Raglan’s back in the car already. You think you will head over once you get back. The painting can wait a little longer.

The store’s parking lot is crowded when you return to drop your companion off. “I’ll see you around,” he says, fingers curling around the door handle.

“Bye, Steven.”

“Steve,” he corrects, a slow grin stretching his mouth. “I think I will change it after all. Thanks for the suggestion.” He removes the business card once again and lays it on the dashboard. “In case you decide to stop by for some employment advice.”

“I just might do that,” you murmur.

Home repairs are expensive, after all.