#gonna have posts queued up for like two weeks

[pugakern]

HIS TIME IS NOW

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[sysig]

Your Weekly TV Guide

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2:30 PM: Hermitcraft - Rescuing Rusty

And Tuesday:

2:30 PM: Adventure Time

Wednesday:

2:30 PM: AT

Thursday:

2:30 PM: AT

Friday:

2:30 PM: AT - Petrigrof

Saturday:

2:30 PM: Just Desserts - Pets

Sunday:

2:30 PM: Sona daily goings-on

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[storiesofsvu]

Decadent Desires Ch 13

Warnings:Language, alcohol, brief politics mentioned/talked about, teasing, sexually charged situations/sex eluded to, gratuitous smut, fingering, oral, squirting, scissoring, spit, mommy kink, use of the word kitten, choking, we’re gonna call it snowballing, breeding kink, rough sex, derogatory dirty talk, I think that about sums it up…

Monday:

The flight wasn’t long, a little over two hours, just enough to finally have a breather from the constant and slightly stress inducing work week Heather’s team had had. You spent most of it on your work phone, queuing up social media posts and statements on Heather’s accounts, double checking her approval before you confirmed everything. You were going over the itinerary for the week with her assistant Cynthia when Heather came up, tsk'ing at both of you as she pinched your arm, leaving flutes of champagne on the table, reminding you both to relax as she disappeared into the back of the jet.

That was the one thing about travelling while part of the Dunbar team, it didn’t matter how work heavy the trip was going to be, she was always going to make sure everyone got to actually enjoy the trip too. There would likely be a couple of days book ending the work days to take advantage of amenities, explore the city or just relax on the beach. She had already pencilled in a few dinners and mini festivities into the agenda, spreading out the brown nosing and elbow rubbing that would need to be done on top of panels and meetings.

Landing in Florida you were whisked away to The Ritz-Carlton resort, naturally Heather had a one bedroom suite booked for herself with a separate living room where you would all meet whenever privacy was needed. She kept you in a smaller adjoining suite most trips, this one included, with Cynthia on the other side of your room. If anyone else was brought with, they were usually down the hall, giving them a little bit more space from the work side of things as they would likely only be needed once or twice during the week.

The resort was gorgeous, ocean views, beachfront property, multiple pools and plenty of things to keep you occupied. Four restaurants and bars, coffee shop and café, tennis courts, an entire golf course, fitness center, full service spa along with a plethora of outdoor activities included with your stay ranging from kayaking to horseback riding. There was absolutely no way that any of you would have a spare minute to be bored, not on a trip like this.

Check in was a breeze and you were escorted upstairs where you promptly told Heather you were crashing for a nap, the extra early morning meetings straight into the flight had utterly wiped you. Knowing that you’d been putting in far too many overtime hours, including over the weekend she had no complaints, heading out to explore the resort with Cynthia.

When you woke up a couple of hours later you thankfully felt refreshed and after a brief checking of your phone you decided to head downstairs to check out the gym. You wanted to get a run in and there was no way you were doing it outside midday, it may have been December but you were still in Florida. There were a few familiar faces downstairs that you said a friendly hello to or shared some small talk, and you were more than well aware of a Congressman’s eyes on your ass as you did your cool down stretching.

Back upstairs you could hear Heather on the phone in her room, and knowing there was either dinner or drinks happening tonight, you figured you would jump in the shower, getting ready and presentable for the evening. It gave you the warm up and rejuvenating time you would need, slipping into the more extroverted role you would have to play for the week, friendly, approachable and even a little flirty to everyone while remaining quick and smart as a whip to always come out on top and get all the support and backing you could.

Politics was a nothing but a game of strategy, after all.

*

Tuesday:

You knocked on the door leading to Heather’s adjoining suite, her voice calling out only a second later.

“It’s open.”

Opening the door, you stepped through it into the living room area, Heather glancing up from her laptop, “got a weird request.” You started, “you’re a master at French braiding and I’ve been trying and failing for like twenty minutes now.”

“You look dressed for golfing.” She commented, “you don’t know how to golf, my kids beat you at mini golf before they were ten. Are you seriously golfing?”

“Yeah.” You replied with a shrug, “I mean I’m not going to actually golf, I’m going to sit in the cart, serve drinks and bat my eyelashes until three more congressmen are wrapped around my finger.”

“And you need French braids for that because…?”

“Have you seriously not seen any of those videos going around?” You asked and she shook her head, “it’s like a trend, bartenders testing out hairstyles to see what makes the most tips and pig tails always wins. Double French braids count, so why not see if it makes any difference.”

“I’m not even sure I want to think about the logic behind that.” She grimaced, “but come here, sit.”

Heather gestured to the ottoman in the middle of the room and you followed her instructions, handing off the supplies you’d brought from your room. As you knew, she was an absolute whiz at it, after quickly combing through your hair she had one braid in and swiftly finished the other one, tying a tiny elastic around it. She tilted your head side to side to make sure it was even before tapping at your chin,

“Up. Face me.”

You did as asked, turning to face her, waiting as her eyes surveyed your outfit, short pleated white skirt and a patterned green and blue collared tank top, it tied at the bottom so just enough amount of skin would peek out and had a zipper on the top half that controlled the level of neckline.

“Cute.”

“Tony picked it out.”

“Not surprised.” She murmured, her fingers gently tugging the shirt down a little bit before the moved to the zipper, undoing it further than you previous had it, plucking at the fabric until she was satisfied with the amount of cleavage showing, “now, wear it like he would want you to.” You rolled your eyes but let her continue fixing the fabric, “there.”

“Am I free to go Ma’am?” You asked dryly and she chuckled at your tease.

“Have fun, but don’t get drunk, we’ve got that dinner tonight.”

“Heather I approved your schedule, I know.”

With a glance and a last thank you for the hair help, you disappeared back into your own suite before leaving to tackle the day.

*

Dinner that night was at KOJO, a high end Asian inspired restaurant with plenty of offerings to choose from and an extensive list of Soju ready to sample. It was an extended dinner, debating over politics, views, upcoming bills and legislations that everyone wanted heavy backing on. Plates of tofu bites, gyoza, truffled chicken wontons, wok fried green beans, boa buns and a plethora of sushi were passed around the table until everyone had had their fill.

Heather swiped the bill before a debate on how to split things up could even think about being started, earning her more brownie points than anyone else at the table. By the time the cheque was signed there were a handful of verbal agreements, some future lunches or meetings over cocktails planned for the week, and a few under the table handshakes securing offers.

A quick debrief was had in Heather’s suite before the others made their way out for the evening, either to bed or for a nightcap to wind down. Heather stepped out of her heels, letting out a soft sigh at the sensation, beginning to take off her jewellery, placing it back into the travel case.

“You did fantastic work tonight.” She praised, turning back to face you “how was golfing? Looks like you got some sun.”

“It was fine.” You shrugged, “secured Talbot’s support, flirted my way into Swanson’s good books even if it means I’ll have to have drinks later this week and promised to go on a date with his very eligible bachelor of a son when we’re back in town.”

“God.” She rolled her eyes, “talk about going above and beyond, you’ll never fail me sweetheart. You are a godsend; you know that right?” Her hands landed on your shoulders, squeezing gently as she smiled at you.

“Of course.” You grinned, “you always told me that hard work would pay off. And if I went for extra credit on trips like this… I’d be rewarded.”

“Ah…” her lips curved up into a smirk as her fingers trailed up your neck and across your jaw, “you’re still interested in that?”

“Of course.” You nodded.

“What about your little FBI agent?” She asked, stepping even closer to you as her thumb traced just under your lower lip and you let out a small scoff of a laugh.

“I seem to remember you having a husband.”

“Fair point.”

“She buys me nice things, I spend time with her that’s incredibly enjoyable for both of us, done deal. You know exactly how that works.”

“Good.” She husked, “because I was looking forward to seeing what you’ve got underneath this dress.”

Heather’s lips met yours and despite it being the first time of the trip, there was no gentleness to it as she completely dominated the kiss. Her tongue slunk into your mouth at the same time her fingers slipped underneath the straps of your dress, pushing them off your shoulders before snaking around you and pulling the zipper down. She shoved the fabric down, nudging at your hips to guide you to step out of it as she began to back toward the bed. While your lips moved with haste against each other, your hands made quick work of her dress, leaving her a luxurious lingerie set when the backs of her knees hit the bed.

She broke the kiss, her lips peppering across your jaw and you couldn’t help but let out a breathy sigh, your head rolling back, giving her prime access to your neck. Her teeth scraped across your skin and your breath caught in your throat, a small gasp leaving your lips when she actually bit you.

“Hey!” You swatted at her side, “busy week, no marks!”

“I won’t leave any visible ones, don’t worry.” She glanced at you with a devilish look in her eyes as her hands ghosted up your sides, “don’t be so demanding and you’ll get what you want.” Her fingers pinched at your nipples through your bra and you whined, “you want this, right?” She cocked a brow at you and you nodded, “words kitten...”

“Yes mommy…”

“That’s what I thought.”

Heather dropped down onto the edge of the bed, a quiet yelp leaving your lips as she tugged you into her lap, quickly ridding you of your bra. A hand tangled into your hair, pulling your mouth back to hers and her tongue was quick to sink into your mouth, rolling against yours as you moaned into the kiss, your arms loosely draped over her shoulders. She once again began trailing her mouth down your neck, softly this time to not earn any scolding from you as her hands slid up your sides. She groped at your chest, fingers rolling your nipples as she pinched them harder and harder with each roll. You couldn’t help but let out a louder moan, your head tipping back, body arching into her touch as you sank deeper into her lap. Leaning forward, her tongue flicked over your nipple before her lips wrapped around it, sucking it into her mouth, tracing around it with her tongue. Your hand slid into her hair, holding her tight to your chest as she continued to suck at it and you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you when her teeth sunk into you skin.

“Oh fuck!” You whimpered out, a shiver running through your body as she did it again and you couldn’t help yourself, grinding down onto her lap, your cunt aching for friction as you tried to shift yourself over one of her thighs.

Heather chuckled darkly, nipping at your tit once more before one of her hands grasped your hips, grinding you down into her lap, “there she is… mommy’s desperate little slut.” Her free hand continued to play with your nipples, her tongue darting out to flick at them between her words. “If I’d known you were this needy I would’ve put a little vibrator in that pretty pussy of yours over dinner, gotten you absolutely drenched… made you keep your cool, try not to come in front of all those important people.” She chuckled again, “then again, you’re probably already soaked, aren’t you kitten?”

Her hand sunk between your legs, cupping at your heat, pressing the flimsy fabric into your pussy as her fingers massaged you. A smirk on her lips when she felt your juices soaking through, her hand pulled away only to spank your cunt and you gasped.

“Mommy please…”

Her fingers pushed your panties to the side, sliding through your folds a few times before she raised her hand, “open.” Your lips parted and she slid her fingers into them, smiling as you obediently closed your mouth to suck on her fingers, “it’s been a while, let me warm you up kitten.” She murmured, leaning forward to kiss across your neck again, “you know how much I love to play with my food before eating it. Love playing with your needy fucking cunt, feeling you squeezing around my fingers until you can’t take it anymore, begging like the whore you are. But you never really want me to stop, do you?” She nipped at your neck again, “because you know I love how sweet you taste, making you come on my tongue. You’re such a cum slut you love tasting yourself on my lips, sucking it off my tongue when you think I’m done with you.”

You couldn’t help but moan around her fingers, the wet patch on your panties practically destroying them as she continued to ruin you with her words.

“But you’re not just a cum slut are you?” She asked, teeth sinking into your chest again, “you’re such a needy whore for cock, you’ll do anything for it, isn’t that right? Just love being stuffed full, cock buried nice and deep inside your drenched cunt, just absolutely wrecked, hmm?” She sat back, eyes darkening with the way your lips were still wrapped around her fingers while you ground down into her lap. “Colour, kitten?”

Your eyes cracked open when she slipped her fingers out of your mouth, “green.” Your lips formed a pout when she didn’t move and a whine escaped your lips, “please… please mommy. I’ve been so good.”

“You have.” Her fingertip tapped the tip of your nose, “and good girls do get rewarded.” Her hands grasped your waist, nudging you off her, “so lie back and take off those pathetic excuse for panties so I can see that needy fucking pussy.”

You quickly shuffled back on the bed, dropping into the pillows as you tugged your underwear down your legs, tossing them to the side. Just as swiftly Heather moved through the room, grabbing a couple of spare towels to lay across the bed and you lifted your hips so she could arrange them properly. Your legs spread as she crawled back onto the bed, her hands ghosting up your thighs, spreading you even more open for her as she settled on her knees between your legs.

“Such a pretty pussy.” She cooed, her thumbs rubbing up your entrance, brushing just against your clit, “you know…if I hadn’t been so patiently waiting for this I think I’d tie you to the bedframe and leave you whining and whimpering until you were such a mess I would have to take care of you.”

“Heather!” You grumbled, your hips rocking down towards her touch.

Lightning fast, her hand shot up, circling around your throat, squeezing harder as she leant toward you, “you know better than that.” She growled, laughing darkly when she caught the way your lips curved up into a grin at the sensation when she squeezed harder.

“Sorry ma’am.”

“That’s what I thought.” Letting go of your neck she patted your jaw, “now… you’ve been doing so much hard work for me, such a good little kitten… you may come whenever you want understood?”

“Yes.” You nodded, sucking your lower lip into your mouth as you looked down at her, “please… please touch me!”

“Alright kitten.” She smirked, “you asked for it.”

Her fingers slid through you once more, smearing your juices around your cunt before two of them sunk into you and you let out a soft moan, your head falling back into the pillows. It was like it was pure muscle memory, just how quickly Heather’s fingers were able to fall into the rhythm that you liked so much, each thrust of her hand earning a breathier moan, pussy fluttering around her fingers already. She twirled her fingers around, bending them ever so slightly so her knuckles brushed across the extra sensitive spot inside you.

“Fuck…” You groaned, feeling yourself get wetter with each pass of her hand.

“Who knew you were this fucking desperate.” She chuckled, her fingers twirling once again so her finger tips could press into the same spot, pulling another gasp from you, “needy little whore’s gonna come in record time.”

Heather picked up the pace that she was fucking you, fingers pulling out more wetness with each flick of her wrist. Her other hand slid up your body, tilting your chin down so two of her fingers could slip into your mouth again, coating them with saliva before she pulled them out, spitting onto your pussy and using her wet fingers to start rubbing at your clit.

“Oh god!” You cried out, “harder please mommy! Oh fuck!”

“That’s it kitten…” she purred, “come for mommy. Let me see how big of a mess you can make.”

She increased the pressure of her hand, tight fast circles rubbed on your clit while the hand inside you pressed longer and harder against your g-spot with each thrust.  Your thighs were already shaking and the sounds coming from your cunt were absolute sin, pleasure soaring through you higher and higher until you felt the coil deep within you burst and your pussy clamped down around Heather’s fingers, a strangled moan leaving your throat as you hit your peak and juices dribbled down your thighs, soaking the towel underneath you.

“Good girl…” her fingers slipped from you, bringing more wetness with them, “you’ve got another one in you, I know it.”

Sinking down to her stomach her hands clasped around your thighs as her mouth wrapped around your dripping cunt. She gave you no time to recover from your first orgasm, clit throbbing, pussy pulsing as her tongue swiped through it. You couldn’t help but moan, each one louder than the last, a string of breathy swears on you lips as the fire very quickly began to build underneath your skin again. Your nipples were hard in the cool air, your hands ghosting across your own body as you began to play with your chest, a shimmer of sweat glistening on your skin in the low light of the room while Heather ate you with expertise. Her nose bumped your clit and you couldn’t help but cry out, your hips jolting up off the bed,

“Fuck!” Your eyes scrunched shut and you pinched at your nipples, “s-so good mommy, feels..s-sooo good.”

Heather’s hands wound tighter around your legs, pinning you to the bed while her mouth continued to move against you, groaning over your taste. One of your hands sunk into her hair, unable to control yourself when her tongue flicked through you again and you couldn’t help but grind against her face, letting out a low moan as the sensations fluttered through you. Her fingers pinched at your skin as a warning and when your hand slightly tugged she pulled away from your cunt, turning her face so her teeth could sink deep into your thigh.

“Shit!” You swore, the pain mixing with pleasure as your thigh throbbed, clit puffy and swollen begging to be touched again.

“Greedy little thing.” She tsk��d, shaking her head at you before her tongue made a torturously slow lick through your pussy, just daring to flick at your clit. “I thought you were a good girl.”

“I am.” You whimpered, your body shaking with need, “please mommy. I’ll be good, I swear.”

“You better.” With a near growl she ducked down to your cunt again, this time lips wrapping around your clit, sucking it into her mouth to trace patterns with her tongue. Two of her slicked fingers came between your legs, sinking into your heat again, matching the tempo of her mouth.

“Oh god! Fuck!”

Your eyes shut even tighter, a glittering of stars behind them as she sucked your juices into her mouth. All you could feel between your legs was wetness and throbbing need, the sounds echoing around the room were pure filth as you begged her for more, begged her to not stop, that you were so close, just a little bit more. You felt like you were about to burst, the fire in your chest, tears in your eyes or cum out of your pussy you weren’t entirely sure. One of Heather’s hands slunk up your body, beginning to pinch and grope at your chest and her lips smirked against your skin at the way your body began to shake, you were putty in her hands and you both knew it.

“Right there.. oh ff-Uck!”

Your hands clawed at the bedsheets, back arching off the bed as your second orgasm hit you, cum leaking out of your pussy. Heather’s hand was soaked, your thighs smeared with your juices as her mouth finally popped off your clit.

“That good, kitten?” She asked with a knowing smirk, wiping her face and fingers on one of the towels.

“More, please.” You whined, chest heaving and she chuckled.

“More?” She raised a brow, “kitten there’s a puddle between your legs and you want more?”

“Want you to come…” you looked up at her with pleading eyes, “wanna feel your pussy.”

“You want to touch?” Her fingers slid into the waistband of her panties, tugging them down her legs, “or you want me get off by grinding on your puffy pussy? You want mommy’s cum smeared all over your messy fucking cunt?”

“Yes!” You cried out, your pussy clenching at the thought already, a gasp leaving your lips when she spanked your cunt.

“Yes to which?”

“Second.”

“Dirty fucking slut. Just so eager to be as naughty as possible, hm?”

She raised a brow at you and all you could do was nod as she manhandled your body into position, turning you half onto your side and pulling up one of your legs, resting it against her shoulder. She dropped herself down onto you, letting out a soft moan at the feeling of your drenched cunt rubbing against hers. She began to rock her hips, smearing your juices together, coating herself with your cum as your eyes fluttered shut again and you were moaning before she even expected it.

“You like that?”

“Mmhmm…”

“Feels good doesn’t it?” She ground down on you harder, “so fucking wet and slick for me, such a good girl.” She pressed down harder, a gasp leaving her lips as her clit dragged over your pussy, “oh god..”

The desire for her own pleasure took priority over continuing to degrade or praise you as she continued to grind her cunt against yours, pleasure tickling under her skin. She could see the way your body was trembling, knowing just how sensitive you could be, it wouldn’t be long until you were coming again, gushing against her. Her free hand moved up her body, toying with her chest as her hips picked up the pace, fire prickling under her skin.

“Fuck.. oh yes…” her head dropped back as her eyes fluttered shut, “just like that…”

You had just enough energy to open your eyes at this point, staring up at her, watching as she rode you, the pool of wetness collecting between your legs growing with each roll of her hips. You felt the coil tightening inside you again, your clit swollen and slippery against her, it was almost too much, your body trembling at how sensitive you’d become.

“Mommy please!”

“Are you close already, you little slut?” She groaned, grinding down harder against you as she moved even faster, “gonna squirt again, make a fucking mess of mommy’s pussy?”

“Mmmhmm.” You nodded, biting down on your lip as hard as you could so the entire floor wouldn’t know what you were up to.

“Let go for me.” This groan was a little louder than the last, her thighs beginning to shake around you as the pleasure electrified her, shooting through her body, just about to burst at the seams. “Come with me, kitten.”

“Fuck!” You couldn’t help the cry, tears nearly prickling in the corners of your eyes as your body shuddered, juices gushing out once more and only a moment later you felt Heather trembling, a loud moan escaping her lips as the pool between your legs got another burst of liquid.

“Fuck…” she muttered, dropping your leg as she sat back on the bed, taking a moment to catch her breath. Her hand soothed up your leg, fingernails digging into the forming mark on your inner thigh, “colour?”

“Green.” You panted back, chest heaving and she laughed darkly.

“Good.”

You let out a gasp, your legs clenching shut around her when she suddenly dove down between your legs once again, her tongue lapping at your slick pussy, sucking and licking as much cum as she could into her mouth. Heather crawled over you, her hand closing around your jaw and you quickly opened your lips wide so she could spit the mixture into your mouth, watching as it pooled on your tongue, slowly dripping down into the back of your throat.

“Good girl.” She tapped your chin, her other hand closing around your neck as you swallowed the liquid down, “now, you still want my cock?”

“Yes, oh god yes.”

“Then roll over, hands on the headboard and don’t you even think of moving them? Understood?”

“Yes mommy.”

Heather surprised you with a new strap, larger than the one she would usually use, stretching you out, fucking you so incredibly deep all you could see were stars. Your knuckles white from clutching at the headboard as tightly as you were. The pillows muffled your cries as she made you come another two times around her cock before finally spilling her cum deep into your pussy, making sure you got every last drop of it before she pulled out. She chose not to torment you, letting you drop to the mattress as she held your hips up, playing with the lube, fingering it back into your heat as you whined. She slipped from the bed, placing the strap in the bathroom to be dealt with later.

“Jesus Christ.” You groaned.

“Satisfied?” She asked with a smirk.

“Very.”

“Good. You better be for the amount of mess you made.”

“I need a shower.” With a wince you pushed up from the bed, stretching out your stiff body, “maybe a Gatorade…”

“Take an extra reward in the morning, charge some room service breakfast to my room, I’ll expense it.”

You cast a look over your shoulder as you gathered your clothes, “it’s a work trip Heather, everything gets expensed…”

“You take the fun out of everything; you know that right?”

“Oh… I’m so sure.”

*

Wednesday:

Heather knocked on the unlocked door between your suites as she moved through it and you glanced up from your spot on the bed where you were working on your laptop.

“I’ve almost got your endorsement emails finished and ready to send out.”

“Good.” She smiled, “but that’s not why I’m here.”

You glanced at the time on your screen, “Heat, it’s barely ten a.m.…and I just showered.”

She laughed, shaking her head at you, “McKnight and Wallace want to barter it out over a game of doubles, I need a partner and we both know Cynthia is so uncoordinated she trips over her own feet walking.”

“You play tennis?”

“What else do you think I do at the country club?”

“Drink, gossip and trash talk?” You offered up and she paused, a chuckle escaping her lips.

“I suppose you’re not wrong. It was always more something of Rob’s interest, but if I’ve got the skill I figure I may use it.”

“You’re lucky I’ve got a good backhand.” Letting out a breath you closed your laptop, slipping off the bed, “but I’ve got to be back by two thirty, Durant booked us in for facials down at the spa.”

Her lips flicked up into a smirk, “play a good game of tennis and that won’t be the only facial you get today.”

“Oh?” You raised a brow.

“What?” She gently pinched at your chin, “we’re here all week, did you really think I’d only bring one flavour of lube? You always look so pretty down on your knees.”

“Focus.” You flicked her palm, “we’ve got a game of tennis to win.”

*

Thursday:

It was time for the excruciatingly boring day. While the week was pretty evenly balanced between meetings and socializing, Thursday was the jam packed schedule of all work. Brunch followed by a morning of assemblies, speaker after speaker droning on about what policies and procedures they thought were best and why everyone else should support them, the changes that should be made.

Lunch was a luxury buffet provided by the hotel, where the mood barely shifted from work as everyone mingled about the room making small talk with those they hadn’t gotten a chance with yet. Cocktails were served, which helped everyone loosen up a little bit and have a little bit more fun than otherwise, so that was the saving grace.

The afternoon was dedicated to the up and comers, a couple of assemblies catering to high school students, those with an interest in politics, debate team, federal jobs and the like. The others with very similar themes (though maybe more specialized) dedicated to university students who were very likely going to end up on the same career path. While the younger students were shuttled back to their schools when everything wrapped, the others were invited to a special cocktail hour to socialize, able to ask various levels of politicians or their teams whatever one on one questions they may have. It was good education for them and a fantastic opportunity for everyone to secure more support and hopefully votes when the time came. While it was mainly a group of people who had their eyes set on the White House, Congress or the Senate, there were also a scattered bunch that weren’t looking for that, rather just in the general field which meant you weren’t lucky enough to escape quite yet.

At the very least you were thankful cocktail hour also included tables and waiters with trays of hors d’oeuvres so you weren’t left completely starving until dinner. Heather managed to track you down while you were finishing up a chat with a couple of very promising looking up and comers, passing off both yours and her business cards, telling them to email to set up an appointment whenever they happened to be in D.C.

“Bored yet?” She asked with a tease, plucking a drink off a nearby station before handing the server a twenty.

“On the contrary, having the time of my fucking life.” You replied dryly and she chuckled, her eyes surveying the room and you watched as her gaze settled in on something and her brow raised. “Huh..”

“What?” You asked, not even bothering to find out where she was looking.

“Looks like Jackie’s just about finished up her day. I should send you over with a drink.”

“What?” You laughed, “are you pimping me out now?”

“No,” she swatted at your arm, “but it would be a shame if she had to leave alone. And I did miss out on a rather fun night, the opportunity just happens to be presenting itself.”

“You are insatiable…”

“You love it.” She smirked over the rim of her glass and you huffed.

“I’m exhausted. I’d love it if there was at least one night you would just let me sleep. It’s no wonder you have to keep multiple sugar babies around to stay satisfied.” Finishing your drink you placed it down on an empty table, “I want to go upstairs, put on pyjamas and order room service.”

“You’re no fun.” She scoffed.

“Then go have yours.” You laughed.

“I’m not going to fuck her alone.” She muttered, “c’mon, just one drink, we’ll go down to the beach bar that has the good mojitos.”

“One drink.” You reluctantly agreed, “there is a pizza with my name on it.”

*

Friday:

At the very least, Heather let you sleep in today, which you were incredibly thankful for. You got a late morning workout in, swung by the café to grab a bite to eat before heading out on something that was a mix of a pub crawl and an afternoon of meetings. The group bopped around all of the hotels in the area, taking in the sites, learning about the amenities and bonuses that each location had while enjoying a drink and a few appetizers at each location. The trip extended outside the resort area as you were shown a few of the cities main attractions while you continued to rub elbows and play politics.

Returning back to the hotel you were happy to retreat to your empty room, enjoying the air conditioning for a bit while you drafted up a couple of things. Once satisfied, you knew you only had a couple days of sunshine left before heading back to the dreary Washington weather and figured you should probably take advantage of the private terrace. You changed into your bikini, grabbed a couple of books and draped across one of the loungers on your stomach.

It was only when you jolted awake to something cold dripping onto your back that you realized you’d fallen asleep. Heather’s hand soothed up your back a moment later,

“Can’t have you burning.” She muttered, “how long have you been out here?”

You glanced at your watch, “couple hours.” You let out a gentle groan when her thumb dug into your shoulder blade, “you sure that’s sunscreen?”

“If it was lube I wouldn’t be rubbing your shoulders, that’s for sure.” She chuckled, wiping off any of the excess on a spare towel before her hands slid up the back of your thighs, just daring to grope at your ass, “but if that’s something you’re interested in I’m sure it could be arranged.” Her fingers began toying with the strings of your suit, “first you’ve got to roll over for me though. I know Tony wouldn’t suggest a new suit unless your tits looked spectacular.”

Rolling your eyes as you laughed you rolled over onto your back, pushing yourself up to sitting so you were on display for the other woman, “happy?”

“Mmm. That man has fantastic taste.” She tugged at the straps, letting the triangles of fabric fall from your skin, “now let’s get you inside before anyone overhears you…”

*

Saturday:

A morning yoga class with Jackie before lounging on the beach to start your day off, trying to take advantage of the sunshine and ocean air before the humidity hit and it was simply too hot to be in the direct sun. You only briefly parted ways, picking up lunch on your way back to your room to eat while you finalized a few more work things before jumping in the shower.

Just before dinner time you were headed down to the docks, the final item on your agenda of the day being a party on the very large and luxurious yacht of the Florida governor. Cocktails, beer and liquor were plentiful, appetizers on trays of wandering servers while everyone got relaxed and chatting. Dinner would be served at eight, succulent plates of surf and turf, including freshly caught seafood while wine was refilled, a glass never empty the entire evening.

It was much more party centered than anything else that week, people getting comfortable, letting loose, secrets quietly spilling from lips as the sun sunk in the sky. A sense of playfulness drifted over the boat, wine changed into hard liquor and shots, small talk began to edge the line of dirty talk while people began to disappear to different decks or down small hallways.

Heather found you returning from the bathroom, stepping out onto one of the side decks for some fresh air. A moment after resting on the railing her hands were on either side of you and a shiver ran down your spine as her lips pressed into your skin.

“I just know there’s a gorgeous set of lace underneath this dress and I am absolutely dying to see it.” Her teeth nipped at your neck, “you wouldn’t deprive mommy of that would you? It is our last night after all.”

You let out a soft moan, turning so your back was resting against the railing, “when did they say they we’re docking next?”

“Ten forty five.”

“Enough time for one more drink then.” With a smirk you moved around her, a sway to your hips that had her eyes glued on your ass as you wandered back towards the bar.

______________

@mickey-gomez @momlifebehard @daddy-heather-dunbar @maybe-a-humanbean @rustyzebra @leftoverenvy @kades95 @dextur @supercriminalbean @emilyprentisssluvr @lex13cm @zizzlekwum @emobabeyy @riveramorylunar @scorpsik @onmykneesformarvel @inlovewithemilyprentiss @regalmilfs4me @ara-a-bird @inlovewithmiddleagewomen @kmc1989 @irishavengersassemble @hopedoesntknow @venromanova @waitaminuteashh @noahrex @imlike-so-gaydude @wittygutsy @cx-emerald-cx cx @momily @nilaues @borinxnovak @soverign @v3nusxsky @mccdreamys-writes @l4yne @obsessedwjill @supercorpstan97 @asolitaryrose3 @lisqueen @mrs-prentiss @whitewinewithice @d33pd3sire-blog @daffodil-heart @maximoffcarter @i-lovefandom @chimnlex @moonlightjxuregui @chestnutninny @gamma-rae-bursts @just-moondust @idkifimasub @gaydragonwitch @dowsedwithbleach @divergentalwaysandforever-blog

[sen-ya]

Life After Info Post

[Click here to access the Life After Digital Comic Book]

Summary: Two years ago, a viral outbreak rose the dead. Considering how his life had gone up to this point, surgeon Trafalgar Law figured this might as well happen too. When a supply run into the nearby city gets intercepted by a seemingly reckless and impulsive former patient, the dependable routine Law had settled into in this new life shatters. He finds himself exposed — his body out in the infected landscape, his conscious clawing to define what he believes is right, his heart begrudgingly deciding to find a new home on his sleeve. Maybe there’s more than a virus roaming the new world that can bring a dead man back to life.

Content Warnings: Canon typical violence, zombies/body horror (but lbr I am not good at making scary things look scary)

Relationships: Luffy x Law

Update Schedule: New page every Monday/Wednesday/Friday

Page Count: [37 posted | 55 drawn]

Latest Update: [7/21/24] WOWEE did I get myself carried away this morning. I just spent 5 hours organizing my comics and creating the digital comic book pages. I could have spent that time drawing or idk not doing what I do for my job, but I cannot be stopped. Anyway I blocked out 30 pages of this comic last week and they include the most intense action sequence I've ever done in my gotdang life. Wish me luck because I am nervous about tying down all my drawings lmao.

OLD UPDATES:

[6/29/24] HULLO! I'm doing so bad at keeping my masterposts updated lately I am sorry. All pages of life after are tagged life after if you're ever looking between masterpost updates! Also exciting update, I finally have figured out all the different plot points i'm gonna be hitting (yay!). I got hung up on something for awhile that made me not wanna work on this project, but I'm back at it. I think we'll end up with 6-7 parts! I have probably another 80-100 pages to draw lol. Also i got the app Magic Poser and it's AWESOME and I immediately used it to block out sets cuz MAN I hate backgrounds.

[6/10/24] HELLO. I'm sorry I've been shit at updating my masterposts lately. It's easiest to do from my computer, which I rarely use, and life has been happening. I also can't believe I bungled the queue and posted pg19 before pg18 i am very sorry 🤦 Eventually I'll have to turn this into an airtable base I'm sure, but until that day comes where I have like 100 pages of this comic we're stickin to the regular post lmao

[5/26/23] I got real caught up in doing summer of lawlu comics this week and this is the first week since the first week of April I haven't drawn new Life After pages and it feels weird 🙊

[5/19/24] More Luffy backstory comin' this week! :^)

[5/12/24] Updating now so get myself on schedule to update on Sundays like I had been with my other comic master post!

[5/8/24] Thank you to everyone who's liked/reblogged/comment on the first few pages!! It means the world to me that anyone's reading my silly little comics.

[4/28/24] HULLO. It’s happeninnng. I’ve spent the last few weeks working on this comic, and I gotta make this post so I can start queuing pages & link this in them! This is the most like….legit? Comic endeavor I’ve undertaken perhaps….ever. I’m very nervous about committing to how long it will need to be lol. This story is dear to my heart — zombie content is kind of my very favorite. I’ve always found it to be a great backdrop for exploring themes like grief, coping with change, community, and learning to live again. It’ll be a long haul but I hope you’ll ride it out with me!! Tomorrow I’ll be posting the first two pages. After that a page will post every Monday/Wednesday/Friday. As of this post I’ve completed over 20 pages so that I have a good lead on what’s posting and continuing to write, so I’m hopeful that’s a cadence I’ll be able to maintain. I’ll update this post weekly to include the most recent pages the way I do with my main comics master post. All pages will be tagged 'Life After' and I'll tag any pages with zombies in them with 'zombie' for blacklisting etc.

[whousestypewriters]

friends till the end right? - k.a x reader

pairing: kai azer x reader

requested: yes / no

warnings: swearing

a/n: im living off of these crumbs until i get my hands on reckless fr. this'll be he last fic queued/posted until i get back lovelies. hope you enjoy mwah <33

taglist: @nqds, @lxvebelle, @reminiscentreader, @off-to-the-r4ces, @ecliphttlunar

@tornqdowarnings

kai azer was your friend.

your bestfriend.

you grew up together, he, just one week older than you basically being your guide into life. you both know he's full of shit and that he just likes to brag that he's older.

you've been by his side for all of it. the awful way edric treated him - which you still want to shove a dagger up edric's ass for by the way - to sneaking into the kitchen and eating lemon tarts with him.

you're his other half and he's yours.

he was by your side when your parents died, never once leaving you during those awful days. he pulled you out of your slump and brought you back to life.

so yeah....

you were close.

and although you were possibly the closets friends in ilya. you wanted more. you wanted to be the girl he looked at in every room the girl who he would recognise anywhere. you wanted to be his girl.

but that wasn't happening anytime soon. it was mere delusional thinking.

"hey, darling," kai's voice snaps you out of your thoughts. "you just gonna lie there all day?"

sighing you open your eyes and look up to kai. "it is rather comfy," you grumble at him. shutting your eyes and the image of kai and the colorful morning sky out.

"well its not my fault you tripped mid-spar."

"EXCUSE ME?" you practically fly up off the ground in anger. "I DID NOT TRIP YOU LITTLE SHIT-" you yell before kai cuts you off with a hand to your mouth.

"hush, you don't want to wake the entire kingdom with your loud ass mouth, you'd think you were a damn amplifier not tele."

you scoff and shove him back, causing him to stumble a little. "i'm going to murder you in your sleep."

"i get to look at your pretty face while dying? thats the greatest gift," kai smirks at you before shoving you back into a nearby tree, "and that was payback for shoving me."

"you deserved my shove. I didn't deserve yours," you huff leaning against the tree while kai looked at you from a few feet away. "what?" you ask. "do i have something on my face? if its dirt im blaming you, i've got lessons all morning after this."

he had an indecipherable look on his face. it only added to your confusion when he stepped closer, his body crowding yours the heat rolling off his skin and onto yours. still looking at you strangely he raises his hand slowly moving towards your face.

"what are you doing?" you meant it to sound questioning and stern but it just came out all breathy and high pitched.

his hand brushed you cheek as he raised it and pulled a twig from your hair. "you had something in your hair," his voice was soft and the moment crackled between the two of you.

there was no reason for you two to be standing that close. it was purely choice. and when kai's head dipped a little you almost gasped at how close you two were.

this was it, oh my god, you were getting your moment? that delusion was turning into a reality.

your breaths mingled together and you're ninety percent sure when kai's hand cupped your cheek and the other grabbed your waist you died a little inside - in the good way.

this was it.

"good morning guys!" a voice came from the other side of the training grounds as kitt strolled leisurely into the area.

kai stepped back from you quickly and headed over to chat with his brother but not before sending you a look that made you want to grin like a school girl.

maybe those delusions weren't so wrong after all.

[thecapricunt1616]

Promptober Day 1 👻

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 (𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭) : You had just landed at Boston airport last night, got a rental car, and Luca drove you to the beautiful little AirBNB that was decked out in adorable Halloween decor. Of course to break in the new space you went for a few rounds as soon as you got there, and you had left your phones off since you got on the plane since neither of you wanted to be bothered, and if you didn’t see it you wouldn’t have the anxiety that came with feeling you were required to reply even though neither of you had any interest in having conversation with anyone but eachother at the moment, so none of your alarms had gone off thankfully.

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: OMG! Hello! Welcome to day 1/31 of #TheBearblrPromptober2024! I am so excited to be taking part in this! If you didn't know, this prompt list was created by my lovely, wonderful, beautiful, smart and amazing friend @carmenberzattosgf! Everyone say 'Thank you Dirty Olive Martini!' for creating such a fun list & allowing everyone to use it! Halloween is my favorite holiday out of the entire year, so I'm reporting to you from the past 👻🔮ooooooo magical time travel🔮👻 I'm queuing this alllll the way back on 9/5 🤭! Can you tell how much I love Halloween?! Haha! I will be doing TWO Posts a day this October (I'm a psycho! I know! Hence why I'm reporting to you from the past hehe)! I will be participating in #TheBearblrPromptober2024! - you can view my schedule & masterlist for this celebration right 🦇here🦇, Now- I will also be posting my own celebration at night- #TheCapricuntsKinktober2024! You can view my schedule & masterlist for that celebration right 🎃here🎃! I hope you all enjoy what I've cooked up for this upcoming month, I'm hoping to also be cooking on the asks that have been rotting away in my inbox for god knows how long in between posting, since all of Sept. was spent preparing for this celebration! Okay, I promise every authors note will not be this long - I just had to get the intro out of the way! Lastly if you'd like to be added to my taglist for either celebration, just click on the celebration links on my masterpost also linked above & comment, I will add you! Alright, without further ado- Let #TheBearblrPromptober2024 begin! oh my gosh it’s FINALLY October! I have the first 14 prompt/kinktober blurbs done. It’s gonna be a big month!! I hope I have the writing bug up my ass the whole month I have 46 more prompts to get done omfg!! 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.1k 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Fluff, Mentions of smut (no active smut) 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: @/𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐤𝐚-𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬

You and Luca had finally gotten some time off. You were currently studying law at the University of Copenhagen, and decided that you were going to take the fall semester off because you and Luca had just gotten engaged and wanted time together to plan your wedding. Luca had made his way up to head pastry chef, so in celebration Luca had surprised you with a trip to Salem to see the foliage and do other fun fall things. 

Halloween was always you and Luca’s favorite holiday. In the 3 years that you had been dating, you had always picked out cute couples costumes together, The first year, You were Fred and Daphne from Scooby doo, The next you were Lilo and Stitch, and this year you were going to be some girl called D.VA and Luca would be a guy called Soldier 76 from some video game that he was always playing when he had free time.

You weren’t so sure what it was, you just knew she wore a cute leotard that made you feel like a superhero and an adorable pink bunny rabbit she carried around, and he even ended up finding a cute bunny backpack for your costume to go with it. Halloween though, was over a week away. You had just landed at Boston airport last night, got a rental car, and Luca drove you to the beautiful little AirBNB that was decked out in adorable Halloween decor. 

Of course to break in the new space you went for a few rounds as soon as you got there, and you had left your phones off since you got on the plane since neither of you wanted to be bothered, and if you didn’t see it you wouldn’t have the anxiety that came with feeling you were required to reply even though neither of you had any interest in having conversation with anyone but eachother at the moment, so none of your alarms had gone off thankfully.

You woke up, entangled limbs and pumpkin printed sheets, cheek mushed on Lucas pec comfortably, as embarrassing as it was, a little bit of drool crusted in the corner of your mouth. What could you say? The 7 hour flight on top of 4 hours of tacked on extra traveling and then nearly 3 hours of intense hooking up with your boyfriend that had the stamina of a stallion wiped you out to say the least. 

The room was still comfortably dark, just a sliver of light peeking through the blackout velvet curtains. 

You peeled your cheek off of his warm chest,  your eyes fluttering open to see your beautiful boyfriend sleeping beneath you still. You planted a gentle, loving kiss on his collarbone, before getting up and tending to your plans you had for the morning. Your loving, wonderful fiancee had gone through all of the planning of your trip on his own, because he wanted to surprise you. He’d known you’d always wanted to go to Salem, especially around Halloween which was your two’s special holiday.

You slip on your fluffy baby pink robe, adorned with bats that he’d bought you for the trip, as well as your nightmare before Christmas slippers and pad out to the kitchen. Your first line of business was to feed your black cat, Since it was your cat together, of course he was named Salem - Who was meowing and weaving between your legs, asking for his breakfast.

“I know baby I know baby!” You coo, picking him up and kissing his fluffy head as you walked to the kitchen. After you got him all settled, you got working on the Classic English Breakfast for Luca using the groceries that you’d ordered from instacart last night. Pork breakfast sausages, poached eggs, fried mushrooms and tomatoes, black pudding, and sourdough toast with lots of english butter, which you realized costed a whopping $6 opposed to it only being 2 back home. 

Just as you were getting everything plated on the table, you heard a cough come from the bedroom “Lu?” you called, hoping his throat felt a bit better then yesterday. Luca hated flying to say the least. 

“Are you cooking” he called back with a light cough. 

“Mm breakfast is made pretty boy” you went and stood at the doorway to see Salem had made his way to cuddle up on Lucas chest. “And petting him so close isn’t gonna help that dry throat” you told him, going over and kissing his forehead gently. 

He puckered his lips for a kiss and you lean down, brushing his messy blonde tufts out of his eyes and giving him a gentle kiss. “What did you make?” He asked softly when you pulled away, taking your hand and kissing the pads of your fingers gently. 

“I made you some green tea for that airplane throat, and your favorite, classic English- cmon. Let’s go curl up on the couch and watch Goosebumps” you told him and giggle as he pulled you to lay on top of him since Salem had went off to go play with his toys 

“Mmmmm - I don’t think that’ll be enough, I think I’m in the mood for something a little sweeter” he said softly in your ear before taking the lobe between your teeth and tugging gently. 

You giggled at the way he’d been awake  for not even 10 minutes and he was already trying to get you out of your robe this morning. 

“Breakfast, then dessert, let’s go handsome” you gently played with his pretty blonde locks and he hums. 

“I guess breakfast will get cold, mm” he said and kissed the side of your face lightly. “And I can tell you if your egg poaching skills have gotten any better” he teased, pushing up the bottom of your robe and squeezing your bum between his palms, trailing his hands up to your hips.

“It will- I know what those hands are up to” you giggled as they made their way back down to cup your heat through your panties. 

“They have a mind of their own in the mornings” he said with a small smirk. You hum and leaned in, kissing him deeply just enough to make him believe that he had won this little battle that he’d started with you, before pulling away and getting up with a frisky grin.

“Well it won’t be a fair judgment of my eggs if you let them get cold, Lu!” you giggled and made your way out to the dining room, leaving him cold in bed.

“You’re gonna pay for that - we don’t have anything planned today” he chuckled as he finally got up to follow you.

Tag List: @carmenberzattosgf @daysofyellowroses @mouseymilkovich @gallaghersgal @carmybrainworms @l4long-winded @babyspiderling @southsideserendipity @djlnkaled

[writefightandflightclub]

Ride or Die (Santiago “Pope” Garcia x fem!reader): Chapter Ten (of 11 - COMPLETED SERIES)

Series summary: Together, you and Santiago have been “soldiers” then “friends” then “lovers”; but will you ever figure out what comes next, especially when Santiago can’t (or won’t) stop running? 

Genre: a LOT of angst, (some) smut, best friends to… lovers?

Warnings: see collated series warnings, here. 

Series info: this is a COMPLETED SERIES. All chapters are written and queued. Posting schedule is here (includes series master list). 

Author’s note: Hope you like this next instalment! It’s a long one, and it’s a flashback, so it feels like a HUGE RISK to shove this in so far into the story. However, this memory of Santiago’s and reader’s is SO vivid in my mind I feel I could basically use it as a patronus charm. Therefore, if you’re at all invested in these two by now, I do feel like the payoff is worth it, and that it will set you up PERFECTLY for the next, concluding chapter! (Also: ooh, intrigue, as we get to see how they were with each other back in their youth, you know?). Anyway, as always, I would be super grateful for any comments / reblogs / asks you may wish to send my way. ILY :-*

P.s. there’s a timeline goof as a song mentioned in this, although recorded in ‘88, was not released until 2015. But we’re just gonna look past that, okay? 😝 In this world it was released early. 

AND I have nothing against Philadelphia!

Word count: 16.6k for this part. (SORRY!)

Tag list info: will reblog separately tagging those on taglist. You can request to be added to taglist if you are 18+. Send me an ask, please, so I can keep track :)

Many years earlier

Santiago is tired. Ready to crawl into the cocoon of his bed and draw the covers over his head, refusing to surface again until he’s dragged feet first outta there. Unfortunately for him though, sleep is not on the cards. 

Instead, he has a vitally important mission to attend to. And, in the face of a mission, this particular soldier never settles for anything less than completion. That doctrine is especially true - he has proven time and again - when it comes to taking care of you. 

Tonight, Santiago is tasked with making your birthday a memorable one; or, as memorable as he can muster with the $40 he currently has to his name. 

“Civilian aircraft, man. Where’s a goddamn helo when you need one?” you fruitlessly complain as he nods along in sympathy.

Evidently, sleep is the last thing on your mind. You’d been looking forward to cutting loose for weeks, with this night touted as “the birthday to end all birthdays”. Serendipitously, this was the first time your birthday had coincided with a period of leave since you signed up to serve and, thwarting all that, your connecting flight was grounded unexpectedly.

Santiago feels crushed - on your behalf - that the plans have gone so pear-shaped. 

“One o’ these days, getting shot for the Motherland will gain me some fucking privileges, huh?”

Santiago flinches at that particular addition. He doesn’t like to think about that day. That day’d had him waking up in frequent cold sweats going on a year now. He’d put himself on the line countless times - no problem- but almost losing you had been decidedly different. Had been the single most terrifying moment of his career (and his life) to date, all told. Which sure was saying something considering the hairy situations he routinely found himself in. 

Graciously, your present circumstances are considerably less dire. You’ve still been griping, of course. And, your complaints have not succeeded in changing a damn thing. It is now abundantly clear - if it wasn’t already - that the two of you are stranded for the night. So, here you are, holed up in a dingy and characterless airport motel in Philadelphia. 

It beats enemy fire, for sure… but even so, Santiago is acutely aware of how much you’ve been looking forward to this. To the rare chance to catch-up with your far flung squad mates, scattered every which way across the globe since graduating basic. He knows too, that the anticipation of this reunion had acted as your glue - had held you together - through what had been a particularly brutal deployment. 

“I haven’t seen Miller in months, man. I need to give that bastard some grief soon or I’m going to lose my damn mind.” 

“We can call that pendejo tomorrow,” Santiago soothes, popping a stick of gum and beginning to chew obnoxiously. “Hey. We can even pool our insults, huh? Really get him going.” 

You raise your palms, pressing the heels of your hands into your eye sockets. “Shit. I just miss the fucker, Santiago.” For the first time tonight he hears your voice break, your stoicism cracking apart and revealing your soft middle. 

“I know. I know you do, sweetie.”

Santiago knows how crushed you are. And so, for whatever it’s worth, the man resolves to show you the best night he possibly can, all circumstances considered. 

“Come on,” he encourages, kneeling before you as your lower lip quivers. He plants a hand on your thigh and jostles your leg gently. Meanwhile, you sit slumped on the long edge of the lumpy motel bed, beginning to feel rather more sorry for yourself. “You and me, baby. I’ll make this night special, I swear. Just give me a chance, huh?” 

“How?” you sound, throwing your palms up and gesturing to your dismal surroundings. “This place is barely even a step-up from the barracks.” You eye a particularly suspect stain on the carpet with disdain. “Actually, I think it might even be a step down.”

Santiago’s face crumples obediently in a measured display of sympathy, but honestly, his first instinct is to chuckle. You look so forlorn in this moment, Santiago has to consciously suppress his smile. You are the most stubborn, ferocious, determined person he’s ever met. You are fucking tough. Hell, he’s seen Staff Sergeants buckle in a crisis before you’ve even come close to breaking - and yet here you are. Almost in tears because you can’t make your birthday party. It’s all a little incongruous to him that out of everything, this would be the thing to take you down. 

At the same time though, of course. He understands it perfectly. 

Santiago has understood for a long time now that you possess a (well-concealed) softer side. Knows it better than most others do, in fact. As you’ve gradually allowed him to sneak past your militia-guarded perimeter -only a soldier of his calibre capable of making it, he’d wager - he’s begun to catch more and more frequent glimpses of the achingly soft heart you guard within. If your tough exterior had initially magnetised him to you, it was your soft heart which ensured he’d stuck around.

Solemnly then, he pats your thigh in a consolatory gesture. Of course, Santiago gets it. He knows it isn’t the presents or the attention or fuss which you’ll miss tonight - though they would have gone over well too, he’s sure. He knows that it is your brothers (in arms, if not blood) that you are feeling the loss of. The squad mates you love dearly, and to whom you are loyal with a tenacity Santiago has rarely witnessed. A loyalty he too feels blessed -strictly in the lapsed Catholic sense - to be on the receiving end of. 

Valiantly fighting back glassy tears, you pop your lower lip in a display of petulance as he rubs reassuring circles into your knee. “Philly sucks ass.” 

This time, he can’t quite quash his smile all the way. 

“Philly sucks ass, huh?” he repeats, buying himself time to think. 

Santiago isn’t sure whether you know that for a fact. He isn’t even sure you’ve ever been to Philly before to assess how much ass it does or does not suck. But, he does know that, irregardless of facts, you seem altogether determined to wallow in your self-pity. 

Santiago has noticed this about you. How you always developed an inalienable picture in your head of how you hope things will end up. It’s inspirational at times - your ability to visualise victory, for example, even in the most dire of circumstances, has held missions together. Has held him together. At other times though, it only set you up for disappointment. How could it not, when, through no fault of your own, you cannot reliably manifest the various futures you set your heart on. 

It’s not as though you ever ask for a lot; but sometimes, in your profession, even asking for a little is asking far too much. 

Still, it is brave, Santiago thinks, to hope for things. For his part, he has learned the hard way not to hope for anything much. 

Your shoulders sag in time with his as he exhales a breath and, though your display is dejected, Santiago gathers a soft smile. You are stubborn, that’s for sure, but in him you’ve met your match - or so he likes to think. Santiago is perhaps the only person who could reasonably claim the title of being twice as stubborn as you are, and (while he realises deep down he probably shouldn’t wear that as a badge of honour) he has often pushed his theory to its limit. And so, stubbornly, refusing to give up, Santiago rises to standing. He fishes around in his jeans pocket, yanks out a fistful of dimes and small bills, and brandishes them victoriously. 

He waves them enticingly in front of your face then, but you forlornly swat them -and him- away. However, he knows from the dull, reluctant spark in your eyes when he makes his pitch that he is finally on to something. “I saw some peanut butter cups in the hallway vending machine,” he sing-songs, with a hopeful raise of his eyebrows. He knows fine well they’re your favourite, and he can’t believe he’d forgotten his secret weapon: chocolate. “We can clean them out, take a cab, find some shitty ass dive bar, and have ourselves a sweet ol’ time. Whaddya say?” 

Nothing else had worked, and so Santiago is eminently thankful when a smile finally twitches your mouth. Honestly, he’d been about one attempt away from offering to eat you out all night - and he hadn’t been sure whether that would’ve made you happy, or would’ve resulted in you verbally lambasting him.

On balance, he figured it was probably best that he didn’t risk either kind of tongue-wagging. 

“Fine,” you concede whilst swallowing a mischievous grin, not at all eager to let on that Santiago has finally cracked you. “But don’t you be expecting to muscle in on my Reese’s, understood?” 

Santiago chuckles warmly, slipping into Spanish. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Birthday Princess.”

You snort at your newly bestowed title, playfully adjusting an invisible crown on your head, and you extend your palm towards his to shake on it. The gesture, as Santiago’s palm over-enthusiastically clasps yours, causes dimes and bills to scatter chaotically to the floor. A shit-eating grin etches itself across his face and meanwhile, your boisterous laugh rings out through the tight space. “Shit, Pope. Don’t drop it on this grim-ass fucking carpet.”

“It’s been worse places, trust me.”

“Yeah. Your fucking pocket?” 

“No shithead, I won it from Catfish.”

“And you don’t know where the hell he’s been?”

“The opposite. I shared a bunk with that hijo de puta, I know exactly where he’s been.”

With easy laughter eddying between you now, you both crouch, carefully gathering up the spoils of the latest Pope/Catfish wager to change hands. 

“I really need to meet that guy.” 

“Sweetie, you’ve met him.” 

Your hand brushes Santiago’s as you transfer him a mess of coins, sending a trail of goosebumps shivering up his arm. It always surprises him how soft you feel to the touch, accustomed as he has become to his own calloused hands - and to those of even rougher men than him. 

“Garcia. I swear to you I’ve never clapped eyes on the bastard.”

“You just don’t remember him.” 

“Shit. Well maybe he’s not very fucking memorable. Jog my memory. What did we talk about?” 

His shit-eating grin is back. “I dunno. But I bet you talked for the both of you.”

“Hey!” you protest, batting Santiago lightly -more or less- in the upper arm. 

“I just mean he’s quiet. Takes a while to warm up, that’s all. But he’s a good guy. You’ll like him, I promise.” 

“Okay.” You shove the remaining dime into Santiago’s palm.

“Okay?” 

“He’s clearly special to you, so he’s special to me too. Introduce me to him. Again.” 

Santiago smiles at you, gentle crinkles forming around his eyes. He’s already told Frankie so much about you, and he really thinks the two of you will get on. “Deal.” You both stand, and Santiago once again extends his cash-filled hand towards you. 

With a cheeky grin you chide him, not eager for a repeat calamity, but your tone is fond. “Don’t you dare shake on it, idiota.” 

Your smile digresses to your eyes. You extend your palm to pat him on his stubbled cheek - in a gesture weighing heavily with affection. Your lips animate, and Santiago wonders whether something sentimental might actually come to the fore. 

You whisper, low. “You have thirty seconds to get me my peanut butter cups.” 

He chortles and, for the first time (perhaps since imagining his head between your legs), Santiago is eminently excited to see where the night will lead him. 

Safe to say, he might be dog-tired… but he finally feels like staying awake. 

***

Despite your very vocal distaste for the music, and the clientele, and…well, just about everything in the first dive bar you and Santiago stumble across, the combination of cheap beers and even cheaper shots has succeeded in getting you efficiently merry. And, despite your earlier reticence, you now seem plenty eager to continue the party. 

Considering he could only afford cab fare from the motel to a dead neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city, it wasn’t going too badly, he thought. Though, Santiago had hastily steered you outta the first joint when a group of creeps had started leching on you. He knows you can handle yourself and he wouldda been happy to back you; but tonight especially, conflict is the last thing he wants for you. He figures you’ve had more than enough of that to last a lifetime. That you finally deserve a little peace. So, instead, he links your arm in his to keep your tipsy ass steady as he steers you down the main drag, desperately searching his mind - and scanning the unfamiliar streets - for what to do next. 

His mission, as it stands, is to satiate your threefold desire - for drinks, dancing, and good music. Tricky, given that he is already down to $10 dollars, give or take - and he’ll need that for the cab ride back to the crummy motel. 

Truth is, as he ambles with you for a few blocks, he is running out of ideas for how to show you a good time. What’s more, ever since he first entertained the idea, in his desperation, all his dumb ass can come up with is to offer to eat you out until morning. It’s pretty much becoming an intrusive thought at this point and, as the sordid image of you spread out for him further invades his mind, he quickly tries to blink it away. 

He doesn’t want to be that guy. You receive more than enough unwarranted attention as it is. And besides, Santiago would never want you to misinterpret that the reason he hangs around is to -eventually- get in your pants. 

You are so much more than that to him. Sometimes, he even has to keep his distance, so that in moments of weakness he doesn’t forget it. 

You’d held him at arms length for a while there too. 

Soldiers; not friends. 

He hadn’t won you over, he knew, because of his sparkling wit and charm. You’d been drawn to him because he was competent. Surprisingly level-headed for someone so baby-faced. You’d wanted people you could work with. People you could trust to get the job done; because you had to trust them with your life. 

The two of you have some undeniable chemistry, that’s for sure. At least, on his end, he’d felt something fierce and magnetic right out of the gate. Even so, from the outset, and even as your friendship had deepened, the two of you had seemed to quickly forge a tacit agreement. 

Friends; not lovers. 

You had made the assessment quickly, jointly, unconsciously. After all, under the rather intense circumstances in which you’d met? You’d each needed a friend - a genuine friend - far more than you’d needed a lay. For you especially, as he understood it, the former had been far more difficult to secure than the latter, especially as a woman in a highly-charged cesspit of toxic masculinity. And for him? Well, as talented as Santiago is at gaining connections, he doesn’t find all too many people he is willing to go deep with. To trust - and he trusts you with his life. 

When he’d found you then, he’d grabbed firmly on to you, and had resolved that nothing would get in the way of the friendship you’d forged. Not even - or perhaps especially not - his own… urges. 

Still. It’s not like he’s never thought about it. Not like you’ve never gotten him a tad… flustered. Indeed, as the rhythm of your steps marching in time beside him lulls him into calmness, feeling safe, his mind wanders in precisely that direction. 

So what though? He’s only human, right? Prone to fantasising; like he is now, he supposes, as he thinks vaguely about licking and kissing down your enticing, bare expanse of stomach. About popping the button on those low slung jeans. Shimmying them down over your hips just enough to sink his mouth over the mound of you and suck. 

Fuck. Focus, pendejo. You need something. 

He swallows then, feeling guilty for being such a horndog, and he turns to you. You seem to be perfectly content. To be enjoying the hit of fresh air, the apples of your cheeks sheened, with a subtle glow, from the exertion of your dance moves back in the dive bar. And honestly? Looking at you? As guilty as he feels for thinking about you like that, Santiago can’t muster a single better idea of what to do with you. 

He pushes it down, of course. Chalks it up to being just a tad pent-up following a seemingly endless deployment. That’s all it is, right? His dick is just looking for a little relief, and you are the closest, attractive body capable of providing him a warm welcome? 

Sure, he rationalises. That’s all it is. He can find a girl one night soon and take her home, like he’s done plenty of times before to work out his urges. Except for the fact that seeing you out of those (helpfully) modest fatigues is reminding him you are exactly his type. 

“You’ve gone quiet, Pope,” you frown as he -no doubt- looks at you dopily. “What are you plotting?” 

With your question, Santiago tears himself violently from his thoughts as you interrupt their increasingly feral trajectory. Still, in scrambling for a deflection, all he is able to land on is something else deep and wet. “The Mariana Trench,” he fumbles. 

Hell. Maybe he isn’t quite as smart as he gives himself credit for. Or, maybe all the blood is simply rushing to his crotch instead of his brain - for some reason. 

Even so. He urges himself to get his mind out of the gutter and to focus up. You deserve so much more than bearing the brunt of his accumulated sexual frustrations. So. Much. More. 

You laugh at his response though, oblivious as you are to his inner monologue, even linking your arm into his more tightly - as though he isn’t a huge perv. Your bright, infectious, beer-addled laugh bounces off of the surrounding asphalt and concrete. And, whilst it ricochets off of everything else, it sinks into him, mixing just a little more of you into his generic, rapidly dissolving fantasy. It offers a luminous gilding around the edges of his hazy desire, stirring in a vivid and more golden want than he has strength in this moment to acknowledge - never mind name. 

“Okay, weirdo. Sure. You’re thinking about the butt crack of the ocean? Miller been feeding you National Geographic documentaries again? You guys do know pay-per-view exists, right?” 

“Fine. You got me,” he confesses, your paces slowing as you gradually halt by the crosswalk, the two of you realising you have no particular destination in mind. “That was bullshit. I was actually thinking about what the hell I’m gonna do with you next.” 

Well… That isn’t a lie. Not exactly. 

Santiago looks you up and down where you stand, out of habit more than anything - a result of that now familiar “buddy up” system soldiers make use of to check each other for injuries. Sometimes, with the adrenaline and the shock, you don’t even know you’re bleeding out. This time, thankfully, the only ailment Santiago notices is the goose flesh prickling your skin, and he wishes that he had a jacket to offer you to keep you warm. 

“Oh?” You turn your body in to face him. Sway just a tad, eyes a little bleary, and Santiago instinctually plants his hands around your waist to keep you stable, touching on the smooth, bare skin where your ratty old band tee fails to meet your waistband - by approximately the width of four thick fingers. You shiver even though his touch must be warm. “Okay. Well what are you going to do with me, Santiago?” 

You blink at him then, your eyes wide and - dare he say - hopeful, one eyebrow arcing in idle curiosity. 

You are typically the decisive one. You are always clear on what you want. Tonight, however, it is evident that you are counting on him to lead you somewhere. 

Even though he doubts his ability to take the lead, rather fortuitously, Santiago does (miraculously) manage to stumble upon one single idea outside of the realm of cunnilingus… “Hey, come here,” he coaxes, taking your hands in his. “Close your eyes.” You oblige him, folding your grip around him, firm and sure. His heart swells a little at the instant, implicit trust you exhibit - no hesitation. “Do you hear that?” 

Santiago’s eyes remain open, observing you as your eyes blink clumsily shut. You slide your soft hands up his forearms, bracing yourself with a gentle “woah”, no doubt as the closing of your eyes makes your alcohol-saturated world sway and swirl just a little more intensely. “Listen, cariño,” he scolds good-naturedly, cupping his palms at your elbows. “Do you hear it?”

He can’t help but smile as your face scrunches in adorable contemplation. Then, he can’t help smiling even wider, as you begin to tap his arms and jump excitedly up and down on the spot. You hear it too then. The distant thud of music bouncing off of the tall buildings. 

“Music!” you exclaim excitedly, opening your eyes and grinning at him, still bouncing on the spot like an excited kid. 

The full beam of your unfiltered smile knocks him for six for second. It has been a while, honestly, since he’s seen it glow that bright. Turned all the way up. You’d gone through some shit on this deployment. Blood, horror, pain; rinse and repeat. Some of your spark had understandably dulled, and honestly, he had worried -in part, a little selfishly- that it might never come back to its full strength.

Boy. He’s glad to be proven wrong. 

Santiago had quickly come to learn that you possess a singular combination of character traits - and not only the magical ability to piss him off more than anyone else could. No, in fact, he’d learned quickly that you possess a singular kind of zest for life. One which he’d feared was too pure to survive long in the dark. Honestly, he’d believed your optimism and your joy was naive at first. Something to be knocked out of you in boot camp. But he was wrong so far. At every turn you endure. At every turn, you shine. As he feels increasingly bogged down, saturated with inky, oily shadows, you are bright. His guiding light, always calling him home from the edge of the dark, shadow-coiled path he skirts. 

“Do we follow it?” you ask excitedly, the glint of adventure in your bright eyes, and in that moment he could swear he’d follow you anywhere. 

“Yeah. Of course we follow it. It’s our goddamn duty to follow it.” Santiago stomps his boot and waves his arm in a sloppy military salute - the kind that would earn him fifty push-ups back at base. You follow suit, even more sloppy, but entirely resolute in your faux seriousness. 

“Tonight, I swear my oath and pledge my allegiance to music, so help me God.” 

Santiago stomps emphatically again, for effect - an overblown, cheesy action-movie-style salute, his strong jaw set in an overly caricatured display. You beam again, a face-splitting grin, and he…

…realises he is having fun. 

In this moment, you are giddy. You are bright. Full of life, and Santiago briefly wonders if this is how things could be. If it could be like this all the time if only you could get out. If you could leave the military behind. God. You are the last person he wants to lose from his side, but a knot twists in his stomach at the thought you should get out while you still can. Before it drags you down like it is him. Before he drags you down with him, since you’ve seemingly tied your fates to his with red bloodied ribbons, wound between your bones and his. 

He doesn’t have much time to consider those things though. To let the blood seep into the edges like it always does; because you start running. You take Santiago’s hand in yours and run towards the distant thud of noise, leading him behind you and laughing and whooping as you do. Making a grey night in a grey part of town feel vibrant. Making him feel vibrant by association. He realises only then how numb he’s felt lately. How your buoyant smile had been the only thing to feed his own these past months. 

You are so much more than a throwaway fantasy to him. 

You truly are the friend he’s needed so desperately, and feels so, so lucky to have found. 

He runs with you, and he hopes, silently, selfishly, somewhere in the pit of him, that your paths never wind in different directions. 

He’ll follow you anywhere. 

***

After a few, giddy, chaotic minutes of tracing the ricocheting sounds, you find yourselves in the lobby of a seedy hotel, breaths sawing in and out of your lungs and mirthful, intermittent giggles spilling out of you. 

“I’m on the guest list!” you insist with a hiccough, trying your utmost to blag your way into the wedding party contained beyond the double doors; the established source of the music. 

Your assertion is much to the chagrin of the teenaged, stoner-looking kid on the front desk, who is clearly milking his new-found authority for all it’s worth. 

“Sure, lady. Then what’s your name?” 

Santiago looks at you expectantly, his arm slung casually around your shoulders, his chest already shaking and nose scrunching with a mildly tipsy, sleep-deprived concoction of mischief. 

“The name’s Trench,” you deadpan, and the poor fellow actually begins to skim his index finger down the alphabetised list. “Mariana Trench.” 

Santiago eyeballs you. Honestly, half of him is awed by your balls, even as the other half is despairing of your chosen (and completely unnecessary) alias. Still, he sees the funny side, of course, and has to swallow a hearty laugh by faux coughing into his fist. 

There are not many factors helping your case here; especially the fact your body is already unconsciously bopping along to the music. Santiago has to physically encourage you back to your spot with his arm around your middle, and, as the rhythm continually beckons you forth, he hastily tucks you into his side in a fruitless attempt to subdue you. 

By the time Santiago’s gaze flicks back to the kid at the desk, he’s folded his arms over his chest like a stern math teacher, clearly enjoying his upper hand. “Dude,” the kid probes sceptically, perhaps sensing that Santiago is the more sensible (or at least more sober) of the two of you. “What are the names of the bride and groom?” 

“Nicole and Dio,” Santiago fires off smugly, causing you to first gasp and - second - to gawk at him like a fish (which is funny, because for all you know he’s made those up too). 

“How did you know that?” you hiss-whisper, thinking you are being oh so subtle, and Santiago elbows you discreetly in the ribs for your trouble. This time though, he is unable to stifle his laughter entirely, a throaty chuckle shaking out of him, and the crinkles around his eyes rehearsing deeper future furrows. 

Meanwhile, whilst the kid at the desk continues to eye him sceptically, he cannot refute Santiago’s knowledge. The soldier silently praises his undeniable powers of observation - and the fact the kid seems to have entirely forgotten about the huge fuck-off sign standing in the entrance lobby. 

“Yeah. Still no.” This kid is a tough nut. 

“Shit,” you plead. “Well can I at least use the restroom?” 

“I guess that’s fine,” the kid concedes with an eye roll, gesturing towards the left hand side of the lobby. 

You saunter off, beelining towards the door with such ferocity that you whack your hip off of the doorframe on the way in there. 

Santiago winces in time with your “ouch!”, but as you throw your arms in the air, triumphantly insisting you are fine, he turns his attention back to his mission; to get you whatever you want for your birthday. 

Sporting the friendliest smile he can muster in the full knowledge this kid behind the desk hates him already, Santiago mosies up to the counter. 

“Come on, buddy. Hook us up,” he reasons. “It’s a Tuesday night and everywhere else is closed by now.” 

“Dude, your attempts to get laid are not my issue.” 

“No. No, it’s… She’s my friend. It’s her birthday and-”

“-Then take her to a fucking Chilli’s, bro. Still not my problem.” 

Santiago huffs, still trying to keep his face neutral. Non-threatening. He needs to step things up before you return from the restroom. 

“Listen, buddy.” The kid scowls at him then as if to confirm - I’m emphatically not your buddy. “Do you know what it’s like to be shot in service of your country?” 

“What?!”

He nods behind him, in your general direction, his eyebrows pumping up towards his hairline (and reaching for a hasty explanation before the kid presses the under-desk alarm button). “Because she does.” Santiago rests his folded arms up on the counter. Leaning-in. Going all out with the eye contact. “When I tell you she’s had a shitty time of it? Lying on the ground, bleeding out. So, look, man. I just want to give her a good time tonight, alright? Would you please help me out, man? She’s fucking earned this.”

A gulp trails down the kid’s neck, and he tucks his long, straight blonde hair behind his ears. “You’re intense, bro. Anyone ever told you that?” 

Santiago opens his mouth again, wishing to further embellish his case; but before he can do so the kid caves, waving his palms in total surrender. “Fuck, man. Do what you want, but for the love of God, would you just stop talking to me?”

“Great. Thank you. I mean it.”

“Yep. Whatever. Don’t get paid enough for this shit, bro.”

Santiago hears the door swing behind him, and joins you just in time to lead you further into the building, pleased that he is able to report victory. He’s almost forgotten about the front desk already - until the kid calls after him, growing bolder the further you two retreat, apparently. “This is why I’m a pacifist, dude! You might wanna think about it.” 

“Sure thing,” he calls back over his shoulder. “I’ll give it some consideration.”

Then, Santiago gently ushers you into the corridor leading towards the party, taking a moment to celebrate his “smooth-talking”. Before he can even think about bragging though, you throw your arms up in the air in a tada gesture and exclaim “you are welcome!”. He doesn’t have the heart to tell you you’d had no part in getting past the gate, and so instead, he opts to finally vent his quashed laughter. The fact you’d name-dropped Mariana Trench, specifically, supplies a giggle hearty enough that it makes his abs ache.

“Oh. By the way. How do I look?” you question, when the two of you are just shy of making an entrance to the main hall. 

Santiago turns to you and looks you up and down. Notices the fresh application of smeared red over your plush mouth. Surveys your jeans and tee with approval, as though you are outfitted in a gown. “Good, chica.” 

“Good!” You step forward then, towards him, and lay your palms flat on his upper chest. “Now. You know what I wanna do?” For a split second, with your proximity, and the husky thrall of your voice, Santiago finds himself imagining what you might want to do to him - if he should be so lucky. “I wanna dance. Will you dance with meeee, Santiaaaaggooo?” 

Santiago feels a lump lodge itself in his throat. Tries hard to forget that… well… red lipstick and dancing? They are - more often than not -  your highly decipherable code for being horny. Shit - he wonders if you are as pent up as he is. 

“You got it!” he musters, getting himself quickly in check. Christ, he needs to prioritise getting laid  - just as soon as he is no longer wholly dedicated to your birthday. 

“Yay!” 

You lead him by the hand and, once again, Santiago does not complain. Then, swinging open one of two double doors, plastered with unsightly fire regulations, you enter the fray. 

The doors open on a busy room, bathed in beams of chaotic coloured light. In reality, the interior is drab. A sad, grey, carpeted room. A few busted ceiling tiles up top. The circular event tables are flanked by a sorry stage at one side - fronted by a sticky, modest square of dance floor - and a small bar at the other. Finally, the far wall is edged with a rather depleted buffet, and intermittent bowls of greying macaroni. Whilst the room itself is nothing to write home about, however, the jubilation inside makes it feel positively wonderful. 

Santiago feels only for a split second like he is intruding. Within moments, he is all wrapped-up in the buzz. Enveloped by it. The band’s amps are turned up far too loud. The dance floor is awash with couples gyrating on each other and groups of singles circling each other, looking for an in. Throngs of friends and family are grouped throughout the room, laughing and chatting, taking photos on disposable cameras and clinking glasses, and when the two of you enter, matching smiles plastered on your faces, no-one even bats an eye. 

“We’re really doing this?” Santiago raises his voice above the tremor of the music. “Crashing a fucking wedding?”

“Relax! It’s not the worst thing you’ve ever done, Garcia. It’s not even against the Geneva Convention.” 

“Jesus! I’m not a fucking war criminal!”

“Relax, Santiago,” you encourage, tone soothing and your hands massaging into his shoulders; and, finally, he lets himself. For once, he lets his guard down. So, as you travel deeper into the room, Santiago begins to move a little less like a soldier on patrol, and allows his gait to loosen up. Allows himself to approach the room not as a soldier on high alert, but simply as some guy with his buddy, looking for a good time. “Attaboy,” you encourage, seeing him visibly unclench - a rare thing. “We’re good, alright? Hey. I’ll even leave a pack of Reese’s on the table. That way, we even brought a gift.” 

“And you’ll keep a low profile, right?” 

“Of course!” You flash him a faux innocent grin, which he sees right through. 

Yeah, figures, he thinks. Honestly, he isn’t sure you are capable of blending in - stealth ops aside, of course. But here? Without your camo and a distinct lack of a gilly suit? Baby, look at you, you’re gonna be noticed. 

“Alright. We dance. Just keep it low key or-“

“-Sure, sure,” you dismiss, waving your hand through the air as though to erase his plea. “But first, tequilaaaa!” 

Evidently, you are ignoring him completely, and yet the beaming smile on your face is so utterly worth it that Santiago could care less. “Eh. Whatever you say, Princesa.” 

You wink at him. “Now you’re getting the idea.”

Santiago watches you skip gracelessly over to the bar, making zero attempt to blend into the crowd (unsurprising). You order up two shots, downing one instantly and handing the other to him with a jubilant, mildly devilish grin. At this stage, Santiago is deliberately a few drinks behind you, having wanted to remain sober enough to take care of you. So, he figures he has a little wiggle room remaining before he reaches the point of no return. Egged on by your encouraging nods, he tips it down the hatch. 

“Cheers!” you exclaim, clumsily clinking your little plastic shot glass against his. The remains of the amber liquid still glisten on your mouth, lending an appealing shine to your red lips. As you mop the drips away with the back of your hand, you slightly smear the shade towards your cheek. 

Before Santiago can rectify the situation for you though, you’ve once again taken his hand and trailed him behind you, clumsily weaving through the crowd as he interjects “sorry!” each time you bash - either your body or his - into someone else’s. Before long though, the two of you are safely tucked right in the midst of it all, adding to the messy, merry throng on the compact dance floor. The amateurish but jubilantly played rock covers from the band began to vibrate all the way through his chest as you position right next to the speakers. 

As the vibrations tickle through him, bass inflating like a balloon in his rib cage, drowning out his thoughts and his heartbeat, you dance. With his thoughts silenced - or, rather, out-volumed- he slips into his body as if it is his own again. As if it belongs to him, and not just to some notion of God and country. 

You, for your part, dance as if compelled to. As though, after living for so long with your body following orders, exercising control, being disciplined, staying in line, you can finally let it be free. Can finally let it express itself.  

You move well, Santiago notes as he allows his own body to limber, freeing up his arms and his hips and feeling the buzz of the music and the alcohol thrum pleasantly through his body. It all feels somewhat alien to him now, his body stiff and lacking muscle memory for such imprecise, unplanned movements. You though? You move with abandon. With joy, like you never forgot how to feel it, belting the lyrics right from your chest. Jumping and waving your arms when the guitar solo drops. 

It makes him deeply happy to see you like this. What’s more, amidst the dance floor of preened, deliberate women encircling your space, their movements seemingly contrived to be appealing, alluring, sexual, your reckless expression is far sexier to him. You feel freed, wild - and it almost feels dangerous to him. This clear absence of regiments and rules and barriers feels dangerous, even the barriers between your body and his disintegrating as you dance closer, the beat shaking you together like sand on a drum skin. 

Indeed, your bodies are pushed ever closer and closer as the surprisingly heaving crowd compresses you tighter and tighter in the minimal, sticky-floored maneuver room. And so, after you’ve suffered one too many bumps and restrictions from stray shoulders and elbows, you finally give in to it, looping your arms around his neck and choosing to dance with him. 

Instinctually, automatically, Santiago’s hands fall to your hips, gripping you there as your body sways and rolls in time to the music, the raw, dirty hard rock vocals moving through you and bedding down into your body. 

At first, when your body presses up against his and the hot breath of your laughter fans over his neck, Santiago thinks about adjusting. About sliding his hands back up to your waist, where -perhaps- the gesture may seem less intimate. May allow for a little more room and a little less contact. 

It isn’t as though the two of you are strangers to touching. You are both tactile people, and besides, you’re often in close quarters. You’ve slammed each other to the mat plenty of times. He’s had your sweaty, writhing body all over his. Your grunts of submission sounding in his ear. Huffs of exertion fanning against his neck. Thighs locked with his. His hips pinning you. But this? This is a little different. It isn’t precise, technical touch. It isn’t objective-driven. There are no clear rules, besides friends not lovers, and even that distinction is starting to feel a little blurry. 

No, this kinda touch is something else. It is raw. It is instinctual; and that scares him, in truth. 

However, it doesn’t scare him nearly enough to want to stop.

He does not move his hands from your rolling, swaying hips. Can’t bring himself to. Instead, he gives in to it. To the music. To the feeling. To you. And, when does, he finds himself surprised by how fluidly your bodies move together. Symbiotically. Like a team. Like you do in battle, sure. In the field. Like it is the most natural thing in the world; but this time, your combining is not at all driven by survival. It is driven by living, and Santiago could swear, in this moment, that he has never felt quite so alive. 

The room is getting hot. The undulating crowd of bodies surrounding you is only adding to it. Exertion is glowing on your skin. He can feel it up against him, your sweat bleeding through your damp t-shirt where your breasts press into him. Can feel it beneath his fingers, tacky and slick, as he wraps his hands around that bare flash of skin at your midriff. God, you are smooth, and soft, and slick, and he is momentarily transfixed by a bead of sweat sinking down the centre of your chest, disappearing beneath the “v” of your shirt. 

Someone else’s body briefly presses up against his in the crush and he cringes away from the feel of their slick skin… but you? Yours? You feel good to him. He doesn’t mind it. 

That scares him too; but still, not enough to stop. 

With a joyous, unfettered laugh you claim back some space, spinning Santiago underneath your arm, your dance moves growing increasingly outlandish. Of course, Santiago follows your lead. Always does. And, before long, the two of you can barely dance from laughing and can barely laugh from your insistence to keep dancing. 

It feels good. Good to push your respective bodies to their limit on your own terms for once. To be with each other, side by side, in a scenario which could not be further from life or death; but that feels a thousand times more vital and central to being alive. 

Seeing your smile strobe as the blue party lights slip and flash over the planes of your face, the beats and riffs pulsing through his body, Santiago feels giddy and he feels bright. With laughter bobbing in his throat and aching in his sides, he feels goddamn luminescent, and so he can’t help but wonder. Can’t help but wonder if this is how he would feel all the time. If he got out. If the two of you could just be people, instead of soldiers.

Santiago holds on to it. He holds on to you. To the feeling of freedom. Of pure, unfettered joy. Of this strange peace amidst the blurry, heavy noise. 

He holds on to it while he can. He smiles with you until his face hurts. Laughs with you until his breath wanes. Dances with you longer than he should, song after song. Dances until he is sweating through his t-shirt, a dark “v” of sweat trailing down his chest. Dances, long after that now familiar heat in his newly ailing knees has crossed into discomfort. Dances closer and closer to the speaker until the music is indistinguishable from him, beating through his chest and down into his bones, and still; the two of you move your bodies. The two of you cling to each other like your life depends on it - and perhaps, precisely because of all the times it has. 

When you lean forward, cupping his ear, your lips almost pressed right to his skin to be heard over the din, a warm snake travels down his spine. “See! We still haven’t been found out!” You draw back to flash him a mischievous grin, your eyes glinting with a spark far more warming than the heat which already slickens his skin. 

You are most definitely up to something. You dip forward again as he strains to hear you. “Wanna be a little bolder?” There is a dark and delicious lilt in your voice. A tempting thing, enticing him into trouble - as per usual. 

He does though. Wants to be a little bolder. 

He wants to kiss you, in fact. To test the limits of just how well your bodies can move together. But…  just like all the other times tonight he lets that desire atrophy. Pushes it outside of his body. You are so much more to him than the tingle in his dick. Offer him so much more than whatever parts of you he could seek out with his hands and his mouth, skin finding skin, finding deep, dark wetness. 

If you wanted it, hey, it’s not like he would say no. He isn’t that strong; but he’d decided long ago that when it came to crossing that line, he would simply follow your lead. 

“What did you have in mind?” Santiago asks, dipping his own lips towards your ear. 

Your response is not quite what he expects. You simply throw both arms up into the air, your eyebrows jumping up with them. “Karaokeeee!”

It is a pleasant surprise, to be honest. He loves to see you like this. To see you have fun. Chasing your whims. Getting to be damn silly. For so long, everything has been so grim and so serious.

However, even if your suggestion - at first - inspires a broad, nose-crinkling smile, Santiago looks up at the freestanding mic in horror next - when he realises exactly what you are about to do. “Shit. Sweetie. It’s not-” 

-It is already too late. You are already clambering up on stage and taking your position by the vacant mic spot. “…It’s not karaoke,” Santi mumbles under his breath, mentally readjusting his level on how wasted you are. 

“Come with me, Pope!” you shout down to him, making grabby hands towards him. Next, you commandeer the mic pole as the frontman - who had simply stepped out for brief swig of water - looks on in confusion. 

Santiago sighs and slides his palm over his face, for he knows, fine well, exactly what is about to go down. That, after all the times you’ve saved his skin, tended his wounds, and -damn- even been shot to keep him safe, he for sure isn’t about to let you make a fool of yourself. At least, not alone. 

Cringing already from the forceful embarrassment of commandeering an entire stage at a wedding he’s just crashed, Santiago sets his jaw in resignation and hops semi-gracefully up there, rising to stand right next to you. 

“What happens in Philadelphia…” he mumbles, before bracing himself and accepting his fate. 

He raises his arm as a shield against the intense spotlight, and can suddenly see that the whole party is looking by now, heads whipping around following your triumphant “woop” into the microphone. 

He makes a mental note to explain to you what the words “low profile” mean later, as clearly, you’ve completely failed to grasp that concept. 

Santiago gulps as he looks out across the confused sea of faces, his mouth suddenly bone dry as he prays that no-one will actually yell “who the fuck are you?” Then, not for the first time this evening, he desperately attempts to conjure up a plan of action. Once again, he is pretty sure that cunnilingus won’t quite cut it here either. 

His goal right now is two-fold. To enable you to sing on stage, like you want to, and to avoid being forcibly removed from the venue. It is unfortunate that the former goal seems to void the latter, but hey. He’s been in stickier situations. And, with luck, Santiago remembers one useful thing. The fact that -according to damn near everyone- he’s a charming little fucker. Now, he supposes, is as good a time as any to put that theory to the test. 

“Nicole and Dio.” He gestures to the bride, and motions to gesture towards the groom too. That is, before realising he has no idea who “Dio” is in the crowd, so instead, he lets his arm flop uselessly back to his side. Next, he takes what he feels is a well-earned moment to let the feedback from the microphone die, wincing slightly at the noise, and becoming acutely aware of the sizzle of nervous sweat burning off of his forehead. “I think it’s safe to say,” he ventures with a little more confidence, straining to remember his cousin’s wedding and every platitude he might repeat, “that a love like yours comes around once in a lifetime. I know I speak for both of us when we say we’d like to wish you a lifetime of happiness together to enjoy it.” You helpfully lean forward in that moment and give another celebratory woop. “Thanks for that, sweetie,” he deadpans, wiping his brow just as urgently as he scans the room, searching for something -anything- he can pull from to meet his twinned objectives. 

Suddenly though, against all odds, he actually spots his way out. Emphatically, triumphantly, he points towards the Irish flag proudly adorning the far wall, and dearly hopes he is on to something. “A million tiny things had to align for you two to come together. You could even say it was fate. So, in tribute to the miles travelled by your ancestors, here it is. This one is for the Irish-Americans in the house!” Firstly, he is relieved, to say the least, when that statement earns a hearty cheer from the crowd. “Let’s hear it for Metallica; Whiskey in the jar.” Secondly, he is relieved when that statement earns further cheers, particularly from you. 

Next, Santiago looks confidently to the band, deciding he will simply stare at them pointedly until the drums kick in. “For Nicole and Dio!” he adds with a flourish after an uncomfortably long moment of inaction; and, as the crowd gets behind Santiago, who on earth are they to deny him? 

“Everybody on the dance floor!” you add, with an enthusiasm so overblown it can’t fail to be infectious.

Still, when Santiago finally thinks he has it nailed, you turn to him with a sudden and pronounced wash of horror on your face. “Garcia. Shit. It’s not karaoke!” 

“Princesa,” he soothes as the band kicks in, wrapping his arm firmly around your waist to avert your knees buckling in fright. “If it’s not karaoke, why the shit do I have a mic and a backing track, huh?” You still look unsure. “Come on, sing it with me. You’re hot as hell up here, don’t go shy on me.” 

Santiago turns, forgetting the crowd entirely as his mission revolves wholly around you. 

He begins to sing to you, gaze soft and encouraging until you relax back into it, your broad, electric smile returning. He tugs you closer into him, snug and safe until you grow bold enough to sing along with him into your one shared mic, gradually letting go and -bolstered by him- giving it increasing amounts of gusto. 

The pool of guests at your feet are going surprisingly wild for it too, almost every one in the room having now descended on to the dance floor.

“Here,” he encourages, as soon as he feels you’re ready, handing the mic off to you for the remaining verses of the song. “You got this, sweetie.” 

He lets you have your moment in the spotlight, cheering you on from the sidelines as you sing and air-guitar your way through the final chorus. You aren’t necessarily singing at your best after belting out lyrics at top volume, but what you lack in vocal ability you sure make up for in spirit. You have bags of that, and you perform it with plenty of showmanship, throwing yourself all over the stage and making Santiago’s face split with joy as he whoops along with you, fist-pumping enthusiastically. 

You even end the song by taking a knee and exclaiming “Nicole and Dio!”, raising your mic arm triumphantly in the air like the rock star you are - which is a huge relief to Santiago, as it had looked for a moment like you were about to stage dive into the completely unsuspecting crowd. 

You wrap it up to what Santiago will later describe as rapturous applause. You milk it for all it's worth, before relinquishing the mic to the actual band and skipping over to your biggest fan. 

“Was I fucking amazing?” you ask, bundling him into an enclosing hug. 

“Holy shit. Felt like I was watching Kerrang.” 

You punch him playfully in the arm for his shit-eating grin. “Dickhead.”

“What’s next for the Birthday Princess?” Santi asks, hopping off of the stage and guiding you safely down too. 

He’s secretly praying you’ll say “back to the motel”, but it doesn’t surprise him at all when you throw your arms jubilantly into the air and yell: “more dancing!”. 

Santiago brings the pad of his thumb up to the corner of your mouth, finally smoothing away that damn lipstick smear he wishes he’d gotten to before your impromptu stage show. “Go for it, hermosa,” he insists fondly. “I’ll be with you in a sec, yeah? After pulling that shit, I don’t think we have long before we get busted. You gonna be ready to hustle soon?”

You nod, fist-bump him, and skitter off to the dance floor, your seemingly boundless energy carrying you right the way through towards dawn. 

Santiago will give this track a miss, he thinks. His knees need a goddamn time-out; but his eyes still linger on you, shining fondly as you are folded into the crowd. 

***

“Touching speech, lad,” a low-timbre voice sounds to Santiago’s left. “But who in the devil are ya?”

Santiago, who is sat blissfully nursing a glass of ice cold tap water, immediately swivels on his barstool. This puts him face-to-face with an older gentleman, of considerable stature. 

The man’s crinkled, bushy-eyebrowed face is stern; but not unkind, even as his chin juts up in challenge. Santiago rubs the back of his neck self-consciously. There is no point trying to wriggle out of this one, and he’s already sure of it. 

“Okay,” he responds, his voice slow and low and his palms raising defensively in the air. The man might be both older and frailer than Santiago, but he exudes a certain authority which trumps his own youthful confidence. In short, Santiago certainly doesn’t want to piss him off. “You got me. It’s a long story, and we weren’t technically invited… but we don’t mean any trouble, Sir. And, hey, we did bring a gift,” Santiago adds for good measure, not entirely convinced that the mushed up peanut butter cups in your jeans pocket will make any shade of difference now - but hoping. 

The man presses his lips together and hums, as if mulling over the guilty party’s fate. After a moment of contemplation though, the older gentleman unceremoniously releases some of the rigidity from his body, slumping down into Santiago’s neighbouring bar stool with a sense of resolution. A gulp trails down Santiago’s neck all the same. “You a military pair, kid?” the man asks casually, making-out like he’s thoroughly absorbed in rolling his cigarette papers, but his sharp eyes still finding time to needle Santiago incisively. “I know the type.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Hmm. Well.” The man licks along the long edge of cigarette paper with the tip of his tongue. “You came clean, I’ll keep quiet. Besides commandeering the stage(!), you two don’t seem like too much trouble.” 

“Thank you, Sir.”

“I’m Colin, by the way. Nicole’s granddaddy.” The man extends a hand and Santiago shakes it. 

“Santiago. And hey, congratulations.” 

Santiago would’ve allowed some of the tension to seep out of his own rigid body by now; except for the fact he can sense the man is not quite finished with him. He lights the tip of his cigarette with a battered-looking, engraved lighter, smoke swirling around him and becoming one with his white-gray, thinning hair. “Since I’ve been so generous, lad, how’s about you explain to me the circumstances that brought you to crash my granddaughter’s wedding?” 

From the man’s unwavering stare, Santiago knows fine well this is a demand and not a suggestion. He rubs his sweaty palms together, finding himself reluctant to spill but with little apparent choice in the matter. Still, as his gaze flicks back in the direction of you, he feels a softness overcome him. “It’s her birthday. We’re on leave. Had a big trip planned to reunite with some buddies but the airport-“

“-ah. All shut down.” Colin nods in partial understanding, taking a long drag on his smoke. 

“Yes, sir. So I, uh. Well, I had to improvise.” 

Colin’s eyes flutter briefly closed. Then, a small flicker of a smile appears, as he - apparently - achieves a fuller understanding than Santiago’s divulgence should have allowed. An understanding which Santiago isn’t sure he has attained himself, as it stands. Is he missing something? “I see. You wanted to show her a good time.”  

“Yeah. Yessir.” 

To Santiago’s utter surprise, the man’s hand clasps down on top of his closest shoulder, the cigarette still pinned precariously in between his forefingers, and the smoke tangling around Santiago’s curls like future grays attempting to stick. “What are you drinking, lad?”

“Uh. Water,” Santiago replies simply, recalling the glass sweating on the bar top. 

“Not any more.” Colin signals the bartender with a barely perceptible raise of his chin, and manages to convey his order simply by raising two of his fingers in the air.

Santiago watches as a bottle, sporting an affixed yellow post-it note, is grabbed-up from its secret hiding spot under the counter. Must be the good stuff. 

When served, Colin slides one glass over to Santiago with the back of his age-spotted palm. “You don’t have to drink it, o’ course - I’ll just think you’re a rude fecker if you don’t.”

“Thank you, sir.” The two men swivel on their stools to face the bar and Santiago takes a sip, doing his best to hide his reaction to the intensity of it. 

Colin guffaws. “Yeah. That’ll put hairs on yer chest.” 

Santiago splutters, attempting to quickly smooth himself. “Cheers. To Nicole.” He hoists his glass in the air. 

“Aye. Here’s to that.” 

Santiago smiles, clinking his glass with Colin’s and hoping against all odds that you might come and rescue him soon. 

You don’t, but mercifully the chat is suspended for a moment as the man coiffs his cigarette and his drink, and Santiago even suspects he has been forgotten entirely as another guest draws Colin into niceties and conversation. 

Therefore, after a few warming swigs have slipped down his throat, each one followed by a grimace, Santiago turns, realising it has been a minute since he’s had eyes on you. He quickly locates you on the dance floor, boogying with some tall, white guy. A guy who is - with your encouragement - getting rather handsy. Seeing this, all of Santiago’s muscles tighten and he feels the vague urge to leap up off of his bar stool - that is, until Colin interjects.

“Can I give you some advice?” 

Santiago’s initial thought is “no”; but he has a feeling Coilin may offer his unsolicited advice regardless. “Don’t crash weddings?” he jests half-heartedly, the lion’s share of his attention still on you and that guy’s damn hands. 

“Marry her.”

Santiago’s gaze flips immediately towards Colin, his face the picture of abject confusion. “Sorry. Who?” 

Colin chuckles to himself, evidently quite tickled, and nods his head gently in your direction. “Your lady friend.” 

Santiago saws his palm over the five-o-clock shadow adorning his jaw. A weak, throaty chuckle bobs in his throat. He finds it funny. Preposterous. “With respect, Sir. That’s not gonna happen.” It is knee-jerk. Santiago had sworn off marriage long ago. Had long ago given up on the prospect of any form of happy ending. Besides, you and him? He doesn’t think so. 

“Oh. Boyo,” Colin begins, his tone juuuust condescending enough to make Santiago stiffen. “You find someone who makes you as happy as that, you marry her. Trust me, lad.”

Santiago purses his lips. Tightens them into a thin line. “We’re not… together.” Not that it’s any of this guy’s business what you are to him; but he’s just not getting it. 

“You love her,” Colin says softly. Almost gently, as though he’s breaking bad news. 

”What?” Santiago shakes his head incredulously, blinking several times in succession. 

“I can barely see past my own arm these days, lad, but I can see that much.” 

There is that hand, clasping his shoulder again. This time it feels different. “You love her.” 

The first time Colin had spoken these words, Santiago had bristled. Felt provoked. He should feel similarly now too - he knows it - but upon hearing them for a second time, a sudden clarity settles over him. In fact, he’s never felt less confused by a statement in his life. 

He feels his mouth go dry. A sudden ringing in his ears. He could’ve sworn he had hands and feet earlier in the evening, but right now he can’t feel them. 

Of course he loves you, he thinks, reaching for logic. For rationalisations. But it’s not like that. That’s simply what happens when you go through so much together. You bond, intensely. That’s all it is. All it amounts to. 

Colin has this all wrong. 

Santiago looks at you then. Really looks at you, as you grab your dance partner by the shirt and shove your tongue in his mouth, pulling away from the kiss with a wolfish grin. Some kind of feeling he can’t hope to name tightens like a fist in his stomach when you do that. “She’s…” Santiago wants to protest. Wants to say that no, he doesn’t. But those aren’t quite the words which find their way out. Instead, he says quietly, like he’s delivering bad news now: “she’s my best friend.” 

“Ah,” Colin breathes, in a fresh tone of relief. As if satisfied. As if he has now achieved full understanding - even if Santiago has not. The older man stubs out his cig and downs the dregs of his whiskey, cheersing Santiago once more with a clink of his empty glass. “There you go then. Isn’t that the same thing?”

Isn’t that the same thing?

It is a blur from there. A blur as Colin once again outstretches his hand and Santiago obliges by shaking it, his arm feeling limp and useless like a bag of cotton-wool. It is a blur as Colin wishes him well with a jolly “take care, lad,” sauntering away with no concern for the destruction left in his wake. 

It is a blur as you sidle over, as though the volume in the room has been turned down all of a sudden. It becomes gradually louder again as you approach. 

You. 

You. 

You.

“Fuck, you okay, Garcia? You look like you’re about to puke.” 

There’s nothing here. 

Nothing with you. 

Nothing he could have with you. No way. 

“Seriously! You look queasy as hell.” You place your hand across his brow to see if he’s burning up.  

“No. ‘M good. Fine,” he says tightly. 

You nod, still looking sceptical but opting to buy what he’s selling. “You just tired? Too much dancing?”

”Heh. Something like that.” It is a struggle to push the words out, but he surprises himself. Gradually sinks himself back into the room. Back into his body. 

Santiago notices the brief spark of an idea fleet over your face as you regard him and, in the next moment, you dip forward to chastely kiss him on the cheek. He feels a deep, blooming heat develop under his skin, his cheeks darkening with a crimson flush, and he resists the urge to clamp his palm over the spot your lips touched. “What was that for?” 

A delicate smile dances on your mouth. “Thank you, butthead. I’m having a good birthday.”

It’s what you don’t say. It’s what your eyes are telling him. Your body language. Your touch. You’re telling him things you’ve been saying for a long time now. Things which, thanks to Colin, beg a whole load of new questions.

You slip your hand down his arm, grasping his hand in yours. For a moment he just stares, looking down at your hands clasped there together. He is vaguely aware of the track switching in the background, to a slower, more heartfelt tune, and, by the time he drags his eyes back-up to yours, he figures he’s got a head start already on what you’re about to ask. 

He makes it so you don’t even have to. “One more dance?” 

He stands, capturing your waist with his wrapped arm, leading you back towards the dance floor. The surprise and relief and glee on your face as he preempts you is almost too bright for him to look at. 

“You even know how to slow dance, Garcia?” you ask as he maneuvers the two of you into prime position, right in the beam of a sweeping purple spotlight, the dancefloor filling exclusively with swaying couples as the tender, swooping song resonates through the room. 

“Haven’t slow danced since prom,” he admits. “But I’ll follow your lead, Princesa.” 

“You a’ways do, asshat.” 

“You know? You’re not wrong. Now, come here.”

He holds his arms out and you step into his sturdy circumference, no hesitation. Trust implicit, your bodies moving in sync. You drape the loop of your arms gently around his shoulders, your twined fingers brushing the nape of his neck, sending a warm shudder through him. His hands hover helplessly for a moment, but he eventually settles them on your hips, drawing your body closer, tightening the space between you as you each sway together, cheek to cheek. 

“I - I can’t believe you did this for me, you know?” Your voice is lower, dropped in your throat. Heavy with solemnity as though you are thanking him for taking a bullet for you or something. “Tonight. The karaoke. Everything.” 

“Well,” he dismisses, against the shell of your ear. It’s not nearly enough.“You got shot for me, so...”

Your light, lilting laugh fans across his check. It isn’t funny at all, wasn’t a joke; except that it’s so tragic it kinda has to come full-circle, he supposes. “Fine,” you offer. “Call it even?” 

Even? 

It could never get close to even. 

Santiago feels a surge of emotion welling in him. Like suddenly there is a mechanism dredging all the settled silt back up to the surface. It rises all the way up - into his chest, into his throat. He pulls back slightly until you are face to face, his expression far more severe than the situation merits; but he can’t help it. It feels barbed, difficult, coming out of his mouth, but it needs to be said. “You have no idea what you’ve done for me, you know?” His eyes are glistening, a telltale softness nestled beneath his thick brows, and his thumbs unconsciously rubbing circles into the meat of your hips. “You’re…. I… I mean. You’re… my best friend.”

You gawp back at him for a moment, visibly caught off-guard by his emotional intensity. Then: “oh no,” you whisper-shout into the space between you, as though if you push too much sound out, the emotions might overspill along with it. “Don’t get all soppy on me, you hear? You’re the only fucker who knows I have emotions, and I damn sure wanna keep it that way.”

His gaze flits all over your face. “Secret’s safe with me, Princesa.” 

“Promise?”

“Promise.” 

He smiles at you - a smile that only reaches his eyes. 

You nestle yourself back into the crook of his shoulder, your body pressed right up against his. One hand grasping at his back. The fingers of the other clasping his shorn head, dancing over the prickled hair of his army-issue buzzcut. 

He holds you, and in turn you hold him even tighter. You hold each other tightly until you are no longer even dancing. Until you are simply an island in a sea of undulating couples, holding on to each other for dear life. 

It scares him.

It scares him to his depths that he never wants to let you go; but not enough to stop.  

As he pulls you close to him, buries his face in your neck and embraces you tightly, he thinks about it. He thinks about whether he believes in happy endings. He thinks about whether his, if he could be so lucky, would involve you. 

Those thoughts are interrupted when he feels a wetness bloom on his shoulder. Feels you jerking and sniffing against him, and he experiences your sudden outpouring of pain as acutely as though it is his own. 

“Hey. Hey,” he soothes. “What is it?”

”I’m not sad, idiot.”

”No?”

”No. It’s…” You sniff. “It’s just been so hard lately. And, you know. Tonight has been so… It’s been so…” 

He thinks he knows what you mean. Thinks he understands you completely. “Perfect?” he ventures. 

“Yeah,” you exhale. “Perfect.” 

He holds you as you cry. And there’s not a chance in hell he’s letting you go. 

***

Considering your intoxication level, the sudden onset of tiredness, and your tears, Santiago figures it’s about time to head. He manages to get you in a cab back to the motel eventually - only after you’ve visited the ladies restroom, become fast friends with an equally drunken Nicole, bestowed her with peanut butter cups, and promised to meet-up next time you’re in the city. By this point, you are already dropping, and the soporific movements of the cab have you falling asleep draped over Santiago’s lap. 

He pays the driver when you arrive, stirring you with a warm hand smoothing up and down your back. He tries to be calm. Soothes you with his voice; because he knows all too well that for someone in the military, a rude awakening is no small thing. 

He walks you to the room and helps you sit down on the bed. Tugs your boots off for you as you opt to bury your nose deep in your own armpit and sniff. 

“Ew. I need a fucking shower.” 

“Fuck that. You can shower in the morning.” 

“I stink.” 

“Trust me. You’ve smelled much worse.” He smiles softly as his comment earns an indignant snort from you, but the ire in your face is quickly snuffed as he looks up to you a little too softly. “Let’s get you dressed for bed, alright, birthday girl?” 

“Mmm hmm. Okay then.” 

He swallows a smile at seeing you in this sleepy state. It’s not often that you allow anyone else to take care of you. In fact, Santiago feels a strange surge of honour - a glow within his chest -  that tonight, he is the one who has the privilege. 

You unabashedly begin to strip off your jeans and top next, and Santiago quickly scoops up an oversized t-shirt from the gaping mouth of your hold-all. “Here,” he says, swallowing the tremor in his voice as he gathers the fabric up and guides the garment gently over your head to cover you. Gingerly passes your arms through the right holes. “That’s it. Put this on, alright? Can you get your bra out from under there?” 

You maneuver the clasp and straps beneath the cover of the shirt until you are pulling the bra out from the confines of your tee, triumphantly flinging it across the room with a soft “woo!”, to which Santiago’s lips twitch in silent amusement. 

“Need to brush my teeth at least,” you argue, holding your arms up and out - making grabby hands to signal for his help. 

“Alright. Sure. Let’s go together.” Santiago helps you stand. Maneuvers and encourages you onwards. He wraps his closest arm around your waist, and his other hand catches the arm you throw out to him so he can keep you steady.  Then, steps in sync, you pad the short distance to the bathroom, Santiago lightly directing you away from bumping your hip on the doorframe (again) as you pass through it. “That’s it. Little off course there,” he chuckles. “Almost as bad as Ironhead’s God-awful driving.” 

You turn your head over your shoulder and scold him good-naturedly. “Ouch. Don’t remind me.” 

“Yikes, sorry. Too soon?” You’d teased Will for the unfortunate humvee training exercise that had put you in med bay, but Santiago guesses you aren’t quite ready to have him joke about it yet. 

“Never getting back in a car with that bastard in the driver’s seat, trust me. Fella takes off-road a little too literally, you know? Still have that goddamn tweak in my back too to prove it.” 

“You do, huh?” Shit, you’ve certainly hidden it well enough - had insisted you were unscathed, in fact, when sober - and so Santiago mentally logs that information for later.

With a little bit of wriggling around, you squeeze into the tight bathroom space. When you reach the bathroom sink, Santiago is still behind you, his hands now clamped on your hips and keeping you steady. When you turn on the faucet and bend enthusiastically towards the stream of water however - hinging at the hips and dipping to splash your face with cold water - Santi punches out a strangled note. Which is natural, he thinks, given that your panty-clad, half-bare ass is thrust further into his hands (and his crotch), with decidedly no room in the cramped space for him to back-up. “Woah, Jesus. Keep it vertical, would you?” 

“Shit, sorry. Liked that did you?” you mock, with a dirty, chaotic snigger. 

“I’m only a man, Princesa.”

With a nervous twist in his belly, Santiago flees to the more expansive space of the bedroom, leaving you to complete your task. Feeling somewhat claustrophobic, he throws open the window, thankful when the relative cool of the night air kisses his skin. The room has grown hot and sticky all of a sudden. Too close. Lord knows why. 

He perches himself inside the opened wooden square then, the flung-open frame an awkward perch. He rests with one leg hiked up on the ‘sill and one foot bracing him on the floor, his back reclining against the biting vertical edge. 

Only when you reenter does he reluctantly drag his eyes away from the black night and into the soft, shadowed shell of the dreary room. Despite this dimness, he can barely bring himself to look at you in this moment. It is as though you are too bright for him, and so he quickly -and uncharacteristically- averts his eyes. 

Still, you’re like a magnet, and his gaze quickly relocates you without much trouble. 

“Feel like staying awake a little longer?” 

Despite looking bleary-eyed - dead on your feet, even -  you nod in response to his proposition and, much unlike earlier, Santiago suddenly feels he wouldn’t dream of sleeping. You perch yourself on the edge of the bed and flick on the lamp, casting a sallow glow throughout the room. It makes you look at once dream-like and infinitely more real to him, as the glare highlights the goose flesh trailing up your arms and thighs. The tired circles under your eyes. He doesn’t know how you make such details attractive, but as far as he is concerned, there is no bad light to cast you in. 

You lay down, legs stretched out on the scratchy comforter, and torso propped against the stiff, unforgiving pillows. You make space for him to lie down alongside you, and yet Santiago opts to hover, not ready to relinquish his window seat. It’s as uncomfortable as it probably looks, however, and so he fumbles in his pocket for a smoke, figuring it as good an excuse as any to be sitting up there - instead of lying next to you. He stares out into the blackened parking lot with enough vigour to convince an onlooker it is entirely compelling - instead of looking at you. 

You are quiet for a moment following and Santiago lets it hang, exhaling twists of smoke from his mouth to the window. Flicking his spent ash down onto the asphalt below. Then, you expel a blustery sigh.

“Shit,” you grumble. You click your tongue. Santiago turns to see you lying flat on your back now, staring contemplatively up at the dusty, motionless ceiling fan, arms folded behind your head. “That guy I made out with.” 

Santiago takes an even deeper drag on his smoke; perhaps unconsciously hoping that if he is occupied long enough, he won’t be required to respond at all.

Your head lollops to the side, your gaze finding his. “Do me a favour and don’t tell Tommy I did that, okay?” 

Fuck. 

“Wait. Tommy?! You and Tommy?” The words are expelled faster than he would’ve wanted, almost making him choke on a cloak of hot smoke. “Tommy fucking Nelson?”

“Yeahhh. We’ve, um, sorta… been hooking-up lately.” 

Santiago quickly inhales another drag, smoke seething out of his nostrils as he flicks the used cigarette butt down to the asphalt below. He is grateful that the lungful gives him a second to think before he speaks - yet apparently, it is not quite long enough. “Shit. The guy’s so stacked I swear he must have abs on his dick.” 

You laugh; and Santiago decides that, based on the beauteous sound of it alone, Tommy fucking Nelson doesn’t even remotely deserve you. 

“I dunno about abs on his dick… but he’s got enough to work with, know what I mean?”

Santiago continues to peer out of the window, and so you don’t see his face crumple with a frown. “So he’s good, huh?” 

You scoff to yourself. “Oh. Fuck. Not really. He doesn’t do much of the work…” Your dirty laugh sounds out. “Fortunately, I’m a goddamn miracle worker when it comes to getting myself off.”

Strike two. Tommy Nelson definitely doesn’t deserve you. 

You giggle. Giggle like this is a girls’ fucking sleepover. Like you are revealing some - far more innocent - secret to a best friend. 

But… of course. Because that’s precisely what he is to you, right? Nothing more, nothing less. And that’s never bothered him before. Has never bothered him until precisely now. 

What exactly has gotten into him tonight, then? Why does some old guy have his head in a spin? Why is he delaying crawling onto his side of the bed? Why can’t he look at you? 

Further delaying the inevitable, Santiago pats down his pockets, hoping for another cigarette with which to prolong his diversion by the window. However, he comes up short. Has no other recourse left besides brushing his teeth, kicking off his shoes, stripping down to his boxers, and laying his body out alongside yours. The mattress dips as he settles on top of the covers, and you swivel on to your side to face him. 

“Hey.” You prod him in the pec. “What about you anyway?”

“What about me?”

You reach down. Snap the elastic hem of his boxers until it pings back against his toned stomach. “Been getting any lately?” 

He makes a vague, non-committal sound, hoping it will be enough; but, of course, you don’t stop there.  

“Your dream girl… Let’s see.” Your eyes spark, far too animated considering such a long night. “Wait. Don’t tell me. She’s… nude. Huge breasts.” Santiago had wanted to roll his eyes at you, honestly, but he finds he can’t quite quash his smile. “She’s… I know… draped in the American Flag.” His face splits with mirth. “Reciting the Fifth Amendment.” You prod him emphatically in the pec. “Plus she plays bass in a Pearl Jam cover band and gives next-level blow jobs.” His gaze sweeps over your shit-eating grin like a paintbrush over a canvas. Like fingers down a guitar fret. Like it belongs there. Like he belongs here. “Well?” you’d needled. “Am I warm yet?” 

“Wait, I think I know her.” Santiago snaps his fingers. “Hey. Yeah. Didn’t she hook-up with Benny last week?” 

You twist as chaotic laugh spills out of you, throwing your arm over him and dipping your head towards his bare chest. It is a small thing. A minute, unconscious action. A brief touch. A single moment. Except… the way it makes his stomach lurch makes it completely undeniable to him. Undeniable that the only girl doing it for him is you. 

He realises it all now though, as he looks at you. Realises he’s been seeing you in pieces. In fragments; because of course he has. Of course, because he’s been trying to survive, and if he’d dared to think, instead, about living? Well, then he’d have far too much to lose. 

“Come onnn,” you purr, jutting out your bottom lip, entirely oblivious to the way the ground is disappearing from beneath him as you remain curled into his side. “Give me some gossip. It’s my birthday!” 

He swallows. Tries to pull himself together. Tries to be exactly what you need him to be. 

“Christ.” He nervously scratches at the stubble sprouting along his jaw. “Well. Let’s see. First of all, I’ve spent so long without any action but my own goddamn fist that even Morales is starting to look appealing.” 

“Well? Do you think he’d be down?”  

“He should be so lucky. Anyway. He’s got a girl back home. High school kinda sweetheart deal.”

You scoff. “What? For real?”

“Mm hmm. He’s in it too. His eyes mightta wandered occasionally - but as far as I know his dick never has.” 

You pump your eyebrows like that surprises you. “Good for him.” And then: “It won’t last though.”

“Christ. You’re really that cynical already?”

“Something like that,” you smirk. “Guess it comes with the old age.” 

“Oh yeah. Speaking of birthdays…” Santiago pushes off his elbow and swivels, reaching to fumble a tiny, square parcel from his jeans pocket. He settles back into position with a grin on his face, extending his gift toward you. You eye it sceptically, but with casual intrigue. 

“Fuck me. Something else from your trousers that’s been manhandled to death, Santiago? You know how to treat a lady.” 

He can’t explain why he feels nervous as you weigh the package in your palm. “It’s… for protection.” 

“A fucking condom?”

“Ay, dios. Just open it, would you?” 

You rise up, settling cross-legged on top of the covers, and Santiago shifts to mirror you, with a lopsided, self-conscious smile. You pause, looking between him and the package with a gentle, subdued glee. You gingerly peel the red tissue paper away, revealing the gift nestled within. As soon as you observe what is inside, however, the glee evaporates from your face. You look down at it, for once rendered speechless before you say his name, the sound as thin as the wisps of smoke still eddying up on the ceiling. “Santiago.” 

He swallows. Saws his hand across his stubble, suddenly worried that the gesture is all off. “It’s-” 

Your eyes snap up to his, your expression raw and soft. “-I know what it is.” 

You look back down to the gift now, warmly. Lift them up, a string of black rosary beads unfurling. The beads his mom had gifted him for protection the day before he’d shipped out, clamping her hands over his and reciting a prayer he didn’t believe in, but which he’d felt all the way down to his marrow. The beads that he’d kept on him ever since, usually nestled in the pocket of his tac vest. The beads which his mother had prayed would keep him safe. Would protect him, when it had turned out to be you who had answered her prayer. You who had protected him, at whatever cost. 

“But I can’t-“

Stupid. You’re stupid. Of course you can. 

“It’s no big deal. I’m just a cheapskate,” he minimises. 

You inhale, about to launch a protest, but you must read something altogether too earnest in his face, since any such argument is subdued as soon as you look at him. Instead then, you hold them up once more, your eyes glistening as you admire the cheap, plastic beads for far more than they are worth. 

“But won’t your mom-“

“Be mad I gave them away?” You let the beads pool in one palm, the red tissue paper now strewn over your lap like swatches of blood. Santiago clamps his hands over yours, nestling the beads safely within, in a gesture which mirrors his mother’s own plea a little too closely. He empathises with her then. With her fear of being left behind. With her fear for his soul and its fate. “Are you shitting me? You saved her angelito. She’d probably sign the goddamn house over to you. I mean, shit - she’s already been bugging me to bring her new hija over for tamales.” 

He hasn’t ever told you that before. Maybe that’s why you do it. Why you gently cup his face and dip to render a light, chaste kiss on the corner of his lips. When you draw back from him, you look almost as surprised by the gesture as he is.  

“Santiago.” Your eyes well-up. “It really means a lot.” 

He doesn’t have words for a moment. It does. It means a lot to him, and he’s struck with sentimentality when he realises that it means something to you too. He nods once, gaze gently dancing over your face. 

“I mean it,” you squeeze out through welling tears. “This is the sweetest thing-“

“-Shh. Oh no. No, no, no,” he captures your tears with the crook of his forefinger just as they spill over, motioning as though he is attempting to restore them to whence they came, a soft yet playful concern dancing over his face. “Quick sharp. Put these back,” he whisper-shouts, faux urgently. “No-one can know you feel things.” 

His remark causes you to laugh through your tears, as you hastily lift a balled fist to scrub them away. The sounds dissolve into a pleasant yet taut silence, leaving the two of you simply looking into each other’s eyes. 

You are the first to break it, dropping your gaze down towards your lap. 

“Listen. Thank you.” 

“It’s the least I could do.“

Your expression grows more troubled then, a divot notching in your brow and your head shaking softly side to side. “Santiago. I need to say this. You… you don’t owe me any debt. Okay? And… and don’t you even think -ever- about trying to repay it. You hear me?” 

He owes you everything, and he’ll repay it however he can; but he isn’t about to argue with you. Instead, he simply nods. Forces an even, concessionary smile, leaning into a swift topic change. “You tired yet?”

“Yeah. Exhausted.” 

“Let’s lie down then, alright?” 

“Mmm.” You set the beads down so carefully on your nightstand that it constricts his chest, arranging them in a nest of tissue paper. “It’s just… I…”

“What?” 

He flicks off the lamp and you lay down on your back, staring up at the ceiling fan, the room now illuminated only by the distant glow of the motel’s neon sign across the lot. It bathes the room in a purple-tinged dark. When your voice comes back, it is small. “It’s just that I… I don’t want this night to end.” 

Santiago lays himself out, right next to you. “Then let’s try and stay awake, huh?” 

“Yeah. Let’s do that.” You shiver; then, instead of crawling beneath the scratchy comforter like he expects, you curl into his side. Rest your head against his chest. Santiago’s arms hover over you for a moment, as though he doesn’t know what to do. In actual fact though, it comes far too naturally to him. 

He wraps you in his arms, and begins to smooth one hand up and down your back - of course, being careful not to venture too low, even as you torque your body into his touch. 

You exhale against him. Hum, up against his bare, tan skin. Drape your arm over him, and, reliably, there is that knot again. That fist, tightening inside his chest. 

“Hey,” he croaks, voice smaller than it needs to be. “Birthday princess?” 

“Mmm.”

“Do you…?” 

“Do I what?” 

He hesitates. Stares coldly and contemplatively up at the ceiling fan himself now even as he bundles the warmth of you in his arms. “Do you believe in happy endings?”

He feels your breathy expletive fan over his chest. “Fuck. That’s a big one.”

“Sorry. Forget it, you don’t have to-“

“-No. I do,” you say with certainty. “I do believe in them.”

Santiago hopes that you can’t feel his heart thundering beneath the shell of your ear. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Except… not for people like us.” 

His brow tightens, mouth turning down at the corners. “Why not?” 

“Well,” you muse, wriggling pointedly until his hand - stopped dead with suspense - resumes its ministrations over your back, his fingers obediently seeking out the knots and notches until your airy hum sounds again. “Because our hands are too bloody now to build anything good. Right?” 

It’s strange because, right now, caressing you like this, he could almost forget that his hands are blood-soaked. Your touch is the only reminder he’s had in some time that his hands can indeed be loving. In fact, the whole concept of war feels so entirely incongruous to him while he’s holding you. Like it could not be further away, even though -in your lives- it is only ever around the corner. He pushes his response out from the depths of his chest. “Don’t you think that’s just a little bleak?” 

“I dunno.” You shrug, and he doesn’t enjoy how sad your voice grows . How old you somehow sound all of a sudden. “It’s just… They told us we’d be heroes, Santi. But… When was the last time you felt like one?”

You’re my hero, he thinks loudly, in the achingly quiet room; but, he catches the words before they make it out of his throat. In the end, nothing more than a small, reined-in grunt manages to escape. 

“Why do you ask, anyway?” 

Because you deserve one. More so than anyone he’s ever met, you deserve one. 

His fingers and the heel of his hand continue to massage the dink in your back, rooting out every source of tension. Learning how to take the pain apart for you like a weapon in his palm. “Dunno,” he lies. “The wedding. All that.” 

“Pfft. I give ‘em a month.” 

“You’re fucking brutal, you know that?”  

“And you’re hilarious. Shit. Happy fucking endings? Man. At this point, I think I’d settle for a happy middle, you know? Before I go down in my inevitable blaze of glory.”

“Don’t say that,” Santiago scolds, his voice taut. “I hate when you talk like that.” 

He doesn’t blame you. For being cynical or pessimistic - not really. Doesn’t blame you one bit. Not after you’d legitimately looked death in the face. He understands well enough what that can do to a person. How it can change them. How, even someone like you, who always saw a clear, bright path ahead, could begin to doubt the clarity of that vision. 

Absent-mindedly, you circle the pad of your forefinger in the valley of his pecs. “What about you, then? Do you believe in all that stuff? Marriage? Happy endings?” 

“Meh. Not so much,” he answers honestly, fissures in his voice. Maybe it is his ingrained Catholic guilt talking, but he certainly doesn’t feel like he deserves a happy ending. Not after the things he’s done. Not after all that blood.

“Then how about this, Santiago Garcia,” you begin, tone much more playful, like you’ve had a bright idea. “Would you settle for a lifetime of trouble-making with your ride or die?” 

You extend your pinky towards him for the most sacred of all vows, and he curls his own little finger around yours.

He intends his response to feel light-hearted. Equally playful. He really does. But, when the words escape his lips they are heavy. Dripping and weighed with sentimentality. “With you, honestly, it doesn’t really feel like settling.” He suddenly feels like someone is sitting on his chest. Like the air is scarce and sharp with some incendiary cloud - about to ignite and burn everything he’s known to the ground. 

“Kiss ass,” you poke lightly, and a wistful smile briefly dances across his features. 

“It’s only what you’re due.” 

“Oh?! A thorough ass-kissing?” 

“Sure. Maybe you can get Tommy-abs-on-his-dick-Nelson right on that.” 

You snicker chaotically. “Huh. Maybe.”

Santiago jostles you gently in his embrace. “Hey. Speaking of. Sorry you got lumbered with the sideshow tonight, by the way.”

“Fuck off, Pope,” you huff, like he’s just said something which causes deep offence. “Of all the chumps I couldda been stuck with, I’m glad it was you.” Santiago’s heart flutters, his chest blooming with a hazy, metered-out warmth when he hears you say those words. “Now. Wish me happy birthday one more time, and then sing me a damn lullaby, would you?” 

Santiago crushes his chin down to his chest to get a better look at you, having decided that you must surely be joking. “Huh?!” 

“We all knew about your guitar skills but you have a beautiful set of pipes too? Been holding out on me, Pope. Now, sing!” 

“Jesus. You’re demanding, Princesa.”

“It’s only what I’m due, right? Come on, I haven’t got all night, asshat!” Somehow, the derogatory term sounds imbued with a deep fondness somehow, and it blooms through him. 

“Alright. Alright. Keep your panties on.” Shit - you had better. 

“Thank you.” 

Santiago dips his chin so he can reach your hairline. Settles a chaste kiss there, which lingers a touch too long - but which he can’t possibly cut any shorter, his eyes closing as his lips brush your skin. “Happy birthday,” he breathes, completing part one of your demand. With any luck, he thinks, you might fall straight to sleep like this - before he even has to serenade you. 

He stills as your eyes flutter closed, listening out for the slowed pace of your breathing. That is, until you open one eye and whisper-hiss up at him. “Sing.” 

A resigned amusement twitches his plush lips and he finally obliges you. He begins softly speak-singing, hoping his soporific and sandy tones will lull you towards sweet dreams, his broad palm still sweeping up and down your back. 

“She gives me everything

And tenderly…” 

A soft smile graces your features as you note his song choice. “Cobain? You’re such an angsty little gremlin, you know that?” 

“I can stop at any time,” he threatens, teasingly. 

“No. No, please.” 

He clears his throat. Lets his voice grow a touch more full and resonant, despite it being scuffed by tiredness and smoke.

“The kiss my lover brings,

She brings to me-ee,

And I love her.” 

It is a little funny, at first. A little awkward; until suddenly, it isn’t . Until, suddenly, a weight settles in your brow. Until his voice begins to falter, cracking apart with emotion. 

He hadn’t been able to say it. Clearly not even to acknowledge it. 

He hadn’t been able to find the words to tell you what you mean to him. To explain the pit in him which had opened up when he’d almost lost you. Didn’t have the words to tell you you were the reason he’d prayed for the first time in ten years, pledging loyalty to a God he hadn’t believed in -hadn’t needed - until he was begging Him not to take you. He didn’t know how to describe the way it had felt for him to kneel by your bedside, his mother’s rosary beads clutched in his palm so tightly the cross has drawn blood - even as he’d openly cursed them for protecting him and not you, and had cursed you for the same. 

He swallows the hard, tight knot which has gnarled in his throat. Wonders if maybe he can stop, because singing feels like purging himself of far too much of the pain and love he has buried, and fuck, it hurts on the way out. 

He does consider stopping. That is, until your small, grief-laden voice sounds out as though it hurts you too; but that you need to hear what he is finally telling you. “Please. Don’t stop?” 

It is a question, this time, not a demand; and yet, Santiago couldn’t dream of denying you. 

And so, with a weight in his brow, he keeps on singing. 

“Bright are the stars that shine,

Dark is the sky. 

I know this love of mine,

Will never die.”

It is at this point his voice cracks wide open. It is at this point a single tear slips across the bridge of his nose as he sings it out loud. Something he’d known for a long time, in truth, but hadn’t quite found the words for:  

“And I love her.”

The room seems eerily still as you each hold your breath. He doesn’t know where to go from here - but luckily, you always seem to know the way forward. 

“You know,” you say softly, voice wet with emotion. “It’s a real shame. Because if you did believe in happy endings?” 

“Yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper.  

“You’d look pretty good as somebody’s endgame, butthead.” 

An emotion Santiago can’t name twists through his middle, like he is being wrung out. Like his blood-soaked soul is finally being purged. It is no wonder then, that his words come out dripping red. Soaked in cynicism. With a disbelief that anything good -for him - is deserved. “Let’s get each other through the happy middle first,” he says, as hidden tears glitter on his long lashes. “Then maybe we’ll see about endings, huh?” 

You don’t speak for a moment. Simply swallow in the near-dark. But, it is not lost on him that you hold him just a shade tighter. Then, when he hears a gentle intake of breath from you, he knows your request before you even utter it. 

Please. 

He resumes his singing. Slower, more off tempo. Begins to repeat the lines, over and over, softer and softer, until your breathing is deep and soporific. Until your weight on him is heavier. Heavier from sleep, and heavier from this new knowledge he has gained. 

And, there it is. The end of the night, and yet Santiago cannot dream of sleeping. Not yet. Can only watch you, hold you, listen to your soft breathing, his heart full with a new understanding. And understanding he didn’t invite, but a welcome guest all the same. 

He resolves it then. Resolves that, even if he doesn’t deserve a happy ending, he will do everything in his power to make sure you get yours… 

Even if that means letting all hope of you -for him- go. 

So, as he cradles you in his arms and stares unsleeping up at the ugly ceiling fan, Santiago contemplates it. 

Contemplates in great detail the four days with you that irrevocably changed the course of his life. 

The day he met you.

The day he almost lost you. 

The day he realised he was in love with you. 

And the day he started running from that.

The first day had been two years ago, the second had been five months ago, the third had been today, and the fourth? 

The fourth will be tomorrow. 

Tomorrow, he will start running, because his feelings for you are far too deep and huge for him to handle. 

He doesn’t even pause to wonder whether he’ll ever allow himself to stop. After all, once Santiago Garcia has a mission, he accepts nothing less than completion. 

Maybe he’s no hero; but he always gets the job done. 

[sam-loves-seb]

ao3 wrapped 2024

i love doing this every year, thank you for the tags my wonderful beloved friends <3

tagged by @energievie @mybrainismelted @sgtmickeyslaughter

How many words have you written this year?

338,560

How many works did you publish this year?

30 (on ao3, not counting drabbles or ficlets on tumblr)

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

medium hot with sugar - coffee shop au (gallavich)

What work of yours has the most hits?

shameless: i'm not the way i was (17,844)

9-1-1: he'll never love you like i can (7,026)

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

span the distance (bridge the border) - post-canon gallavich fic where mickey's brothers show up unexpectedly

Favorite title you used.

i'm not the way i was (insp.)

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

i use a lot of different artists tbh i don't think i have more than 2 or maybe 3 from the same artist ?? but probably blink-182 or noah kahan just from what i'm seeing at a quick glance

Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

ian gallagher/mickey milkovich

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

ian gallagher/mickey milkovich !!!

What work was the quickest to write?

it was you, all the way down - my shortest fic of the year but also the quickest to write, i remember writing this in one sitting and the words just poured out of me like crazy (inspired by gigi's art x)

What work took you the longest to write?

technically it's i'm not the way i was considering i still haven't finished it, but if we're only counting completed fics then it's soon you'll get better

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

three (x x x) ongoing wips and four (ish) wips that are either in very early planning stages or have the first 1-2 chapters written

What’s your longest work of the year?

9-1-1: god only knows where this could go (7,039 words)

shameless: i'm not the way i was (103,829 words)

What’s your shortest work of the year?

9-1-1: california dreamin' (1,861 words)

shameless: it was you, all the way down (866 words)

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

these three (x x x)

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

"Not Beta Read" (21) followed by "One Shot" (18)

Your favorite character to write this year?

mickey freaking milkovich baby

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

probably buck buckley (9-1-1) i can't seem to nail his voice in a way that satisfies me (i'm gonna keep trying!)

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

been thinking a lot about steve harrington/eddie munson (steddie) lately and i have written for them before but i have an idea or two i wanna possibly get into writing in the new year (and with st s5 coming out i'm sure i'll have more to say then)

Which work of yours have you reread the most?

went too far to soothe this soul

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

12,121

Which work has the most comments?

i'm not the way i was (398)

Did you do any collaborative works this year?

yes! i co-wrote Then and Now with @suzy-queued for the gallavich summer camp event this year!!

Did you write any gifts this year?

yes, i wrote:

find someone who grows flowers (in the darkest parts of you) for NotHereNJ for the 2024 gallavich gift exchange

it was you, all the way down for @heymrspatel for being one of the winning admirers with the gallavich art masquerade

buddie week (connor's version) 6 buddie fics for my best friend's birthday (ily @karenandthababes )

Did you receive any gifts this year?

yes! i receieved some wonderful gifts this year:

Frosting on His Nose from @heymrspatel for the 2024 gge (i'm still literally obsessed with this art)

all i know is a simple name from @jessbakescakes based on a very old joshdonna prompt i gave her many moons ago (love this fic to bits)

and idk if it counts as a gift but i'm putting it here anyway because @konaiiro drew a scene from one of my fics and i love it dearly <3

What’s your most common category?

m/m, fluff, whump, post-canon

What do you listen to while writing?

absolutely nothing, or sometimes white noise. very rarely am i able to listen to any kind of music, and even then it has to have no lyrics.

Favorite work you wrote this year?

life changes

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

this is my favorite bit i wrote this year, cw: self harm, hospitalization, read at your own risk:

“Twelve stitches,” Mickey tells him, voice wobbly and vision blurry. “Doc said it might scar, but. Yeah. It’ll heal.” It’s like something clicks in Ian’s brain, maybe. Like he remembers. Like he knows the events that happened to lead him here, but he can’t quite comprehend them. He lowers his bandaged arm back to the bed and stares at the wall. He doesn’t look at Mickey again. “So, um. Yeah. They patched you up,” Mickey says, the first tear falling down his cheek. He wipes it away, but the second isn’t far behind and he gives up trying to hide it. “You’ve been sleepin’ basically all night. They said you would. Said what happened was… traumatic, or whatever, and you’d need lots of rest.” “Stop,” Ian pleads. He closes his eyes, the words too painful to hear. To accept, maybe. Mickey nods, looking down at the floor. He twists his mouth to one side, sniffs. “I know you don’t wanna hear it. And you’re probably gonna hate me for makin’ you go to one of these places again—” “Don’t,” Ian whispers. “You’re gonna get some fucking help, Ian.” Mickey wipes at his face with the back of his hand. “I—I’m out of my depth here. But they’re gonna take good care of you, okay? It’s seventy-two hours. The doctors and shit, they’re gonna help you. ‘Cause I… I don’t know what else to do. And if you hate me for that—fine. I can live with that.” He sniffs. “But I can’t live without you. Okay? Do you get that?” “Mickey,” Ian pleads, but he won’t look at him, won’t open his eyes. He can’t. (x)

Biggest surprise while writing this year?

The sense of community in the shameless fandom never fails to surprise me. It's one of my favorite fandoms I've ever been in, and the wonderful people i meet writing and reading and talking about these characters pushes me to keep writing. I don't think I'd still be writing without this lovely community tbh

x

tagging (if you haven't done this yet): @jessbakescakes @iceyartt @deathclassic @whatthebodygraspsnot @crossmydna @jrooc @deedala @suzy-queued and anyone else who wants to play!

[hellsite-detective]

hello all! this is Hellsite Detective, P.P.I. speakin'!

i'm gonna be takin' next week or two off from posting because burnout has really been getting to me and i need to take care of myself a bit. i'll still try to answer post cases and get them queued so i can stay on schedule, and i will obviously still be accepting cases, but beyond that i'm gonna try and sit back and simply breathe a bit! feel free to send in non-post case related asks as well, i'll probably answer all of those if i get them! (also there’s one more post still scheduled for today, i just wanted to release this now at my peak performance hour hehe)

but i really feel like i do need a bit of a break. i'm sorry for the inconvenience! i'm aware of how useful of a service i provide on this site, but it's time to take the advice of so many and take a well deserved break! so, in the mean time, i'll probably be working on personal projects, watching anime, and reading manga and just overall simply existing!

also, while i have your attention, i have something else to mention! this is something that i genuinely hate to do, but i'm doing it anyway. my ko-fi is linked in both my bio and my pinned post! i've been trying very hard to get an actual job, but i've yet to be accepted anywhere, so i would greatly appreciate generous donations of any amount! obviously nobody should feel obligated to send me money! if you don't want to, then you don't have to! it's entirely up to you!

well, i suppose that's it for this announcement. thank you all for being so patient with me! i'll be seeing you all in a couple weeks! until then, you all stay safe out there in this hellsite!

signed,

Hellsite Detective, P.P.I.

[jyoongim]

Announcement 📢

Hi everyone!!! Jyoongim here🥰

I just wanted to say that I appreciate every single one of you and have enjoyed interacting and writing for you. The requests you guys send are soooo good😫😫🩷🩷🩷🩷

With that said 🥲 I think imma gonna take a little break. I’ve been writing nonstop for two months and my brain is frying slightly.

I need to catch up on blood & bliss and knock out some requests that I’m interested in so I can empty my inbox

So for TWO weeks (I know I know) I will be inactive. Queued fics will be posted normally for yall enjoyment but I don’t want to take any new requests til I’m done

SO NOT NEW REQUESTS UNTIL I AM BACK pls😫 requests are CLOSED for now (they’ll be open in two weeks relax)

I hope yall enjoy what I have posted so far and look forward to what will be posted soon!

I have a treat planned when I return and I need time to sort it out (I hope yall will like it)

See you in two weeks😘😘😘😘 (I will respond to comments if I see them!)

~jyoongim 🥹

[unfixablebabyyy]

pt 2 of the dennis You thing uh fair warning it's kinda all over the place but i had fun writing it (also gonna post it w the original but im a boomer and despite a decade on this site i still don't know how to work it properly lmao)

(nsfw, minors DNI)

There's something wrong with me. I haven't really been sleeping which is doing a number on the bags under my eyes. I keep getting these crazy headaches. I think I'm breaking out- I caught a blemish in the mirror last night and I'm certain it's gotten worse. Unfortunately, it's all your fault. The last woman I slept with was in and out of my mind faster than I was in and out of her, but you are driving me absolutely insane. Mac has started to notice, which is goddamn annoying. He keeps looking at me like I have some kind of disease, asking me stupid questions, constantly hovering. Maybe it's because I stopped eating. Or maybe it's because I stopped taking my meds. Either way, he knows something is up, but he can't find out, and neither can Charlie, and absolutely not Frank. You're too sweet to keep a secret from Dee and, no offense, but quite frankly, I don't think you could- you're not a very good liar. And if Dee knows we slept together, what if she told you about all the weird and horrible things I've done? She's been oddly quiet about the whole thing. I can't even think about it without feeling nauseous. What if she told you about the system? Or the binders? Or the tapes? Or all that stuff hidden in the side panel in the trunk of my car? I'm not stupid, I know that stuff is more than off-putting- it's incriminating. I need to calm down. I really need a Valium but I forgot to get my prescription filled- my mind has been occupied by one thing: you.

It's been about a week since we had sex. I made you dinner, and I did my homework- I knew exactly what to say, exactly when to laugh, exactly how and where to touch you. I like the music you listen to and the movies you watch, or at least that's what I made you think when I had it all queued up, with notes on your favorite parts. We're compatible, see? I drank too much, which was stupid of me, but you didn't seem to mind. It all happened so fast and intense and I was in control right up until I wasn't. As I watch the tape for the 500th time I swear I can pinpoint the exact moment you slipped into my brain and made a permanent home there. That night I did the unthinkable and actually allowed you to stay over and when I woke up the next morning with you lying beside me I was shocked to realize that I actually hated the thought of you leaving. And when you did finally leave, I felt so empty it made me sick.

Usually, once I've been with someone intimately, my desire for them fizzles into boredom within a few hours or so, but I feel like I want you more now than I ever did before. I need to feel your hands on my body, your breath against my neck, your lips on mine. I need to taste you again. I want to own you, put you on a leash or handcuff you to my bed and leave you there so that I know you're all mine.

I need to shower. I need to eat something. I need my meds. My hands are starting to tremor and when I stand up my head rushes and I almost blackout. Is this what it feels like? I'd almost forgotten. I need to focus. The last time I felt even remotely this way for someone, it ended in alimony and a murder accusation. I pick up my phone from my bedside table. 5:17 PM.

"Hey. Stop by the bar if you're out tonight, drinks are on me." Send. I groan. Get it together. I should really go and open the bar. Can't forget to stop by the pharmacy.

It takes me two hours to get ready because I can't decide what to wear or which cologne you might like more. The uncertainty is making me so anxious I forget to grab something to eat on the way out.

"Dennis! Can I come with you?"

I think Mac is yelling at me as I bound down the stairs, but I don't really care- I can't handle him right now. Outside the sun is getting low, painting the sidewalk with shadows. When I get to my car and slide into the driver's seat, I immediately feel a little better. The warmth of the day coupled with the smell of the interior lull the chaos into a low buzz. I inhale through my nose and close my eyes. Relax. I turn on the Range and the radio comes to life. I cringe, resist the urge to cover my ears with my hands as the chorus of "Hungry Like the Wolf" blasts at full volume. I snatch the dial and turn it down. Any other time I would've loved a little Duran Duran, but right now, it's jarring and abrasive. I pull out a Jimmy Buffet CD and stick it into the slot. As I back out of a parallel park, I begin to sing along, "I spent four lonely days in a brown LA haze, and I just want you back by my side." That's right, focus. Pharmacy. Bar. Pharmacy. Bar. Pharmacy. Bar.

I almost blow up at the pharmacist over the fact that it takes twice as long to get my prescription, except that she looks at me like she knows me, and not in a good way. She's tall, with dark hair and chocolate eyes, and I have to admit she does look a little familiar, but she's not you, so it doesn't matter. When she hands me my prescription and I still don't recognize her, she seems irritated.

Back in the Range, I pop open the cap and dump the pills in my hand. I pick out one and swallow it dry. The rest of the medication go back into the bottle, with the cap twisted tight, and I'm off to the bar, 20mph over the speed limit. When I finally turn onto Paddy's block, I clock Dee's car across the street from the entrance. I should have never given her that damn key. But then again, I've been so distracted lately, maybe I left it unlocked. Thank god the Valium is starting to kick in, otherwise I would be boiling over right now. Lucky her, I guess. I still slam the door when I get out, but before I enter the building, I roll the tension out of my shoulders and take a deep breath.

Inside, Dee is sitting at the bar, facing the door, with a heavy pour of wine in her hand and a smug grin plastered on her sharp face. Our entire lives, she's never bested me in anything other than being born 3 minutes before me, so her confidence right now is unnerving.

"Oh come on, really? Have you just been sitting here alone all day getting drunk?" a successful attempt at knocking her down a peg. Whatever you've told her (or she's told you) has inflated her ego dangerously.

"What?! Fuck you, I'm not drunk, I'm trapping you," she snaps back.

"Trapping me?" I can't help but laugh. It's so easy to get under her skin. I step behind the bar and take a clean glass to the tap, pouring myself a beer, preparing myself for what's to come.

"What do you want with my friend you little freak?" she blurts out, as clumsy with her words as she is with her lanky body.

"You have friends?" the drugs are doing their job. I feel like I'm beginning to even out, gain some control.

Dee, on the other hand, is seeing red, "You know who I'm talking about, don't play stupid with me. You couldn't just bang her and be done?" So then she knows I invited you.

"Honestly, Dee, I don't know who you're talking about," I take a sip of my beer and lean on the bar.

"Oh yeah? Then why don't I just text her and tell her not to come to Paddy's tonight?" Bitch. She smiles when she sees the mask come off and I glare at her.

"Whatever," my jaw clenches a little, but I try to maintain my posture.

"So? What are you planning?" she asks, and I roll my eyes.

"You always assume the worst," to be fair, she's also seen the worst.

"Yeah, because you haven't fucked the same girl twice since high school," that's probably true, "So what is it? You trying to prove some point to Mac? Did you and Frank make some gross bet about 'who could fuck Dee's friend first'? I mean what are you up to?" she squints at me, trying desperately to see inside my brain. I just shrug.

"Nothing," she should know I'm telling the truth- it's incredibly difficult to lie to your twin. But apparently I absorbed most of her brain in the womb.

"Dennis."

"Deandra," I mock, my patience wearing thin. Before she can open her big mouth, I say, "It's just drinks, ok? I had fun last time and I figured we could all hang out. That's all."

The longer the silence lingers, the more she begins to believe me until her eyes go wide, and she gasps, "Oh my God!" Suddenly, the door crashes open and in walk Frank, Mac, and Charlie. My stomach drops. I shoot her a pleading look, but she's ecstatic.

"Don't fuck this up for me," I whisper through clenched teeth, but it's too late. Dee turns to the gang.

"Dennis has a crush!" she shouts. The guys go silent. Mac's face twists as he cocks his head to the side.

"On a girl?" Frank doesn't look convinced.

"No he doesn't," Mac says incredulously. Good boy.

"Yeah, come on, Dee, what are you saying?" Charlie laughs.

"Shut up, Dee. If Dennis had a crush I would know about it, right Dennis?" Mac flashes his puppy eyes at me.

"Yeah, for sure," I reply, and Mac gives Dee an 'I told you so' look. The wind is absolutely sucked out of her sails.

"No, no, guys, do you remember my friend from the other day?" she desperately tries to hold their attention, but they've already stopped caring. We exchange glances, but that's the last of it.

"Dennis, pour me a glass of that slippery drink," Frank says as he climbs onto a barstool. My nerves are too fried for this shit.

"How am I supposed to know what that is?"

Frank waves his hand, "I don't know, Charlie always makes it for me."

"Oh good, I'm sure it's not something poison, then."

"No, no, Dennis, see, the Borax gives it this really nice sweet metallic taste-" Charlie begins to explain, but I raise my hand to cut him off.

"You know what, Charlie? I'm going to stop you right there because Borax is the stuff we use to clean the bar towels." I turn back to Frank, "I'm not making that- you're getting a beer."

"Oh, me too, please, Dennis!" Mac chimes in as he squeezes past Dee to sit on the stool beside her, nearly knocking her off her seat.

A few hours and a couple of drinks later, the door to Paddy's opens and in you walk with a burst of cool night air. There's the clatter of pool balls as Mac stands from his shot and I smile at you from the table, leaning on my pool stick, the medication and the alcohol bringing me right back down to where I need to be.

"Hey! Look who it is!" Charlie, who is drunk enough to be slurring his words, waves you over. "Wanna see something crazy I found in the alley today?" Before he can show you whatever it is, Dee pulls you aside and shoves some strong cocktail she made into your hand. I need to intercept.

"You want another drink?" I ask Mac to cover myself. I want to sprint over to you but I need to have self control.

"Nah," thankfully, he's busy lining up and practicing his next shot. As I make my way over I can feel my heart beating against my rib cage like a trapped moth.

"Hey," I hug you, kissing you on the cheek as I lean in. You're so warm and your hair smells like shampoo.

"Hi," your face feels hot against my cheek and when I pull away I can see that it's starting to turn pink. Dee looks like she's about to throw up.

"You wanna play?" I ask, motioning to the pool stick in my right hand, "Mac and I just finished a game."

"Yeah, sure," you look so cute and you don't even have to try- though it's obvious you have. It's reassuring. You want to impress me which means Dee couldn't have told you much.

"I'll be right over, I was just gonna grab another beer," I point to the abomination Dee gave you, "You want something else?"

You blush and look over your shoulder to make sure Dee isn't paying attention before leaning in, "A beer would be great," you whisper. God, you're so sweet, so careful about my sister's feelings. I nod and give you a little wink and when you brush past me to join Mac at the pool table I'm hit with a wave of your perfume and it's just as intoxicating as the first time.

"What did you tell her?" my face is inches from her ear, causing Dee to jump and drop her phone onto the bar.

She rolls her eyes and huffs, "Nothing, weirdo. Your stupid little secret is safe with me... for now."

Great. She wants to keep me nervous, like she's got me wrapped around her finger, but she never will. That information is all I need from her. I grab the beers and head back to the pool table, ignoring her glare. There you're bent over the felt, taking notes from Mac who thinks he's giving you good advice.

"Now when you go to hit the ball, if you put your hips into it, it's like an extra boost of power," he's saying as I step up behind you.

"I don't think that's right, Mac," you reply.

"Well then how do you do it?" he challenges. I cant stop staring at your ass.

You line up your shot and strike the cue ball. It hits a stripe that ricochets off the side of the table before missing the pocket by a fraction of an inch. "Fuck," you mutter.

"See? You needed that extra push!" Mac thrusts his hips as he tries to prove his point.

"Mac, you look and sound ridiculous," I finally weigh in, setting our beers on a nearby table. "Here," I prop my stick up against the table and pick up the cue ball, placing it in its original position. "Try again," I say, and you obey. You bend back over the table and aim your stick at a different stripe ball. Such a good girl. My fingers slowly press into your hips, tilting them forward as the heel of my hand presses gently into the small of your back. I nudge your feet apart so that you're standing square. I have to step back or you'll feel how hard I'm getting. You take another shot, and the stripe falls into the pocket with a satisfying crack.

"Whatever," Mac stomps over to the bar, leaving the two of us to start our game.

I give an approving nod that I know goes straight to your panties, "That was pretty good." You lean back against the table and cross your arms over your chest, which squishes your breasts together, and you wore something low cut like a little slut. I want to take you out back and pick up where we left off, "Why don't we make this a little more interesting?" You raise an eyebrow, "How about loser goes home with the winner?"

"Hm," you match my grin, your eyes dancing, "Fine. Deal." And I'm back on. You want me, and any doubt or fear I'd held onto despite the Valium and the alcohol vanishes instantly. I begin to gather the balls for the break.

"Just out of curiosity, what do you think my chances are here?"

Without looking up, I chuckle and reply, "Slim to none." I then lift up the rack and gesture, "After you."

Ten minutes later, you lose. Of course.

"Good game," I round the table to lean next to you. You're so close I can feel the heat of your body against me and if it weren't for my friends and the accusations this afternoon, I'd kiss you. "So, did you wanna leave now, or...?" You laugh.

"I thought you were buying drinks tonight?" you challenge. It's only 10:00- the night is still young and you want a hunt. I'm more than happy to give it to you.

"Fine," the words leave my mouth faster than I can catch them, "I suppose if you're willing to release your inhibitions, I'm not going to argue." That was a bizarre thing to say. I'm still off my game, unable to reel it in because every time I look at you I think about the way you made me feel that night. To my surprise, you just giggle.

"If you slip me something, I'll pretend I didn't see," you shouldn't joke about that- I just might.

"Hey you guys wanna do some shots?" Frank shouts across the bar.

"Looks like you're up, bartender," you bat your eyelashes at me before walking over to the bar to join the rest of the gang, hips swaying, making my mouth water.

As the evening wears on, one by one they drop like flies. Charlie is the first to go- passed out in the men's restroom, an open can of paint at his side. Next is Frank, of course, sprawled over Charlie's lap and snoring like a chainsaw. Dee and Mac last until around 2AM, but after Dee throws up into the ice machine, it takes every ounce of composer for me not to lose my mind on her. You might find that unattractive. Instead I suggest she goes home, heavily implying that it's not a suggestion at all. Mac is the last to go, but he doesn't leave without asking if I need help closing about a million times and throwing you an odd look. When the door shuts and the two of us are finally alone, you lean over the bar, and I can feel your eyes on me as I wipe down the counter with an old bar towel.

"So, Dee seems to think there's an expiration date on our... whatever you wanna call this." That dumb bitch. I bet she told you all about my penchant for fleeting affairs. I bet she told you I'm a womanizer or a misogynist or just a fucking asshole. I bet she told you you were too good for me, and maybe she's right, but fuck her.

"Dee doesn't think- if she did that would imply that she has a brain," that was too mean. I can tell because you don't respond right away and I'm afraid that maybe you think I'm annoyed at you and not my idiot sister.

"If there is, that's fine," you continue carefully, "I would just like to be in the know."

"My sister believes I'm incapable of having any kind of genuine feelings toward someone I'm sleeping with," I have a feeling you'd appreciate honesty over any lie I could conjure up, even if it's a good one. You're clever. Sometimes I feel like you can see right through me and it scares the shit out of me.

You pause. "Is she right?"

"No," I've never been so sincere with a woman and it's making my palms sweat. You hold back a grin and I feel exposed, my stomach clenches, and I have to take the wheel or I'm going to start getting all nervous. I bite down on the inside of my cheek. "Alright," I pick up my jacket from behind the bar and pull my keys out of the pocket, "You wanna get out of here?"

"Absolutely."

You wait on the sidewalk as I turn off the 'Open' sign and lock the doors. Tossing the jacket into the back seat of my Range Rover, I round to your side and open the passenger door for you. As you step up to slide into the car, you lean up and kiss my cheek and I feel my entire body go numb.

"What a gentleman," you grin and bite your lip and I want to spank you but I don't because you just called me a gentleman.

We share a cigarette on the way to the apartment despite my rule against it in the car- I can't help myself, I need to taste your mouth. You tell me all about the week you had and I react as if I don't know- as if I haven't been following you around this entire time. As I slowly pull up to the building, I look up at my window where I catch a glimpse of Mac as he flips on the kitchen light and walks past. Shit. As I park the car, I figure the best I can do is bring you upstairs and hope Mac sees it as an easy fallback- if I could get Dee's friend once, might as well get her again while she's around, right? That cover story would have to do.

You follow me into the building and up the stairs, pausing at the door as I sort through the keys. Just as I touch the key to the lock, the door jerks open.

"Oh thank God- I heard you coming down the hallway- hey can you help me-" Mac is breathless as he speaks, but when his eyes fall on you he abruptly stops. "Uh, hey." He smiles at you to mask his confusion.

"Long time, no see," you joke and he lets out a short laugh before glancing at me. I glare back at him, challenging him to choose his words carefully.

"Yeah... So what are you guys up to tonight?" Wrong. I clench my jaw. What do you think?

"We were just going to go watch a movie," I squint at Mac, hoping he'll get the hint to shut up and go away.

"Oh, cool, well... have fun," Mac looks for approval, but I deny him the satisfaction, brushing past him and pulling you along until we're both in my bedroom behind a locked door. The reality of having you alone in here is indescribable. It's all nerves and appetite in the dim blue light. It all feels so good in the dark.

I'm willing to behave, but as I move towards the television, your body collides into mine, your lips on my neck, teeth grazing my skin. I already like this game more than any other we've played.

"Are you gonna fuck me tonight, daddy?" your voice in my ear sends chills down my arms. Your generation is so needy, and I knew you were dangerous when you let me come close to choking you in the alley that night, but I've been looking through your laptop when you leave it at home, your phone when you were sleeping the night I claimed you. I've seen your search history, the things you watch at 3AM when you're lonely in bed and undoubtedly thinking of me. You're depraved.

"Oh yeah, kitten," my fingers weave through the hair at the base of your skull. I tug hard and you gasp, chin tilted upward, throat exposed. You shiver when I run my tongue from your collarbone to the curve of your jaw. I nip your earlobe before pushing you away roughly.

You stumble back and bite your lip, waiting for a command. It's been two weeks since we met, and one intimate encounter and you're already so eager to obey. God, you're perfect. "Take your clothes off," our eyes are locked, and I don't let you look away. It's almost sacrilegious that you're still fully clothed- here in my room, you belong naked. Always. You pull your shirt over your head and reach behind for your bra. "No," my voice stops you on a dime, "Slower," I demand as I step back and sit down on the edge of my bed.

From here, I watch the way your breath hitches when the cups of your bra brush your nipples as it slides down your arms and falls to the floor, the way you rub your thighs together before pushing your jeans to your ankles, the way you look at me- standing there, in just your underwear, exposed- like a fawn in the soft glow of the city night that filters through the window.

"Come here," you look like you want to jump into my lap, but you're being so disciplined with me. And why wouldn't you be? I'm your elder, I command respect, and it's my job to teach you manners. You slowly walk over and straddle my hips before planting yourself on my thighs, your hands pressed against my chest.

I wonder if you can feel my entire body buzzing beneath you. You've been waiting for this, too. I can tell. You're absolutely ravenous with it. Usually I would find this kind of behavior to be slightly endearing if not pathetic, but I want you so bad it's only driving me further down the rabbit hole. You're allowing me to control you and it's like it's the only thing I've ever truly wanted. I wonder how far you'll let me go. Not tonight. I want you to trust me- I /need/ you to trust me. So for now I'll play nice. If you want daddy to fuck you, then I will. I'll make you think I love you, princess.

I slip a hand between us and press my index and middle finger to your clothed cunt. It's already soaked through the fabric. I watch your pupils blow out as I push your panties aside and touch you, dipping both fingers into your soft, wet folds and sliding them up to meet your clit. You let out a soft mewl and I have to remind myself to breathe. Usually it's all about me, and why wouldn't it be? I'm the man after all. But I need you to know how good I can make you feel so that it hurts even more when I teach you what pain really is. I'm going to make you cum over and over again in every way I can possibly think of, and then, I'm going to deprive you. I can't wait to watch the light slip out of your eyes when you realize the fun is over, that you're mine, that your only purpose is to please me.

I can't help myself- without warning, I plunge my fingers into your tight little hole. You rise, yelp, jerk away at the sudden intrusion, but I'm much stronger than you, and an arm around your waist holds you in place.

"Shh," I swirl my fingers inside of you and you cringe, but this time, you stay seated like a good girl. You like it when I hurt you. I reward you with patience- pumping my fingers in and out of you slowly, gently spreading them as I go, stretching you out. You moan and slump into me, your face to my neck, planting lazy kisses as I work on your pussy. I feel like I'm going to black out. My clothes are suffocating. When I pull my hand away from your heat, you whine. I wrap both arms around you and flip you onto your back so that I'm on top of you, my knees between your legs, arms on either side of your rib cage. I sit up for a moment to remove my shirt, unbuckle my pants. You bite your lip and I reach down and run my thumb along your jaw. You lean in to my touch and when I get to your chin I gently pull your bottom lip from between your teeth. And then the pad of my thumb is pressing down on your tongue.

"You look so pretty," and you do- looking up at me through your eyelashes, sucking on my thumb, body nearly naked beneath me. Nearly. I pull my hand away from your face and nudge your hips. You lift them and I slide your panties down enough for you to relax back into the mattress. As I begin to work the thin fabric down your legs, something comes over me, and I back down off the bed and kneel on the floor. You sit up, watching me, eyes going wide when I grab your ankles and tug you closer. I haven't done this in a really long time. A really long time. I'm not nervous, but my heart is racing.

I pull you a little closer, and this time I'm more gentle. You inhale sharply when I drape your knees over my shoulders and the flutter of my breath hits your glistening cunt. When I look up at you, your eyes lock with mine, and I take the opportunity to slowly lower my head between your thighs. I watch your face as I press the flat of my tongue against your hole and drag it up. You taste so good, better than I'd imagined. Your fingers curl into my hair, and the dull burn in my scalp feels so good, I pull away a little just to feel your grip tighten as you whine and tug me back into you.

I hear you breathe my name as I relearn how to do this. I had been certain there wasn't a thing about sex that you could teach me, yet here we are. And I want to make you feel good. I want to be the best you've ever had. I need to be. So I take it slow, I pay attention to the way your body moves, the sounds you make, the pace of your breath, the rate of your pulse against my mouth.

I pull away for a moment for air, turn my face into your inner thigh and close my teeth around your soft flesh and you gasp and pull my hair so hard my head feels like it's on fire, so instead of letting go, I leave a dark purple hickey in the center of the indentation my teeth made on your skin. You moan and it rattles through me and I'm back to devouring you. I add a finger, then two, then three, and the sounds you're making are absolutely obscene and I think I'm getting you closer.

You squeeze down on my fingers and I swear to god I feel it on my dick. I groan into you and the vibration makes you flutter around me again and I touch myself with my free hand. I might actually cum from this. Your legs start to shake on my shoulders, and I focus on doing everything right as you whimper and moan and white knuckle my sheets.

"Dennis," your voice breaks through our syncopated panting and makes my dick twitch in my hand and if my eyes were open you would see them roll to the back of my head. The pressure is building- I feel your thighs tense against my ears, and I'm beginning to lose my pace on myself- it all feels so overwhelmingly good. I open my eyes to see your chest rising and falling quickly. Like a trapped rabbit. My teeth graze against your flesh and I nip at you lightly, shove my tongue inside of you, replace it with my fingers once again as I suck and bite at your clit. You let out one loud scream before remembering where you are, and sob as you teeter on the edge of climax.

"Daddy, c-can I-" you clench your jaw and knit your brow and it's so cute that you can't even use your words, and it's so cute that you call me daddy, and I'm about to cum, too, so all I can say is:

"Yeah, princess," and you're cumming around my fingers, against my open mouth as I spill out over the carpet and think vaguely about the stain. I thought you tasted good before, but now, I'm ravenous, and I love the way you tremble as I refuse to let up.

A few seconds later, you're cumming again, and if it wasn't for the alcohol and my medication, I would be ready for round two. Instead, I clean you up with my tongue and you scratch my head in sweet little circles as you come down. When your fingers find the space behind my ears my whole body tingles and it's like you've hit some sort of off switch. You giggle when I moan and close my eyes and rest my head against your thigh.

"I always catch you doing this," you take my earlobe between your thumb and forefinger and rub it a little, "What's up with that?" I hum at the familiar feeling coming from unfamiliar hands.

"I've been doing it since I was little," I mumble as you continue to make my brain short circuit, "I do it when I'm nervous," I'm not sure why I told you that part.

"You were doing it at the bar tonight," you comment, and despite the pleasure, my body tenses a little, "Do I make you nervous?"

When I open my eyes and look up at you, you're looking right through me, into my soul. I can't lie.

"Yes," and it makes me crazy. You smile.

"Good. That must mean you really like me."

I roll my eyes and sneak a quick nip to the inside of your thigh where my cheek was resting. You yelp and sit up to smack at me but I'm faster and I'm on top of you, pinning you by the wrists as you laugh. I hate how vulnerable you make me, all twisted up and trapped inside, and I feel like I need to contain you, but my hands on your wrists and my weight on top of you isn't enough. You have invaded every part of me, and it's too much.

"Well?" I can hear the smile in your voice even though my face is buried in your neck.

"Yeah, yeah," I feel like I'm in high school. You're younger than me and here I am blushing into the crook of your shoulder.

"Cool," your fingers slip through the hair at the base of my skull, "I like you, too." And even though I know that, the wave of relief that rolls over me makes me physically relax.

"Then you're staying," it's something between a question and a statement because the adrenaline is still making my head fuzzy. With my ear against your chest I can hear the methodical beat of your heart behind your sternum. I can't remember a time I was this intimate with someone. I want to get up, wash my face, grab you some of my clothes to wear, but my skin feels stuck to yours and your fingers in my hair is turning me off again. The air conditioner hums to life in my window and I feel the goosebumps pick up on your arms, your legs, the cool breeze ghosting over the thin sheen of sweat on your body. I sigh as I pick myself up off of you. I walk over to my dresser and tug open the top drawer, pulling out one of my Penn sweatshirts and toss it to you.

You bring the ball of fabric to your face, close your eyes and inhale. "You know this is mine, now," you say as you pull it over your head and hug yourself. I wish you weren't joking- I would love to see you in my sweatshirt every day for the rest of your life. I hope you wear it home tomorrow. I hope you don't go home at all. Next I throw you a pair of my boxers and when you stand and shimmy them up your legs, they hang so loosely off of your hips that I can almost see the v of your pelvis before you smooth the sweatshirt back down.

You hop back onto the bed and burrow under the covers, and I go to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. By the time I get back, you're sound asleep, your head on my pillow, filling my bed with the smell of your shampoo and body wash and lotion and perfume and you. I'm careful not to disturb you as I make my way into bed, as if you might leave if you wake up. When I wrap my arms around you and pull you into me, you murmur in your sleep and relax into my chest. I probably won't get much rest tonight, so I just enjoy the feeling of your warmth against me and the sound of your breathing as I think of how I'm going to explain this to my friends.

[front-facing-pokemon]

[day6source]

hello my loves!!! happy october!!!! 🍂🍁🎃👻🧡 personally, october is my favorite month since it's my birthday month (oct 5th, so soon!!), so i'm a bit biased hehe. i do have some small updates for you though, so, let's begin!! 💕💕💕

first: calendar is updated for the month with concert dates and whatnot on the desktop theme! so if you're curious as to when to expect a show, hover over one of the blue marked circles under the calendar tab!

second: the survey was so fun to read the results of!! it was so fun seeing the demographics and seeing what you guys had to say, also so many of you are so funny, i had a bunch of answers that made me laugh out loud. but as for things that'll be going into effect as a result:

- bubble stuff will be updated soon-ish! i have a backlog of things, so it might be a bit. i thought the way i was doing things looked a bit messy but you guys seem to not mind it, so i probably won't be changing the way they're uploaded aside from just not having them be as long and arranging them in two columns instead. - there's a couple interview things i have backlogged as well that'll come out, but maybe not immediately given their length, but they'll be done! if any new ones come out however, those'll take priority. - i've been inconsistent with updating on things like tickets and video calls and the like (mostly bc they keep catching me when i'm asleep, oops), but i'm gonna try and get those up more often if i haven't missed the window, primarily if it has to do with tickets. - things like old content and audios for stuff being uploaded will be sort of at leisure, but mostly because i don't have my own laptop right now! once i'm back with my own, things like that'll be more frequent, but this in particular won't be immediate. - you guys were actually pretty evenly split on fansite photos, so i'm going to hold off on them, BUT! a lot of you liked the idea of being able to find edits here, but i also wanted this to still be mostly news, so i came up with an idea. every wednesday & sunday (all day cst), i'll be reblogging things from #day6source onto the blog (and i'll be adding the tag to the pinned possibly and maybe description for easy access of knowing?). if you post any time during the week, i'll schedule them for those two days regardless. i'm actually pretty excited about this one, and hoping maybe it might mean seeing more content?

and that's pretty much it! i wanna try and get back into the habit of making posts like this again, this year got so crazy! but i hope it's been treating you well and you're all taking care of yourselves. make sure to bundle up (or not if it's hot. don't do that.), and get your halloween costumes ready, and favorite scary movies queued up! and of course as always, make sure you're drinking plenty of water and remembering to eat and stay happy and healthy.

love love love, tay 💕💕💕💕

[prentissluvr]

⟢ BLOG ANNOUNCEMENT

hello my darlings !!! i am going on vacation next week, yahoo!! but, unfortunately (sort of), i have zero internet access where i'm going! so i will be completely mia from this blog for about a whole week from around next wednesday the 10th until the 18th! i will do my best to have a few things queued up during that week, which likely won't include any new fics unfortunately. i'm also going to do my best to finish and post all moodboard requests from my milestone event, as well as the sam fic i'm working on atm before i go! i will miss you all very very much <33 don't do anything without me hehe jkjk lmao

but! that being said, i'm still gonna be working on fics while i'm gone offline, so i'm reopening requests between now and before i leave so that i have stuff to work on for you guys! so if anyone's got any requests, feel free to send them in within the next week or so. otherwise, i'll be working on my other wips like part twos to a few fics, so i'll probably only take around 3 more new requests :))

remember to check out my rules and wips! you're also welcome to request one of my personal wips if there's one you particularly want to see and it will be bumped up to general requests and given priority!! thank you all, have a lovely time while i'm gone!! <333

EDIT : i'm done taking requests for now! thanks for sending some lovely ideas!

[cleolinda]

Weekend links

My posts

I am so sick lmao. I mean, I'm fine; it's not covid, it's just some kind of sinus bullshit that turned into a bad sore throat very quickly, and we've managed to treat it early. But I am very tired, and now (being sick myself) I can't even go visit my nephew in the hospital. Now that he's getting decent care (document the care or lack thereof you get, if you can), he's improving a lot, although I don't know when he'll be able to come home.

As such, the most/only interesting thing I've written is a Patreon Future Vision tier newsletter about what I'm working on. I do have a finished short story I can post later in the month, once a contest regulation has expired. I'm just thrilled that I finished something, honestly.

However, my queue got ahead of me--I had a couple clusters of posts that I intended to do my own posts about (see below), and then. Well. We'll circle back around to those at some point.

(All I said was "It is my wish for you and all of us that the bullshit stops soon" and it got 900 notes, so apparently we are all Going Through It right now.)

Reblogs of interest

Christmas on Tumblr is the best way to experience Christmas:

Sasha the Christmas Tiger: yes good

The Reindeer Gifs

--

"The posting on this website is gonna be inSANE when Henry Kissinger dies on January 22nd, 2024." Well...

--

I realized a while ago that the massive dysfunction spiral I went into from, like, 2016-2022 was autistic burnout (surgery and covid: not helping!), and I had these two posts queued as a springboard for talking about that. OOPS:

Autistic burnout: a guide

Autistic burnout recovery

--

Something else I meant to write about--posts on physical health, mobility, and/or chronic pain:

If you are dealing with deep fatigue and chronic pain: "you can exercise. you just need to vastly vastly change what the word[s] exercise movement activity mean for you."

If you sit hunched over, do this stretch for your back

@hybridcalisthenics shows us how to work up to a deep squat

--

Black, gay and graying gracefully in love

Two important statements: "This is a high quality and deeply unpleasant piece of art" and, conversely, "It’s beautiful but I don’t like it."

I just really liked this Cerridwen art

Video

I don't understand how this is a painting

🎶 You know they were watermelon 🎶

The first cat video ever (1899)

This joyous wet dog

This very loud unwet dog

Majestic garden Fox enjoys Zoomies in the Snow

They're not making laundresses like they used to

The sacred texts

Nothing this week unless you count Sasha, and I do

Personal tag of the week

A fine new addition to the teacup voids tag