#casually asks for their blessing in front of purgatory

[lotus-duckies]

nari really out here asking his siblings to be there for this...

kallamar knows whats up

[devildom-moss]

Stolen Moments with the other dateables

(Diavolo, Barbatos, Simeon, and Solomon x gn!mc)

(suggestive)

Diavolo

Diavolo doesn’t have to sneak around trying to get you alone with him very often. However, because he hates to displease Lucifer and because he wants to give you space, he tries not to be selfish. It’s so easy for him to summon you to the castle privately and just as easy for him to invite you to come alone in front of everyone. At the castle, the only person he has to worry about is Barbatos, and in most cases, Barbatos will leave the two of you alone once he’s certain that you’ve both been appropriately accommodated. (However, if Barbatos invited you over and Diavolo tries to steal you away, there will be issues – horrific aura filling the room, magically appearing stacks of documents for Diavolo to complete, and pickles accidentally making their way to the dinner table kind of issues.) Diavolo feels blessed to get you alone, but the thought that he eventually has to let you go looms over him. Because of this, he wants to touch you as much as you’ll let him. He’s especially fond of taking you back to his room and getting you in bed, even if you’re just watching something together. He wants your scent to stain his bed sheets, so that once he lets go of you, something of you still lingers with him.

Secret invites are another good excuse for Diavolo to get you alone in a way. Even with Barbatos and Lucifer keeping an eye on him, Diavolo can always find a few spare minutes to secretly send you a text asking you out. Some events he invites you to require him to bring a date, and he’s delighted to use that as an opportunity to ask you out. Exclusive parties and events can be an especially good tactic to get you away from the House of Lamentation or Purgatory Hall. Diavolo has mixed feelings about bringing you to fancy parties, though, because he has to put his position above his desire to show you a good time. Still, the fact that you can experience something new (some of those themed parties he attends can get wild for something so high-class) and that he gets to show everyone else that you belong to him – at least for the night – makes it worth it. If he gets the chance to spend the entire night with you because of those parties by getting a hotel room or returning to the castle after the event, that’s even better.  

Barbatos

Like Diavolo, Barbatos will just request your presence at the castle, and if he’s trying to be particularly greedy or sneaky, he’ll ask you to come straight to his room. He doesn’t have much free time, and that can mean long stretches of time without getting you to himself. As much as he may try to hide it, he gets pent up to the point of desperately, urgently needing you. Often, he will entice you with offers of sweets or a new blend of tea – any excuse he can come up with. However, sometimes he just wants to know that you would come to visit for no other reason than just seeing him. No one will question his motives if he sends you a message asking you to visit or requests a bit of your time at the castle in passing or after a meeting. Barbatos is so proper that few would expect how quickly he can escalate intimacy once he has you behind closed doors.

During parties or casual meetings, Barbatos likes to steal you away by asking for help in the kitchen. The only real risk of interruptions in the kitchen would be Luke or Simeon (and maybe random staff at the castle who know how to keep their mouths shut – even Little D. no. 2 knows better). Those are pretty good odds. He might take the opportunity to show off his skills and cook/bake with you, or he might just use it as an excuse to be alone. Barbatos enjoys cooking with you, especially when he is able to teach you something new. It makes him feel like the luckiest man in all three realms when you successfully complete a dish together; if you smile at him or kiss him in response to your success, he’ll survive off of that joy all week. When he just wants to be alone with you, sometimes he has food waiting in the kitchen that he wants you to try before anyone else, and other times, he just wants to get his hands on you away from everyone’s watchful eyes.

Simeon

Simeon figured out that the easiest way to get you alone is to ask for your help with mundane tasks. Does he need to go to the store to pick up ingredients for dinner? Does he have a library book to return? Does he need to do research on a specific Devildom plant for a class? He’ll ask you to come along with him. He knows that the people most likely to cling to your side (Mammon, Levi, Asmo, and Belphie) are the least likely to want to do something boring like that. All of those obstacles – excluding Asmo – will probably tell him to go alone, but they can’t do much if you agree to help him. That isn’t to say that he doesn’t occasionally have to deal with a tag-a-long, but it’s a pretty effective system overall. Moreover, he enjoys asking you to help him with mundane tasks because it gives him a taste of what it might be like to live with you. He cherishes those moments where he feels like you are such an integral part of his life that you bleed into the most mundane parts. Simeon also gets mischievous pleasure out of being seen around the Devildom with you, knowing that it’s possible for rumors to reach their way back to everyone else who wants you.

Additionally, Simeon often disguises quality dates as a simple task. When he asks you to go shopping with him, he might also invite you to go to a park or to check out a festival or new restaurant while you’re already out. If you helped him locate a book he needed at the library, he might invite you to dinner or take you to a café as a thank you. If you help him carry something home, he’ll invite you to stay for a while. Simeon has a way of keeping you much longer than intended – sometimes even inviting you to stay the night at Purgatory Hall because you were both so busy and didn’t realize how late it was. It’s devious of him, but he rarely gets called out on it, and when he does, he feigns innocence.

Solomon

Solomon uses his status as your teacher to steal you away, and he isn’t even subtle about it, sometimes. (“MC, I have an extra special lesson that I’d like to invite my favorite and only apprentice to participate in.” Sir, if you want to get laid, just say it.) That said, he actually does take the time to teach you most of the time, and if he tries to get handsy, he usually has the sense and self-control to wait until after the lesson. Study sessions with him often occur in his room because that’s where most of his personal materials are, and the comfortable, private setting can be beneficial to both of you (like that time you accidentally turned Solomon into a catboy in a maid outfit. Satan would have loved to see that, though). It just also happens to be a perfect setting for his lessons to get off-track. Solomon loves being such a crucial part of your learning experience, and he takes pride in that, but it also turns him on a bit, too – the fact that you rely on him and trust him so much. That can come out in the form of the rewards he offers you when you do a good job.

Another way that Solomon will steal you away hides under the guise of “human world stuff.” Not only does he invite you to visit the human world with him whenever he’s granted the opportunity, but he will also just drag you out of the room and in response to anyone’s protests, he’ll just tell them, “it’s human world stuff.” That is the truth maybe 10% of the time. It’s usually just an excuse for him to pull you into an abandoned classroom because he can’t keep his hands to himself for a minute longer or to drag you out into the town on a date. He’s even used that excuse on Luke, Simeon, and Raphael at Purgatory Hall so he can pull you into his room. One time, he didn’t even wait until his door was closed to put his lips on you. Initially, he didn’t tell you what was going on, but at this point, you know that 9 times out of 10 “human world stuff” is code for Solomon needing attention.

(the demon brothers version) | (Raphael and Mephistopheles) | (Thirteen)

[quazartranslates]

Welcome to the Nightmare Game II - CH57

**This is an edited machine translation. For more information, please [click here]**

[<<< Previous Chapter | Table of Contents | Next Chapter >>>]

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Chapter 57: Purgatory Reunion (IX) {cw: torture}

At this moment, Qi Leren’s shock was completely written on his face, and this surprise and shock sent the wrong message—Ning Zhou's hand trembled and suddenly let go.

"Wait!" Qi Leren realized that he had made a mistake and quickly took Ning Zhou's hand. "I was just a little surprised. I didn't mean it. I'm, I'm very happy."

This joy was sincere. Although Qi Leren thought this progress was too fast, unexpectedly, he didn't want to refuse, but thought that this was also quite good. They had experienced too many separations and tortures, so these people who loved each other should be together. Besides, he had already received Ning Zhou's ring—one on his tombstone at Undead Island and one on his left hand when he’d woken up in the tree tomb. He had also wished to give this heart to Ning Zhou in return—in the letter he’d written to Ning Zhou that was not received.

"Really?" Ning Zhou asked.

Qi Leren nodded hard: "Really!"

Ning Zhou smiled; the gloom in his heart immediately dissipated, and the uncontrollable thought of wanting to destroy everything quietly sank to the bottom again.

Qi Leren was still looking at him, and his brown eyes were a little uneasy, but there wasn’t even the slightest reluctance, which convinced Ning Zhou that he really was willing.

The person he loved had returned to him with the same strong and meaningful emotions. Even if God didn't bless them, they were still inseparable.

This thought had given him peace of mind, and his world was no longer withering and dead at last. The warm sunshine illuminated this barren land and made him reborn.

So he took his hand again and walked forward firmly.

　　&&&

The underground casino mentioned by the contact Celia was located in a remote part of the lower Underground Ant City. The rail cars weren’t directly connected to the lower part of the city, so Qi Leren and Ning Zhou had to get off the bus outside it and enter on foot.

The chaos of the Underground Ant City became more and more prominent in the lower city. Within the boundary of the upper city, there was at least a basic order, and there were few violent conflicts in the streets. However, when the two entered the lower city, the world they could see was almost a hell: dirty old streets, ragged pedestrians, and eyes that were numb or malicious... In the shadows of the street corners, Qi Leren even saw several bodies, which seemed to be an inescapable element of this place.

There was the scent of blood in the air, and Qi Leren's five senses had been enhanced after breaking the shell. The consequence of a keen sense of smell was that he could smell these unpleasant smells more easily than before.

Following the clue given by Celia, the two people who were dressed in disguises came all the way to the underground casino. The skinny doorman standing by the entrance secretly glanced at the two strange guests wearing masks. The tall one stood straight and was out of place in the lower city. The shorter one was dressed in an exaggerated sexy leather coat, and glanced at him and gave him a tip of copper coins.

The doorman hurriedly pushed open the door, and with its opening, the bloody and absurd world behind the door appeared.

It was like a greedy beast driven by desire, constantly devouring life.

Both human beings and demons became confused once they entered this trap, would lose their senses, bet everything on their person, and be ruined.

The world behind the door was a crimson hell, and the strong scent of blood made the people who had just set foot inside hold their breath. The floor of this dark underground casino was soaked with a layer of blood! Stepping a foot down, the sticky blood splashed on his shoes, and even slowly seeped in, and the sticky and disgusting feeling made Qi Leren's hair stand upright.

Crazy cries echoed in this dark underground world. Both humans and demons stared at the chips on the table excitedly, and went crazy whether they won or lost.

There was also a gambler who was being punished in the corner of the casino. He was stripped naked and hung upside down from the ceiling. Several lower demons laughed and urged him to bet: "There’s a 'leg' missing, will the next one be the left leg or the right leg!"

The gambler who had fainted from the severe pain of castration had a bowl of pain-killing medicine poured down his throat, and he choked up with tears, whining and groaning.

A little hellhound knelt in the pool of blood, licking its lips and excitedly watching the blood bubbling up between the legs of a castrated gambler. Fresh blood was as delicious as wine for demons.

"I bet my left leg! Left leg! Betting high! This one must win!" The gambler who had been called back by the pungent demon blood widened his bloodshot eyes and shouted at the top of his lungs.

The dice on the gambling table were lifted, and the gambler's fanatical expression instantly solidified on his face.

The demons smiled grimly, and cut off one of his legs. The gambler screamed hysterically, but he only got a casual glance from the other gamblers. They laughed and laughed at the unlucky goner who had lost everything, and didn’t feel that every time they bet, they were moving closer to him.

Ning Zhou frowned, and all the absurdity and depravity here made his skin crawl. This wasn’t the first time he had come to the demons’ territory, nor the worst place he had ever seen, but...

Ning Zhou looked at Qi Leren beside him. His face was hidden behind half a mask, showing his tight mouth. From his body language, his mood at the moment was just as heavy and tense.

However, when a scantily clad female dealer came up to them, Qi Leren’s manner changed immediately.

In a moment, Qi Leren half turned, and committedly took his arm. He looked up and whispered in his ear: "You keep quiet, let me ask about things."

Ning Zhou's ears turned red, and he couldn't help but feel glad that the lights here were dim enough. However, Qi Leren, who had already broken his shell, could completely see his red ears and shouted “cute!” in his heart.

The dealer stood in front of the two men. She should have stood closer, but these two gays may not welcome her approach, so she politely asked, "Is this your first time here?"

"Why, are we not welcome?" Qi Leren's voice changed. Although it was still a male voice, it was more delicate and feminine than ordinary men. The deliberately drawn out tone was full of ambiguous dissatisfaction.

"How can that be?" the dealer quickly apologized. "What do the two of you want to play?"

Qi Leren pointed to the table with the most people: "Let's play whatever’s there."

The dealer led the two men to go forward with light steps, her slender high heels sticking on the foul blood.

The gambler who was being punished in the corner had already lost his legs. He was put down, whining and crawling in the pool of blood. The little hellhound opened its mouth and bit his wound. The lower demons laughed and talked over their glasses while urging it on.

"Whether I bet big or small, you double your chips and bet against me," Qi Leren whispered to Ning Zhou.

Behind his mask, Ning Zhou looked puzzled.

"Believe me, getting rich depends on this trick." Qi Leren showed a weak smile.

“……”

The dealer handed them exchange chips and enthusiastically helped two people place their bets. In her eyes, the two men were really strange. Not because they were wearing masks, but because...

"Low." This person wearing a half-mask casually gathered a few chips and carelessly threw them into the low area.

The dealer silently turned her attention to the other person, and sure enough, the man put double chips in another area.

The other gamblers at the table made random bets, and no one noticed this slightly weird scene.

The dice rolled, and the result was self-evident.

The chips in front of the man wearing a half-mask decreased at a speed visible to the naked eye, but the chips in front of his companion were increasing. After several rounds, he finally felt bored. He pointed to the chips in front of the two of them and motioned for the dealer to put them away. He held the man's arm and whispered with him, and he also giggled.

As if he was aware of the dealer's sight, he turned his face slightly, and his eyes hidden behind the mask swept over her coldly, but there was a charming smile on his mouth: "I don't like you looking at my man with eyes like that. Next time you look at him like this, I’ll dig them out."

"I'm sorry." The dealer immediately lowered her head, intently looking at her blood-stained feet, and never looked at the two men.

"Good girl. This is a reward for learning politeness." The man stuffed a chip into her bra and laughed maliciously. "When I look closer, your makeup is really thick. I’ll remind you that your facial features are really not suited for this kind of heavy makeup."

With that said, he returned to the man's side and he muttered a few words.

The dealer kept her head down and let herself be silenced under the strong aura of these two men. 

"By the way, I want to ask you about someone." The man wearing a half-mask lazily uttered a name.

The witness had been a frequent visitor to this underground casino, and he is also the last person to see the illusionist. He had claimed to have met the Illusionist who wore women’s clothing in this underground casino. After that, both the Illusionist and this person disappeared, and even the informants who came to verify had disappeared.

It was risky to ask directly. Qi Leren didn't expect to get the answer he wanted from an ordinary dealer. He just wanted to test how deep the water here was.

"I’ve heard the name... but I haven’t served him before. Let me ask for you?" the dealer asked carefully.

"Sure."

So the two men sat down in front of a coffee table in a quiet corner of the underground casino, and there was no overwhelming scent here. Qi Leren just squeezed into the same sofa with Ning Zhou—he had a very honest reason: it was so that they could quietly communicate at any time.

The female dealer who had just left came back with a tall male dealer. He looked like a higher-up and his face was reserved and arrogant: "Hello, I heard you’re looking for someone?"

"Trying to find a friend," Qi Leren said lightly.

"He hasn't come for several days. Maybe he walked into the pub and couldn’t climb back out." The dealer seems to be familiar with the missing witness, but his tone was full of the coldness and indifference particular to this place.

"Which pub?" Qi Leren asked carelessly.

The male dealer's expression changed slightly. He asked with slight suspicion: "Aren't you his friend?"

A mistake, he had said the wrong thing. Cold sweat flowed down Qi Leren, and Ning Zhou held his hand tightly.

Qi Leren's nervous brain was running at a rapid speed, and he switched from a state of casual handling to a state of first-level alert. He had to round up his words and at least explain why he was a "friend" of that person, knowing the underground casino he loved but not the pub he loved.

"Friend?" Qi Leren's smile was even more fake. The deep ridicule and disgust beneath it were completely written in his smile. "Can you call someone who doesn’t pay back his debt a friend?"

The male dealer suddenly realized that he was a debt collector.

This wasn’t surprising. In this place full of gamblers, the debts of this group of people added up to an extremely horrible number, which was enough for them to sell everything they owned, whether it was their wives, their children, or their own bodies.

"I heard that he often comes here. It's a pity. If he used the time he spent gambling here to sell his ass instead, he wouldn't owe so much." Qi Leren dragged out an ambiguous sound and looked at the gambler amidst the crowd in the distance. His smile grew colder. "Or does the fool prefer to lose his hands and feet here, but doesn't want to work hard to pay his debts?"

The two dealers also looked at the man. He had already lost his legs and arms, leaving only a bare head hanging from his neck as he slowly died in a pool of blood. The demons around him were cutting his tongue and belly, and choosing the best parts from the blood-covered table.

The light steps of a woman came from behind them.

Qi Leren didn't look back, but Ning Zhou did, looking at the shameless woman.

The two dealers stood up from their chairs together and said respectfully, "Manager."

The female manager took a few steps forward again, gave Qi Leren an appraising look, and saw his slightly exposed leather coat from his half-mask, and then saw his boots covered with silver ornaments.

"Mr. Red?" Her face pulled into a grandiose smile, "is it really you? I haven't heard from you for a long time."

Qi Leren was startled. Red? How could this fake identity he had fabricated while undercover with the Slaughter Secret Society have acquaintances in Underground Ant City? He had never seen this woman at all.

"The Mrs is waiting for you, please be sure to join us."

-----

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[artificialqueens]

The Kids are Alright (Katya [Trish] & Cracker) - Dandee

Her name’s Trish and she just got out of her mom’s garage. She’s fourteen days clean and sober by the grace of god (still smokin’ a little bit of pot, but it’s whatevah). It’s all about her, God, and Thanksgivin’. Why? Cause everyday’s Thanksgivin’. And in the words of the great Jimmy Buffet, we all know that Santa stole Thanksgivin’, so now it’s Christmastime– or at least it was a couple months ago. She couldn’t feel her feet last year, but those days are over now– she’s a new woman today.

Trish meets an unlikely character. Friendship/Crackfic

**********************************************

“Thank ya, sir. God bless ya.”

Trish takes the five and tucks it into her tit, watching the guy that gave it to her rejoin his happy-lookin’ lady-friend.

Thank God for tourists.

Her strappy heels drag along the sidewalk as she fumbles with the soft-pack of Pall Malls. Good ole’ tourists, even in February. Guy can’t be that well off if he’s sightseeing in goddamn shitting February but hey, maybe he’s Catholic. Maybe he’s got guilt issues. Or maybe he just wants to get laid. Who cares, it’s Christmas. Or it was. Close enough, whatevah.

She pats her chinchila pockets and groans.

“Eh, crapsticks,” she mumbles, cigarette dangling from her lips. She pats her other tit, then spins around and pats her tush. There ain’t nothin’ there but it’s just crazy– that’s the third lighter today gone missin’. The good lord above’s got her in some kinda purgatory, got her suckin’ on cigarettes but won’t let her smoke ‘em.

Some sense of humor that lady’s got.

“Hey!” She calls, rushes over to a dude headed toward the crosswalk with a stogie. He immediately picks up his pace, and so does she.

“Hey! Hey.” She grabs his elbow and he whirls around, face pink and chapped from the cold. She grabs the cigarette from her lips and waves it to him, “Light me up?”

“Jesus, lady,” he stammers, shrugging her off. He scowls real mean-like at her before he pulls his coat tighter, muttering a “psycho bitch” and turning on his heel.

Trish’s brows furrow as she watches him go. “No–you!” she calls after him, but he just keeps walking. Yeah, keep walkin’. Mean-ass.

People, man.

That’s the thing about the city– for every kind-hearted tourist you get an asshole local who thinks they own the place. An asshole local who still needs a smartphone to get back to their high-rise condo or they get their asses lost. Trish doesn’t have a phone. Doesn’t want one, doesn’t need one. She knows these streets like the back of her hand, could get herself anywhere in this goddamn city quicker than you could say the serenity prayer in a five-thirty rush. She could take the train six times over and not pay a single penny outta her pocket. She could swipe a hotdog stand faster than a knifefight in a phone booth. These ain’t their streets. They’re hers.

A chilly breeze whips from around a building and slaps her in her face. She pops her smoke back in her mouth, shoves her hands deep in her pockets.

She braces herself against it, tense as she steps away from the street. It might be one of those nights tonight, one of those station stairs nights. It smells like piss but at least it’s warm. The dumpster’s always an option, but last time she fell asleep in the can shit got real sticky in the morning. Wakin’ up in a garbage truck isn’t so fun— all that. Ya know.

She watches her feet as she walks slow, putting one foot sexily in front of the other. She smiles at the shimmery silver heels, the way the ankle straps hug her wooly socks. Bobby’s such a sweetheart, thinkin’ of her around Christmastime and gettin’ these. She’s gonna call him again tomorrow. Just gotta find a pay phone that works. But she’ll call him.

A sniffly sound grabs her attention. Trish glances up.

A little girl, standing right outside the train stairs. Blonde hair pulled into a ball on top of her head, sweet little navy blue peacoat. Huggin’ her own waist and lookin’ around scared.

Trish looks behind her, then back again. What, somebody just left her here? People dumpin’ kids now? Christ.

She sticks her cigarette behind her ear and mozies on over to the girl, whistling a low Jimmy Buffet Christmas tune. She strolls past her casually and parks it against the railing of the stairs. She clears her throat.

The girl doesn’t look at her.

Trish coughs, sniffs loud. She catches a little side eye from the kid but that’s about it. The kid just hugs herself tighter, lookin’ straight ahead.

Giving an inaudible sigh, Trish looks around for a sec. She scuffs her heel against the pavement, flaps her coat. Then, after a moment, out of the corner of her mouth,

“You, uh– you got a light?”

The girl blinks once, twice. Then her face scrunches up and she looks at Trish, all brown eyed and buck toothed.

“Wh– what?”

Trish rolls her eyes. “A lighter. Matches? Fuego?”

A moment passes between them– the girl, brow creased and nose wrinkled, blinking— and Trish staring back at her, foot tapping against the pavement.

The girl never gives an answer, and Trish eventually shrugs her off. She grumbles and slumps back against the railing. Kids these days, no respect for their elders.

“That depends, you got a cigarette for me?”

Well that catches Trish off-guard, she’ll admit it. She’s no stranger to the game. But a bit young to be playin’ in the streets, this one.

She measures the wager— kid can’t be older than thirteen, maybe twelve and a half. But she’s old enough to know better, and who’s Trish to judge? She’s been smokin’ since she was ten, holed up in the back of a dressing room pinning her ma’s garter to her thigh-high and cutting cash after showtime.

She peers at the kid from the corner of her eye. Little shit’s still lookin’ straight ahead, but now she’s wearin’ a smirk like a kitty-cat who’s locked it’s people outside.

“Ahrite, ahrite,” Trish sighs, reaches into her pocket and digs into her pack. She pulls two smokes, and the girl reaches out her hand.

“Uh-uh, huh.” Trish waggles her finger, “Light first.”

The kid rolls her eyes. She bends to fish a box of matches out of her sock, and smacks it into Trish’s open palm.

“Aaaank-you.”

Lipping the cig, Trish swipes the matchstick on the red and heyfirst try (she’s still got it), the thhrraaackk of the success is like an angel singin’ out in the heavens. She covers the flame with her palm and gets a good cherry going. She tosses the box back to the kid and waves the stick out.

Kid catches the box and Trish flips her the other stogie. Kid catches that too, and she doesn’t say shit when she peels right past Trish and makes for the alley.

Smart kid.

Trish takes a long drag and boy God is good, it hits the spot. She stares out into the street for a second, watches a couple taxis swish by. An icy spray kicks up from under one of the wheels, and her knees buckle when it hits her straight in the caps.

“Agh, shit.” She steadies herself. Can’t afford another slip today.

She shoves her free hand back into her pocket, pulling her coat back to her and turns against the street. She shuffles around a little, that ole christmastime song creepin’ it’s way back into her brain.

“Merry Christmaass, Alabammaa— “ she bounces on her steps, wandering toward the alley. “Merry Chrissstmaaas… Tenness.. seee…”

She spots the kid, leaning up against the backdoor of Shangie’s Pack-n-Ship. She’s scratchin’ away at the matchbox, a couple goddamnit’s and fuck’s slippin’ out from around the cig between her buckteeth. She finally does get a light but she jumps, throws it out with a hiss and stomps her little heels.

“Hang on-“ Trish makes toward her, bringing her smoke back to her lips. Kid jumps, then serves a real suspicious scowl. She stays put though, and gets another match.

“Come on, here.” Trish nods, cupping her hands forward.

Kid huffs, but swipes again. She swipes a few more times, eventually turning into Trish’s little shield.

“Come on kid—do it like ya mean it, come on—”

Kid glares up from under her brows but keeps on, gettin’ kinda pissed. On a particularly desperate swipe, voila, she gets lucky.

“Easy, ahrite, there ya go-“ Trish keeps her hands hovered over the girl’s cig, and kid goes crossed-eyed while she watches the cherry light. Then she pinches the cig and pulls back, tosses the match stick and takes a drag.

Trish pulls back too, and makes her way to the other wall. Trish puffs and the girl sucks in through her teeth. Two streams of smoke blow from opposite sides of the alley.

“Thanks,” Kid says after a minute, leaning against the door and still lookin’ sus. She’s got her arms half-crossed with one knee up, oh-so-poised, like a fuckin’ ballerina on a lunchbreak.

Trish shrugs. “Yeah.”

And now the girl’s doin the thing they all do— just judgin’ Trish up and down. Reading her outfit, makin’ up stories about who she is and what she’s really smokin’. Trish is used to it by now, but she still pulls her coat in tighter. She clears her throat and shakes the loose hair outta her face.

“You should probably stick to daylight, kid. These streets are mean.”

Kid scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Who asked you?”

Trish shrugs again, “I’m just sayin’ honey. Ya got a lot of nerve, pullin’ stunts on a Friday night.”

Kid leans her head back on the brick. “Yeah well,” she takes quick drag, “I can take care of myself.”

Maybe it’s her god-given maternal instinct, but Trish’s heart goes all soft for a minute. Who’s lettin’ this little baby run the streets at night? Who’s dressin’ her up in fancy clothes like that, then not givin’ a shit about where she is? It’s 7pm, do you know where your child is? Ain’t anyone ever seen the commercial? What kinda mother-

“And actually, I’d really appreciate it if you’d fuck off.”

Trish feels her forehead wrinkle when her brows shoot up. “‘Scuse you?”

“Yeah.” The girl cocks her head, eyes narrowed, “This is my spot. Find your own.”

“Your spot? Sorry, but —what are you, nine?”

“Twelve, actually,” kid says. She blows smoke and looks at her nails like a goddamn debutante.

“Oh, right,” Trish chuckles, “Twelve. So sorry. ‘Scuse me Queenie Bee.”

The girl’s eyes snap up from her nails. “And what are you, seventy-five?”

Ouch, that’s ripe.

“Well that’s not very-“

“Shouldn’t you have been home by three? So you could catch the news at five and make it to bed by seven? Or does Wheel of Fortune push bedtime to eight?”

“Hey, I will have you know-“

“Or did you forget to drink your prune juice—“

“-that I have lived here longer—“

“-and you’re just taking a stroll to move things around—“

“-longer than you’ve been a twinkle in ya daddy’s eye-”

Kid stops, shuts up real fast. She looks down at her cigarette and takes her leg off the wall.

Trish can’t help her victorious grin.

“Oh no, did I hit a nerve? You don’t got nothin’ else to say?”

The girl shuffles some rocks around with her feet. “M-my dad,” she says, her voice giving a shake, “My dad’s not here anymore.”

Trish’s face falls, and Jesus Fucking Christ she’ll be damned if the kid doesn’t look up at her with tearful eyes and a quivering lip.

“Oh- oh honey,” Trish waves her hands, “nuh-nuh-no, please don’t cry.”

The girl wipes at her eyes, and then chokes out a little sob.

“Oh God honey, I- I’m so sorry,” Trish stammers. She rushes to her with her arms out, “Come here, stop that cryin’.”

The girl seems to give in and falls onto her, her shoulders goin’ and her little cries muffled by Trish’s chinchilla coat. This poor little thing, so tough on the outside. All she probably wants is some parents who care, but hell, don’t we all? Isn’t that really the root of all our problems? That’s what the psychic said back in June, anyway. And then she stole forty bucks, the bitch.

“Hey, shoosh those tears,” Trish says, gentle as she can. She rubs Kid’s back, real motherly-like.

“He- he’s in h-heaven now-“

“Oh, shh- of course he is, honey.” Trish looks up at the sky and makes a face. Eh? Is he though? That lady’s got a real issue up there.

But she rubs the kids back, all the same.

“Is that why ya out here all by yourself?”

The girl nods into her shoulder. Trish sighs. Of course.

This kid could probably use some real solid advice right now, some real words of wisdom. And the lady in the sky brought them together tonight, in this very moment, for Trish to teach her a little bit of what she’s learned about this cruel, nasty world. So it’s time to be a child of God and give it a go. She clears her throat and collect her thoughts as best she can.

“Listen honey,” she starts, “Now your daddy’s in heaven right now, smilin’ down ‘atcha. But ya know, you really gotta- hey- hang on, OW—“

And there she is, before she knows it, in a headlock.

Her eyes bulge and she groans, choking out any words she can.

“Gotcha, bitch,” Kid sing-songs, smiling down at her. Trish throws her shoulders around but the kid’s got her good, she ain’t goin’ nowhere.

“Like I said, I can take care of myself,” Kid says, tightening her hold, her stingin’ cigarette smoke makin’ Trish eyes water.

“And though I appreciate your sympathy, I’d really appreciate it if you’d just move it along. This is my spot. Not yours. You go find your own. You hear me?”

Trish can only manage a slew of post-verbal, pitiful nonsense.

“We good?”

Trish nods weaky.

With a chuckle, Kid lets her go. Trish rolls onto the pavement, hacking.

“Jesus…Christ, kid.“

Kid’s grinning smugly. “Here,” she says, reaching out a hand, “come on. Get up.”

Trish looks at her hand, horrified. “Get the hell away from me ya little-“

“Oh come on, Grandma.”

Kid grabs Trish’s hands against her will, and pulls her up to her feet. Trish stumbles for a sec, and she points her finger.

“You— you’re a fuckinnn’—“

“Black belt? Why yes I am, thank you.”

Trish just stares back at her, catching her breath. Unbelievable, kids these days. No respect, no respect at all-

“Hey!” Trish sees her stogie on the ground, clean in half. “You broke my cigarette!”

Kid rolls her eyes. She fishes into her peacoat and pulls out the matches. “Here.”

Trish eyes her hand again, not willing to risk it.

“Just take them,” she says, shoving the matches forward, “You can just have them.”

Trish looks from the matches, to the kid, then back to the matches. She reaches out her hand real slow, then jumps back when she snatches them. Kid laughs.

“Oh, actually,” Kid turns and pats her other pocket, “here, this too.”

She pulls out Trish’s Pall Malls and tosses them to her. Trish catches them, frowning.

“Oh, and this too.”

She pulls a bill out of the same pocket, the five that Trish had tucked into her tit.  Trish, beside herself, marches over to snatch the bill. “How did you—“

“It’s what I do.”

Trish just stares, and Kid just grins. She takes one last drag of her cigarette and stomps it out.

“You’re unbelievable, kid,” Trish says, truly astonished. She tucks the five back into her tit, and pulls out a fresh cigarette. She pops it in her mouth and mumbles, “You’re a little firecracker, ya know that?”

Kid laughs, lookin’ utterly pleased with herself, like she’d won a prize in her fuckin’ Frosted Flakes.

“Well thanks.”

As Trish lights a match, Kid holds her hand out again. Trish flinches, but Kid just steady smiles.

“Brie.”

Trish takes a drag and narrows her eyes. She carefully takes her hand, and squeezes.

“Trish.”

Brie nods. “Well, Trish,” she says, eyes lookin’ like something between lasers and deadbolts, “I hope I never see you again.”

Trish shrugs and pulls back. “Yeah. Likewise, Cracker.”

Brie tilts her head, like she’s weighing something. Like someone just told her she’d be winning the spelling bee, like someone’s just pulled a pageant. She smirks, gives a little ‘hymph’, and makes back toward the street.

“Oh, and thanks for the cigarette,” she calls over her shoulder, her little heels clickety-clackin’ against the pavement.

Trish grimaces, and can’t help but watch the little demon as she goes. Where is her mother? Is she really twelve? Is she even American? That little shit’s gonna learn one of these days, we all gotta learn. But she’ll be alright for a while, Trish can guess that. Crazy little fuck.

Brie stops for a sec, then turns back. Trish tenses and plants her feet, bracing herself. She holds her lit cigarette out in front of her, ready to burn this bitch.

“Hey,” Brie calls. She reaches into her peacoat and pulls out somethin’ shiny. She lowers her arm for an underhand toss and yells, “catch!”

“Uh,” Trish looks behind her, then holds up a hand. Brie chucks it and Trish catches it in her left.

A gold Rolly, with diamonds. Still warm.

Trish looks back up, and Kid’s smilin’.

“Don’t keep it long, I swiped it an hour ago. Go down the road and make a right. They’ll take it.”

Trish looks down at the Rolly, then back up to Kid.

“Uh.. okay?”

Brie shrugs and holds her hands above her head. “It’s Christmas!”

Trish blinks, then scowls. “It- it’s February, ya twit!”

Brie laughs. “Close enough!”

With that she rounds the corner, and poof, she’s gone.

Trish is absolutely walking in the opposite direction of that bitch, and she turns on her heel with a groan. She gazes down at the watch in her palm. It’s gorgeous, it’s luxurious- it’s the most precious thing she’s held in years. Well, besides Bobby.

Bobby. He’d love this one. She could give it to him for Christmas-In-July or somethin’, or a Happy-Birthday present. He could put it on and she could get all dolled up and they could go have a real nice dinner, real fancy-like at the Black Eyed Pea.

She comes to the end of the street and rounds the corner. A neon green Yvie’s Odds hangs over a doorway, calling Trish’s name.

Eh, Bobby’ll be fine. Cash is king, after all.

And the bell on the door dings as she skips back out onto the street, tucking a wad of cash in her tit. She’s gonna need a bigger bra, that’s for sure. And maybe a soda, a Big Blue. And maybe she’ll get a nice Danielle Steel from the book store, and have a quiet night in the halfway house. She’s just gotta make it to midnight and she’ll have fifteen days sober, by the grace of God. And maybe she’ll find a payphone, and she’ll call Bobby.

Before she calls Bobby though, she’s gotta call her sponsor. She’s gotta call her and tell her all about her day, about what she did wrong and what she did right. And of course, she’s gotta tell her about Kid. She’s gotta tell her all about the mean little shit, about the nicest stranger she’s met in a long, long time.

[frejahertziswritingthistime]

Play pretend chapter 7

A/N: I can’t even explain how happy I am, that you guys enjoy this story. I’ve fallen totally in love with it, and I’m so glad I’m not the only one! Stuff is going to pick up in this chapter, I promise (evil laugh from me).

Remember, I always say yes to requests and feedback feeds the writer (honestly, it’s what I LIVE for)

MASTERLIST

Play pretend Masterlist

Buy me a coffee (I’ll give you virtual hugs) – find my list for commissions here

Lawyer!AU

Pairings: Sam x reader, Dean x Jo, Mary x John

Warnings: Language, fluff, smut, detailed smut, oral (female recieving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it at home, guys), mentions of alcohol SERIOUSLY, IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER. I will mark the actual smut with a bold first word, and the last word of the sequence is bolded as well, so you can skip it! The story will still be coherent without the actual smut, don’t you worry!

Like this? Let me know!

Y/N

I was buzzed. I may or may not had been sipping wine, and suddenly the bottle was gone – Sam had been laughing loudly and red splotches had appeared on his cheeks over the last hour, and we were both a little more casual with touching. Currently, his arm was slung over the back of my chair, his fingers sliding gently up and down my arm, the feeling of his fingertips making my entire body feel as though it was on fire.

I knew we were fucked, to put it mildly. The lie about moving in together would definitely bite us in the ass in about a week, and Jo had been sending me concerned looks throughout the dinner. I finally just texted her.

Jo, it’s fine. Honestly. I’m not the one dealing with the backlash, so…

Yeah, but Y/N… I think you guys are getting to wrapped up in this play pretend. I get it, you both want Jess out of the way and stop fucking with Sam, but it seems like you’re both… Yeah.

I know. It sucks. I’ll figure it out. Don’t worry, the wedding will be fine – we’ll just keep Jessica at bay, and that’s it. We can even stage a huge fight after the wedding, if that helps.

Be careful, Y/N.

At the last text, I looked up at her and saw her worried expression. She mouthed something to me, but I couldn’t tell what; Dean pulled her towards him, kissing her deeply, and that ended our conversation effectively. Sam had somehow moved closer to me, and I could feel my body tingle – warmth was spreading from my thigh, where he was currently resting his hand, and my head was spinning a little from the close proximity of my boss/best friend/secret love interest and the wine, which in turn made me think some very, very naughty things. Damn it, I should never drink red wine. Sam nudged me gently.

“Are you okay?” His breath fanned out over my face, and I had to restrain myself from not just jumping him right then and there. He was so damn close it felt like a sin, not to take advantage of it. I nodded with a stiff smile. “Too much wine, I guess. I’m never good at red, you know this.” He smirked a little and moved his hand a millimeter higher up. My breath hitched and on its own accord, my legs started to spread a little – my body was betraying me, and I was not happy about it. I blushed slightly and nodded. He leaned in closer and his lips were so close to my ear, that I could feel his bottom lip barely graze my earlobe, as he talked fast.

“So, it’s got nothing to do with this…?” He asked in a whisper, moving his thumb a little, so it was resting on my inner thigh. I bit my bottom lip. “Nope. Nothing at all.” I said. I wasn’t as convincing as I thought I might have been, because he chuckled and leaned back in his chair, his eyebrow cocked a little. His hand was still on my damn thigh.

“If you say so.” A loud throat-clearing pulled me from my dirty thoughts, and I caught John’s eye. “Listen, we know what it’s like to be young and in love, so you’re both excused. Sam, maybe Y/N would love to see the shed?” I frowned. What was cool about a shed? Sam grinned and nodded, grabbing my hand and pulling me up to a standing position – I wobbled a bit, but he put his arm around me, gripping me tightly. “You’ll love it, wait and see.” He looked at his mother. “thank you for dinner. It’s been so much fun.” He said with a smile. Dean chuckled. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” Sam looked at his brother with a smirk. “Like what, get an STD and not know from who, so I would have to go back through every single one-night stand to tell them to get tested?” He deadpanned. Dean laughed, and Jo reached over the table to high-five Sam. “Damn, alright. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t or would do. Very little gray-area you’ve got to work with, kiddos.” Jo shook her head at Dean and came over to hug me. “be careful, Y/N. Don’t break his heart, please.” I shook my head and whispered back. “I would never. Besides, nothing is going to happen anyway.” She pulled away with a very unconvinced expression, and clapped Sam on his shoulder. “If she’s hungover tomorrow, I’ll kick your ass. Rehearsal-dinner, remember? I need you both alive.” Sam saluted her. “Yes, Ma’am.” They all laughed as we left the table, and walked outside, the cool, night air hitting my heated face like a damn blessing.

“So, what’s so special about the shed?” I asked, linking my arm with Sam’s, as he tried to get a cab. He chuckled a little, flagging a cab down. “You’ll see.” I smiled. Sam told the driver the address, and we both got in – he didn’t touch me, and the damn tension was building so much. I knew that I was building something up, which would never be, but the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. The small gap between our hands and legs felt electric, as if it was drawing me nearer to him; I wanted to feel the man next to me, every damn part of him. I was completely overtaken, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I tried to listen to the conversation between the driver and Sam, but all I could think about was how his voice would sound, while he fucked me, and his fingers were so fucking close, I could reach out and wrap my own around them. My panties had to be soaked, the set under me wet. I had never in my life experienced this sort of attraction, this electric tension, that might be released – but probably wasn’t going to be – and I could barely handle being in my own skin. It was a completely new, different feeling, I didn’t expect I would ever feel. This is the attraction, movies depicted, not something that happened in a normal life.

It was an excruciating cab-ride, and it felt like it stretched out forever. It was my own, personal purgatory. It was literal hell in a cab. Sam’s huge body emitting so much heat, his cologne was filling up every sense, a musky, perfect blend of old books and freshly cut grass and I had effectively soaked through my panties now; I was almost sure Sam could smell my damn arousal – he was smirking slightly, the corner of his mouth was turned up in a little, secretive smile, and it made me even wetter. Right now, I hated that I didn’t think as far as to bring my vibrator with me, because I was in desperate need of release.

The cab finally pulled over, and I quickly thanked the driver, before jumping out of the cab, inhaling a huge gulp of fresh air, trying to rid myself of Sam’s scent, so my head could clear up a little. I squealed as a hand came to rest on the small of my back – Sam chuckled. “Sorry. We’re going back here.” He pushed slightly at the small of my back, making my feet move slowly and unsteadily towards the back-entrance of the garden. I hadn’t really noticed it, but a shed was hiding under a huge tree in the back of the garden. Sam stepped in front of me, his hand leaving my back, and it made me feel oddly cold. He looked over his shoulder with his hand on the handle and smiled. “Welcome to the den.” He said in a low voice and pushed the door to the shed open.

It was beautiful. I stepped inside, my eyes scanning the entire place; it was a bathed in a soft, yellow light from the rows and rows of string-lights hanging from the ceiling and rafters. The floor was covered in blankets, pillows and mattresses, creating an illusion of a fluffy, multicolored and patterned cloud. Flowers and plants had been placed along the back-wall, and there was an entire wall dedicated to bookshelves, stacked and overflowing with books; they were spilling out of the shelves, piled gently across the floor and the sides of the bookshelves. It was truly beautiful and perfect. I turned to Sam, who had closed the door behind him, and was leaning against the closed door with a soft smile on his face.

“This is beautiful.” I whispered. He pushed off from the door and walked slowly towards me with his hands in his pockets, stretching his pants tightly. The heat, that had subsided somewhat in my stomach, returned with full force, almost knocking me backwards, when the scent of him was overwhelming me. He was suddenly so close to me, all I could see was his hazel eyes. His hand was cupping my face, the heat from his palm dispersing throughout my entire body.

“I think we’ve danced around this for a while, don’t you?” I smirked. “I don’t know what you mean.” I said with a slight grin. He rolled his eyes, but then looked deeply in mine, his gaze burning me. “I think you do.” I raised my eyebrows, my heart pounding harshly in my chest, so loudly, I was sure he could hear it. My breathing was suddenly so loud in my ears, it was taking over. “Sam…” He looked somewhat worried, his lips so tantalizing close to mine. “If you don’t want this, we’ll stop right now. Just forget it all, go back to pretending, no more teasing. We go to sleep here, wake up and be right back to being best friends and this never happened.” He drew a deep breath and continued. “But I just want you to know, that I want it. I want this, I want you. If you don’t want the same, I’ll deal with the bruised ego and we’ll go right back. Promise.” He looked so damn vulnerable, and I did the only thing I could think of; I kissed him.

This was the first kiss, we had shared, where people weren’t watching. This was an intentional kiss, and it made me want to disappear into the world, and just live in this single kiss forever. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, pulling me flush against his body and his very, very noticeable erection. I sighed into the kiss, allowing him to deepen the kiss, and our lips molded around each other – it was truly a dance, something we had never done before, but it felt so well-known; this was an entirely different kiss from what we had ever shared – it was new, tantalizing and so very new for both of us. Sam lifted me up, and I instinctively wrapped my legs around his waist, never breaking the kiss; his tongue danced over mine, his scent invading my senses and all I felt, all I was, was with this kiss. It was with Sam.

He knelt down, gently laying me back on the multicolored cloud, and his hands wandered from my waist to my hips, slowly pushing my dress upwards, exposing more and more skin to the chill of the night; my hands went to his shirt, desperate to feel his skin against mine. He smiled against my lips and broke the kiss for the first time to smirk down at me. “Eager?” He whispered. I didn’t have the capacity to answer, I needed him to take his damn clothes off, and I needed it now. He understood my silence, and groaned, bending down to kiss me harshly again, his hand fiddling with the stupid buttons on his shirt. I groaned against his lips, my hips bucking up to create friction. He finally gave up, straightening up and simply ripping his shirt off – the buttons flew in every single direction, scattering with mild clatters against the walls. I immediately went to his pants, unbuttoning the button and zipping down, desperate for him to get naked. His hand pushed my dress up, exposing my soaked panties to him; he literally growled, as his thumb grazed the wet fabric and I moaned, the small, light touch setting my skin ablaze.  

He moaned against my lips as my fingers danced over the bulge in his pants, and I grinned. “Eager, are we?” I asked, and he chuckled lowly, before kissing my neck. “Does this damn dress unzip?” He whispered, and I giggled turning to the side and lifting my arm. His fingers touched my skin as he unzipped the dress, the dress pooling a little around my chest. He pushed it down, and I lifted my hips, so he could pull the entire dress off me. He hummed appreciatively at my half naked form, and attacked my mouth again, his fingers gliding over my hot skin. I managed to push his pants down, and to my joy, he wasn’t wearing underwear; I was burning up, his touch setting me ablaze in a fiery pit of completely bliss, and I could feel his cock resting against my inner thigh. “Sam…” He hummed, understanding my plea. His fingers slid down to my panties, slowly moving them down my legs, until he got them all the way off, his face at my knees. He looked up at me with a glint in his eyes, I hadn’t seen before. He slowly kissed; first my knee, then my thigh, my inner thigh and then he skipped over my heated center, to kiss my belly. I writhed under his, his fingers holding me down, trying to get him to touch me. “Sam, please…” He smiled and kissed around my hips, down to my thighs again, and then up to my inner thighs. His nose grazed my slick folds, and I moaned loudly at the simply touch; I could almost feel him smile against me, and then his tongue was dipping into my slick folds.

I writhed and moaned, as he was lapping at my juices, his hot tongue doing things so masterfully, I barely could comprehend it; his tongue was stroking my clit in slow, tantalizing strokes, each one bringing me closer to the edge. “Fuck, Y/N…” He whispered, his breath sending delicious shivers down my spine, as it hit my folds. “More, please…” He chuckled, the sound vibrating on my wet pussy and I moaned loudly again – his tongue went back to my clit, licking it carefully and meticulously, as he slid a long finger inside me. My back arched off from the patterned blankets, as I neared my orgasm; my walls were fluttering around him, my clit pulsating against his tongue as I came closer and closer to each stroke of his tongue, each pump of his finger.

“Are you ready, baby?” He whispered, kissing my inner thigh. I moaned in response, and he grinned against the sensitive skin on my thigh; he sped up his finger and added one at the same time as he started to lick my clit harder and faster than before. The coil in my stomach tightened, and my skin exploded in warmth – he sped up yet again, and the coil in my stomach snapped; I was floating, floating on a cloud made of bliss and pleasure, as I had never known before. My body was pulled taught, my legs stretched to a point, where I was almost uncomfortable in my orgasm; my walls tightened around his fingers, pulling him in as I rode out my orgasm, his tongue lapping up everything he could. As I finally relaxed against the blanket under me, he lifted his head from my dripping pussy, kissing every piece of naked skin, he could reach, and pulled his fingers out of me. As he reached my own lips, kissing me, the taste of him and my juices on his lips and tongue, I felt his cock twitch on my thigh, beads of precum leaking out onto my thigh. I reached down for him, but he stopped my hand, shaking his head slightly. “Not tonight. I need you.” He whispered, kissing my cheek, my neck, my ear, everything he could possibly kiss. I nodded with a moan as I felt him move his hips a little, settling in between my thighs. “It probably won’t be long. I’ve waited for this since I met you.” I smiled and caught his eye. “I don’t care. I need you just as much as you need me.” I spread my legs a little, lifting my feet to rest on his lower back, my heels digging into the soft skin of his ass. He groaned and pushed a little forward, the tip of his cock resting against my slick folds. “Sam, please…” He kissed me. “I’m big, baby… I don’t want to hurt you.” I groaned and bucked my hips upwards, the tip of him sliding inside me, stretching me. I moaned in pleasure. “Ruin me, Sam.”

He threw caution to the wind, and slid all the way inside me, bottoming out. He rested, his body shaking as he restrained himself, as I adjusted to his size. He wasn’t lying, he was huge. I knew, I’d never want another man in my life, because Sam was perfect. He was stretching me to the brink, almost uncomfortably, but the pleasure of him twitching and filling me out, overtook the discomfort. “Move, Sam.” I moaned, my nails scraping his back. He groaned in response, and pulled out slightly, before hammering in again. I moaned at each thrust, a new orgasm building; the tip of his cock hit my g-spot over and over again, bringing me closer to the edge. He was groaned, moaning and whispering my name, and I had never heard anything as sexy as that in my entire life. I was moaning his name, mumbling incoherent words, as he sped up, pounding me faster and faster, his long, thick cock sliding perfectly in and out of me, dragging my orgasm closer and closer. “Y/N, I’m almost there…” He whispered against my neck, and I wrapped my legs tighter around him, lifting my hips a little more; the new angle made my body explode in starts and blinding white light erupted behind my closed eyes, as my orgasm overtook me completely. He groaned, as my walls clenched around him, pulling him deeper inside me; my body was almost pulsating with my orgasm, and I couldn’t talk, couldn’t think – everything was just Sam. He moaned my name, and I felt him spill inside me, coating my walls with his own release. We stayed like that, him on top of me, both of us sweating and panting, for several minutes, as we came to terms with what had just happened.

It hadn’t been desperate, wild, sex. It had been as I would have expected from Sam; gentle, sweet, romantic and perfect, despite our collective unsexy grunts and the sounds of sweaty bodies slamming together. It had been everything I had wanted and dreamed about.

Sam rolled off me, pulling a blanket from my side over us both, and tugged me closer to him; his release was still dripping out of me slowly, reminding me of what we had done. My head rested on his heaving chest, and his chin was resting at the top of my head. We laid in silence, the string lights over us reminding me of a starry night, and I sighed deeply. He kissed the top of my head and wrapped his arms tightly around me.

“We’ll figure this out tomorrow. For now, let’s just enjoy this moment.” I smiled against his broad chest. “Okay. The moment.” I whispered back, before my eyes closed heavily, and I drifted off to sleep, the string lights above us, books next to my head, and a multicolored, multipatterned blanket covering the both of us.

TAGLIST: @painunnoticed, @curly-haired-disaster, @tvshowobssesedhuman, @getthismoose, @andkatiethings, @weirdest-nerd-you-could-find, @1life-4hope​

FOREVERLIST: @supernaturalmagicfolk, @redeyedvixen, @al1y, @roonyxx, @sherlockstolemyname, @heyitscam99, @tayyfvck, @linki-locks11, @starletzombie, @jensenyourdeanisshowing, @pisces-cutie, @

[backtoyourownworld]

A very long read

You’re too young to be an alcoholic. That’s the first thing I hear when I try to share my experiences with someone. I had always liked a drink. From a sip to a chug of my dad’s beer, to helping mum polish off a bottle of vodka; alcohol was in my blood. That line between casual drink out with the mates and waking up on a park bench after a three-day bender is so fine it might as well not exist. Not to me at least. I learnt early on that I lack self-control when it comes to that mind-numbing, fucking fantastic substance that is alcohol. While schoolmates were worrying about GCSEs (exams) and relationships, I was fretting about the new alarms in the local Co-op. What was I to do without my fix of stolen Henry Weston’s cider (chosen because it was least visible from the checkouts). I made a decent living fencing my stolen goods to classmates. I felt like a real fucking entrepreneur selling stolen sandwiches and chocolate bars to fund my drinking. The good stuff was always behind the tills, impossible to pinch and stuff in a schoolbag.

I was promised amazing things for my GCSEs. My pick of schools throughout the country, top-class universities fighting over me. I don’t mean this boastfully, but I was always aware of my intelligence. Even as a primary school pupil I read from the book box two years above me. I couldn’t help it. I was voracious in my desire to learn. 

Things went alright for the first few years of secondary school. I did the work, answered the questions, got the grades. Then the anger came. Call it what you will: teen angst/acting out/attention seeking. Whatever it was, it was real to me. I remember so much anger. So much hate. I was fifteen when things really started getting seriously out of control. All that anger had to come out somewhere. And I chose fighting as my release. Fuelled by a few litres of energy drink a day, I had numerous fights throughout my teen years. I do remember one thing: I always retaliated, I never struck first. Yet the sheer number of times my name was mentioned in incident reports led to me being suspended. God, those flying fists and scratches, and biting felt so good, so primal. It was such a release.

My grades slipped. As became Cs and then Es. And then I stopped caring. Meetings with parents and tutors washed over me like rain. I was numb. I didn’t give a shit about university applications or apprenticeships. All that mattered to me was how deep I could cut. Maybe the next time I would do it deep enough to make it last. It’s hard to care about classes and grades when your mind is focused on the three-inch gash on your leg that you stitched up yourself. The empty water bottle filled up with stolen vodka became a staple in my schoolbag. Mum never seemed to notice how diluted her vodka became. Or the countless other spirits I sampled from the drinks cabinet. Campari and Advocaat. The odd smelling drinks you don’t even know what to mix with so you just chug from the bottle and hope for the best. I won’t deny I enjoyed my celebrity as the drunk girl in school. The girl who could knick you anything from the shop as long as it wasn’t too close to the tills. But while people grew tired of me stumbling in the school hallways, falling off science lab stools, puking between classes; I craved more. Passing out alone in my room wasn’t enough. I embarrassed myself at parties. On one occasion I even ate a piece of pork from a bowl of my own vomit. 

I watched my friends complete their university applications, receive their offers and sort out student finance. Meanwhile I was stuck. What future did a pathetic drunk have. I was convinced I wouldn’t make it to the end of the year so why bother taking up a place at university. But I could never go through with it. I didn’t die. Despite my attempts I was still alive at eighteen. I spent a year at the mercy of the NHS, stuck in purgatory waiting for appointments that never fucking materialised. Don’t get me wrong, the NHS is a wonderful system for healthcare. But not for mental healthcare. A year of my life wasted. A year where I did actually want to accomplish something. I gave up on the NHS like they gave up on me. In a fit of enthusiasm I enrolled myself in college. I finally, three years late, finished my A Levels and earned my place at a Russell Group university.

Being a Fresher at university is like taking a starving man to an all-you-can-eat buffet and saying you can only eat one thing. Temptation is everywhere. And I don’t mean that religious bullshit where it’s somehow noble to turn down any vices. No, I mean the temptation where you find yourself literally salivating in the alcohol aisle of the local supermarket. Standing there with your bread and milk willing the queue to go down faster so you can get away from the cheap lager and that goddamned vodka. Most people’s first year at university is spent intoxicated in one way or another. It’s a fact of university life. That’s how I started. I’d never lived away from home before. Never had the freedom to down vodka with my morning Shreddies. But god, first year was a revelation. Everyone else had it under control. I thought I did too. College had been alright, I’d got my grades while drinking at socially acceptable levels. Why would uni be any harder. Freshers Week. Fucking Freshers Week. I made it to the third night before shit hit the fan. I remember it so vividly despite being so drunk my flatmates tried to convince me not to leave pre-drinks. It was Wild Night. I know because I still have the t-shirt. I was in the smoking section of the Students’ Union club (I don’t even smoke), decked out in my wolf shirt and wild backcombed hair. I climbed the railings. A twenty foot drop onto concrete below me. People screamed. I laughed. Then I remember crying as security dragged me back over the railings and shipped me off to the local alcohol treatment centre - they didn’t know where else to send me. 

I avoided my flatmates after that. Stopped going to lectures. I only left my room to walk to the nearby corner shop and stock up with a couple bottles of vodka and lemonade. The shame I felt for my behaviour was so easy to squash down with booze. My diet became vodka and crisps. I turned almost nocturnal, choosing to venture out of my room in the early hours when I was less likely to encounter my flatmates. I stopped being invited to pre-drinks. I don’t blame them. I was no longer a fun drunk, falling off chairs and singing off-key. I was a puking, punching, mess of a person. Somehow, I managed to pass first year. Despite my self-sabotage I was allowed onto fieldwork for my degree over that first summer. A month in Germany. Four weeks surrounded by cheap beer. I barely remember that month. A few moments do stand out though. Threatening to jump in a lake. Going for a midnight walk through a bramble patch. Finding myself on train tracks. 

I don’t even know what possessed me to attempt second year. I knew I wasn’t prepared. Knew I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to attend university. But still, I went for it. I thought I was doing so well, but I was lying to myself. It was so easy to sleep in and miss a lecture here and there. I’d joined a few societies to help me meet people with similar interests. The socials were great at first. Like-minded people coming together for a casual drink and chat in the pub. And then the socials weren’t enough to satisfy my cravings. Six pints at a social was followed by twelve pints from the off-licence on the way home. Then lager wasn’t enough. I needed something stronger. I remember calculating the price-per-unit for every type of alcohol in my local offy. Their off-brand vodka was the best value for money. Combined with the cheapest lemonade, it was the drunk’s cocktail. Consuming so much alcohol isn’t without its consequences. I put on weight. I had stomach issues. My skin was greasy. And I stank. Vodka was literally oozing out of every pore on my body. The rare lecture I did attend, people would ask me if I’d been drinking. They could smell it on me from ten feet away.

I don’t remember much of the day I slit my wrist. I knew I wanted to hurt myself but I don’t think I meant for it to go that far. I took a bottle of vodka along with me for my bath. Hot water and alcohol make for very thin blood. I recall trying to clean the bathtub after and then phoning a taxi to take me to A&E. After that it’s a blur of disapproving doctors and concerned nurses. Nine stitches later and I was home with instructions to see a therapist. The bottle of vodka was still in the bathroom. Bless my housemate; he’d tried his best to clean up all the blood and throw out my razor. I got sedated with Valium after that. Like a scene from a 1950s mental institution. All that did was numb me even more. I became like a zombie, barely able to get out of bed to wash or feed myself. The only thing I left the house for was to buy more booze. Not long after the bathtub incident I phoned my parents in a drunken mess and begged them for help. They drove 200 miles and took me home that night.

What followed was a year of private counselling and cognitive behavioural therapy to help me learn healthy coping mechanisms. It was decided I should go teetotal. I thought that year out had fixed me, that I was finally a functioning member of society. How wrong I was. Not four weeks into my second attempt at second year and I was drinking heavily again. I get this thought in my head: fuck it all. This is what drives me when I’ve been drinking. What makes me walk out my front door with a bottle in my hand and do something stupid. And it was inevitable that sooner or later my actions would result in serious consequences. 

The worst night of my life was 18th March 2018. I got drunk as usual. But it was supposed to be my final night of drinking. I was going to give it up completely. I’d bought some whiskey. I have a terrible history with whiskey, it gets me violently drunk very fast. I got hammered. That thought of “fuck it all” came into my head and I decided to throw myself into the local river. Once again, I don’t remember much of that night. I do remember drinking the whiskey in my room and then leaving my house. But I don’t remember grabbing the knife or talking to that woman on the bridge. The next thing I do remember is a policeman handcuffing me and shoving me into the back of a police van. That night in the cells was one of the worst of my life. I was like a madwoman, banging my head off the walls and scratching my arms till they bled. I was charged with possession of a bladed article in a public place. Four years in prison. I could have been sent down for that long. But whatever deity there is saved me and let me off with a deal. I see an addiction counsellor instead. No charge, no criminal record. 

At the time of writing this I am still drinking, but I have seriously cut down and am on my way to complete sobriety. God knows I got fucking lucky. 

I just hope one day my luck doesn’t run out. 

Thank you for sticking with me for this long and reading to the end. If you’re going through anything, or just want to talk, my ask is always open.