#he also smoked like 3 cigarettes outside the apartment before he even would touch the sink

[spatterdots]

Okay, so, the other day we had this plumber guy come in and do the necessary tune ups in my Grandpa’s apartment so we can put it on the market.

All we needed was for him to install a new faucet for the bathroom sink. My mother and I are sorting through clothes in the adjacent room when he goes in to start work on the sink.

THIS guy starts moaning and groaning like he’s in debilitating agony, and we’re like, “Are you good?” And he goes, “Oh yeah it’s fine, plumbers just make noises like that” and he continues on with the groaning all the way up until he’s finished.

I have been thinking about this ever since, and I will admit I googled “plumbers moaning normal” with little to no result. What the fuck? Why was he making those noises, who taught him plumbing and to scream like he got his leg cut off when he’s installing a new faucet?

[avintagekiss24]

—you can pretend you don’t miss me; bucky barnes

pairing: tfatws!bucky barnes x black!reader

word count: 4049

warnings: 18+ ONLY, knife kink, vaginal fingering, orgasm denial, tiny bit of blood, attempted murder

challenge: @cockslut-padalecki a decade under the influence “what if I can’t forget you? I’ll burn your name into my throat”

request: bucky barnes + “i have a feeling i’m gonna get lucky tonight” + orgasm denial

author note: surprise! it didn’t take me two months to write something sjsksjs please enjoy fic #3 of my 5/5.5k follower celebration! also another quick congrats to lisa for hitting 10k!!

inspired by this art ; gif by @zacharylevis ; line divider by @firefly-graphics ; title inspired by billie eilish bitches broken hearts

The taste of bourbon and cigarettes is on his lips and tongue as he licks into your mouth. He moans into you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh as he hooks your leg right around his waist. Your back is up against the heavy door of his apartment, fingers in soft brown hair, wet lips smacking and sucking, teeth nibbling on his swollen, red bottom lip. He laughs, relaxing into your kiss and lips and teeth as he anchors your weight in his metal hand, flesh hand rummaging in his almost too tight black jeans for his door key.

There’s a smirk on your face as you pull away from him. Your lips are still touching. Foreheads resting on one another's. Eyes a little shy, only connecting for fractions of seconds before they’re on the floor or a pair of lips. The jingle of keys fills the hallway, then the thunk of one as it pushes into the slot and stops hard against the rusted metal of the lock. The deadbolt slaps back into the door and with a push of his foot, and a little help from your weight being pinned against it, the swollen door scrapes against the frame as it pops open, swinging back into the wall.

Bucky slips his hands down your sides, grips your hips tight as he starts to back you inside. They stay there, those hands, as his eyes bounce back and forth between yours and dip down to your mouth where he licks his lips and catches his bottom lip between his teeth, like he’s fantasizing about wanting to feel them again. A metal hand cups your face, his palm warm as he sweeps his thumb along your cheek.

His tongue sneaks out just before your lips meet again to tease the roof of your mouth before he grabs your top lip between his. You both inhale deep, breathing each other in, a concoction of soft and sweet and smoke and warmth.

You’re not sure who moves first, whether Bucky is pushing or you’re pulling— probably a little of both— but you’re inside of his apartment before you know it. The door slams shut. Your leather jacket slips off your shoulders and hits the hardwood floor as you back further inside.

Fingers and hands are everywhere. Yanking at shirts, popping buttons, pulling zippers as lips get more desperate. You back into a set of bar stools, knocking them around just a little as you stumble and catch yourself, throwing your head back as laughter spills from you. Bucky pushes out a breath and a small laugh while he eyes you all hungry like as he pulls at his boots.

You tease him a little, putting those feminine wiles to good use— tilt your head, twist your hair around your fingers, push your tits forward. With your shirt crumpled on the floor, the titanium bars pushed through your nipples catch the soft pink, blue, and purple lights of the neon signs pouring in through the kitchen windows through the sheer mesh bralette covering your chest.

Bucky looks a mess. Hair all over his head, pants open— the band of his Hugo Boss boxers peeking out— plain black t-shirt now in a rumpled pile on the floor. His footsteps heavy as he stalks towards you. He stops short, wraps black and gold fingers around your wrist and yanks, collecting you again to crush your soft body against his hard one.

You tilt your head up towards him, eyes turning to slits, lips brushing against his as manicured fingertips push just inside his jeans. Soft tips sweep over a rigid cock, the size making a sly smile curl onto your face. This one is full of surprises.

“Well well,” you purr, kissing him quick, wet and loud, never taking your eyes off him, “I have a feeling I’m gonna get lucky tonight.”

A deep chuckle rumbles through his chest, a breath pushing out through his nose as a lopsided grin paints his handsome face, “Aren’t you a smart girl.”

You curl your fingers around his neck, digging the tips into his messy hair and draw him in— dragging the wet velvet of your tongue over his mouth real slow, watching as his eyes close, “You, bed,” you instruct, “Me, bathroom.”

Footsteps fill the quiet, surprisingly lived-in apartment, the clicks of your heels and his heavy thumps as he pulls you towards the bed. He just points off to his left as he falls onto the mattress, resting a leaden head on a wide palm as he settles in. Eyes blinking at you slow as you disappear behind a white door.

The bathroom is immaculate. White. Sterile. Nothing out of place— very military of him. You undress slowly, removing your shoes one by one before moving on to your jeans, leaving you in nothing but a see through bra, waist high panties— and a black leather ankle holster housing your six inch, hand crafted, butterfly knife.

You lift your foot, place it on the white countertop and slip the blade from the holster before carefully, quietly undoing the straps. Taking a deep breath, you stand up a little straighter, roll your neck and shoulders as you stare back at your reflection. The pony tail comes down, silky hair falling over your shoulders and down your back— best fifteen hundred bucks you’ve ever spent on yourself.

Gotta look good on the day you finally get to kill the Winter Soldier.

With a soft flick of your wrist, the blade flips out and you can’t help but run a manicured finger over the edge, pressing the sharp point into the pad. You find yourself in the mirror again and tilt your head a little as your brain goes a little empty— except for maybe one thought.

You wanna fuck him. You’ve earned it, and regrettably so, you find Bucky Barnes sort of interesting. Funny. Engaging when prodded a bit but still somehow deadpan and aloof.

His huge cock doesn’t help matters either.

You sigh, oh well.

The door clicks as you open it and pass through. You keep your hands behind your back as your body softens— sinks into itself a little. Hair falls in your face as you feign shyness, batting big, soft brown eyes and sinking your teeth into an ample bottom lip.

Bucky took the time to get completely naked. Hard cock gripped in his flesh palm, slow drags from the base to the glistening tip.

God, you really kinda wish you could fuck this man.

“Come ‘ere.”

An outstretched metal hand accompanies the gentle beckoning. You move soft, a small sound of your feet sinking into the carpet before you reach out with your empty hand and slide it into warm metal, using the sturdy grip to hoist yourself up and over his stomach.

His hands find your hips— big, warm, manly hands. They slip upwards just a bit to grip the soft of your sides. Move down again for thick fingers to graze over your ass and tickle the backs of your naked thighs. Still, you palm the handle of your knife tight and high, in the small of your back, as you use your free hand to push the dark strands of hair out of your face.

Bucky’s eyes meet yours when his fingers push between your parted legs, finding a wet spot in those mesh panties. You inhale deep, blinking back at him as his fingers keep a sweet little rhythm back and forth against your cunt. Hips defy your brain and push forward into those fingers— wanting just a little more.

Maybe you can wait… maybe until after...

You lean forward before your brain can finish stringing the words together— you have to or you’d lose all your nerve and give into that weak devil telling you to taste the sin. Let him spread you open until it hurts. Your mouth finds his hot and swollen and you kiss him hard, so hard he groans into it. You pull back just enough to lick his mouth again, eyes bouncing between his.

“What’re you waitin’ for, sweetheart? You need more of an invitation than this?” Bucky asks low and slow, pushing his cock right into your ass as his fingers creep inside your panties.

You smile, real nice and sweet before swooping the arm from behind your back to push the knife into his neck, “Oh nothing, baby,” you purr, “Just waiting for the right time to kill you is all.”

You lean back a little to see his face, tipping your head to the side. He’s pretty calm for a guy who’s minutes away from bleeding out on his own bed— but he is an assassin. Not much can shake him— should shake him.

Bucky blinks slow at you, hands coming to rest by his sides. His eyes don’t widen, pupils don’t dilate. Steady breathing stays just the same— he doesn’t even shift uncomfortably. Just blinks back at you. Slow. Easy. Without a fucking care in the goddamn world.

An angry heat blooms across your skin at his nonchalance as the seconds tick by. Your chest starts to rise and fall a little harder. Your eyes start to bounce between his as you suck your teeth in indignation, “You don’t remember me, do you?”

A blink is all you get.

“Of course you don’t,” you hiss, “Why would you? I was just one of many in the wrong place at the wrong time, right?” Your grip on the handle of the knife tightens as you push it harder against his skin— this time he swallows, “Who cares how many innocent lives you’ve destroyed as long as you got what you wanted.”

He still doesn’t say a word, doesn’t flinch, doesn’t react. Just stares up at you as you crack, laughing angrily as you take his silence mockingly, “Well, I couldn’t fuckin’ forget you. Eight years. Eight years of living in absolute terror that you’d come back for me.” You’re seething now, eyes wild, breath coming harder and faster than the one before it, “Constantly looking over my shoulder, jumping at every bark of a dog and clink of keys and slam of a car door outside my apartment— do you know how it feels to live like that? Huh? Expecting to die every second of every hour of every goddamn day?”

Another silence drops over the room and it’s just the two of you staring at each other. You’re not even sure why he isn’t fighting back— why he’s just lying there and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.

Of course he knows what it’s like to live like this. He’s used to it.

A trickle of blood slips down the side of his neck, the singular plop staining the white sheets below, “I’ve never thought about after— once you’re dead. What if I can’t forget you? I’ve spent so long hating you— it’s, it’s like by killing you, I’ll burn your name into my throat, you know? You’ll always just,” you tilt your head, digging the knife in a little harder, “Be there. With me always.”

The funniest thing happens as soon as the words slip through your teeth. His lips start to twitch. Curl into a smile— one where those pearly whites are on display— and then he’s laughing. Like someone just told a fucking joke.

It makes you recoil. Makes you squint and has your face twist in confusion, lips separating as a heavy breath passes through.

“Well,” he finally purrs, the laughter rumbling through his chest dying down, “Go ‘head, honey.”

When you hesitate, he pushes his chin forward, arch’s his head back to put his neck on full display, “Come on, baby. Don’t get my hopes up and not follow through.”

“You’re insane.” You hiss.

He leans up a little, another smile curling onto his lips, “In this business, you gotta be.”

The words stick in air like glue as he settles back into the pillow below his head, blue eyes twinkling underneath the soft neon lights pouring in through the windows.

He’s fucking with you. Just do it. The words echo, knocking around your brain as you stare down at him, blade still shoved into the crease of his neck. Another drop of blood plops onto the sheets below. Your lip snarls slightly, eyes narrowing as heat flashes across your skin again. He’s mocking you. After everything he’s done, all the pain— the fear.

You inhale deep, grip the handle so hard your nails dig into your palm and instinct takes over. The hatred, the built up aggression and vitriol guiding your hand, about to slash that pretty thick neck wide open. You are more than ready to see a deep red stain white sheets and blue eyes lose all of the life he’s built into them and fade away into nothingness. Just when you’re about to make your eight year long dream come true, it all flashes before your eyes.

Within a blink— half of a blink— you're off his lap, slammed up against the wall opposite the bed, warm flesh hand around your throat. You gasp hard, nearly choking on the air you can’t grab as you start to struggle, slapping at his face before swinging the knife wildly.

Bucky catches your arm with ease, squeezing your hand until you’re grunting and hissing in pain, grip relaxing around the metal. You blink again, and your knife is now pressed against your throat as you growl, struggling to no avail.

“You’re lucky baby,” he mutters, “Nobody survives that long while holding a knife to my throat.” He kisses you hard, digging his teeth into your bottom lip to drag it back with him when he pulls away, “You’re a cutie tho, so, you get a little reprieve.”

He leans back in real close, eyes roaming along your face as his head tilts, breathing easy. Staring back at him, lip curling again as you huff hard, angry breaths beating out of your nose. But your hands have come to rest on his arms. You can feel the blood coursing through the vein that’s popped out right down the center of his bicep. Your fingers flex around metal and muscle, goosebumps rising on your skin as the cool air conditioning tickles hot skin.

“Of course I remember you,” he whispers after a long time— too long, “I remember each and every face of the last seventy years,” his eyes bounce between yours, “I knew exactly who you were as soon as you popped up on that stupid dating app.”

Another sharp influx of air squeezes out of your throat when he drags the tip of your knife underneath your chin, down the length of your throat, down your chest. Slips it along your stomach before pushing it into the mesh that covers your chest. A flick of his wrist and you’re bare, the thin material giving way to the blade.

Your chest heaves, eyes wide, lips parting as the tip of that blade scrapes along your skin— right between your tits. Brown eyes drop to his red, wet lips quick, then shoot back to focus on his piercing blues.

“I wasn’t sure at first what you wanted,” he whispers, flattening the blade over a piqued nipple, clinking against the metal bar piercing your thick flesh, “If you recognized me after all this time— I mean, with the new hair and everything.”

A hum sounds at the back of your throat, trembling and airy and Bucky picks it up right away— another smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. The fingers around your throat peel away slowly but he watches you all the while, fire behind his eyes as he tests you.

“You’re a good little actress,” words still soft but full— maybe amazed that you were able to get as close as you did, “But you knew that already, huh?”

You swallow hard, eyes tipping down to watch his fingers drift down your arm. Light little touches, “You have to be when born— ah,” the edge of the knife catches your thick nipple as he slides it across your tit.

He kisses you again, real sweet this time though. Tongue sweeping along your bottom lip as both his encase it, “I’m sorry baby. You were saying?”

Flesh fingers dance along your stomach, sweeping from hip to hip. Just the tips. Feather light drags so you don’t forget about them. His large palm grips your hip, pushes his thumb into the meat of your side and you have to close your eyes— clear your throat to center yourself. To remember why you’re there in the first place.

Sweet breath washes over your face as Bucky rolls your left nipple now into the edge of the blade— kissing you again when you shriek at the quick, sharp pain just to eat the sound. You lose the fingers around your hip, only to find them again suddenly, jumping in slight surprise as calloused pads cup a soft, wet cunt.

Bucky’s still blinking slow, fingers pushing along a swollen clit, massaging. He’s real close now, prickly cheek rubbing against yours, teeth nibbling at your jawline.

Your own fingers dig into his biceps as your eyes flutter with the tightening of your stomach. A warmth starts to spread through your veins. Hips find a little rhythm against his hand. A sharp prick here and there as he circles that knife— your own damn knife— around your tits and back up to your throat again.

That’s when he sinks two long, thick fingers into you, not stopping until his palm is flush with your sticky folds. His thumb pressed against the sensitive little nub at the center of you.

His eyes are slits, head tilted up slightly as his mouth hangs, dragging in the air you expel. Only then does his fingers start to move, delving in and out, thumb still pushing along your clit.

“God,” you pant, pushing your head upwards against the wall, “Mmm, I can’t—” his fingers push deeper and the words are gone, like they never even existed in the first place, “Fuck.”

Bucky pushes the smooth blade against your throat just a little harder— the sharp edge forcing your chin upward a little more. He flattens his thumb against your lower stomach, starts to pull his fingers, not push them. The heel of his palm starts to slap against your skin as you buck into the motion.

Your hands slip up to his shoulders, both arms wrapping lazily around either side of his neck. The soft hum from earlier is replaced with high pitched whimpers and breathy little squeaks. Bitten off words fall from your lips as you squirm against the wall, wanting him deeper, faster, harder— which he delivers without you having to say a word.

He grabs your cheeks, pinching hard as the blade flattens across your pouty lips. A weak, desperate whimper sounds, all your resolve gone. Whatever leverage you thought you had completely wiped away— and it makes a wicked grin spread on Bucky’s lips.

“You close, baby? Hmm?” he hums, licking at your mouth again, “Oh sweet girl, you wanna come, huh? You gonna come for me?”

He strokes your clit with the tip of his thumb, your walls clenching around his fingers. The gentle encouragement continues, real soft and between sweet little kisses all over your face. A dull ache settles in your belly, a thick heat starting to stir within. Your heart leaps into your throat as your hips pump with Bucky’s hand, the release so close you can taste it.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you groan, “‘m gonna fuckin—”

“You want it? Huh? Want me to make you come honey?”

You squeak in response, nodding fast as you bite down into your lip, “Please. Please.”

Heat ripples through your body as you start to tremble, legs going shaky and weak. Muscles start to burn all over as you tense hard, coaxing the sweet agony swirling in your stomach. You cry out, his name hanging on your lips as the rush of it all pushes higher and higher.

Just as you start to unravel, just as the coil begins to snap, his fingers are gone. Pulled from your cunt and clit. You’re whipped around his body, forced back towards the bed. Your mind racing— maybe you’ll be getting some of that cock afterall.

Or not.

Metal slaps around your wrist, bites into the skin as it clamps down, the clink of teeth sliding into the lock housing ringing in your ears. You snap your head towards the sound when it all finally connects in your murky brain. The horror of realization floods into your veins— blood running cold as your stomach drops to your feet.

The handcuffs clink against the dark metal headboard as you fight against it, “You bastard! You fuckin’ piece of shit, let me go!” you shout, thrashing your arm back and forth, pulling as hard as you can, “Goddamn it— let me the fuck go! I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you bast—”

“Ooph,” Bucky jests, octave rising as he slips back into his jeans, “You got a filthy little mouth on you.”

“Fuck you!”

He scoffs, laughing gently as he pulls his black shirt back over his head. The bastard even starts to hum as he plops down on the edge of the bed, taking his time while he pushes his feet back into his boots and shrugs into his jacket.

You keep sharp eyes on him as he stands and turns to face you, dangling a pair of small silver keys next to his grinning face before he tosses them somewhere deep in the apartment. You swipe at him with your free hand as he approaches, just barely catching his chin as he kneals down, “I’m gonna kill you,” you smile, a blind rage engulfing every pore, every muscle, every ounce of your body.

Bucky shrugs, “Not tonight, sweets. Listen, tell Sam I’m sorry about the mess, hm?”

“Who the fuck is Sam?” you hiss.

He looks down at his watch, “Yeah, he should be home in about an hour. It’s not everyday you walk into your apartment to find a naked, wannabe assassin handcuffed to your bed, so, give him my apologies— wait, you know about Sam, right? The new Cap, they made it official a couple of weeks ago.”

Your jaw clenches as you stare back at his smiling face, more humiliation pouring through you as you realize he’s had you pegged the entire goddamn time.

“Oh baby,” he laughs again, “You didn’t honestly think I’d take you back to my place, did you? I don’t even know you— you kids today are so reckless.”

Blue eyes bounce between yours for a few seconds before he glances down at his hands, works them back into his black gloves. He pulls your butterfly knife from his back pocket and starts to play with it, flicking his wrist to close it, and then open it over and over again.

“I’m keeping this,” he offers as he locks it closed and slips it back into his pocket, “Maybe you’ll find the balls to try and take it from me.”

“Oh,” you laugh, shaking your head, “I’m taking it back.”

Bucky stands, the sound of his heavy boots sounding through the apartment as he moves towards the door, “I look forward to it kiddo.”

***

If there’s one thing you respect about Bucky Barnes, it’s his attention to detail.

Right on the dot, exactly one hour later, you snap your head towards the front door as keys start to jingle in the lock. With the bed sheet wrapped loosely around your torso, you straighten up against the wall, eyes wide as you watch an exhausted Samuel Thomas Wilson walk into his apartment.

“Oh, fuck!” he shouts, jumping slightly and dropping his bag to the floor when he locks eyes with you, “What in the fuck?”

“I can explain… sort of.” you start, holding up your hand.

You apparently don’t need to. Sam’s phone is to his ear within seconds as he starts to pace back and forth, “Bucky, this is not why I gave you a key to my mother fuckin’ apartment!”

[lostinthewiind]

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 4

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: mentions sexual experiences of reader before she was of age, discussion about sex lives, flirting, touching 

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous →Part 3

Next →Part 5

Head resting in your hand and elbow resting on the counter, you huffed, still not used to the heat that accumulated in the store throughout the day and praying for just one customer to walk through the door so you could experience a refreshing blast of evening air. You supposed you could go outside yourself to cool off a little, like Keishin had previously suggested in lieu of sticking your head in one of the fridges, but being the only person at the store currently, you felt a little bad about leaving the building, even if it was just to step out front.

You were still trying your best to put on a good impression for Mrs. Sakanoshita—despite the rough first impression you had made on her son—and you knew the family store was precious, so you decided to suck it up for the remainder of your shift.

Without much to do, since you had completed your chores early, you remained seated at the front counter, bored out of your mind. That was, until your prayers were answered and you heard the front doors slide open.

“Hello!” you greeted happily, ready to welcome a customer. Your radiant excitement faded when you noticed it was just Keishin, however, and went back to slumping on the counter. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“Wow, those rapid mood changes must be why we’ve been so busy lately,” Keishin shot back at you, a cigarette hanging from his mouth like usual. “Will the girl behind the counter smile or frown at you? Maybe it’ll be both. Oh, how exciting!”

“Can it, dye job,” you grumbled.

Keishin feigned hurt, his hand resting over his chest dramatically as he pretended to have been shot. “Words hurt, you know. You’ve hurt me.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you told him, lazily gesturing around the empty store. “What does matter is that we’ve been dead for hours and I’m bored.”

Keishin poked his bottom lip out and faked a pout. “Awh, poor baby. Is getting paid to sit there and do nothing hard work? You must be exhausted. Poor thing.”

“I don’t get paid nearly enough to put up with you.” You reached across the counter to lightly smack his shoulder but he jumped out of the way just in time. “Seriously though, stay and entertain me for a while.”

“If you’re that bored, why don’t you dust the vents or something?”

You laid your head down on the counter and exhaled slowly for effect. “You know I aim to please but that sounds like hell. Can’t you just talk to me for like ten minutes? Tell me about your day or something.”

Keishin threw his head back and groaned loudly. “But I’m too hungry to think about anything other than food right now.”

“I’m hungry too but you don’t see me complaining about it.”

“No, you’re just complaining about everything else.” He leaned against the other side of the counter, his tongue flicking against the tip of his cigarette as he thought. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”

You glanced up at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “I doubt it but proceed.”

Done with your constant back talk, which was extremely common between the two of you ever since you had worked out your differences and agreed to the deal he had suggested, he took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke directly into your face. “Just shut up and listen, will you?”

You coughed when you accidentally inhaled the second-hand smoke. “If I get cancer and die, I’m haunting you.”

“Go ahead.” He didn’t pay any attention to the words leaving your mouth as he headed into the back room and shut off the store lights. Then, with his own set of keys in hand, he headed back toward the front of the store. “Come on.” He looked back at you expectantly when you didn’t immediately follow.

Confused, you slowly stepped around from the back of the counter. “Where are we going?”

“We’re closing up early and going to get something to eat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, half of you wondering if this was some sort of employee test to see how responsible you were. “Are we allowed to do that?”

“I am, you aren’t,” Keishin said, beckoning you over to him. “But let’s just keep this between you and I, yeah? What my mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, it’s slow anyway.”

Taking off your white apron and grabbing your things, you reluctantly followed the older man out of the store and watched as he locked up behind the two of you. Anxiously, you shifted your weight from foot to foot. “Are you sure I won’t get in trouble for this?”

“I promise I won’t tell on you,” Keishin assured you as he stuffed the keys back into his pocket and dropped his cigarette bud to the ground before crushing it with his foot. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

Falling into pace beside Keishin as the two of you set off down the sidewalk, you following his lead, you weren’t sure exactly sure what to say or even if you should say something. Never before had you and Keishin existed outside of the store together and it felt a little awkward. 

“So . . . is this like a date or something?” You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. What you had meant to come across as a casual inquiry ended up sounding more like a desperate girl clarifying what she meant to the boy she liked. You sounded like a child.

The corners of Keishin’s mouth curled upward and he shrugged. “Call it whatever you want.” He really didn’t seem to care one way or another. “Although, I’d be a horrible boyfriend if I didn’t take you out at least once . . . fake or not.”

You nearly choked on your spit at the use of the word ‘boyfriend’. Even though you had been pretending to date him for the purposes of changing your parents’ ideals for the past few weeks, you were still caught off guard every time Keishin referred to himself as your boyfriend—even though he was usually doing it to mock you. 

“Yeah, just awful,” you agreed halfheartedly. “Where are we going anyway?”

“This little place that I like,” he said, his answer extremely vague until he continued. “Best ramen I’ve ever had.”

After a few more minutes of walking, the two of you arrived at the place Keishin was talking about and he ordered two take-out bowls and paid for them both, insisting that you should try his regular order since you had never been there before. Not wanting to disagree because he was footing the bill, you let him do what he wanted and tailed him out to a picnic table outside like an obedient puppy. 

“It’s much too hot to eat inside,” Keishin reasoned as he plopped down on the opposite side of the picnic table from you. “Plus, it’s nice outside. Might as well enjoy the weather while it lasts, right?”

“Right.” You nodded.

While Keishin dug right into his meal, you sat still, hands in your lap, and watched him. One thing you had quickly come to realize was that Keishin was the perfect specimen for people watching, and not just because he was relatively easy on the eyes. He was an interesting person; for example, how he tucked half-smoked cigarettes behind his ear to smoke later or how he always wore a headband to keep his hair out of his face but vehemently refused to just cut his damn hair. 

Even though you bugged him about cutting his hair all the time, you secretly hoped he would continue to stand his ground and refuse because you wanted to see what he looked like with his hair down. You also wanted to run your hands through his hair—it looked soft and fluffy—but that was besides the point.

“Hey, it’s gonna get cold,” Keishin snapped you out of your thoughts, his mouth half full of ramen as he jabbed his chopsticks in your direction. “Don’t tell me you don’t like ramen. You should have said something before I ordered for both of us.”

Snapping out of your daze, you picked up your chopsticks and shook your head. “No, I like ramen.” You took a bite to prove your point. “Sorry, I was just lost in thought.”

Keishin waited for you to eat a little more before digging for your consensus. “Good, right?”

“Yeah, really good,” you agreed. “I always walk past this place but I’ve never gone inside.”

“I was the same way. It doesn’t really catch your eye, so unless you’re looking for it, it’s easy to miss,” he said. “Then one day my grandpa took me here for my birthday and I’ve been coming ever since.”

You snickered. “Popular date spot then?”

Keishin cocked a brow. “What?”

“I mean, if you come here a lot, I’m sure it’s a go-to for dates,” you continued. “It even comes with a wholesome story about how your grandpa introduced you to it. Ultimate chick magnet.”

Keishin just rolled his eyes at you. “You know, contrary to popular belief, most girls don’t like it when you take them out to eat cheap ramen on a picnic table that’s falling apart.”

You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to say anything about the table, but I’m pretty sure I have at least ten splinters in my ass by now.”

“Yeah, this thing is torture. So eat fast and then we’ll move to the park across the street or something.”

Shoveling the rest of your food into your mouth, you ate fast while Keishin stared you down, every second that passed introducing your butt to a new world of pain. As soon as you were done, Keishin took both of your take-out bowls and tossed them into a nearby trashcan.

“Well, sucks for all those other girls then, because that ramen really is amazing,” you said when Keishin returned, the two of you crossing the street and heading into the park. 

“Told you.” Keishin smiled. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Once in the park, which was empty considering it was dark out and most kids were in bed by then, the two of you picked a nearby bench that wasn’t splintering and took a seat. 

Drawing your knees up to your chest, you wrapped your arms around your legs and sighed. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He let his head fall back and looked up at the night sky. “Damn, I could really go for an ice cold beer right now.”

“Well, we could start heading back now if you want,” you suggested. “The beers at the store are extra chilly since I didn’t stick my head in the fridges to cool off today, despite how sweltering it was.”

Keishin laughed. “Well, thank you for that,” he drew in a deep breath and relaxed into the bench, deciding whether to get up or not. “Let’s stay here for a while longer though.”

“Okay.”

Silence fell over the two of you as you stared up at the sky and listened to the sounds of Miyagi in the evening. You tried to remember the last time you had gone out like this—just going wherever you wanted and doing whatever you wanted. You couldn’t recall the last time . . . or even if there was a last time.

Tilting your head to look at Keishin, you smiled at the sight of him sitting with his eyes closed, arms crossed behind his head and head lolled back. He looked happy, almost as peaceful as he did when he was sleeping.

“Hey,” you whispered.

Keishin cracked an eye open to look at you. “Hmm?”

“Thanks for tonight.” You breathed in the scent of the night air and a feeling of content washed over you. “As you’ve probably already figured out, I don’t really have any friends. I don’t get to go out like this very often . . . or ever, really.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s what boyfriends are for, right?”

You giggled. “Well, considering you’re not my real boyfriend, I think a ‘thank you’ is in order.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” he caved. “Speaking of fake boyfriends, how’s it going with your parents?”

You let out a frustrated moan. “Oh, about as well as expected. When I mentioned I was seeing someone they bombarded me with a million questions, none of which were answered to their satisfaction.”

Keishin cringed. “So I’m that bad, huh?”

You scoffed. “If you think that’s bad, you should have seen their faces when I showed them a photo of you.”

Keishin let out a laugh. “Don’t tell me they weren’t fans of the piercings?”

“Oh, they weren’t fans of anything,” you said. “I think the only positive thing they could say about you was that you had a pulse . . . no offense.”

“Eh, no worries. At least they didn’t call me a burnout . . . then I would have started crying.”

“Hey!” You smacked at his shoulder again, managing to hit your target this time. “I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t pay for my therapy.”

“Yeah, well, if you need therapy I doubt I’m the biggest reason.”

“You really are so cruel to me. Do your parents know you facilitate abusive relationships?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head. “That insinuates I’ve had past relationships, or any real ones.”

Keishin craned his neck to look at you, eyes wide. “Wait, you’ve never been in a relationship before? Like never?”

“Nope. I don’t even have any friends, so what makes you think anyone wants to date the boring girl with the crazy parents?”

Keishin looked at you like you were some wounded animal he had just found on the side of the road. You could see in his eyes he was slowly coming to terms with just how isolating your life was. You could tell he felt bad, but the last thing you wanted was his sympathy.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” you told him. “I’m not completely pathetic, okay? I still went through my experimental phase like most teenagers do. I just had to be very sneaky about it.”

“Sneaky?”

“You know, back of a car, other people’s houses when their parents were gone. As far as my parents know, I’m untainted . . . a precious, naive virgin. I’m just not very experienced.”

“I can imagine.” Keishin was a little thrown by the direction the conversation had taken, but you were both adults and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little curious, so he just rolled with it. “High school boys aren’t exactly known for being great in bed.”

The two of you let out a shared laugh at that. “You got that right,” you agreed. 

“So, wait, no relationships but you’ve had sex? So you’ve never been with someone you have a genuine connection with?”

You eyed Keishin, perplexed by the sudden sincerity in his words. “You didn’t peg me as someone who cares about that kind of stuff.”

“I mean, I’ve had my fair share of one night stands, sure, but I’m not completely heartless,” he said, the eye contact he was using while he spoke sending a chill down your spine. “It’s completely different when it’s someone you care about. The experience is something everyone should have at least once in their lives.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a genuine connection with anyone before,” you confessed, unsure why you were spilling some of your deepest secrets in public, on a park bench, to a man you had only known for a couple of months. “It’s kind of hard when everyone is held at an arm’s length away.”

Without warning, Keishin shifted closer to you and placed his hand on your face, the pad of his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.

“It’s not sad, not for me at least. You can’t miss something you’ve never had,” you spoke softly, worried you might scare him away if your voice was too loud or if you made any sudden movements. “No best friends, no boyfriends. Just me, my parents, and everyone else.”

Keishin looked like he wanted to say something; in fact, he looked like he wanted to say a lot of things, but despite this, he remained silent. Maybe he was worried about offending you, or maybe he was finally understanding just how different you were from other people. Maybe he didn’t like different. 

“But now there’s you.” You flashed a small smile, hoping to draw him out of whatever mess was going on inside of his head. “I’ve never met someone like you before.”

“Someone like me?” he finally spoke.

You nodded as you placed your hand over the one he was resting on your cheek and held it. “I’m not your responsibility and yet you’re going out of your way to help me. Not to mention I don’t even deserve your help. You are the first truly selflessly kind person I’ve ever met. Thank you.”

“What if I’m not as kind as you think I am?” His hands found their way to your waist and he pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him. “What will you do then?”

“That depends on what you’re planning on doing.”

Hands running up your sides, Keishin dug his finger tips into your skin as you lowered your head toward his, mouths inches apart. “What if I took you home, laid you down, and took care of you like a boyfriend should?” You could feel his hot breath on your face as he spoke. “What if I took advantage of your lack of experience?”

“I would say thank you,” you said, inching closer. Before your lips met, however, you stopped yourself. “But I promised not to fall in love, and I think it would be awfully hard to keep my promise if you did that.” With that, you planted your hands on his shoulders and pushed yourself away from him before he could make a decision he would later regret. 

Standing up, you collected yourself and drew in a deep breath. As soon as you had detached yourself from Keishin, you could see the fog that had been clouding his judgement dissipating as he came back to his senses. 

“I should probably head home now.” You decided, not wanting to ruin the first actual friendship you had by doing something stupid and selfish. 

“Yeah.” Keishin nodded, slowly standing up as well. It was clear he was slightly embarrassed by his actions, but you also noticed the glint in his eyes that gave away the part of him that still wanted to take you home with him. 

Trying to immediately leave what had just happened in the past, you smiled and turned to start heading home, opting to take the longer way so you wouldn’t have to take the same route as Keishin. “Good night, Keishin.”

“Good night, Y/N.” You heard him call after you, but you didn’t look back at him. Instead, you kept walking, hoping the time apart would serve as a reset on your relationship and put things back to how they had been before that night.

A few weeks ago, you would have jumped at the chance Keishin had dangled in front of your face just now. But since then, you had realized he was more important to you than someone you could just throw away with a one night stand. And since there was no way the two of you could actually be together, this was the only option if you didn’t want to lose him.

If only someone had warned you that genuine connections were this complicated. 

[catharrington]

Another part of 1950’s cat boy house husband Steve and milk man Billy. We are getting very hurt right here but next part will be the comfort!! I promise!! Tagging @withoneheadlight because I believe you asked in a previous part, thanks so much for your kind tags🖤🖤, and if anyone else would like to be tagged let meow know. 😽

Part 3: dream a little dream of me

That morning, Steve’s tongue didn’t taste like pineapple juice. Even though the cake came out delightfully, and their supper was cooked expertly between it being baked. Steve had sat at that table, their table, and tried to close his eyes and picture something sweet. Something unreachable, he found out.

Now his mouth tasted like cigarettes smoke and copper. And around him the only sounds were also metallic as he pounded away at his typewriter. Writing out a sentence so the stabbing sharpness of each key rang out into the early morning silence. Then, proceeding to the next sentence, he pushed across the metal tray and it sounded like the firing of a gun.

But Steve simply lifted his cigarette from its glass tray beside the machine, took a long breath before continuing to it. The loudness of the typewriter isn’t what makes him flinch in this house.

Steve doesn’t realize it’s been hours until he hears a calling at his door. “Milk delivery!” And that voice seems to finally awaken him this morning.

Steve turns in his small writing desk’s chair towards the living room door. He shivers from the way that voice is too far away. So silent, compared to how loud he wants that voice whispered in his ear.

He knows he cannot, he should just wait for the milk to be left at the door like any other delivery is made to any other house. But as long as Steve can remember, he’s been there to greet Billy. To linger over Billy as long as he could. Even his first morning in the house, brand new and newly married, Steve waited outside for Billy.

Their first meeting felt ages ago, another time altogether. Early morning in early summer where the water clings to the grass as long as it can in the heat, and where even birds are slow to awaken because of the merciless sun.

Steve had stood out on the porch blushing from the tip of his ears to the end of his tail at Billy’s slaked-jawed awe. At the way he tipped his hat towards Steve for the very first time because, “we don’t see much cat folk around here, apologies for being so… captured.”

And Steve loved to write, he loved to read and he ate at words like mice. That word, that first meeting: captured. Was the perfect one Billy could have used.

Steve’s felt captured ever since. And in every sense of the word.

Now he felt trapped. Listening to Billy’s voice outside the door. He felt trapped in the smoke filled living room of their house, his husband’s house. The only light at all being the sunlight that’s streaming right from where Billy is.

Steve smoked down his cigarette to the very butt of it. Pulling so the lit cherry nearly burnt at his fingers. Then he snubbed the trash into the glass ashtray fiercely, his claws clicking against it.

He turned tiredly towards the living room door. Clutching the bamboo back of his narrow desk chair like a life line. He used it to push himself up and away from his writing. Pushed himself towards the living room door.

And he must have wanted to see Billy, at least from the darkness inside looking out, because he had left the wooden door open. Only the creaking, thin screen door of glass and iron design kept them apart.

Steve pressed his body up against the screen door. And looked out to where Billy was still lingering at his porch steps.

“Mr. Smith?” He called again.

Steve dragged his nails down the iron stripes of his door in frustration. “How many times, Billy, must I remind you. It’s Steve. Please call me Steve.”

Billy didn’t reply, he swallowed thickly anything he was going to reply at all. Clutching to the holder of milk in his hands. Searching across the porch as if to find a weak spot in the bars of this cage.

“Your milk will spoil out here on the porch. Still hot outside, even in September.” Billy’s voice was shaky and so was his leg as he gingerly lifted one more step upwards.

“Would you rather me take it to you? To the door?” He lifted another foot as he spoke. His boots leaving flakes of mud behind him on the steps.

Steve’s anger and his embarrassment swirled together into a shivering mess. His hands didn’t know if they wanted to rip at the iron or keep it right where it was. His chest was rapidly rising and falling as he tried in vain to keep his breathing normal.

“To the door,” he whispered. “To the door is fine. Leave it and I will collect the milk. Thank you.”

Steve tried to keep his shivering and traitorous hands from acting up by pressing them to his chest. His shirt that he had thrown on in the earliest of the morning was wrinkled and pressed all wrong. It was pastel lavender and mother of pearl buttons and itched where it touched his skin.

He softly pressed his fingers around the base of his neck, where his milky skin was sensitive right above his collar bones, and winced as he forgot of his markings.

Then, a rattling noise, and Steve whipped his head back up. He looked right at Billy who had stepped up to the porch. To the door. And was settling the milk right where Steve requested it.

Billy watched his eyes for as long as he could, as long as it took until those blue eyes wandered downwards to the creamy column of Steve’s neck. They lingered there on the wide irritated markings of red.

They lingered on the ghost shapes of another man’s fingers that ruined Steve’s skin, welts bruised and biting down to the pretty boy’s bones.

Steve gripped at the collar of his half open shirt to hold it together.

But Billy’s eyes were already widened to the size of dinner plates. If the milk wasn’t already set on the porch he might have dropped it. Billy walked ever closer, his hands reaching out towards the screen door.

“What the hell?” Billy hissed. His boots and his breathing and his hands against the iron were so loud, so so loud, it made Steve’s ears lay flat back against his head. “What the hell are those?”

Steve’s been good at keeping it hidden, at keeping the bruises from hands wrapped around his arms under linen shirts. At keeping the desperation and hurt from his big brown eyes if only for a couple minutes every morning.

But today he’s feeling sloppy. He’s feeling used. He’s feeling like he can’t keep this up much longer. And no matter how much he claws or how much he writes no one ever hears him.

“It’s nothing,” he covered up. He pressed the itchy fabric to his hurt throat. He wanted to cry out, to whimper, but bit down on his lip to keep it inside.

“Your-your throat! Does he, your husband, he ain’t— I don’t understand?” Billy stuttered out. His delivery uniform hat bobbing as he glanced up and down nervously.

“My husband?” Steve sneered the word, smearing it around so his fangs ripped from his plush lips. “You believe my husband could do this to me?”

Billy reached out his hand towards the screen door. It collapsed and curled into itself against the iron. His knuckles resting right over where Steve’s standing on the other side. He reached as if he wanted to touch. But he couldn’t though the twisting wall of thorns.

“Tell me he ain’t then,” Billy pleaded. “If he’s a good man, then tell me those ain’t his fingers—,”

Steve couldn’t breath. He couldn’t find the words all of a sudden, anything that came to him was a lie. And Billy was the softness in his life, he was the gentle thing. Him in his all white uniform and his cozy smile even on Summer mornings. Steve couldn’t lie to him, but he’s also selfish enough to want to keep Billy for as long as he can.

“Thank you, for your delivery. Have a pleasant morning, Billy.” Steve muttered to his feet then turned to press his back against the indoor wall. To hide from having to see Billy’s reply.

He could still hear the rushed goodbye, and the noise his boots made stomping off the porch. He could hear the milk truck starting, and he could hear his blood rushing up into his ears from where his heart felt like it was ripping into pieces inside his chest.

[bellafarella]

Fluff oh your jealous

Misc I think I just ripped my pants

Do your best bestie 😘

Thanks for prompting these bestie! <3

The sentences came from this post. This work has been added to my series: Shameless Sentence Prompts on AO3.

Fluff #5: “OH you’re jealous!”

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

You're my best friend

Ever since they moved into their apartment, Ian’s been making friends with others who live in the same building as them. Whether it’s at the gym or at the pool, he even made one in the laundry room, Ian is collecting new friends. Mickey’s happy that his husband has found other people to spend time with. What he doesn’t really like is being forced to also hang out with these people. There are just some he does not want to have to fake being nice to. The couple he met when they first got there and Mickey had what Ian now calls the pool tantrum like he’s fucking six years old and was told he had to stop playing in the pool. Mickey doesn’t remember their names but they definitely don’t care that they don’t see Mickey and only hang out with Ian. There’s also the lesbian couple that live right above them that Mickey doesn’t like either. They’re so boring, unlike any lesbian couple he’s ever seen - which is only Debbie and whatever girl of the week she’s seeing. They like to debate a lot and Mickey just can’t deal with it.

Tonight though, they’re having over this gay couple who live a few doors down. Ian met one of them by the pool - shocker - and has been hanging out with them quite a bit. They also like to garden so they go to the market together a lot and do yoga and all that boujee ass shit Mickey hates doing but does because Ian asks him to. Now Ian’s got a friend to do that with so Mickey agreed to a double date or whatever the fuck this is so that he could meet his husband’s new friend and his husband. Ian hasn’t met the husband yet either but he’s heard a lot about him from his friend and has filled Mickey in. Well, Mickey’s only half listening.

There’s a knock on the door so Ian calls from the kitchen, “Mick, get that please!”

Mickey groans as he gets up, taking his beer with him and chugging down the rest as he goes, leaving the empty can on the table. He opens the door and sees two guys. “Hey,” he nods his head to them. “Uh, come in.” He steps aside, letting them both in before closing the door.

“You must be Mickey! I’m David,” the tall, darked haired man says. “I’m the one who keeps stealing your husband away,” he adds with a laugh.

“Nice to meet you,” he says because he doesn’t know what else to say and isn’t that what polite people do?

“And this is my husband, Patrick,” he says as he rubs the slightly shorter man’s broad shoulders. He has light brown hair that’s just starting to show is curly and he has these hazel eyes that look so soft.

Patrick smiles, offering his hand to Mickey. Mickey shakes it as Patrick says, “It’s nice to meet you, Mickey.”

“Yeah, you too,” he says, noticing how strong the man’s shake is.

Just then Ian comes out of the kitchen, no longer wearing that super girly apron Debbie bought them as a gag housewarming gift. He has a grin on as he makes his way over. “David!” he says walking over and hugging him. David squeezes back, eyes shutting, and his big hands rub at his back. He has four gold bands on his left hand. Fancy.

Ian gets introduced to Patrick and Mickey wanders off, taking his empty beer to the kitchen and tossing the can in the recycling. “Can I get anybody a drink?” he calls out.

“I brought a red!” David says as Mickey pokes his head out to look, seeing Patrick holding a bottle in his right hand. “Honey, go help Mickey,” he hears David tell his husband, again rubbing his shoulder. Patrick smiles at him, kisses his lips once before excusing himself and heading for the kitchen.

They nod at each other when he joins him in the kitchen. Mickey gets three glasses out for Patrick to pour them wine, as Mickey grabs another beer for himself. “Not a wine drinker?” Patrick asks, nodding to the can Mickey cracks open.

“Nah, not really,” he tells him.

“Me neither,” Patrick admits with a small chuckle.

Mickey opens the fridge and grabs another can. “Beer?” he asks him.

Patrick nods so he hands it to him. “Thanks,” Patrick says. He puts the can down, pours their husband’s a glass of wine and they each grab one and their own beers before rejoining.

David and Ian are already sitting on the sofa chatting and Ian throws his head back laughing. Mickey’s never seen Ian laugh like that in front of anyone but him and his family. He hands Ian the wine glass before sitting on the chair near him.

They do the obligatory small talk - how did you meet, how long have you been married, how long have you been together, what do you do for work. Stuff that they probably already know if Ian told David already but from their curious expressions and interest in their answers, it doesn’t seem like Ian’s gotten into much detail, not like they are now.

-

Ian made lasagna because apparently it’s Patrick’s favorite and always asks David to make it. It was really good. Ian and David go out on the balcony, leaving the screen door open only so that they could still hear them if need be. Mickey sits on the sofa with Patrick, scrolling through the channels. They both have fresh beers and Mickey finds a baseball game on so he puts that.

“You a fan?” Patrick asks, nodding to the screen.

Mickey shrugs. “Yeah, I mean I’ve never really kept up all that much. Didn’t really have a normal childhood but um, when Ian and I started dating or whatever, we used to sneak into games all the time. We were like seventeen - or well, I was, he was like fifteen or sixteen.”

Patrick has a soft smile on his face which reminds Mickey a lot of Ian, and that soft smile he gets sometimes when he looks at him. “That’s really sweet that you’ve been together for that long.”

“Had a lot of breakups and setbacks on the way,” Mickey tells him.

“But you’re here now.”

“Yeah,” Mickey smiles before rubbing at his mouth with his thumb. He clears his throat. “You a fan?”

“Oh huge fan. Used to play for my school’s team. Could have gone pro,” Patrick tells him.

“No shit,” Mickey says. “Why didn’t you?”

“Life,” he shrugs. “Responsibilities. Thoughts about what I should be instead of what I was.”

“I hear that,” Mickey says before knocking his can into Patrick’s.

-

Mickey likes Patrick. He’s not annoying. He likes sports but not obnoxiously so. He’s only come to terms with his sexuality late in life, something he can relate to. He likes math. He has a sense of humor. He likes beer. So far, this is one person in his building that he doesn’t hate.

Ian and David finally come back inside and Mickey’s laughing at Patrick’s reaction to a call made in the game. “Dude, you’re fuckin’ dramatic,” Mickey tells him.

“Pah!” Patrick makes an offended noise. “I definitely am not the dramatic one in my relationship.”

“Excuse me? What did I just walk into?” David asks, eyebrows drawn and mouth hard.

“Nothing,” Patrick tells him, pulling him down to him so he can kiss him on the lips.

David kisses him back and when he pulls away and stands back upright he says, “Mhm, sure.”

“What were you laughing about?” Ian asks as he sits in the chair next to Mickey, kicking at his foot lightly.

“Nothin’,” Mickey tells him and turns to wink at Patrick, making them both laugh and leaving their husbands confused.

“Okay, this isn’t fun for us,” David says, getting up. “More wine, Ian?”

“I’m gonna take a beer,” Ian says as he gets up, following David to the kitchen. They come back to join their husbands - Patrick now in the middle of the sofa in between David and Mickey, and Ian left to the chair next to Mickey’s side of the sofa.

Mickey finishes off his beer so he gets up, tosses it and grabs a new one before heading to their room to grab his smokes and lighter. “Either of you smoke?” he asks the new couple as he passes through the living room.

“No,” they both say.

Mickey shrugs. He’s about to light one when Ian says, “Let’s go outside for one, Mick,” getting up from his seat. “You guys don’t mind?”

“No, no, go for it,” David shoos them away so Ian and Mickey step outside on their balcony, closing the full door behind them so the smoke doesn’t go inside.

“Our fuckin’ house, could have let me smoke inside,” Mickey grumbles as he lights his smoke now, leaning against the railing and looking out over the pool.

“Would have been rude, Mick, they don’t smoke,” Ian sighs, coming next to him, close enough that their elbows are touching against the railing where they rest their arms.

“Whatever,” Mickey says through a lungful of smoke. “They’re cool,” he adds after a few quiet beats.

“Yeah?” Ian smiles, looking at his husband.

Mickey shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, Patrick is. I don’t know much about David,” he tells him.

“Ah,” Ian notes, nodding his head and turning back to face the pool again.

“What’s wrong?” Mickey asks after a minute.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Liar.”

“I’m not.”

“Are to. You got all quiet and you don’t usually unless you’re annoyed so just tell me what it is,” Mickey tells him. He knows Ian better than he knows himself most days.

“I don’t know - you just got like really chummy in there. I don’t know, it’s dumb,” Ian rushes to say.

“OH you’re jealous!” Mickey says, connecting the dots.

“What!?” Ian asks in that dramatic way he does. “Why would I be jealous? He’s married. We’re married.”

“You’re so jealous,” Mickey teases. He puts his cigarette out in the ashtray Ian bought so Mickey stops tossing cigarette butts out towards the pool and getting them in trouble.

“Mickey,” Ian warns.

“Are you jealous because I like him or because he likes me?”

“Both?” Ian asks with a small smile on his face.

“You’re an idiot,” Mickey laughs as Ian wraps his arms around Mickey’s shoulders and leans down, kissing him softly on the lips. Mickey holds onto Ian, pulling him in closer and sliding his tongue into his husbands mouth, showing him why he has no reason to be jealous.

There’s loud knocking on the door before it slides open. “Oh my God, we can totally leave if you two need to you know,” David says before he does some weird winking/blinking face.

Mickey knows he turns beet red, he can feel it. Ian laughs and tells David to fuck off for a second before turning back to Mickey. “Finishing this later,” he whispers. Ian winks at him before heading back inside. Mickey stays out there for another smoke, needing it after that.

-

Cuddled up and ready to pass the fuck out, Mickey lays on his back, naked, with Ian half on top of him. Mickey’s eyes are closed, waiting for sleep to come as he listens to Ian breathing, his soft, warm breath hitting his chest, and his gentle fingers tracing his name tattooed on Mickey’s chest.

“You asleep?” Ian whispers.

“Not yet,” he whispers back, turning his head slightly, Ian’s soft hair tickling his nose.

Ian lifts his head so that his chin is now digging into Mickey’s chest. He looks at him, barely any light illuminating his face, and says, “So you liked them right? Did we finally make couple friends that we can hang out with?”

Mickey chuckles softly, shaking Ian’s head since he’s still resting it on him. “They’re definitely better than anyone else you’ve made me meet but -”

Ian waits and when Mickey doesn’t continue he asks, “But what?”

Mickey sighs, shifting slightly. “I just don’t care about any of these people. I like when it’s just us.”

“Awww, Mick,” Ian coos, snuggling closer by shoving his face into his neck and kissing him all over.

“Okay, okay, okay, stop, Ian,” Mickey warns as he feels like he’s going to lose it soon, getting ticklish.

“That was so fuckin’ cute,” Ian says after he pulls back, giving Mickey some personal space.

“Not cute,” Mickey grumbles.

“You are. You want me all to yourself,” Ian says and even though Mickey can’t see it, he knows Ian has a huge fuckin’ grin on his face.

“Yeah so I actually like my husband and spending time with him, sue me,” Mickey says, making Ian laugh.

Ian tilts Mickey’s head towards him and kisses him softly. He only catches Mickey’s top lip but with some adjusting, they kiss sweetly and so filled with love. “I love you, Mickey. You’re my best friend and I love spending all my time with you,” he tells him softly.

“Okay well then I guess sometimes we can hang out with them again. Not every fuckin’ week though.”

“Deal,” Ian says before kissing his cheek loudly then getting back into position with his head on Mickey’s chest and fingers lightly tracing his tattoo.

Mickey holds him close, kissing the top of his head. “Night baby,” he whispers against his hair.

Ian kisses his chest, “Night baby.”

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s S2 R&S - A Proud Heart

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers from an R&S (骄傲之心) which has not been released in EN! 🍒

Features S2 Gavin

This R&S was released on 3 June 2021

Highly recommended that you read S2 Ch 11 before proceeding!

[ Chapter One ]

After retiring from the STF due to an illness, He Jian Qiu opened a bookstore in a small street that isn’t really lively, and very few customers visit the shop. To him, however, he isn’t relying on this to make money. He simply wants to be at leisure and at ease. 

On this day, he’s reading a book by the window as usual. As though he suddenly spotted something, he stands up violently, brisk walking to the entrance of the shop. After hanging a “On a Break Today” signboard outside, he returns inside.

He leans against a bookshelf in the shadows, furrowing his brows.

He stares fixedly at the wall. Before his eyes, the scene of the street outside the window surfaces, and a man is walking towards the bookstore -

He Jian Qiu has a very unique Evol. Within a designated scope, he’s able to share the sight and hearing of other living organisms. Thanks to this ability, he used to be the “eyes” of the previous generation of STF members. Under his perfect commands, his team members were able to carry out many successful missions.

Even after retiring, he retained this cautiousness.

He Jian Qiu’s eyes are blazing like torches. Everyone in the crowd, birds, and even stray cats can become his eyes as he follows behind this young man.

He recognises this young man. If possible, He Jian Qiu would rather not meet him.

He hopes this young man is simply passing by.

He Jian Qiu makes a quiet prayer in his heart.

Unfortunately, the young man halts directly outside the shop entrance, a gentle breeze brushing the stray hairs in front of his forehead, revealing a pair of resolute amber eyes.

He glances at the signboard hanging outside the door, then knocks on the door lightly, lowering his head slightly as he pulls it open slowly. His footsteps are very light, as though he’s unwilling to disrupt the tranquility belonging to the books. He steps into the shop, but his feet stop at the entrance.

“Captain He, sorry to disturb you.”

The young man calls him by his former term of address. His voice is resolute and steady, leaving the latter feeling slightly resigned.

He Jian Qiu sighs softly in his heart, then steps out from the shadow behind the bookshelf slowly. The young man in front of him brings with him travel-worn weariness. His shoulders are perfectly straight but unable to conceal his fatigue, as though a certain silent darkness is quietly clinging to his surroundings, corroding him beneath the sunlight.

He recognises this young man.

Gavin, who has only recently taken up the post of the new captain of the Special Operations Team, and the youngest Commander in the STF. Such a person has a limitlessly bright future, and his prospects are boundless.

Such a person has no need to appear before a man who has half his feet in a coffin.

“Gav, this is the first time we’re meeting. I’m really happy that you’ve come to greet this retired old man. Do you want something to drink?”

He lowers his head and walks to the counter, picking up a teacup, wanting this meeting to become an idle, amiable chat between a senior and junior.

“Captain He, I’m investigating the ‘New Year’s Eve Change Incident’.”

There is absolutely nothing hidden in his clear and simple words. It shoots him directly, reminiscent of a fatal bullet.

[Note] This incident involved a majority of Evolvers who staged a riot and had to be suppressed. Gavin suspects that there’s more to the incident than what was publicly announced because it’s incredibly difficult to find the people related to it

-

[ Chapter Two ]

The sound of churning tea fills the quiet air. After He Jian Qiu hears Gavin’s words, his face remains unaffected.

He places the poured tea on the counter, the dense steam causing Gavin’s face to turn slightly hazy. “Wasn’t the case concluded four years ago?”

He Jian Qiu retrieves a slightly flattened cigarette box from his pocket. “The military and STF arrested many Evolvers who started the chaos on the spot. I remember that you provided assistance back then. There isn’t anything worth investigating, is there?”

He glances at the teacup which hasn’t been picked up, then hangs a cigarette bud at his mouth, looking at Gavin. “I used new tea leaves I just received from the south to prepare this. Try it.”

Gavin doesn’t move an inch. His gaze sweeps past the teacup, then fixes itself onto He Jian Qiu’s face.

“I met an Evolver who escaped during the New Year’s Change arrest.”

Loud blares from vehicles outside the window barge in, puncturing the peace in the bookstore. Gavin’s expression is calm, without a hint of wavering. “He told me a few things related to what happened back then.”

“And you simply believed him?”

“There are many doubtful points related to this incident.” Gavin doesn’t seem to mind the teasing tone in He Jian Qiu’s voice. He continues, neither servile nor overbearing. “All the materials related to the New Year’s Change Incident, all materials related the location and the criminals who were arrested have all been handed to ‘the other side’. Apart from that, everyone who was involved in the matter were either transferred to another post, went missing, or died. All that’s left in the materials are the words ‘Evolver Riot’.”

“Do you really think these are all just coincidences?”

This question...

He Jian Qiu can’t help but laugh in his heart. Instead of calling this a question, it’s more accurate to call it an interrogation.

Even though he didn’t participate in that operation, he did provide a certain level of assistance behind the scenes due to his unique Evol ability.

“But Captain He should have ‘seen’ something, am I correct?” Gavin’s face is against the light, but his eyes are especially bright. “Otherwise, I should have had the opportunity... to become a team member under Captain He.”

Gavin’s words almost make He Jian Qiu choke on the cigarette bud in his mouth. He can't help but chuckle aloud, taking a more careful look at this young man’s face.

Persistent, resolute, unwavering, unconceited, but the words he speaks are exact and deadly.

While appreciating this, he sighs in his heart. “You think too much.”

He Jian Qiu picks up the teacup Gavin has yet to touch. The steam has dispersed since a long time ago, and only a faint warmth is left. “It’s very normal for young people to go on a wild goose chase, but you have to know when to turn back when it’s appropriate to do so. The New Year’s Change Incident is a concluded case. Everyone has accepted this truth as of today, and there’s no need to continue investigating further.”

“NW is keeping watch on me.” Gavin’s voice is slightly gloomy. “If there aren’t any issues with the case, they wouldn’t need to do that.”

“Since they’re merely keeping watch on you, it means they trust that you wouldn’t be able to find anything.”

Hearing He Jian Qiu’s agile response, Gavin is silent. He watches him quietly, as though still perplexed about something. He Jian Qiu lights another cigarette, looking out of the window and at the magnificent sunlight. “You’ve met Old Yan, haven’t you.”

[Note] Officer Yan was introduced in S2 Ch 11. He's an ex-police officer who was involved in the New Year’s Change incident. At present, many people are hunting him down, either to find the truth or to silence him for good. He managed to meet Gavin once, resulting in his motivation to investigate the matter

In that instant, Gavin’s expression slackens for a moment, and his body quivers involuntarily.

“Do I need to be clearer? Officer Yan - the old police officer who has been investigating the New Year’s Change Incident. His left arm is gone. You claim outwardly that you haven’t found him, but you’ve actually already met him. After meeting him, you heard about what happened during the New Year’s Change Incident and Old Yan’s conjectures. You were swayed because of that, and went to look for your ‘female friend’...”

“That’s enough.”

Gavin suddenly speaks, interrupting He Jian Qiu’s words. His hands subconsciously clench into fists, and He Jian Qiu simply puffs out some smoke calmly.

"There are no airtight walls in this world. You still have many opportunities and many futures. There’s no need to waste your time on this matter. Old Yan’s job is gone, his arm is gone, his family is gone, his lover is gone.”

“There’s no need to become like that too.”

As though dealing a final judgment, the air in the surroundings is as quiet as death.

In the end, He Jian Qiu hears Gavin’s soft question. “Is that how you persuaded yourself?”

-

[ Chapter Three ]

He Jian Qiu knows what that young fellow Gavin meant.

A day after Gavin left the bookstore, an unknown number flashes on his phone screen.

“Old He, how have you been?”

The voice which hadn’t appeared in a very long time unexpectedly and lightly tugs at certain memories which he intended to toss to the back of his mind.

He Jian Qiu swallows, the subtle sound in his throat secretly betraying his current anxiety.

“Why are you nervous?” The person at the other end of the line laughs. “I’m just asking about how business is at that bookstore of yours.”

“You didn’t meet anyone inappropriate, did you?”

He Jian Qiu blinks lightly. “Yesterday, that new captain from STF dropped by. Gavin - you know him, don’t you? He said he wanted to learn from my experience, but you should also know that I have nothing to teach him.”

“My eyes aren’t doing that well either. So we just drank some tea, and he left. But that young man is pretty good. You can tell he’s capable just by looking at him.”

“He’s pretty good.”

The voice at the other end of the line is light, as though this call is nothing more than an ordinary exchange of pleasantries.

After hanging up, He Jian Qiu pretends to continue reading his book calmly, but not single word goes in. He tosses the book onto the table roughly, shutting his eyes.

Gavin’s investigation in the New Year’s Change Incident is far deeper than what he imagined.

When Old Yan became a fugitive back then, his eyesight became progressively poorer. He used this to falsely claim that his Evol was affected, and he fled from the STF. After all, whether good or bad, he had seen too many things.

He Jian Chu’s gaze leaps from countless eyes in the city, and he very quickly finds Gavin. There’s a “tail” following behind him, but he’s unwilling to give up, continuing to seek intelligence from informants in the grey areas.

However, Gavin doesn’t seem to meet Old Yan again. They probably have a special mode of communication, which is very smart.

Over the subsequent days, He Jian Qiu continues following after Gavin’s tracks.

He has been looking for several officers who participated in the New Year’s Change Incident. He Jian Qiu is very familiar with that group of people. Most of them genuinely have no idea about it, and were simply following orders. They wouldn’t know of any inside information.

But Gavin persistently inquired about any strange points during the operation. Some of them cooperated, but some...

Through the eyes of a sparrow on an electric pole, He Jian Qiu watches as Gavin is asked to leave a house. The family member’s face is furious. Gavin simply lowers his head, bowing in a polite manner.

Quite a number of team members lost their lives during that operation. To their family, this was a tragic matter which was conferred honour. They gave up their lives to maintain the safety and peace of society, and protecting the dignity of STF. Even though Gavin understands this, the process of investigation will always make one feel a slight knot in one’s heart.

With the cold sound of the door shutting, Gavin stands in place quietly, the sunlight above his head brilliant yet harsh, casting his shadow beneath his feet. It’s as though there isn’t a single trace of darkness hidden in the entire world.

After a very long time, Gavin lifts his head, then turns around to leave.

After several days of interviews, Gavin is unable to find any useful leads or information. He Jian Qiu watches as he walks on the main street slowly, passers-by facing him and walking in the opposite direction.

He’s walking down the old road that Old Yan had taken, walking in the direction contrary to everyone else.

He Jian Qiu retracts his ability, then looks out of the window. He wonders why Old Yan would take the risk to meet him, but he hopes that these unsuccessful days would enable Gavin to understand clearly that putting the New Year’s Change Incident aside isn’t a bad thing for him.

After all, he still has a future. 

-

[ Chapter Four ]

Gavin’s investigation continues.

When faced with such people who are unwilling to give up, He Jian Qiu can’t help but release a fierce sigh.

He believes that Gavin clearly understands the degree of danger in investigating the New Year’s Change Incident. Worried that they would get silenced for getting involved in this matter, the informants he had contacted before retracted their actions before crossing the danger line.

Nobody wants to die, especially not due to supplying information. They are slicker than anyone else.

With regard to this, Gavin understands.

This is why he doesn’t insist on too much. Once he has given these people remuneration, he continues with the investigation alone.

He returns to the very place where the riot started back then - an old and slightly dilapidated street in the suburbs of Loveland City.

Back then, Evolvers were not in an optimistic situation. People were filled with fear and bias against them. As such, Evolvers either concealed their abilities and hid amongst the crowd, pretending to be ordinary people, or search for other Evolvers, and collectively form a place with only Evolvers. 

These few streets were one of the places where activities would be held for only Evolvers. Nobody knew what they gathered here to do. When news eventually spread to civilians, it became the starting ground for the “Evolver Riot”.

Gavin leaps over the sealed wire meshes, heading deeper down the street. The place had already been burnt into a vast expanse of white, fragments of broken tiles and tattered clothes lying on the scorched ground. From time to time, the terrifying sound of rats nibbling on food drifts in the quiet surroundings.

Gavin doesn’t halt in his footsteps, which surprises He Jian Qiu.

Could it be that he discovered something?

Just as He Jian Qiu suspects that he has seen something, Gavin suddenly takes action. He ducks into a blindspot near a building, instantly firing a shot in a certain direction behind him.

The sudden attack causes the person behind Gavin to panic. In an instant, a fierce wind rises. The man is rolled into the wind, and is then lifted into the air in the next second.

The other party is likely well-trained. He immediately adjusts his centre of gravity in the air, bringing the gun in his hand to his chest.

- it’s just that Gavin’s even faster.

Gavin’s bullet strikes the palm of the other party accurately. When he falls to the ground, Gavin gives him a steady punch. Gavin doesn’t give the other party a moment to breathe, striking his joints with every move. In just a few strikes, the other party is left unconscious.

His movements are clean and smooth, and done in one swift motion.

Just as He Jian Qiu thinks that Gavin would do something after handling this “tail”, Gavin lifts his head, meeting the eyes of a crow, and meeting the eyes of He Jian Qiu.

“Captain He.” Gavin speaks mildly. “There aren’t any other surveillance cameras here.”

He Jian Qiu sighs, then takes out a new phone card from his drawer, pressing on a series of numbers.

“You beat him up just like that?”

“I simply realised that someone was following me, and acted in self-defence.” Gavin narrows his eyes, which are filled with a wilful sharpness. “But I forgot to ask who he was.”

Seeing Gavin before him, He Jian Qiu truly admires him.

He’s capable, skilled, and able to make judgements. He can have a great future, and doesn’t have to be like Old Yan - nesting in darkness like a mouse, searching for an abstract justice and truth, remaining nameless till death.

There’s no need to.

He Jian Qiu has a nameless fire in his heart. That pair of resolute and unstained amber eyes render him incomparably restless. “Must you really get involved in this trifling matter? Do you think you’re really just, and want to be a hero?”

“I’ll tell you this - I’ve seen many just people. Some of them talk about ‘justice’ and ‘protection’, but end up doing somewhat inhumane things.”

“Right now, aren’t many people looking for CORE? Can’t you investigate that instead? Look at the future of this world. Why make a special effort for a group of dead people?”

“If a person is unable to face the past properly, he can’t move forward.” Gavin’s words are very soft, but are incomparably resolute.

“If someone has to search for the truth, that person could be me.”

-

[ Chapter Five ]

In the end, He Jian Qiu guides Gavin in evading various modes of surveillance and gazes, and returns to his bookstore.

“You seemed to be interviewing the officers who were involved in that operation and the family members of the Evolvers. But in actual fact, that wasn’t the case, was it?” He lights a cigarette bud, but his eyes are not on Gavin.

Gavin arches his brows, lifting the corners of his lips. “Captain He, does this question mean you want to help me?”

“You rascal. Don’t speak nonsense.”

He Jian Qiu says this quickly, but he knows that the balance in his heart is tilting slowly.

He pours a cup of tea for Gavin, and there’s a drizzle outside the window.

“Back then, I was sent from the police academy to assist, so I was just there as an outsider to control a few absconding Evolvers. The only thing I did back then was to carry out orders.”

Amid the soft sound of light rain, He Jian Qiu listens quietly to Gavin as he relates every moment of his assistance in the New Year’s Change Incident.

“I heard afterwards that the family of a rioter came to the STF, and said their child couldn’t have done such a thing. But in the end, there was nothing definite. Only after I joined the STF, and only after I saw even more people, I realised that the New Year’s Change Incident might not tally with that was announced publicly.” 

“Perhaps many people knew about it, but no one really wanted to do anything.”

“Many people died, but they didn’t have to meet such an ending - dying while shouldering the name of a rioter.” Gavin looks at the steam rising from the cup. “I visited the home of one of the Evolvers who died. His mother committed suicide after finding out that her son participated in the riot. The old man who was left behind was discriminated by the masses, and was chased out of his rented house. I heard that he eventually went insane.”

“Captain He, should they have such endings?”

He Jian Qiu is suddenly left speechless.

Of course he knows. He’s able to see. In fact, he's able to see more things than ordinary people.

Being involved in this matter would lead to even more unseen dangers. Agony, objection, and even hopelessness, and walking in the opposite direction as everyone else.

He can’t help but smile. In Gavin, he sees what he once saw in Old Yan, and perhaps there are even more things he has yet to see.

He knows why Old Yan chose him. Even though he really hopes for Gavin to walk beneath the sunlight, he stretches out his hand.

“You lost.”

A sound drifts from behind the door. A man peeks his head from behind a bookshelf, and Gavin is dumbfounded when he sees the new arrival.

“Officer Yan...?!” He shoots a glance at He Jian Qing, reacting immediately. “The reason why Officer Yan could evade them...”

He Jian Qiu doesn’t say anything, and simply smiles while raising his hands, indicating a surrender.

Gavin looks at Old Yan. “Was Officer Yan testing me the other time?”

“Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to live this long.” Old Yan simply arches his brows, lighting a cigarette. “Now, you truly have no way of turning back.”

“I’ve never thought of turning back.”

He Jian Qiu looks at the young man before him. Amid the dense light, he’s forthright and persistent, as though nothing can defeat him, nor can anything taint him.

“Come. Let’s head somewhere else.”

He stands up, pushing both Gavin and Old Yan into a dark room within the bookshop.

Their figures cross over the dividing line between light and shadows, fading into the darkness slowly, though they seem to be emitting light. 

💙 More S2 content: here

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[the-slasher-files]

OC: ANDREI KULOKOVA - NSFW ALPHABET

18 + ahead. Andrei is a freak and I cannot stop thinking about him so he needed this post badly.. hope you enjoy 🔪💕

MASTERLIST

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Usually Andrei is very attentive after sex, especially after a particularly rough session. He will clean you of any blood, kiss your bruises and cuts, stroke your hair and call you his perfect little mouse.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His own favorite body part would have to be his hands and his teeth. Andrei’s hands are very skillful, and he likes to work with them any chance he gets either for murder or for love. The man has extremely sharp canine teeth that he loves to bite, plus Andrei knows it makes him sexier and more animalistic.

Andrei loves his partners neck and back. He goes wild if you have short hair or have your hair up, he will just sit there watching your back and neck as you make him dinner, loving how the muscles move and flex, adoring every bone in your back rise and fall, they’re just so breakable. It feeds his feral side if he sees you faulting the mark he has given you.  

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

This boy likes it messy, big time messy. It is almost like an animalistic desire to see you covered in him and even yourself, if you mix a little blood in there too, oh boy, you’ve unlocked feral Andrei. He does also have a huge breeding kink and he will fill you up one thousand times over, finger you watching it ooze and drip, then rubbing it all over you and him. Andrei is nasty. He might even eat you out while your dripping his cum out of you.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He secretly wants to be a sub but it will take a long, long time for him to get there and be comfortable being a switch. Andrei loves his partners to ride him and that is his submissive side wanting to be released, but he will always act as if he is in control. 

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Andrei is defiantly experienced in sex, but in a relationship, that’s a bit different. He is very good at sex and he knows it, but he tends to be a little selfish and loose himself, just jackhammering into you. Often Andrei has “fun” with his prey and has paid more than he would like to admit for a good time.   

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Missionary, doggy or having his partner ride him. Missionary is by far his favorite, Andrei wants, needs, to feel you writhe under him, he wants you to look him in the eyes as you cum, and feeling your pulse under his fingers.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Andrei is a very serious man in every way, and sex is often very intense, there is no room or enough air to laugh, but after a long time of being together he has a strange silly side to him. Especially if you catch him off guard with a joke he doesn't quite understand, "You are interesting little mouse" or Andrei's sadistic humor comes out when you jump a little too much at the flick of his knife.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Andrei is not a hairy man by any means, so he is very fortunate enough to let his hair go and it is still only a medium amount of hair. Not overly long, curly light brown, but he likes to keep it under control for the most part. Andrei also has a little treasure trail.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Now Andrei has no clue how to be romantic, it is never something anyone had ever shown him, so keeping you alive, living together and sex is his romance. Andrei is very intense in the bedroom and will kiss and love you there but outside of the bedroom, you might have to help him. Intimacy can be hard because he is very touched starved, the small touches and gentle kisses is something that is hard for him, so don’t be mad if you go hold Andrei’s hand and he pulls away. You need to teach him a lot in this department. His favorite thing is holding you though, either sweeping you off your feet or holding you on his lap, man loves it. 

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Andrei is a horny man who is gone a lot from home so of course he jacks off. Sometimes even if you’re at home he will call you into the bedroom and will just be fisting his cock smirking at you

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

This guy has so so many but his top favorites are blood, breath play, knives, predator/prey, breeding, daddy, fear play and bondage. He is a creative man with a lot of time on his hands.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Andrei will literally take you anywhere he damn pleases, from the field to the abandoned buildings to any surface in the house. He lives in the middle of nowhere so why bother trying to hide.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

This guy is horny 89% of the time, so just always watch your back for the wolf lurking in the house. Your new pair of jeans that hug your ass just right? careful. Batting your lashes when looking up at him? watch out. If you really want him to get going, get yourself something sliky and lacy that puts your body on display, straddle his lap with one of his knives in hand, holy shit Andrei will lose it. 

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Andrei honestly doesn't have many no's and he will try it at least once before saying no. Absolutely no mommy kinks, given his past. Humiliation is a big no, he will never do it to you and you should never do it to him. Overly dominating him in his life, if you are worthy enough to see his sub side only use that in the bedroom, if you take that into every day life by ordering him around or asking for certain tasks done he is going to be very annoyed and pissed off. With you Andrei only wants a few simple things like cleaning his house, making him dinner and cuddling on the couch, other than that you are a free person, he won't try to really control you much. Just don't be stupid by leaving or putting yourself in danger or else his control and overbearingness comes out.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Now Andrei loves to see his s/o writhe, whimper and beg for him. It's an animalistic need. And he is stupidly perfect with his tongue and his hands are extremely skillful. You will have a great time with him going down on you, just watch his teeth if he gets too carried away and he loves to tease and edge so he might be down there a while. However Andrei doesn't go down on you too often because he knows he just that good, and he's an ass. But if you thought just because he doesn't go down on you often means you are off the hook?? Nope. He has a huge thing for getting his dick sucked and he's going to make you do it constantly.. sorry.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Andrei is a delicious, addicting mix of both in a way. He might edge and tease with foreplay for hours but the wolf is going to intensely and roughly ruin you, but if he is switches positions with you he likes to take it slow for a minute just watching you, praising and stroking your hair, probably wiping a tear or blood away, then back to impaling you. It's a true battle between the wolf and Andrei all they time.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He is a big fan, mainly just because he is horny a lot and has a lot of work to do. It's and instant anger/stress relief for him. But at the end of the day if you can quiet his mind enough Andrei enjoys watching you to crumble slowly under his hands and go for a long, long session.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He is an ex soldier and mercenary, of course he's a risk taker. Andrei, like I said before, likes to try stuff at least once before saying no. Also being with him everyday is a risk in general, with all his knives and blood obsession.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

This guy has stamina for days. You would think with all the cigarettes he smokes he would be dead in 10 minutes, but boy were you wrong. His hunts can go on for 10 hours or more sometimes, so you are at least in for 3-5 rounds at a time. If Andrei has been gone on a mission for a month or so and comes home you are not leaving the bedroom (or where ever he wants to fuck you) for at least 2 days.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn't necessarily like toys to make you or himself cum but for teasing he will totally be down for it. Andrei rather just use his mouth or hands. Skin on skin is what he likes.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Andrei adores teasing so much, he wants to break you down, bulid you back up then pick you apart again and again. He will put a plug in you all day just making sure you're ready for whenever he chooses to come home. Edging you is his favorite past time, he will do it until you cry and he will wipe the tears away and say "you're so beautiful myshka"

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is not very talkative in his everyday life but man is a huge dirty talker when getting into it. He also produces wolf like growls deep within his throat creating the most sinful and sexual noise you had ever heard

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Silly drunk Andrei is my personal favorite, and it doesn't happen often at all so take it and run with it. He will start Russian dancing and almost failing over telling you watch him and learn, its very serious to him that you watch. He will also start singing old Russian songs from his childhood, loudly and wildly. Love and cherish this Andrei.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Man is a big boy all the way through, even below the belt. A good 7 inches and thicker than average. Circumcised with a beautiful rosey head, and 2 large veins running the length.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Man wants to go literally all the time. He has an inhuman sex drive. If you just tell him you want him Andrei drops everything and bends you over the nearest surface.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Andrei has a hard time sleeping and winding down. His active mind just will not stop, so he really enjoys just watching you sleep on his chest, being gentle with his hands along your body and in your hair. If you don't fall asleep very fast either now is the perfect time to talk with him, get stories of his missions, Russian folk tales, funny stories about his brothers in the military and brutal childhood. He just wants someone to share his pain and his love with at the end of the night. Run your hands along his scars and in his hair while you're at it and you will have tamed a wolf.

[floatinginwords]

Saved by the Devil (3/?) - Tommy Shelby

Summary: You deal with the aftermath of Eden club and an angry Sabini

Paring: Tommy Shelby x fem!reader (not romantic..yet)

A/n: This chapter was very hard and long to write but im glad i got it done to share with you all. I have some cool plans for the next chapter and i promise theres actually gonna be alot of Tommy in the next chapter. so yay.

It wasn’t too long after the fight and gunshot scare when the Eden decide to finally close for the night. Leaving you, Trinity, and the rest of the workers left with a mess to clean. You can see Alastair giving you looks as the men staring from before lean in and whisper in his ear.

 “Those men are kiss assess to Sabini. They’ll say anything to get on his goes side.” Trinity whispers as the two of you sweep shards of glass and garbage off the floor.

 You can feel their eyes on your back as you worked. You stay silent the rest of night, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself. But as you and Trinity clock out for the night, Alastair’s calls out for you. Trinity eyes widen with panic. You straighten your back as you walk toward the man.

 “Ill be out here waiting.” Trinity calls out to you.

 Alastair arms are folded across his chest, bags under his eyes forming from the long night, and his hair disheveled. You never really had any relationship with Alastair. You knew him who he was, of course. Second to Sabini, runs the club and anything else Sabini didn’t want to deal with. He was loyal to the man, so there was no doubt in your mind that he told Sabini about tonight. 

“(y/n), I just wanted to tell you that Sabini is gonna want to see you in three days. The diner at twelve,” He doesn’t make eye contact as he speaks, “I’ve also told Sabini about tonight. Your name came up.”

 “What do you mean?” You tilt your head to the side, ignoring the feeling of your blood turning cold.

 “Some guys said they saw you speaking to Thomas Shelby.”

 You open your mouth to speak but Alastair beats you to it. “It doesn’t matter what it was about. Or even if its true. You know I gotta report this shit. Boys saw you and said it looked like you knew each other… I’m just giving you a heads up.”

He walks away with nothing more to add to the conversation.

“Goodnight Alastair.” You say.

“Goodnight, (Y/N).”

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

Trinity the good friend that she is waits outside, walking around in circles anxiously waiting for you. When the door open and you walk out, she sighs and her shoulders finally relax.

 “Are you okay? What happened in there?” She questions.

 You loop your arms through hers and lead her down the sidewalk. You lean towards her ear as soon as your far enough from the club.

 “He’s gonna fucking kill me.” You whisper through gritted teeth and tears threatening to fall.

 “What, why?” Trinity stops looking at you in confusion and fear.

And you tell her what Alastair just told you and how now you have to meet up with Sabini himself.

 “You said it was nothing though.” Trinity says.

 You stay silent.

“(y/n), it was nothing, right? You don’t know him.” She asks you.

You continue with your silence. Trinity’s eyebrows raise and her jaw drops.

“Are you serious?”

“It was just,” You struggle to find the right words, “business. That Asylum I was in, he got me out.” You explain.

“Why would he do that?”

You swallow a lump in your throat, “He wanted information on my father…”

A pause in the air. You take a deep breath and stare at your friend. Her eyes huge and full of fear.

“Some men said they saw me and Shelby talking. We looked liked we knew each other. Sabini won’t take that well. And you know he believes his guys over everything.”

“So you lie your ass off.” Trinity declares, her voice trembling as she tries to sound strong. 

 You nod hearing her words. But deep inside you had a bad feeling. You seem to never escape the dangers of death or some sort of imprisonment. You head goes back Mr. Shelby’s words from earlier.

“Its funny, for someone who longs for freedom you sure have a way of getting yourself trapped all the time.”

 You wonder if he says shit like that cause he knows its gonna hurt. You never told the man about your desire for freedom. You knew from that one meeting in that visitors room he was analyzing you as were you to him. Only you got nothing from him and he seemed to get more than he let on.

 “I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow.” You tell Trinity.

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

You walk into an a very lit room with dining tables and chairs all around. It looked like a place you’d have brunch at. A place around this time which looked to be noon, would be crowed. But only one man sat with his back towards you. Sabini was reading the newspaper, flipping the pages harshly. It looked to you like he was only reading the headlines. He glances up noticing another presence near him.

“(Y/N), sit. “He gestures to the seat right next to him. The air is tense around him and as you sit, faking a smile.

He takes a moment to speak. “Do you wanna hear a story?”

“You don’t have to play games with me Sabini. What happened?” You cross you legs as you put a cigarette in your mouth.

“How long have you known Thomas Shelby?”

You light the cigarette and puff out a stream of smoke in the air. “Never heard of him.”

“The man you were talking to last night.”

“I talked to a lot of men last night.” You add.

“The one who caused a commotion in the club.” He grinds his teeth and narrowing his eyes, not liking the game you’re playing.

“I don’t know Sabini, I think he asked me for a drink or something.”

Sabini leans forward in the chair, lightly touching your knee. You hold the urge to cringe and slap his hand away.

“I don’t believe you.” He says and he leans back, grabbing his newspaper pretending to read it again. His eyebrow twitches as he does.

You stay silent, knowing that anything you say would just make matters worse. You hold the cigarette out in front of you no longer wanting to smoke.

“I had someone look through some of Blue Hills Records. Your father put donations every year to place to secure you staying there. The month you get out Thomas fuckin Shelby puts a donation. A fuckin big one. Tell me, did he buy you to be his whore?”

He looks up from the paper again and stares at you intently. He sighs.

“I won’t kill you (Y/N) but you gotta go. Get out of my fucking territory and make sure I don’t see your face again. Cause if I do I wont hesitate.” He says.

You nod. Not trusting your voice to stay even.

He holds up three fingers. “You got three days to disappear.” He waves his hand for you to go. You don’t waste no time in doing so. Letting the cigarette drop on the floor on your way out. 

You head back to your apartment and the first thing you do is cry. You absolutely had no place to go. The only friend you had was Trinity and she lived in Sabini’s territory. One conversation landed you jobless and homeless with a death threat hanging over your head by a single thread. You curse yourself from ever talking to him. The conversation not even 3 minutes wasn’t worth all this damage.

The phone rings across your room. You don’t want to talk but know it must be Trinity. You pick it up and sure enough its her, worried as hell. You tell her every detail that happened, letting your anxieties fumble through the phone to your friend.

“I might have a fried who can take you in. She just moved into a house and she’s far from anything of Sabinis.” You hear Trinity say

“Okay, okay great. Can you call her up?” Your shoulders relaxing little by little with this new piece of hope.

“Yes, of course. Ill call her now!”

“Wait, what’s her name?”

“Ada Thorne, beautiful soul. I think you’ll get along lovely with her.” 

Read pt.4

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@captivatedbycillianmurphy

[havethetimeofyourstyles]

Chapter Two. Keep the Tip

the scene is set in 1956, a young man moved to Hollywood to follow his dreams of becoming an actor. But with little money and a struggle to keep his apartment, he is approached by a man who offers him a job at Sweetland

SERIES MASTERLIST | JOIN THE TAGLIST | chapter word count: 8.5k

chapter warnings: smoking, alcohol consumption, smut

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True to his word, Harry came back the following day to start his official first day.

After a night of pondering and overthinking his decision, he came to the conclusion that it might be a fun journey along the way. He had no clue who he would meet, and he learned that he needed to make some connections if he wanted to continue acting. That’s what it was all about, right? Meet the right people and you’ll get your foot in the door.

It was hard always trying to get an audition or even a screen test. So, if this job, working at a candy shop and fucking people for money will help him, then he’ll take it. And besides, he needed to pay rent by the end of the week.

His dreams were high, he knew that. It was going to be a long process to get what he wants, and is he okay with that? For now, he is. Not everything will be handed to him on a silver platter, he knows that, and his looks could only get him so far if they think he’s a bad actor. But he wanted it bad. He’ll wait as long as possible to get what he wants, and if that means working at a candy shop before reaching his dreams, then it’ll be worth it in the end.

He took a deep breath as he stood in front of the store, putting out his cigarette for just a few puffs as he tried to calm himself. After a few minutes as nerves creeped up his skin, he fixed the knot of his sparkly top and put out his cigarette before walking in

“Ah, hey, kid. I’m glad you came back,” Daren said, puffing out smoke from his cigar once he saw Harry enter. He immediately walked beside him to put an arm around his shoulder. “Ready for this?” Harry didn’t say anything but nod. “Perfect. Just rearrange the containers for now, and chill out. Could feel you shaking with nerves. I’ll call you when it’s time,” Daren patted his shoulder, trying to get Harry to calm down.

“Okay,” Harry replied and Daren walked away. “Hey,” he called out, his boss turning around. “Thank you—for giving me a second chance.”

“You got it, kid,” Daren smiled, placing his cigar bag into his mouth. “It’d be a shame to let you walk away,” he said as Harry started reorganizing the containers.

It was nearing 4 p.m and it’s been some exhausting and slow hours. He’s watched his coworkers help customers bag their candy and he’s heard the customers say the famous phrase going on around here. All while, stocking and sorting the jars, he saw them walk out with a lady or man with their arm slung loosely around them as they gave them flirty smirks. He wondered if the customers were regulars because everyone was just way too comfortable for it to be their first time in the shop, unless people are just usually like that, which he admires.

But so far, Daren hadn’t called Harry to help a customer out; just let him stay in the back or on the sides as he heard Daren call the rest and not him. Throughout working, Harry thought that he probably forgot about him. Forgot about the kid who didn’t want to do their job right on their actual first day, so he was taking it easy on him. But Harry really needed the money, and he heard from Jimmy that he would make even more if a customer takes you away from work. But Harry’s grateful for even having a job that pays, but he would like to make more just so he knows he’s secure.

After feeling like his day was over, wiping down the counters and the spaces between the jars, Daren suddenly called him.

“Harry! Get over here,” he called out. Harry turned around and walked over to him, seeing Daren standing in front of the most gorgeous woman he’s seen in his life. “Harry will take care of you,” he told the lady before walking away.

“H-Hi. I’m Harry,” he introduced himself, stuttering a bit as he’s quite taken back at how beautiful you are. You were wearing a red tube top along with a skirt that went below your knees, and a big belt to secure your skirt. Your hair was in a low bun as it was sleek with no flyaways.

You blushed, sensing his nerves but also realizing that he’s quite attractive himself--too attractive as you were trying to focus on the candy rather than his face. You loved his outfit, thinking how good he pulled it off along with his effortless looking curly hair. His smile is what got to you, making your stomach flutter as he showed off his dimpled smile.

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” you replied, introducing yourself as well before roaming the aisles of candy.

“How can I help you? We have, uh, boxed candies or I can bag some up for you,” he said, following you. Your hand reached for the bags, but Harry beat you to it. “Oh! I’ll do the bags,” he said in a bit of a rushed tone.

Harry opened the candy bag a bit flustered as he didn’t expect you to as well. Your hands touched in the most delicate and innocent way, but were immediately pulled back from the unexpected touch. A soft smile was present on your face, and you looked up to find the same smile on Harry’s.

“Sorry about that. Didn’t know you were supposed to get the bag for me.”

“Yeah, we baggage everything for you here. Don’t have to lift that finger of yours.”

“Good to know,” you said slyly since you already knew as you just wanted to feel his hand against yours even if it was for a little bit.

“Uh, so what can I get you?” Harry asked.

“I’m out of lollipops, so those would be nice,” you told him, walking over to the container carrying all the lollipops.

“Any particular flavor?” Harry asked, opening the container.

“Particularly strawberry. Seven to be exact,” you said.

“Seven? Lucky number?” He raised his brows at you, picking specifically the strawberry lollies.

“Not really. Just need them to last me throughout the week,” you smiled at him, teeth and all. He instantly realized that you had the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen. The way it just fits so perfectly with your gleaming eyes is enough to make his heart flutter.

“Seven it is. Anything else?” You looked around the shop, trying to find something that’ll interest your sweet tooth. He saw you purse your lips as you looked around before you met eyes with him.

“By any chance… do you sell cloud nines here?” You asked softly, smirking a bit as you wanted the words only to be heard by Harry.

Harry’s eyes widened, not expecting to hear those words from you. He cleared his throat and pulled his collar, feeling like he couldn’t breathe or think straight. With a scratch to his head, he replied, “Yes. We do in fact. How about I ring you up first?”

“Sounds lovely.” You followed him to the register, taking out a $5 bill before handing it to him. “Keep the change,” you told him, seeing the lollies were only fifty cents.

“Thank you. That’s very generous of you,” he said, putting the rest of the change in the tip jar.

“You’re welcome. Shall we?” You smiled, and he nodded, the candy bag still in his hand as he walked around the counter and followed you outside to your car.

Fishing out for your keys in your purse, you stood in front of a pink Mercedes convertible, and Harry’s jaw dropped.

“This is your car?” He asked, checking your baby out. Your head turned up, smiling at his admiration for your car.

“Like it?” You asked, and he looked at you completely.

“Love it. She’s a beauty,” he said, smirking. Your cheeks were reddening as the tone of your car as you giggled a tad bit.

“That she is. This is Rosie. Hop in,” you get into the driver seat, and he excitedly opened the door and got in.

“Comfy,” he said, pressing on the leather seat. You put on your pink square sunglasses that are dazzled on the edges, and turned your head towards him as he got a feel of your car.

“Ready?” You asked with a smile on your face, excited for the events that are about to take place.

“Let’s go.”

The drive from Sunset to the Beverly Hills Hotel only took about 10 minutes. You and Harry talked about random things that didn’t include yourselves, but rather the weather, traffic, and restaurants.

Harry thought it was nice talking to someone other than Daren or Mikey. He hadn’t really made friends his whole year of living in Los Angeles, but believe it or not, he was a shy person. He sometimes doesn’t know how to handle awkward situations because he doesn’t talk all that much, so he would hate for things to get silent between him and a person and not know what to say.

But luckily, you love to talk. You talk a good amount, but you also know when to stop talking, which is a good quality to have. You think before you speak, and you keep your thoughts to yourself because you have many thoughts about people and things, which you know they’re words they'd rather not hear.

You pulled into the valet driveway of the hotel, and Harry’s immediately in awe. He’s never been to the Beverly Hills Hotel before, even though it was pretty close, but he thought it was like paradise. The palm trees everywhere, the green and white striped ceiling, and the pink exterior. He’s never seen anything like it.

“Please, take care of her. Park her in the very back if you have to where there’s no cars around. Please?” You told the valet guy, using your soft and innocent voice along with your puppy eyes. The guy nodded multiple times, telling you that he would take very good care of her car. So, you handed him your keys and walked around the car to meet Harry.

“This place is…” he trailed off.

“It’s pretty cool, right?” You finished for him as you smiled at his delight for the hotel. He nodded, smiling back at you.

You and Harry walked inside the lobby, and as Harry looked up and around, taking in the hotel, you were already headed towards the stairs.

As you were walking up, Harry noticed that you were far ahead of him, making his fast walk to walk behind you.

“I’m only on the second floor, so I hope you don’t mind the stairs.” You had checked into the hotel before you got to Sweetland, not wanting to wait in line to check into the room when you have company.

“That’s completely fine,” he said back, trying his hardest not to look at your hips swaying as you took every step up the stairs.

Once you finally got to your room, you unlocked the door, with the key they gave you, with shaky hands. And Harry’s right there with you, anxiousness running through his body as he continuously messes with his hair—a habit when he’s nervous.

The room was an average size room. You didn’t see the point in spending so much for a suite on the top floor when this was only going to be for a little while. Plus, you only needed a bed and a bathroom, and you were good to go.

“Would you like some champagne?” You offered, walking over to the table that had glasses and a bottle of Piper Brut Champagne.

“Uh, okay, sure,” he stumbled over his words, cursing at himself to get it together. He’s obviously never done this before—have sex with someone for money, and he’s trying to tell himself that this was just like a one night stand, just exclude the money part then he’ll be fine.

You handed him the champagne glass, clinking your glasses together before taking a sip as you sat down on the cushioned bench at the front of the bed. You were sitting on the edge as Harry sat on the other edge, both not sure if you should sit any closer even though the night will end in being very close to one another.

“So, Harry…” you started, looking down at your glass.

“Yes, love?” Your head perked up at the pet name, blushing a bit.

“Where are you from?”

“I’m-”

“I mean, if you want to answer that! Don’t feel the need to answer anything I ask,” you interrupted, nervously, and Harry chuckled at your cuteness.

“No, it’s okay. You can ask me anything. But I’m originally from England, but I moved to New York when I was a kid, and now I’m here.”

“Where from in England?” You asked curiously.

“Manchester. And when I was about 13, we moved to Brooklyn,” he told you.

“Wow. You’ve been everywhere,” you chuckled lightly.

“Almost.”

“Why did you move to LA?” You asked suddenly.

“I want to become an actor. I’ve been trying to get auditions and whatnot, but so far, that hasn’t been working for me, so that’s why I’m working at Sweetland,” he explained. You only nodded your head, and Harry slightly panicked, wondering why you weren’t saying anything. He was thinking it was because you felt pity for him; he had big dreams and you probably thought that those dreams were hard to even accomplish.

There was a silence that fell between you two as you sipped the champagne and figured out to go about this.

“I think that’s really cool--wanting to become an actor. And it’s admirable that you’re very determined to; I can see it in your eyes that you really want to achieve your dreams, and it’s even more admirable that you’re willing to work side jobs in order to get to where you want to be,” you nodded your head slightly, as you continued speaking. “A lot of people who want to become actors simply just focus on acting, and while there’s nothing wrong with that, it’s just hard to make it in the industry y’know? They act cocky and flaunt and brag about it, but that kind of attitude is going to get them nowhere. I know it first hand.” Harry was going to ask how you knew it first hand as he was wondering if you were also wanting to become an actor.

“How-”

“But you…you’re completely different from them, I could tell. You’re nice and you’re a gentleman, and you tell others your dreams and aspirations, and how you’re trying to just make it, and I really like that about you,” you tell him.

Harry is completely speechless. He’s never had someone tell him those words before other than himself, and it felt so nice to hear them coming out of your mouth. There was a certain reassurance he felt from you when you told him that--like he believed them, and he was sure he was going to use those words to keep him going, until he makes it to where he wants to be.

“Listen, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I’ll still pay so you get paid fairly, but-” you suddenly say, and Harry interrupts you.

“What makes you think I don’t?” He asked. His brain was overthinking a mile a minute, and he thought the worst.

“You’re a really nice guy, and I know you don’t mean any harm. I didn’t really expect seeing you, but when I did, I just wanted to get to know you and talk to you, and maybe some other stuff, but if you don’t want to then that’s fine too,” you told him honestly. You’ve always been one for telling the truth and not holding back on what you really want to say.

“I do. I really do want to do this,” he said, and you nodded, not saying anything else after. “So…how should we do this?” Harry asked, nervously, but once the words came out of his mouth, he immediately closed it, rolling his eyes at himself for asking that kind of question.

But luckily, you didn’t think anything of it. You softly chuckled, gaining the confidence you knew you had, and you shifted your position to sit on your side as your right arm was placed on the edge of the bed next to you. “How about you kiss me first?” You said seductively.

Harry moved closer to you and leaned forward as he spoke, nerves out the window. “Where do you want me to kiss you?” His voice was raspy and low, triggering your arousal.

“I want you to start off by kissing my hand, all the up to shoulder, and then my neck, continuing on my face, and then I’ll decide if you can kiss my lips,” you teased, looking at him with dark eyes, completely capturing him under your spell. “Sounds good?”

“Sounds great,” he smirked, and you gave him your hand. He held it for a second, feeling the softness of your skin as his thumb caressed it.

With one kiss to the back of your hand, he started making his way up your arm, leaving soft kisses slowly, but surely, wanting to intensify the feeling you had. He finally made it to your shoulder, leaving many along it.

You expected him to kiss up your neck already, but he took a detour and kissed along your collarbones and proceeded to your other shoulder as your head was thrown back.

Your breathing was deep, trying to contain your moans from the feeling of his lips. With your legs completely shut as you relaxed, you slowly circulated your head with your eyes shut as he placed his kisses across your neck. He moved up a bit to your jaw and to your cheeks and to your forehead as you didn’t dare open your eyes, but rather take in the feeling.

“Was that good?” He asked. You opened your eyes slowly, meeting him as he smirked, noticing how much you were enjoying it.

“Really good. But you didn’t follow my instructions.” He raised his brows in confusion. “You took a different little route to my neck,” you told him and his mouth formed an ‘O’, realizing that.

“Did you like it though?” He challenged.

“I mean…yeah,” you smiled, trying not to burst out in laughter at yourself.

“So, do I deserve a kiss?” He asked—more like he subtly tried to beg, wanting to feel your plump lips against his.

You dramatically sighed, “I guess so. After all, it did feel good.”

Harry learned in closer, foreheads and noses touching each other. It seemed like he was waiting for you to tell him to kiss you already, so you did the pleasure in doing it yourself, molding your lips with his. The taste of cigarettes and sweet candy of his lips onto yours, and bubblegum galore on his.

It was everything he wanted in a kiss with you. With only knowing you for a good 25 minutes, he was imagining how you would feel against him. How your lips would feel on him. And he wasn’t disappointed whatsoever. Plus, the sexual tension between you two was very, very high.

One hand found his curls as the other was placed on the back of his neck, somehow pulling him closer to you. Harry’s hands roam your back and trail down your thighs, but he didn’t feel much since you had clothes on.

“Can I touch you?” You whispered out, asking him.

“Yes, god, yes,” he pleaded.

Your hand raked down to the front of his trousers, feeling his hard bulge in your hand as you fondled what you could feel. He was big; there was no doubt about that and the thought made you wetter, even if you hadn’t seen him bare yet. Harry whimpered into your mouth, to which you stuck your tongue into his. As your tongue meets his, a shock ran through you causing shivers to run down your spine as you felt the slick feeling of his tongue playing with yours.

You pulled back, breathlessly, and Harry opened his eyes. You noticed his flushed state; lips swollen and cheeks pink. It was a sight you found so endearing, and you wanted to keep kissing him for the hell of it, but you also wanted more.

“Undress me,” you told him. He nodded, placing a peck to your lips as he began to unbuckle the big belt on your waist. Once he got that off, he unzipped your skirt, pulling it down swiftly as his jaw dropped as he saw that you were wearing a black lace corset under your outfit as they hooked onto your stockings, along with black panties.

“Holy fuck,” he said in awe, quickly taking your top off to see your lingerie fully. You smirked at him, loving his reaction to your new lingerie. “God, you’re a fuckin’ sight,” he said, kissing the top of your breasts as he reached behind you to untie your corset. You looked down, wanting to see how his kisses meet your skin, and it was the most fond thing you’ve ever seen while he tries to untie your corset.

When he finally was able to get it off, he slowly peeled the corset off of you, revealing your bare breasts. “W-Wow,” he stuttered out.

“Like what you see?” You asked.

“Beyond like,” he said, mouth attaching to one of your nipples, swirling and sucking on it before moving to the other one, earning a whimper from your mouth. He then kisses down to your stomach and to the hem of your underwear, looking up at you. “Can I take this off?”

“Yes. Take it all off,” you breathed out. He unclipped the clips from your stocking before dragging your panties down your legs, fully showing yourself.

“Think I’m gonna leave this one on,” he said, looking up at you as he referred to your black stockings. You looked down at him, smirking slightly before nodding.

“You like them don’t you?”

“Fuck yeah, I do. You’re so fucking beautiful. Can’t wait to get a taste of ya,” he said, pecking your inner thighs. You were aching, wanting to just feel him right where you want to just to relieve some pressure.

“Lick me already. Stop teasing and just eat me out,” you said, whimpering but also somewhat sternly. Harry glanced up at you, smirking before pressing one last kiss to your thigh and taking one long stripe up your wet core.

“Oh my,” you gasped, grabbing into a handful of his curls, causing him to moan slightly.

Harry focuses his licks onto your clit, aiming the tip of his tongue onto the tip of your clit. Your upper body is thrown back onto the edge of the bed.

“You taste so good,” he said, looking up to find you sprawled out. You were practically dripping, and you wanted more—needed more.

With his fingers, he rubs your slit before entering them inside of you, feeling your wetness. He fingers curl up into you; the softness of your walls being tortured by his fingers made you moan out.

“So, so good.”

“Yeah? God, so tight around my fingers. Not sure you’re gonna handle my cock,” he teased, making you get up from your sprawled out position, giving him a look.

“Don’t think I can handle your cock? Not sure you can handle me in general,” you gave him a testing look. Harry chuckled, fingers still in you as he thrusted them in and out of you, thumb rubbing your clit. You tried maintaining your composure, looking down at him as he tried testing you.

“Okay, whatever you say, princess,” he said, testing out the new pet name for you.

“Don’t call me that,” you cringed.

Well, I guess that’s a no then, Harry thinks.

“What do you want me to call you then?” He takes a lick to your clit. “Huh, baby?” He felt you tense up, and he’s not sure if it’s the nickname or if you’re close already. But he thinks it’s the nickname. And it is; you never really liked the nickname baby, and Chris used to call you that as well.

“No,” you managed to get out, feeling on edge as he continues fucking you with his fingers and licks your clit.

“Okay. How about darling?” He said, taking another lick, but this time, he sucks it into his mouth, making your back arch more.

“Nope,” you said. Harry frowned a bit, loving that nickname. He takes his fingers out and the smell of your arousal on his fingers makes him even harder. Lifting his fingers, he tapped your lips, to which you opened and took them in your mouth, swirling your tongue around and tasting yourself.

Harry continued to lick your pussy, bringing you to your high as he licks around your hole, and indulging in your orgasm.

“Fuck, fuck. Yes,” you moaned. Your chest was heaving up and down, trying to catch your breath from being on edge to your orgasm.

Harry kissed up to your lips, leaving wet kisses along your skin. Once his lips met yours, you clung onto him; legs around his waist and arms around his torso as he lifted you up to lay on the bed. You tasted yourself on his tongue, a mixture of sweet and a tinge of saltiness as yours and Harry’s tongue swirl around each other.

“Mmm. Sweet, sweet girl,” he said between kisses, and you moaned against his lips, pulling back for a bit as he was confused, but you looked him in the eye.

“That. Call me that.”

Harry smirked, finally able to call you something other than your name. “Yeah? My sweet girl likes that name?” You bit your lip as you smiled, loving the way he says it. It wasn’t like the other pet names people called you, and you liked that, especially when it came from Harry.

“Strip for me?” You asked, realizing he was still fully clothed in his work uniform when you were fully naked. “Wanna see you.”

Harry smiled, getting off of you and the bed as he stood in front of you. You laid on your side, propping an elbow up as you watched him slowly untie his pussybow. As much as you loved his outfit, you wanted to see it off.

When Harry revealed his bare upper body, throwing his top to the side, you softly gasped. He had a few tattoos on his body; the swallows on his chest, a butterfly on his stomach, ferns on his lower stomach, and a few on his upper arm. You were amazed to say the least as you’ve never hooked up with someone who had tattoos nor had you really seen them on someone’s body since rarely anyone you interact with has tattoos of their own. But seeing them on Harry’s body made you think of how beautiful he made them out to be and how lovely it looks on him.

Harry then took his white trousers off, and finally his pants, which felt like a relief for him because he was painfully hard under the restriction.

You gulped, breath hitched in your throat as you took him in. You already knew he was bigger than all the other guys you’ve slept with, but fuck, his body.

“You’re…so beautiful,” you said. It slipped out of your mouth, but you were in no way ashamed of what came out because Harry blushed and softly smiled at you.

You were both fully naked, you on your side and Harry standing in front of you. There were no signs of discomfort; no shying away from each other as neither of you made the move to cover yourselves up. It was like admiring each other’s body in the fullest; taking each other in as you both stay bare in front of your eyes.

“Fuck me. Please,” you said, not being able to wait any longer, and you were itching under his stare as it turned you on even more.

“Okay, okay,” he said, bending down as he retrieved a condom from his pocket that Daren always had a jar of them at the shop, and made everyone get as many as they’d like before leaving with a customer. He ripped the foiled packaging open before slowly rolling the condom around his dick, and getting on the bed between your legs.

He licked his thumb before placing it on your clit and rubbing it; the sensitivity from your orgasm was still present as you whimpered, bringing your hips up, to which he brought down.

“Get inside of me already,” you said sternly, looking at him as you said so. “I mean it. I want to feel you already.”

Harry said nothing but smirk, grabbing his cock and running it up and down your slit, collecting your wetness to lube his wrapped dick before pushing in you. You gasped when you felt his tip inside of you, and fully moaned when you felt him whole. Harry groaned as he placed his arms on both sides of you, keeping himself up as he started to thrust.

“You feel so fucking good,” he said. Your nails raked his back, leaving scratch marks against his skin.

“Holy fuck, feel so full.” Harry continued to slowly fuck you, thinking you needed time to adjust to his size. But you needed the opposite, “Fuck me harder,” you moaned.

“Yeah? Y’want me harder?” You nodded, back arching off the bed. Harry drove deeper into you, but still going at the same pace.

“And faster,” you didn’t forget to add.

Harry picked up the pace and thrusted harder and faster into you as you requested. The length and girth of his cock hit all the right places as you squeezed around him, making him groan.

“So fucking big.” Your head is thrown back onto the pillows as your mouth is wide open. Harry takes the opportunity to kiss you, diving his tongue straight into your mouth as you gladly take it, closing your mouth around his.

He pulled back, keeping up with his pace. “Do you like that? Does my sweet girl like that?” He sat up on his knees as his hands gripped your hips hard. The pet name had made you scream out, loving the way he calls you that.

“Good--feels so good,” you hands gripped the sheets below you as he relentlessly fucked you.

“You’re so tight around me. Tryin’ to squeeze the fuck out of me,” Harry threw his head back and you looked up at him. You took in how his stomach flexed with every thrust he drove into you, and how his chest was gleaming with sweat. And you couldn’t forget how mesmerizing the action of his cock driving into you looked; the sight making your mouth water.

You also didn’t realize that Harry was looking at you as you were eyeing him.

“Checkin’ me out?” He smirked.

“Can you blame me? You’re too hot not to,” you flirted.

“Could say the same thing for you. Look and feel so good for me,” he was now chest to chest with you, completely putting his weight on top of you, and you didn’t mind. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and your legs around his waist, pushing your heels into his ass as you wanted more from him before you took his lips in with yours. The wetness and the continuous hitting of your g-spot made you on edge, and you were nearly there.

“Gonna cum,” you said against his lips.

“Sweet girl’s gonna cum for me?” You nodded, and he went to suck on one of your tits as he pinched and fondled the other.

“Are you almost there?” You asked, and Harry kissed your neck, chuckling.

“Yeah. I’ve been there ever since I first saw you,” he said honestly, making you chuckle. “Cum for me, yeah? Wanna fill you up already.”

As Harry kept up his pace, he felt you squeeze around him and heard you moan out a series of ‘fuck’ as your orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks.

“Oh, yesss,” you dragged out, and Harry continuously fucked you, riding out your high as he came into the condom.

“Shit,” he groaned, hips not stopping its movement. He collapsed onto your chest and your hands found his back, lightly scratching it as you let out a ‘mmm’, calming him down from his orgasm.

After a few minutes, you felt heavy breathing against your neck followed by small kisses to your skin. Harry lifted his head up, smiling at you. You chuckled at his post orgasm state and squeezed around him, trying to buck your hips as he was still inside you.

“Don’t do that,” he warned, slightly whimpering from being so sensitive.

“Why? I wanna go again,” you proposed.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” His brows raised and he sat up. You shook your head, telling him you were serious.

“Please? I’m still really horny, and want you to fuck me again before you have to go back,” you pleaded. You used an innocent voice, but Harry knew your words were far from innocent, but he couldn’t say no.

He was still inside of you and his cock was barely softening, so your wish is his command. “You’re gonna be the death of me. Better give a good tip,” he teased, joking with you.

“I would, but you’re giving me a good tip already, aren’t you?” You teased back, causing him to laugh and shook his head.

“Again, the death of me.” He started rocking his hips into you again as he sat on his knees. You scooted forward so the back of your thighs were on his as you were a bit elevated.

And as he was before, he pounded into you as he gripped your sides, physically moving you so you could meet his thrust. With your ass practically off the bed, your breasts were bouncing from the movement and he made no sign to slow down or stop.

It was easier for you both to come since you had just come down from your highs, but the second time around was more intense all the while feeling so good, and the sounds of yours and Harry’s moans were the only sounds heard as you both came.

Harry pulled out of you, and went to the restroom to take the condom off before laying back down on the bed. You were staring at the ceiling as your breathing was still heavy, and you felt Harry’s eyes on you.

“Yes?”

“I should probably go,” he said softly, hating the words that came out of his mouth.

“You can stay for a bit? I mean, if you can,” you offered, and Harry’s face lightened.

“I’d like that,” he smiled. You moved next to him, cuddling into his chest as you both made no effort to cover yourselves with the blanket.

“So, what do you do? Work? School?” He asked, and you detach yourself from him and laid on your side, facing him. He frowned slightly, missing your body against his, but he copied your position and faced you.

“I’m a professional dancer and teacher,” you said, placing your hand on his stomach, feeling his toned but soft skin. The action caused goosebumps to arise on his skin, enjoying the feeling of your soft hand.

“Really? What kind of dancer are you?” It was his turn to touch you now; placing his hand on your side and softly running his nails against it.

“Uh, I do ballet,” you replied hesitantly, wondering how he’d react. He knew that you had money from your car and the way you dress, and the fact that you can afford to fuck at a hotel for one day. He also knew that ballet class and dance classes in general were expensive, which raises your anxiety because you didn’t want to come off as a snobby bitch who has money and flaunts it by her appearance.

“Really? That’s so cool! How long have you been dancing for?” He asked curiously as you slightly calmed down as he didn’t react so badly,

“Since I was seven. I’ve only ever done ballet,” you smiled softly, remembering your first ballet class and how you were so happy being a seven year old. And times have changed…drastically.

“How old are you now? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

“It’s okay. You can ask me anything. But I’m twenty three. I work at the academy,” you told him. It was your first ever job that you had, and it was the only job that your parents allowed you to have as you were still in school at the time; that’s only because Richard had told you that it was the only thing you were good at, seeing as you've been dancing for years, so he allowed it when you had told him the big news of the studio offering you a job. “How old are you?” You suddenly asked.

“I’m twenty five.”

“Are you married?” You teased, not seeing a wedding band on his finger, but decided to still ask.

“Nope.”

“Girlfriend?” You asked, and he shook his head no. “Great.” You contained your big smile, chuckling a bit.

“Yeah,” he said, smirking. “Currently work for the fake, but not so fake, candy shop, and meet lovely ladies like you,” he smiled, and you chuckled.

“How long have you been working there?”

“Honestly? Two days. You’re actually my first ‘real’ customer.” Your brows raised, curious as to why you were his first real customer. “I freaked out the first day because my boss didn’t quite explain to me what was happening until this one lady, who was married by the way, wanted to have sex and overall I was so confused. And Daren, my boss, gave me a choice if I wanted to stay, and figuring I need the money, I did,” he explained as you nodded your head, chuckling a bit as you were amused at his story of his first day.

“Well, I’m glad you stayed. Had a really fun time,” you bit your lip as your hand continued to move around on his stomach.

“I did as well. Have you been to Sweetland before?” You shook your head, and his eyes widened.

“Why’s that?” You asked amusingly.

“I don’t know…you’re just this gorgeous and confident woman who walked into the shop and knew what she wanted--it’s a good thing; a good trait to have. I was a bit intimidated and nervous, but it’s admirable really,” he told you honestly. A blush crept onto his cheeks, and as if you didn’t already have a tiny crush on this guy, seeing him flustered and adorable increased your liking towards him.

“You’re sweet,” was all you managed to say. You knew you were confident in yourself, and you try your best to show everyone that you don’t take shit from anyone. But no one has quite said that it was a good trait because all you’ve gotten were dirty looks and not so kind words because you were confident.

“I beg to differ because you’re the sweet girl,” he flirted, pecking your lips quickly before pulling back.

You two looked each other in the eye for a moment before you leaned in to take his lips against yours, kissing him once more. The kiss was sweet and slow; not needing to rush it. You cherished and enjoyed it as you haven’t been kissed like this in a long time without it having to get deeper and less to sex.

You and Harry hadn’t realized it was almost 6 p.m, and Harry needed to get back to the shop. Sweetland closes at around 4, but Daren said the rules were that if a customer comes before 4, they have about two hours to pleasure and satisfy them before they have to be back at the shop as Daren collected tips if given, and they officially close at 6:30.

You on the other hand, had about two hours to spare since you had a half day. You hadn’t told your parents because they’d expect you to be home, and god knows you don’t want to be, so you figured you could hang out with Alice and Frances.

“I should probably get going,” Harry said sadly. He didn’t want to leave his very spot as he wanted to keep talking to you, and getting to know you more.

“Yeah, okay…” you said, feeling odd about getting up and changing. It was like you didn’t want to leave; the simple act of talking post sex was something you enjoyed with him. It was comforting in the sense.

Harry was the first to get out of bed, feeling like he would seriously stay talking to you for the rest of the night, but he had to get going. He dressed up, tucking in his blouse into his trousers and forgetting to retie the bow. You followed him as well after going to the restroom to do your business; retrieving your clothes from the ground as you dressed yourself when Harry was the one who undressed you. No words were spoken between you two as you two got ready in silence. It wasn’t awkward in the sense, more like a sad farewell because you both really did enjoy your time together.

“I-I’m gonna see if I can call for a car at the front desk,” he said once he was finished changing. You were sitting on the cushioned bench, the one where he ate you out on, as you put on your shoes.

You looked up once you were finished, brows furrowed. “Nonsense. I can take you back,” you offered.

“Oh, it’s okay-”

“Harry, please. I have a perfectly capable car waiting downstairs for me, and it’s not even that far of a drive. I have plenty of time as well,” the way you were looking at him was like you were hoping he wouldn’t say no, and so he didn’t. He nodded his head in agreement.

“Okay. Thank you,” he said, and you gave him a smile.

You two looked around the room to see if any of you left something behind before heading out to the lobby. Harry waited for you to check out, which didn’t take longer than five minutes before he followed you outside as you gave the valet guy your ticket as he went to get your car.

Luckily, nothing happened to Rosie, and you handed a few bills to the valet guy before getting in with Harry.

“She’s perfectly okay,” Harry said as you pulled onto the main road.

“Huh?”

“Rosie. She’s fine. I heard you talk to the guy back there, telling him to take care of her when we arrived,” he explained, and your eyes brightened, realizing what he was talking about.

“Yeah, she’s my baby. Can’t trust anyone with her. Never really let anyone drive her besides valet people who, in fact, I have to give very clear instructions on how to take care of her,” you chuckled.

“Seems like you and Rosie need to be treated properly.”

“That we do,” you agreed. “That we do.”

Before you and Harry knew it, you were parked on the side of Sweetland, putting your car into park. You turned towards Harry and he turned towards you, not really sure how to say goodbye after this. There was no denying the attraction you feel towards each other. You talked before and after sex, simply getting to know each other, and it felt completely safe--comfortable with one another, comfortable in your bodies together.

“I should probably head inside now,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt and opening the door. You only nodded, feeling a bit sad you two had to part ways.

“Okay, yeah, uh…thank you?” You said awkwardly, not knowing if this was an appropriate situation to say thanks. Harry chuckled, amused because he was going to say thank you as well.

“I think I should be the one thanking you, so thank you.” Harry gets out of the car and you watch him shut the door before you remembered something.

“Oh, wait, Harry!” You called out to him, and he turned around, leaning down and placing his arms on the passenger door as he watched you fish something out from your purse. You handed him a $20 bill as a tip for the company and events, and Harry was hesitant on taking it. “Please, take it? I had a really nice time.”

“I don’t know. It feels wrong to take it,” he said softly, a hint of frustration in his tone. And you knew it felt wrong because it felt wrong giving it to him, like he was just hookup. “If I take it, then it’ll feel like it wasn’t anything more,” he said honestly. It was a big step for him to say those words, but if you hadn’t felt the same then he wouldn’t worry about it because he wouldn’t see you again.

But you sighed in relief, putting your head down before quickly bringing it back up to look at him. “Yeah, it feels very wrong giving this to you, but you don’t have to take it for yourself. I just want to help you guys because the service, for one, is amazing,” you giggled, and the corners of his lips turned up.

“Okay, but I’m not keeping this for myself,” he said, taking the money from your hands, but continues to hold your hand.

“I don’t expect you to.”

The feeling of holding hands was something you never felt so much excitement from until holding Harry’s hand. Even if it was a ‘friendly’ gesture, the act made butterflies soar through your stomach.

“I really should go,” he gave you a sad smile.

“Yeah…” you said softly. “I’ll see you around maybe?”

“See you, sweet girl.”

Harry gave the back of your hand a kiss before letting your hand go, and you immediately missed his touch, but you watched him walk to the entrance of the shop as he turned around once, giving you a small wave and smile before walking in. You sighed, starting your car back up; an odd feeling was present in your chest as he parted ways with you. For a moment, you didn’t know why you felt so gutted to see him leave, but you figured it was because of the connection you had with him physically, and you really enjoyed your time chatting with him.

The drive to Alice’s place was silent; the only thing heard was the crackling of the stereo that tried its best to play music. It was about a twelve minute drive from Sweetland back to Beverly Hills that was filled with pondering as the golden hour sun hit you and your convertible.

Once you parked on the side of the street in front of her house, you got out and went to the side gate, letting yourself in, knowing Alice’s parents didn't want anyone in the house uninvited, so Alice told you and Frances to use the side gate whenever you two went over to enter. And besides, you all hang out in the backyard anyways.

When you walked past the side of the house, you found Frances and Alice chatting as they laid on their pool chairs, sipping a martini in their bikinis. They hadn’t heard you walking, but once they saw you, they immediately sat up and started to squeal.

“Oh my gosh, you’re glowing!” Frances screamed, and you rolled your eyes, sitting at the end of Frances’ pool chair.

“See? Told you they’re gonna fuck you good,” Alice snickered, smirking at Frances as she smiled back. “Hey, what’s got you so down? They weren’t that good?” Alice asked, noticing the frown on your face.

“The exact opposite. He was great,” you replied, still in a sad tone.

“Then why aren’t you happy, doll?” Frances asked, placing a hand on your back; the same frown on your face was matched on theirs. It was something you loved about your trio; your energies were always matched or tried to be matched when one was excited or sad.

“His name is Harry, and…he’s the sweetest guy I’ve ever met. We just had such a strong connection physically, of course, but also emotionally. We talked before and after we had sex, and there was just something about him that made me want to just lay there and talk to him for hours. It was…comforting, and I didn’t feel the need to, like, hide myself from him,”

“Oh, doll, you caught feelings,” Alice said, placing a hand on your knee. You nodded slowly, knowing you really did catch feelings after sex.

“I’ve known him for what? Two hours?” A strained look fell on your face as you tried not to cry out of frustration.

“Hey, no. It’s okay. You're a human who has feelings and is able to find that sort of connection with anyone. Your feelings matter. If you really like this guy, visit him again!” Frances said.

“Yeah, you’re right. I don’t know why I’m acting like it’s the end of the world.”

“Well, that’s because this is the first guy you’ve ever liked ever since Chris. This is a big deal,” Alice said, and Frances nodded in agreement.

“And besides, you can always go back to Sweetland--order yourself a ‘cloud nine,’” Frances wiggled her eyebrows teasingly, making you all laugh. 

“Thanks, dolls,” you opened your arms, giving them one big group hug as you embraced one another. When you all let go, you noticed their glances to each other, making you confused. 

“What?” 

“Well, how was it? Tell us all about it!” The two were smiling so big like they were kids receiving ice cream as Frances moved to sit next to Alice on her pool chair with their fists under their chin as they waited for you to tell them all about it. 

“It was amazing. He was so dreamy…” 

You proceeded to tell them the entire story, leaving out the details of you and Harry having sex, but they begged and asked some simple questions that you were able to answer. The three of you screamed, laughed, and felt so giddy as you told your story. And you already missed the way his eyes looked into yours. 

Maybe after all, you will go back to Sweetland.

YAY FOR CHAPTER TWO! COME INTO MY ASK AND LETS CHAT ABOUT THIS! 

next chapter will be up on August 28!

taglist babies: @froggystyles​ @outofsstyles​ @whoschantel​@4592222 @groovybaybee​ @bfharry​ @wellbafineline​ @tfonty​@bfilipa52 @afire-hes @thorsangel​ @brrilliant-harry​ @apples2019​ @bbymichelleee​ @harrys-cherrry​ @ggaayyyong​ @heslilac​ @hufflepuff-always-and-forever​ @sozvuchiy​ @mellamolayla​

[myhauntedsalem]

19 Parents Share What Their Kid Remembered About Their ‘Last’ Life

1. He showed us his grave

When my brother was about 2 or 3 he told us his name used to be Austin. One day we were picnicking right along side a cemetery, when my brother took off running towards the gravestones, my dad and I followed him and found him touching a large headstone that simply read “Here Lies Austin” no name, no date. My brother did not learn to read until he was 6 and this headstone wasn’t even right out visible from where we were, yet he ran right to it

2. We don’t watch firefighter things

my son told me a few months ago he “used to be a firefighter, and we got called to a fire. There wasn’t any family inside the house, so we just put the fire out. Then the fire truck caught on fire and I died”. A few nights later, he elaborated he was taken to a hospital, where he died. We don’t watch firefighter things.

3. Her “other” mother’s name was Sally

I was talking to my four year old when she began to freak me out. She was telling me a story about her “other mother” and that she “died a long time ago on a Thursday.” I tried to brush it off, you know, whatever, shes a kid, they have wild imaginations… but then she started to go further into detail about the death of her “other mother,” whose name was apparently Sally. She has never met anyone named Sally, and I can’t recall any shows on TV she watches where “Sally” is a character. She told me that she was playing with her father’s gun that she found and accidentally shot and killed Sally while she was walking upstairs. It’s pretty weird. There are no guns in this house, I haven’t even really told her what guns are all about and how they can hurt or kill someone, shes only four! I think I am beginning to understand now why when I try to tell her when someone dies, they go away forever, she tells me that, that is not true. “We come back, mommy!” I’m only 23, I had my daughter very young and despite not being prepared, I don’t think I could have ever prepared for a conversation like that!

4. “When she lived before she was born”

My daughter did the same thing at the same age. She told me about her life “when she lived before she was born” and described herself as a woman with long hair who lived in an apartment with a long flight of stairs outside of it. She drove a VW Bug and wore long skirts. She then told me that she fell down the stairs and died. Her stories were startlingly vivid and always consistent. Quite spooky. She is now 19 and doesnt remember it. My advice would be write down everything your daughter tells you on the subject. Everything! Record her stories if you can.

5. Roanoke?

I would tell my older sister about my death. I told her my husband was captured and fire was everywhere. I took my young son and ran. I told her my son couldn’t run fast enough. I knew we would get killed and I had my husbands knife on me, I wanted to leave a clue. I wrote in capitals “CROATOAN” I told her we were caught and how my son was killed before I was killed. I told her how I was stabbed in the stomach with a knife. Then, I went about playing with dolls. I can still picture the scene and my son to this day.

6. “She used to come visit me”

my son says he remember his great grandmother (my grandmother) and can describe her in perfect detail (how she looks, how she acted, even what brand of cigarettes she smoked) , although she died 11 days before he was born. He says that she used to come visit him in his dreams.

7. Conchon

Apparently beginning around the time my friend could form sentences until he was little more than 2, he would go on and on about how he was a Native American named Conchon and that after his wife and son got sick and died, he moved to a mountain to live by himself with his horse. He died of a broken neck when he fell into a ravine.

8. “My real mom and dad were killed when the bad men came.”

when I was 2 or 3 I was talking to my grandmother and told her that my mom and dad weren’t my real mom and dad. My grandmother, knowing this wasn’t true, said they were. I calmly explained that no, my real mom and dad were killed when the bad men came. I had lived because my mom hid me behind a rock. I then went on to describe white men with guns and us “dark” people with long hair. When I was done, I went back to eating my ice cream.

9. Jesus

My cousin, approximately 3 years old and riding in the car with my mum and dad, pointed out a random house that they went past and declared “I died there”.

10. Included because, WHAT?

I did something sort of similar I guess. When I was about 3 my mum and I were driving over a bridge on which there’d recently been a major accident that resulted in a car bursting into flames and the driver dying. Anyway, I asked my mum who the man in the front seat was and when she told me to describe him I said, “Well he’s on fire and he keeps looking back at me.”

11. I drowned

My mother told me about a story I told her when I was 2 or 3. I told her she was the best mommy I ever had, to which she replied, “I’m the only mommy you’ve ever had.” “nu-uh, I had another mommy.” I said that my older sister and I went out to a pond in the woods behind my house. Around the pond, all of the trees were the same type: skinny with white paper-like bark. (I had never seen a poplar tree before in this life.) We put some logs together to make a raft, and put it into the water to play boat captain and climbed aboard. The raft fell apart, and I didn’t know how to swim. I tried to grab a log, but my hand slipped off. I could see my sister freaking out from underwater. I drowned.

12. My war memories

one of 6 hopping out of a helicopter into a field, it’s hot as shit, humid, daytime, two house/buildings smoking and heavily burning straight in front of me (to the side of the chopper), and there’s firing from the woods and field to my right. It’s chaotic a noisy, lots of firing and helicopters, my guys are firing back crouched next to the back building, one guy runs out of the other building with a kid he pushes forward and yells at to run, the kid gets shot from out of nowhere, and drops. I see a few of my guys advancing from another chopper behind me duck down in the grass as their chopper leaves, I crouch in tall grass about 10 feet from my chopper, fire my rifle twice from just above the grass line, and my chopper starts to take off, and is taking fire. I get up to move forward, panicky, and am shot dead – I feel a hard thunk, see part my chest explode, fall forward go black, and zoom out above my body. I also drew this later (still have pics, mom saved them). To me, it’s clear as day, still. Mom said some of my first chatter was about “heavy fire” “zip em boys” (don’t know what that means) and I would ask “Where are the hueys?” I was born in the early 70s, and my family was NOT military (very anti, actually). I err on the side of thinking it’s media (news footage?) I absorbed at some point from the Viet Nam war, but I also wonder if it’s not a past-life dream.

13. “That’s why I don’t like water now”

When my kid was 4, we were watching a docu on the Titanic. The scene was a picture of the schematics of the boiler room and the camera panned from left to right over the plans. He pointed at the tv and said, “That’s wrong. The boilers were on the Other side. And I was right here.” And he pointed to a small space in the boiler room. “That’s where I was. And that’s why I don’t like water now.”

14. My family’s farm, burning

When I was younger I would have dreams of living in colonial american. I remember bits very vividly and only when I was older did I realize what they were about and how accurate they were. Most of the dreams consisted of me being in my late teen years and centered around my family’s farm being set on fire during the night. I never dreamed past that night, nothing about the aftermath of the fire, and I haven’t had one in years.

15. “Nobody scroofs me there”

Getting my two and a half year old daughter out of the bath one night, my wife and I were briefing her on how important it was she kept her privates clean. She casually replied “Oh, nobody ‘scroofs’ me there. They tried one night. They kicked the door in and tried but I fought back. I died and now I’m here.” She said this like it was nothing. My wife and I were catatonic.

16. Nope

“Before I was born here, I had a sister, right? Her and my other Mom are so old now. They were ok when the car was on fire, but I sure wasn’t!”

17. “Their screams are keeping me up”

I was in my room on the computer at about 11, which is late for my sister to be awake even now. I was thinking about bed, but then my sister knocks on the door. She was maybe 10 at the time, so not so young that she doesn’t know when she’s dreaming. She wanted to sleep in my room because she was sad and scared. I asked her why, and she said, “I watched your sons burn up in the fire. Their screams are keeping me up.”

18. Role reversal

My three year old said, “Remember when I was the grown-up and you were the little boy?” to his Dad.

19. When he was a grown up

My father used to hate policemen when he was a kid, he used to tell my grandmother that they came to his house and shot him when he was a grown up.

19 Parents Share What Their Kid Remembered About Their ‘Last’ Life paranormal ghost and hauntings

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May 26th, 2019

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19 Parents Share What Their Kid Remembered About Their ‘Last’ Life1. He showed us his grave

When my brother was about 2 or 3 he told us his name used to be Austin. One day we were picnicking right along side a cemetery, when my brother took off...

19 Parents Share What Their Kid Remembered About Their ‘Last’ Life

1. He showed us his grave

When my brother was about 2 or 3 he told us his name used to be Austin. One day we were picnicking right along side a cemetery, when my brother took off running towards the gravestones, my dad and I followed him and found him touching a large headstone that simply read “Here Lies Austin” no name, no date. My brother did not learn to read until he was 6 and this headstone wasn’t even right out visible from where we were, yet he ran right to it

2. We don’t watch firefighter things

my son told me a few months ago he “used to be a firefighter, and we got called to a fire. There wasn’t any family inside the house, so we just put the fire out. Then the fire truck caught on fire and I died”. A few nights later, he elaborated he was taken to a hospital, where he died. We don’t watch firefighter things.

3. Her “other” mother’s name was Sally

I was talking to my four year old when she began to freak me out. She was telling me a story about her “other mother” and that she “died a long time ago on a Thursday.” I tried to brush it off, you know, whatever, shes a kid, they have wild imaginations… but then she started to go further into detail about the death of her “other mother,” whose name was apparently Sally. She has never met anyone named Sally, and I can’t recall any shows on TV she watches where “Sally” is a character. She told me that she was playing with her father’s gun that she found and accidentally shot and killed Sally while she was walking upstairs. It’s pretty weird. There are no guns in this house, I haven’t even really told her what guns are all about and how they can hurt or kill someone, shes only four! I think I am beginning to understand now why when I try to tell her when someone dies, they go away forever, she tells me that, that is not true. “We come back, mommy!” I’m only 23, I had my daughter very young and despite not being prepared, I don’t think I could have ever prepared for a conversation like that!

4. “When she lived before she was born”

My daughter did the same thing at the same age. She told me about her life “when she lived before she was born” and described herself as a woman with long hair who lived in an apartment with a long flight of stairs outside of it. She drove a VW Bug and wore long skirts. She then told me that she fell down the stairs and died. Her stories were startlingly vivid and always consistent. Quite spooky. She is now 19 and doesnt remember it. My advice would be write down everything your daughter tells you on the subject. Everything! Record her stories if you can.

5. Roanoke?

I would tell my older sister about my death. I told her my husband was captured and fire was everywhere. I took my young son and ran. I told her my son couldn’t run fast enough. I knew we would get killed and I had my husbands knife on me, I wanted to leave a clue. I wrote in capitals “CROATOAN” I told her we were caught and how my son was killed before I was killed. I told her how I was stabbed in the stomach with a knife. Then, I went about playing with dolls. I can still picture the scene and my son to this day.

6. “She used to come visit me”

my son says he remember his great grandmother (my grandmother) and can describe her in perfect detail (how she looks, how she acted, even what brand of cigarettes she smoked) , although she died 11 days before he was born. He says that she used to come visit him in his dreams.

7. Conchon

Apparently beginning around the time my friend could form sentences until he was little more than 2, he would go on and on about how he was a Native American named Conchon and that after his wife and son got sick and died, he moved to a mountain to live by himself with his horse. He died of a broken neck when he fell into a ravine.

8. “My real mom and dad were killed when the bad men came.”

when I was 2 or 3 I was talking to my grandmother and told her that my mom and dad weren’t my real mom and dad. My grandmother, knowing this wasn’t true, said they were. I calmly explained that no, my real mom and dad were killed when the bad men came. I had lived because my mom hid me behind a rock. I then went on to describe white men with guns and us “dark” people with long hair. When I was done, I went back to eating my ice cream.

9. Jesus

My cousin, approximately 3 years old and riding in the car with my mum and dad, pointed out a random house that they went past and declared “I died there”.

10. Included because, WHAT?

I did something sort of similar I guess. When I was about 3 my mum and I were driving over a bridge on which there’d recently been a major accident that resulted in a car bursting into flames and the driver dying. Anyway, I asked my mum who the man in the front seat was and when she told me to describe him I said, “Well he’s on fire and he keeps looking back at me.”

11. I drowned

My mother told me about a story I told her when I was 2 or 3. I told her she was the best mommy I ever had, to which she replied, “I’m the only mommy you’ve ever had.” “nu-uh, I had another mommy.” I said that my older sister and I went out to a pond in the woods behind my house. Around the pond, all of the trees were the same type: skinny with white paper-like bark. (I had never seen a poplar tree before in this life.) We put some logs together to make a raft, and put it into the water to play boat captain and climbed aboard. The raft fell apart, and I didn’t know how to swim. I tried to grab a log, but my hand slipped off. I could see my sister freaking out from underwater. I drowned.

12. My war memories

one of 6 hopping out of a helicopter into a field, it’s hot as shit, humid, daytime, two house/buildings smoking and heavily burning straight in front of me (to the side of the chopper), and there’s firing from the woods and field to my right. It’s chaotic a noisy, lots of firing and helicopters, my guys are firing back crouched next to the back building, one guy runs out of the other building with a kid he pushes forward and yells at to run, the kid gets shot from out of nowhere, and drops. I see a few of my guys advancing from another chopper behind me duck down in the grass as their chopper leaves, I crouch in tall grass about 10 feet from my chopper, fire my rifle twice from just above the grass line, and my chopper starts to take off, and is taking fire. I get up to move forward, panicky, and am shot dead – I feel a hard thunk, see part my chest explode, fall forward go black, and zoom out above my body. I also drew this later (still have pics, mom saved them). To me, it’s clear as day, still. Mom said some of my first chatter was about “heavy fire” “zip em boys” (don’t know what that means) and I would ask “Where are the hueys?” I was born in the early 70s, and my family was NOT military (very anti, actually). I err on the side of thinking it’s media (news footage?) I absorbed at some point from the Viet Nam war, but I also wonder if it’s not a past-life dream.

13. “That’s why I don’t like water now”

When my kid was 4, we were watching a docu on the Titanic. The scene was a picture of the schematics of the boiler room and the camera panned from left to right over the plans. He pointed at the tv and said, “That’s wrong. The boilers were on the Other side. And I was right here.” And he pointed to a small space in the boiler room. “That’s where I was. And that’s why I don’t like water now.”

14. My family’s farm, burning

When I was younger I would have dreams of living in colonial american. I remember bits very vividly and only when I was older did I realize what they were about and how accurate they were. Most of the dreams consisted of me being in my late teen years and centered around my family’s farm being set on fire during the night. I never dreamed past that night, nothing about the aftermath of the fire, and I haven’t had one in years.

15. “Nobody scroofs me there”

Getting my two and a half year old daughter out of the bath one night, my wife and I were briefing her on how important it was she kept her privates clean. She casually replied “Oh, nobody ‘scroofs’ me there. They tried one night. They kicked the door in and tried but I fought back. I died and now I’m here.” She said this like it was nothing. My wife and I were catatonic.

16. Nope

“Before I was born here, I had a sister, right? Her and my other Mom are so old now. They were ok when the car was on fire, but I sure wasn’t!”

17. “Their screams are keeping me up”

I was in my room on the computer at about 11, which is late for my sister to be awake even now. I was thinking about bed, but then my sister knocks on the door. She was maybe 10 at the time, so not so young that she doesn’t know when she’s dreaming. She wanted to sleep in my room because she was sad and scared. I asked her why, and she said, “I watched your sons burn up in the fire. Their screams are keeping me up.”

18. Role reversal

My three year old said, “Remember when I was the grown-up and you were the little boy?” to his Dad.

19. When he was a grown up

My father used to hate policemen when he was a kid, he used to tell my grandmother that they came to his house and shot him when he was a grown up.

[mulderist]

Wicked Game

Chapter 1  // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3  // Chapter 4 // Read on A03

Washington, D.C - 1948. Fox Mulder is a detective on the top vice unit; scandal, corruption, and lies come with the territory. He is forced to investigate a fellow officer and finds the lies go much deeper than the truth.

tagging @today-in-fic​

CHAPTER 5

The phone rang three times before she answered. My jaw ached as I tried to mask the slur in my voice when I told her who was calling. I realized it was a long shot ringing her number but I needed something to get my head on straight. I told her I was in Georgetown and as luck would have it she did not have a shift at the hospital that evening. She accepted my invitation to have a drink. I confirmed her address and I said I would wait outside the building to meet her, adding to look for the forlorn gentleman with a grey fedora. We disconnected and I exited the booth then walked to the curb to hail a cab. 

Scully’s apartment building was tucked into a quiet tree-lined block on Q Street. In a town built on history this neighborhood dripped vintage charm with neat colonial rowhouses and brick sidewalks. I paced a slow line in front of the staircase then stretched a foot on the bottom step. The sound of a door opening and heel clicks on brickwork caught my attention. There she was. A vision in a short-sleeved olive green sweater with a high neck, wide-leg trousers gave way to dark t-strap shoes that peeked out from under her pant cuffs. Her ginger-red hair was pinned up halfway and decorated with a small flower. I straightened up and tried to smile as she landed on the last step. 

“God, what happened to you?” she questioned before I could even greet her properly. 

“And hello to you too.” I replied.

“Oh, your cheek,” Scully frowned, “This reminds me of when we first met.” She inspected my face without laying a finger on me. I tipped back my hat slightly so she could get a better look. In the afternoon sun her eyes processed a diagnosis and she reached out a caring hand to touch my jawline but withdrew it quickly. Fingers formed a loose fist instead as her hand dropped slowly towards her hip. I cleared my throat.

“Serves me right for interrupting someone’s lunch, huh?”

“Must have been someone important for them to leave a mark like that,” Scully said, stepping back and adjusting her handbag. I shrugged then said,

“No, just me being a nosy cop.” I found myself staring as she smiled.

“So now that we’re here, where are we off to?”

“There’s a little place I visit when I’m in the neighborhood.” I slipped my hands in my pockets and gestured with a nod down the block. She joined me at my side and we strolled for a few silent moments. Her presence helped to mute the extra noise in my head. Though with each intersection we crossed I was still checking my corners, making sure we weren’t being followed. After the little scene I caused at the restaurant my guard was up. I knew I could never be too comfortable with my surroundings and I certainly didn’t want to put her in danger.

We walked farther down Q street and crossed over to 33rd to a small bar named The Blue Note. I opened the door for her and followed inside. It was your standard set-up with a small stage on the side arranged for a jazz combo. Too early for a gig, so the jukebox in the corner played the matinee performance. Regalia from the university littered the walls but in a more dignified fashion, like the proprietor was trying to distance the establishment from looking like a run-of-the-mill college bar. Still, it was dark, smoky, and my kind of familiar. Only a couple of bar flies had landed to start their day-drinking. I ushered her through a fresh haze of cigarette smoke to an empty spot at the far end of the bar. She took a seat and I adjusted my barstool, sitting close but not too close. Scully caught the attention of the stout bartender.

“I’d like a vodka tonic and my friend here will have?”

“Whiskey.” 

The man nodded and scuttled back to fix our drinks. I put my fedora on the bar and ran a hand through my hair.

“Can you tell me about this case you’re working on?” Scully asked as she placed her handbag in her lap. I thought about how much I wanted to divulge so I kept the names and places to a minimum.

“It involves a drug ring, fairly standard for the vice unit. However the fly in the ointment is that it also involves an investigation into my partner.”

“Wait, the one who was buried at Arlington?”

“The very same,” I answered as the bartender delivered two short glasses. I grasped the drink and raised it, she mimicked the motion. “Cheers,” I said before taking a long sip and swirling the ice cube around. Scully sampled her drink as well and I continued.

“The papers painted it that he was killed in the line of duty. Now, I was there that night. It was the same night I got a hot lead kiss on the shoulder and I think my partner was bumped off in a deal that went sour.”

“Your partner was a hophead?” she asked as she twisted the bottom of her glass on the bar napkin.

“I didn’t suspect he was a hophead,” I said after I downed the last of my whiskey, “but the medical examiner ordered blood work that confirmed he was sky high.”

“Did you see who shot at you?” she asked after a beat, tracing a fingertip along the edge of the highball. 

“No, but we did get a match on the weapon. So all I need to do is take him in .”

“Let me guess, that’s who gave you the bruise.”

“Very perceptive Scully. It was one of his goons actually.” I said as I rubbed my left cheek and glanced reflexively over my shoulder. She held her glass close to her lips and thought for a moment before taking another sip to finish it off. Scully pressed her lips together and focused on her now empty glass. I caught the change in music from the jukebox; a heavy piano piece that fit the tone in our little corner of the bar. I flagged the bartender and ordered another round.  She was hesitant at first on the refill but I guess she didn’t mind my company and decided to stick around. Time seemed to slow to a halt, dripped down like molasses on a winter day.

“Enough about me and the DCPD, I want to know your story.”

“My story, Mulder? I don’t think I’m as interesting as all that,” Scully said as she glanced at her hands, admiring the tidy red varnish on the nails.

“Try me,” I replied as our second round arrived and my attention was now only on her.

“Let’s see...you already know I’m a nurse,” she began with a gesture, “I’ve been one since before the war. Schooling was no cost and once the conflict started I opted to stay home in Maryland to fill the nursing shortage. My brothers had gone through the gauntlet at the naval academy and were sent to San Diego then the South Pacific respectively. It would have broken my mother’s heart if I joined up and got shipped off too” She paused and took a drink. “My sister and mother stayed in Annapolis but in ‘45 I headed to Washington to continue with medicine. There was more I wanted to learn and more ways I felt I could help.”

“And that’s how you ended up in Georgetown?”

She nodded and softly exhaled.

“After I buried my father, I buried myself in studies, work, and other hobbies. I figured if I kept myself busy enough I wouldn’t have time to think about the loss.” Her shoulders shrugged and she absentmindedly toyed with a strand of hair then swept it behind her ear.

“Any travel in that time?” I asked, hoping she had an answer. I was shit at small talk when I wasn’t using my badge.

“California after the war ended to see my brother Bill and his family for Christmas, then last year I took the train up to New England for a change of scenery.”

“Ah, I’m familiar with that area. My parents live on Martha’s Vineyard.”

“It’s really lovely. I was fortunate to visit in the fall.” A hint of a smile crossed her lips as she recalled the memory. A pleasant silence then fell between us. More small talk followed, less personal this go around. Filler subjects like the weather and sports weaved their way into conversation. I was pleased to learn she was a baseball fan and was hoping for a better season than last year. 

The bar was getting more clientele and as much as I wanted to stay and extend my friendship with Mr Jack Daniels, I figured we should make it last call. I paid our tab and escorted Scully outside, placing a featherweight touch on her shoulder as I guided her through the open door. The air felt cool as the sun hid behind passing clouds, setting up for another storm. She thanked me for the drinks and though she was a captain’s daughter who could certainly hold her liquor, I offered to walk her home. 

As we turned the corner and walked back up the block I still felt that we weren’t alone. I kept a close stride next to Scully as we neared her building. She ascended the steps and I joined her at the door. This time her hand found my cheek. 

“I hope to see you again,” she said as she gently stroked my jawline, “But next time without any occupational damage.” 

“Can’t make any promises, doll,” I said moving closer, feeling her fingers twitch, catching a flutter of her eyelashes as she exhaled. My gaze was soft, hypnotized by her features. She grazed the stubble on my skin then Scully raised her chin and placed a soft sweet kiss on my injured cheek. 

“Take care of yourself, detective.”

Through the narrow pane of glass on the building’s door I watched her walk up the stairs, she looked back over her shoulder giving me a final flash of that flower nestled against her red hair. As I turned and walked down the steps I noticed a car parked across the street and a man with a sharp suit and glasses leaning against the side.

“Are you following me?” I called out once I was on the sidewalk, my hand on the butt of my weapon.

“This is your surveillance detail?” Skinner questioned.

“Chivalry isn’t dead yet, Captain.”

“Something’s come up. Get in,” Skinner said as he motioned to the car. I walked around the front of the cruiser and opened the passenger door joining him inside.

“I heard about your incident with Carlo Lodi today.”

“Word travels fast.”

“You’re damn right it does, Mulder. This city is more connected than ever. I had a conversation with our friend Alex Krycek when he returned the squad car you lent him. Seems that he was privy to information regarding a Vincenti heroin shipment tonight.”

“Ha! What did you have to trade for that info?” I asked. He tensed his jaw then said,

“Continued protection. It appears he’s been sitting on this since we first interrogated him.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“There will be a boat arriving at the Navy Yard tonight. Small crew. They are going to make a transfer to one of the warehouses, but it’s up to you to find how they’re moving the shipment from there.”

I took a moment to process the details of my assignment. 

“Will I have back-up?”

“Via radio. Do not engage after you make the mark. Follow standard tailing procedure.”

“If you’re going to send me on a suicide mission, can you at least drop me off in Alexandria. I could use a shower and something to eat.” Skinner gave me a sideways glance and turned the key in the ignition, bringing life to the cruiser. He shifted into gear and we were on our way back across the Potomac.

[maevesdarling]

Take me home tonight

Sooo, I decided to post chapter 1 of the story @unicorn-cloud and I have been cooking up for a while. This plays post series in an alternative universe. There’s mentions of gore and canon typical violence in both this and the second chapter, basically Walt is not dealing with things as good as he thought... I’m not sure how many chapters this story will have, probably around 3 to 4, also please be kind to me it’s been a long time since I uploaded my works to Tumblr, thx!  

Chapter 1: The Call

Later, after he put his gun and badge down and moves further away from the border, Walt gets a call from an unknown number. He contemplates not picking up. It's been years since Kiki's death and operation Leyenda. He thinks, for a moment, that it could be Miguel Angel, calling him from his jail cell to taunt him, but no, he's not important enough to that man and besides, Miguel Angel doesn't wield as much power as he used to.

There are others. New players in this fucked up game, Walt knows that. He saw them rising on the horizon like a looming thunderstorm, ready to destroy the earth in it's path. But for now, he decided to enjoy his peace. His back's been bothering him more as of lately and he's got a few more grey hairs. He quit smoking about a year ago, after his doctor told him to do so. He's had a few setbacks since then, a half finished pack is always hidden underneath his kitchen sink, just in case he needs a fix. But overall, he's trying to stay away from the cigarettes and eat more healthy, even though the microwavable dinners at the supermarket look damn tempting, especially since it's only himself he's cooking for.

He's up in Colorado these days. The DEA was kind enough to leave him with a nice sum of retirement money, probably to shut him up after all the shit he pulled of during his career and to be fair he doesn't blame them.

He buys a nice enough house on the outskirts of town, with some additional property, a rundown barn and an old apple tree orchard that he has no plan on using. The weather's less hot, and there's a few lakes where he can fish, but otherwise, it's pretty much like any other town he's lived in. The dark red sandstones dotting the farmland remind him of Mexico. Of sitting in the hot sun and watching a small airfield in the distance, with a pair of binoculars in his hand. Sal's voice next to him asking about their next move. It's nostalgic in a way.

The first day, after he finished dropping off his stuff in the small, rundown house, he sets off to drive around, get familiar with the place. He finds a shabby bar, a small supermarket, a post office, a family owned diner and a few farms, with cows and hundreds of chickens roaming the surrounding fields, that sell local products. Over time, he ventures out further and discovers some more bars, supermarkets and, to his surprise, a gay club.

It's well hidden, two cities over, wedged between an antique bookstore and a barbershop. It looks nothing like a club from outside, and from the inside, it's hardly distinguishable from any other bar Walt has ever set foot in. But he knows where to look, it's something you learn over time.

The first time he orders a drink, his eyes fall on a guy sitting on the other end of the bar. Dark hair and dark eyes, with a bristly moustache. He's wearing a black cowboy hat and a jeans jacket, it's not what he would have worn. Plus he only looks a slight bit like Sal, his face is much older, more weathered from years of hard work in the sun, but it's enough for Walt to give in to his yearning.

He buys Not-Sal a drink and they fall into an easy chatter. Two hours later, Walt is driving him back to his house. Not-Sal is more experienced than Walt had thought when he starts undressing him with steady hands, his fingers touching in all the right places, he's already prepared, as if he'd been expecting this to happen, and doesn't mind it when Walt accidentally let's Sal's name slip at the height of his pleasure.

They lie together afterwards, sharing a cigarette between them, neither of them ready to leave yet. Walt is slowly falling asleep to the feeling of another person combing their hands through his hair. When he wakes up the next morning, the house is empty. There's a note on his kitchen table, a short thank you message, that's it. Next time he's at the club, Not-Sal is gone. He finds someone else. A different man, with dark hair, dark eyes and a friendly face, and then another and another. Some of the men he brings over are kind, they'll stay the night and sometimes even the morning, to share a quick meal with him before they move on, others leave almost immediately after they finish. Some of them yell out Walt's name as they come, others don't. And some yell out another man's name, but that's okay because so is Walt.

He's careful with the company he keeps. Always making sure that no one sees him leaving the club with another man, driving different routes back home and of course he's always stocking up on enough condoms because he's not stupid, he knows how important protection is.

Even though he's had a few men over, none of them return for longer than a couple of times. Its fun, to fill the mornings with senseless chatter, and to fall asleep in another person's arms. But they're not Sal.

He's longing for him. Even after all those years he's still longing for him. It's been three, almost four years since he last heard from Sal. He was moving to San Francisco. The DEA wanted someone new up there and Sal was growing tired of the shit hole they had placed him in after Mexico. They had called each other almost everyday, sometimes they would even meet each other, for a quick chat and an even quicker fuck. There was never enough time.

Sal wanted to call him back, he promised, once he was in San Francisco, to call him every day. Write a postcard. But nothing came. The telephone was silent for two whole months and Walt was desperate. First, he checked the newspapers for any missing or recently deceased people, when that search came up empty, he started to search the phone book for Sal's new address but of course that came up empty as well. He kept buying new phone books, just in case and by now, there was a small bookcase filled with old phone books in his house, and not a single one held an address for Sal Orozco. It was almost like he never exited. Only Walt's memory kept him from going insane. The fading photos on his wall, the one he kept in his wallet, next to a picture of Greg and his family. One of Sal's shirts he forgot in Walt's apartment in Texas, it had long stopped smelling of him, but nevertheless, Walt would pick it up and inhale deeply, thinking that the ghost of Sal's smell was still there, etched into the fabric. He slept with the shirt, on those nights when he woke up drenched in sweat, screaming and with a thundering heart. He wrenched his eyes open but he saw them anyway, Amat, Ossie, Danilo, sometimes even Kiki. He saw them die, he saw their bodies, bruised, burned, riddled with bullets, standing in front of his bed, he could hear them calling out his name. "You killed us, Walt." They'd point at him, blood dripping from their fingertips onto his bedsheets. Those nights were the worst. Sometimes they could only be stopped with an entire bottle of whiskey.

The dreams had gotten better since he found the dog. The dog didn't have a name. He was a stray, with dark, golden fur and dirty white paws. He picked him up on his way home from an unsuccessful night at the club, the dog was covered in ticks and fleas, one eye had been badly bruised and he was tied to a tree by the side of the road. Clearly abandoned. He expected the dog to bark at him, or worse, bite him, when he kneeled down beside him to untie him, but instead, it sat down in front of Walt and started wagging it's tail, as if he'd known Walt all his life. He took the dog in and gave it a bath, making sure that no ticks or fleas survived, before driving him to the vet the next morning to check out his eye. The vet couldn't save it and so Walt decided to take him in, just another broken thing keeping his company.

He put a collar on the dog and called him his, they slept in the same bed and sat on the couch together, watching football games and stupid action movies. The dog went fishing on the lake with him, even though he was no big help in catching the fish, he also liked to run around the orchard and sit on the front porch to sleep, and Walt liked to sit beside him and think, scratching behind his fluffy ears. Sometimes he wondered if Sal liked dogs. What he'd say if he met his dog.

The other animals were intentional. Walt bought a couple of chickens to sell their eggs at the local farm, and to keep himself busy. Then he renovated the old barn as best as he could and bought three goats to sell their meat, but once he saw them in their pen, he decided they weren't going to the slaughter house and kept them for their milk instead. He also fixed up the orchard as best as he could and started collecting the apples. Soon the onslaught of apples was too much for him to handle and so he collected them in a few boxes, along with the chicken eggs and sold them to the nearest farm. Surprisingly, the people around town started knowing him once he started visiting the farm more frequently. He would have regular conversations with some of them and at some point, even started looking forward to see them. He didn't go to the town hall meetings, or to Sunday mass, and the people had been weary of him, but once they saw him with his dog and the boxes of apples in his trunk, they warmed up to him.

He enjoyed his new life. It wasn't luxurious, but that wasn't what he wanted for himself anyway. He was no Miguel Angel. He didn't need a fleet of private planes and a couple of hotels to be happy.

The phone rang again and reminded him of his current situation. The dog had stopped wagging it's tail on the couch beside him and was looking at him with his one eye, almost as if he was saying "what are you waiting for?"

And so Walt picked up the phone, fully expecting Jamie or Ed or someone else from the DEA to yell at him to get his ass back to Mexico.

"Hello... is this Walt Breslin?" The phone slipped from his grasp and fell, he caught it in his suddenly sweaty palms, pressing the shell back against his ear. Three years silence could not erase the memory of that voice. Hushed conversations between them, hiding behind a parked car as they watched over a suspect, a gasp and then a low moan, while Walt kept hitting that one spot inside him, that set Sal's body on fire, a chatty conversation over two mugs of steaming coffee in a diner that ended with both of them laughing hysterically. Walt had enough memories for an entire lifetime with that voice, he would recognize it anywhere.

"Sal-" He breathed, rearranging the phone against his ear.

"Is- Walt is that you? Oh my god- fuck- I found you!" There was a short pause on the other end of the phone and for a moment Walt thought he was imagining things, then Sal's voice returned. "I- I'm sorry, Walt. I'm so sorry-" He sobbed, apologizing over and over.

"Sal- How did you find me? Wh- Are you alright? Is- do you need help?"

"No, no, I'm fine, Walt. I am. I just- fuck- I missed you so much. Where are you? I called you're old address so many times- I thought something happened to you…"

"Shh, I'm okay. I'm in Colorado. Small town near Denver. I'll give you the address… That is… If you want me to…"

"Yes! I mean... yes I want- I want to see you. If that's okay. I need to- need to know you're okay."

He contemplated with himself wether to ask this or not, but in the end, Walt did it anyways. "It's been three years, Sal. Why did you never call? What's changed?" Another sobb from the other end of the line. "I'll tell you. In person. Friday? Is that okay for you?" Walt squinted at his calendar. Friday was in two days, he needed to clean the house, buy some groceries and pack the car for Sunday's apple delivery.

"Yeah, Friday works."

"Alright. I'll see you on Friday… Walt… I missed you."

"… Missed you too Sal."

He put the phone down slowly, feeling like he was still in a dream. The dog had noticed something was off about his behavior and was staring at him in concern. " 's alright bud, I'm just… surprised, is all. We'll meet a friend of mine on Friday. I hope you'll like him…"

Lost in his thoughts, Walt began his evening routine, closing the chicken pen, checking on the goats and refilling the dogs food in case he got hungry during the night, only when the brown cibbles hit the kitchen tiles did he notice his thoughts slipping off. The only thing on his mind was Sal. Sal with his kind face and the warm, dark brown eyes, Sal wrapping an arm around his hips and pulling him closer, Sal whispering into Walt's ear. A hushed love confession neither of them dared to talk about. So, so many memories they shared between them, how was he supposed to wait any longer to see him again?

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

[scxrsgxrd]

Can you—and I cannot emphasize this enough—write about *the coat*?

Ohhhhh yes. Yes I can. <3

This is the coat in question, found by the lovely @skarsgard-daydreams who has some amaaazing Merkel fashion posts. *The coat* has haunted me in the best possible way.

“Ahhhh, there you are my beauty.”

To an outsider, it may have sounded as though Merkel was addressing his girlfriend, the woman who shared his apartment and captured his heart. But his eyes and hands weren’t on the woman he professed his love for, instead he was stroking up and down the arm of the damned fur coat he had purchased a week earlier.

She knew it was ridiculous to feel jealous over an inanimate object, but her breaking point came when the previous night Merkel had insisted that the coat stayed on during sex. She wasn’t sure which had provided Merkel with the greater sense of pleasure; her on top of him, riding him to within an inch of his life, or the large coat draped across his shoulders as he lay on the bed, eyes flicking between his girlfriend and the furry monstrosity she had grown to loathe.

Merkel had been hunched over their television set, the sound of static making him wince as he tried to adjust the antenna. He was leaned over the television set in quite a precarious position when the screen suddenly flicked on, and Merkel craned his head to see some kind of fashion show unfolding. When one particular male model began to strut his way down the catwalk Merkel’s jaw, along with the antenna, dropped. 

His girlfriend peered over her book to see Merkel rapidly trying to jam the antenna back into the television, cursing and grunting as he angled the antenna to its previous spot. When the fashion show flashed back onto the screen Merkel’s eyes lit up, and he was further elated to find that the same model was still midway down the catwalk. Merkel was a man of good tastes, and when he saw that coat, there was no going back.  Despite his already impressive coat collection, this one was like none of the others he owned, or so he said. He didn’t care what it took- that coat would be his.

What Merkel had failed to notice was his girlfriend’s tightening jaw as he fished her hairbrush out of her nightstand, carefully brushing at the flattened fur of the coat where he had been lied on it the previous night.

-

One particular day, when Merkel had opted to leave his prized possession in his closet while he stepped out for the day, she knew she could get her own back. If Merkel wanted to incorporate that coat into their sex life, then fine. But it’d be on her terms.

The lingerie Merkel had smuggled in from France last month was still in its box under their bed, the silk bow encasing the box still intact as she slid the large box out from its hiding place. The lingerie set was beautiful, carefully folded into the box with the gift tag laid on the corset, the French cursive note signed off with a heart.

The silky, black lace design was so delicate, and Merkel had explained to her that each piece had been stitched by hand, and was selling at extortionate rates on East Berlin’s black market. 

The feel of the material was heavenly, and though she had feared that she wouldn’t do the beautiful set justice, the corset accentuated her waist and hips, pushing her breasts upwards slightly so that her nipples were almost visible over the laced hem. Her finishing touch was the coat. When she lay her fingertips on the fur she could see the appeal, it was perfect for the harsh winters of East Berlin, whilst also allowing for Merkel maintain his fashionable reputation. 

When she slipped her arms into the sleeves the coat drowned her frame, and she stumbled slightly due to the weight and had to quickly sit herself down before she toppled over. She was never quite sure when Merkel would return to the apartment, but after just a few minutes of wearing his coat she could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead, and silently prayed that she would soon hear the sound of Merkel whistling off-key to whatever Bowie song had been stuck in his head that day.

She had just started to drastically fan herself with Merkel’s Starman vinyl sleeve when she heard the sound of boots clunking outside the apartment door, then a faint whistling sound as a key turned in the lock. 

“I’m home, sweetheart.” She heard him call out but she didn’t respond; she was waiting for him to find her.

She heard Merkel dump a briefcase onto the kitchen table, then a clicking sound as he opened it and shuffled whatever documents it contained into a pile before bundling them into the back of the freezer. He cracked open a beer, slurping from the bottle and then settling it down as he began the hunt for her.

When Merkel stepped into the small living room and saw her in his chair, legs splayed in the lingerie he had gifted her with his coat draped over her, he fell to his knees. His jaw went slack as he drank in every part of her, she had looked even more beautiful than he ever would have imagined. If he rose to his feet, he knew his legs would buckle, so he began to crawl his way over to her. 

Once he was situated comfortably between her legs, he placed a kiss on the inside of each knee, peering at the darker patch that had began to form on the silk panties. He slid the panties to one side with his forefinger, relishing in the scent of her arousal as she whined, her hand tangling itself in his hair to guide his head closer to her.

Under normal circumstances Merkel would have teased her until she was begging for him to touch her, but today she had caught him off guard, completely unable to exercise his self restraint. When he held the panties by the waistband and tugged, causing a tearing sound to echo around the room she snarled and raised her foot to connect it with his shoulder.

Merkel was too quick for her, he gripped onto her ankle and gave it a squeeze, silently reminding her of what would follow if she chose to further her actions. She scowled and leaned back in the chair, spreading her legs once more as Merkel edged his way closer to her. He placed one hand on her left knee to keep her legs apart, and the other on her waist, allowing for him to grasp onto the fur of his beloved coat.

Her moans soon filled the apartment around them as Merkel set to work, his lips attached to her clit as he sucked slowly and gently, then flicking his tongue against her when she whimpered and mewled. He used his left hand to keep her leg pinned against the arm of the chair to allow his tongue to graze over every single inch of her, not one single patch going unloved as delved into her folds. He would murmur about how delicious she tasted, how he was going to eat her pussy until the sun rose in the morning.

As she edged closer and closer to her orgasm she could feel the sweat dripping down her chest, the warmth of the coat was almost suffocating. She refused to remove it, she knew that Merkel was getting off to the experience just as much as she was. Her hands dug into the fur, her fists balling as her stomach fluttered and chest heaved, calling out Merkel’s name numerous times as she hit her high. Merkel’s eyes flicked up to her, his tongue lapping at her slit as he kept his pace, his lips curling into a smirk when he felt her thighs quiver.

She wasn’t sure if Merkel really had continued until sunrise, her gaze was skewered and her mind fogged after her fourth orgasm. Now she was laid on the floor with Merkel’s head resting on her stomach as he placed light kisses on her warm skin, a cigarette between his fingers as he expelled small clouds of smoke between kisses.

Her fingers gently stroked over the sleeve of the coat, almost not believing her train of thought as it unfolded.

Maybe the coat isn’t so bad after all.

[anitacoknow]

I'm feeling my emotions pretty hard today (June 14th, 2021), so it might be a good idea to start writing.

Trigger Warning:

This text post mentions suicide, death, abortion, and could be an uneasy read.

About two months ago, I almost died during a routine abortion. The way that sounds, my stomach turns and it makes the tears fall like a monsoon. Nothing about getting an abortion is easy, it is humiliating and it's a huge personal hurdle to deal with - my heart goes out to any woman who has been in that tough position. That being said, I'm not writing this for sympathy nor am I looking for negative comments or death threats, I put myself through that enough already with my own mental.

Starting this attempt to release my emotions is difficult because I'm not even sure what to say to myself. I guess I am also hopeful someone will have the right words through experience or just in general because I'm struggling to find the words within myself.

To begin, I can't have children anymore and that is the worst part; I made a decision that took future decisions, future generations, future plans away from me. So, to anyone who wanted to go in on me at the sight of the word abortion: fate ironically beat you to the punch.

I made a decision that my heart wasn't wholly in and it almost cost me my life and it cost my daughter's life (I don't need scientific fact proving she was just a clump of cells and hadn't begun processing pain or emotion or whatever, doesn't change shit as far as empathy goes, so please shove it).

Her birth name was to be Juniper.

To give some insight, Washington State allows abortions up to 28 weeks. For those who aren't aware of pregnancy cycles/trimesters, 28 weeks is still half way through the pregnancy and the beginning of the second trimester. The fetus during this stage has become more human like and all that science stuff. I had my abortion at 21 weeks, in a clinic and the process shouldn't have gone the way it did.

On the second day of my procedure, I was put under anesthesia and when I woke up I wasn't all there. Before this, I had never experienced being put under anesthesia to my recollection, so what I thought I was feeling was normal. It wasn't until I realized I had been losing conciousness that things started to feel unnatural. I was laid on the floor of the "recovery room" and I started to regain conciousness fast. There was a lot of blood between my legs and mentioning it to them seemed to make the blood pool more. It wasn't long after that the doctor that performed the procedure squated next to me to tell me she needed to put me back under.

For the next bit, I apologize to the squeamish.

There was another woman in the room with me who had just come out of her own anesthesia, she was ironically a CNA, who started to show signs of worry when I wasn't making the anticipated recovery. The doctor had her removed from the room and leaned back in to tell me that they couldn't locate the fetal head and a few limbs. When they attempted to have me walk back to the room, I fainted and was placed back on the floor. The nurses wheeled me into the surgical room and helped me back on to the table, to which I protested them allowing me to see my ride. I'm hesitant to mention the father in this because it is sensitive, so I apologize for how he is mentioned in further comments. It wasn't until I saw him that things started to blur and I started losing conciousness again.

I feel it is also important to explain what I felt, which was extremely cold. My nipples were harder than they had ever been and despite the numerous blankets, warmed and otherwise, that were placed on me, my body didn't feel warmth until the EMTs carted me to the ambulance and the sun touched me; and again when I was placed on the surgical table at the hospital. Mentally, I don't think I was aware of anything bad happening to my body. Even after hearing they lost the fetal head, I don't think I ever reacted. If I had to say, I was mentally blissful - which isn't something I have ever experienced. I literally couldn't care less, everything was a joke (which is also part of my personality when dealing with assumed stressful situations) to me up until I arrived at the ER and they put me under before telling me that they might have to remove my whole uterus. My last words would have been: "oh, this table is so warm!" to the doctor who saved my life. When I woke up 24 hours later, there was a tube in my throat and I was tied to the bed (which Hollywood doesn't show in movies or T.V. so when you are experiencing it, it is really scary and it fucking hurts.) in ICU.

So, what the fuck happened?

Well, my uterus at the time of the abortion was about 2 pounds heavy and 2 feet long; Juniper was about the size of a sweet potato to give you an image. During the abortion, the doctor perforated my uterus, the length of the tear was about a foot long according to my surgeon/aftercare doctor. The abortion itself was supposedly no more than 10 minutes, but I was apparently under for roughly an hour. My ride expected me out in two hours, but after speaking to him, started to worry when I hadn't responded to texts and the elapsed time came to four hours. During the removal of the fetus, after perforation had occurred, I laid there internally bleeding for several hours. The human body can hold minimum 5 litres of blood (or to give you an physical idea, a gallon [US] of milk about) depending on the size of the body and health. A human can die from losing 2 litres of blood, but I survived after losing 4 litres internally, which is probably what saved my life. I vaguely remember being lifted on to the gurney and I vaguely remember the ride to the ER. I was given 7 units of blood, my uterus was stitched in 8 layers and the fetal head had nestled itself behind my kidney, so I had an emergency cesarean, plus a JP drain placed to remove all the blood that pooled in my abdomen.

The hospital experience itself is a different story and makes the whole ordeal just as sad. The only solace I had were two nurses that really didn't judge me, outside of that, everyone there had an opinion and wore it on their face and in their treatment. My last interaction with one of the doctors who helped performed my "miraculous" surgery and was probably the most surprising bit because it included a little racism. My partner is white and he is cisgender. Before his appearance, said doctor largely made fun of my pain tolerance when removing surgical tape from my incision area and inner thighs. If you haven't had a cesarean or don't know exactly what it is, after making the initial incision, the doctors have to literally tear the muscles apart to get to your uterus. In my case, I also had to have my intestines removed to get to my kidneys. Needless to say, my midsection was very sensitive outside of my low pain threshold. During the stint, he very angrily asked me if I wanted to remove the bandage myself while showing his frustration in his whole body and face. At that point, I just said fuck it and let him tear the bandage from my body with a little skin along with it. After a quick look, he stood up and asked if I cared if he left to deliver a baby and he didn't wait for a response, I assume because my face probably said exactly what he wanted. I sat there and cried until my partner got there and when he showed face again, his bedside manner gave me whiplash. He released us after I made a large fuss about my care and I left holding back tears until we were out of sight of the hospital.

The day before I almost died, I sat with the owner of the clinic who also doubles as a nurse there, and cried to her about my fear and the little consolation I had because she was kind. I have had two previous abortions during a previous marriage that I also didn't want to have, but being in an abusive relationship, you give and take a lot, that included. I confided in her that those two experiences, both at Planned Parenthood, were riddled in racist bedside manner and left me uneasy about abortions and clinics in general. Being a woman of color herself, she cried with me and assured me that things would be fine, in fact the woman doing my abortion would also be a woman of color. She called me two days later, I could hear her sadness, but it also left me in such a state of panic that I ended the conversation without saying much.

Women of color do not have great mortality rates when it comes to medical intervention, especially during pregnancies/child birth. However, uterus perforation during an abortion only occurs at a rate of .3%, so I'm part of a medical anomaly (it isn't an anomaly at all, she just fucked up). Beyond that, women of color, specifically black women are more likely to suffer from medical racism during aftercare. One of the biggest glaring problems being that black women are percieved to have a high pain threshold, something a lot of people lack.

Since this experience, which is missing a lot of detail, I've gone in an out of depressive mania. Which, to say the least, I can handle because I've dealt with it for years. What I can't handle are commercials, or even cherub faces in person, or the fact that my step-sister announced her pregnancy to our parents on mother's day. I can't handle the notifications of memories from my pictures that spotlight some of the photos I took during my pregnancy. I can't handle that my neighbors had just moved in and had just given birth right before being released from the hospital. Movie montages about children growing up making lumps swell in my throat. For the first few weeks I would wake up screaming, or crying, or begging whoever not to take my baby from me. I tried to cope with sex that I couldn't realistically have because I was healing. I took up smoking cigarettes again because it is the only thing I could physically feel relax my incision area. My daughter, who is 9 years old, asks me how I'm doing when I don't realize I'm zoned out and crying.

Overall, I wish they would have let me die. It isn't like I haven't tried to kill myself before and I always secretly hoped I'd find a way to just go peacefully. Of all my attempts at suicide, the most serious was drinking bleach and all I got from that was minor chemical burn in my esophagus.

Sitting there during my last follow up, knowing damn well I wasn't going to get good news, I asked the doctor who saved my uterus and life if I could safely get pregnant. I was told by another I could have a child, but it would most likely be harrowing because my uterus wouldn't be able to house a full term fetus and they would most like be born premature. There was also another possibility she kept from me, which my doctor with a penchant for being very frank said: "would end up taking my uterus or almost killing me."

Word for word: if I get pregnant, my uterus would rupture at the healed incision.

And what, what am I supposed to think or feel now that my worst fear finally materialized? I'm realistically mad at myself for materializing my greatest fear. I also hate myself for being so upset at something I caused because I know others are in my situation for reasons beyond their control.

I thought writing this would make me feel better, would make it so I wouldn't have to mentally relive it, but I just feel worse. My partner lost his job because he took a leave of absence to take care of me and that's to say nothing of him taking time off at the beginning of the year because he needed brain surgery. The job I had interviewed for earlier in the week kept my position open, but on returning to work found I couldn't keep my anxiety to a minimum and eventually asked for leave of absence. So now, we are struggling financially and I blame myself for that too, which I know I shouldn't.

I can't begin to explain how unsure and confused I feel every day. Some times I find myself pacing or walking around and I don't even know what I'm doing. Hearing or seeing emergency vehicles makes me panic. I've had to force myself to look down during driving because I'm so fucking scared.

Idk, I'm sorry to whoever is reading this. I just needed to vent.

[sleepywinchester]

Fool For You Pt. 3 ⏤ Oscar Díaz.

Summary:  You are back in your hometown Freeridge to take care of your sister Jasmine and your father after being away for six years. You left Freeridge looking for a better life but in that process you had to let go of someone you loved. But you’re back and things are not the same but they sure feel like it.

Words: 2,500+

Warnings: Angst 

A/N: Hola!!!! Happy Easter Loves! Hope you guys had a good one today even though *coughs* the virus. This one is a bit more fluff turned into angst real quick.  If you like this, please consider leave some feedback? Love to hear you guys thoughts *.*    | MESSAGE BOX |

(english is not my first language, might be some typos around)

Chapters: Uno - Dos 

♥  

The sunlight peeked through the white curtains of the window. Your eyes fluttered open softly glancing to the soft orange colors of the sunrise. Waking up in this bliss made you smile. It was like for a short moment you were living in your own fantasy, the one that you weren’t brave enough to say out loud but deep down you always wanted. You admired the view for a little more until the sounds of movement in your small kitchen caught your attention.

Softly shifting your body to the left, you saw the number one reason for all your fantasies these days. You propped your head on top of your hand, having a better look at Oscar and the way he moved his body to the sides and his head bumped softly up and down listening to a rap song that was low enough only for him to listen. He didn’t want to wake you up. 

He was shirtless wearing only grey sweatpants that rested right on top of his hips. You could see his lower back dimples and you could picture how his bones formed a V would look from the front. 

“Ma’, I can feel your eyes all up my ass,” Oscar’s accent made your skin tingle. He said that without looking back as he kept cutting something on the counter. 

You chuckled, “I mean…” your head tilted admiring his attributes, “It is a good ass.” 

The muscles of his back flexed as he chuckled. You were attracted to every inch of this body but you had to admit, his back was one of your favorite spots to kiss. Oscar had become a constant visitor almost every night in the past couple months.

As you continued to watch him cook you reminisced of the times he used to say he wanted to be a professional chef. In High School you guys had so much dreams to fulfill. You also thought about all the encounters you had with him over the past months and how many of them ended up with him cooking something, either that be breakfast or sometimes dinner. 

You’ve spent most of your late nights and early mornings with Oscar but all of it hiding from everyone, from Santos, from your family and from the neighborhood. When this first happened you told him you wanted to keep it a secret from everyone. If you told everyone you were dating Oscar, it would bring so many questions and you didn’t want to deal with the answers. 

Months ago you were mad at him for throwing his brother out of the house. Until he told you the reasons and why Cuchillos the shot caller made him but that didn’t make it right. You wanted him to come to reason and have his brother back but he wouldn’t have it. His loyalty to Cuchillos and the Santos went above everything and everyone, even his own blood and deep down it scared you. Since that argument talking about gang business was banned from conversations, just because every time either one talked about it, it ended up in a fight. 

Instead of focusing on his lifestyle and where his loyalties lied, you focused on him and on how he made you feel. Oscar turned his body around, your eyes roaming his naked chest. As your eyes went down, they spotted your kitchen towel hanging from his pant line, just like a professional chef. You chuckled softly looking at the vibrant pink lemons print on the towel.

He glanced down, seeing what you saw and arched an eyebrow, “Muy chistosa.”

“I haven’t said a word…” you sat, his eyes going down to your chest. Following his glance you remembered you were completely naked from the night prior. “Cochino.”

Oscar shrugged proudly, sitting down next to you on the edge of the bed. “Try this,” he had a cracker and some type of food on top of it on his hand and he fed it to you. Without asking you opened and ate it. He watched you close your eyes at the deliciousness of his cooking. “¿Rico?”

Instantly you nodded in complete agreement, “Tuna?” 

“Yep,” he sucked his thumb, “plus some spices and shallots” 

“It’s good,” you licked your lip, leaning forward. “Gourmet.” 

Gently he caressed your chin, leaning in and kissing your lips. There was intimacy in that morning kiss. “Buenos días, preciosa.” His soft morning kiss made you smile. 

“Morning,” you placed another quick kiss on his lips before standing up. 

He grabbed the cigarette from his earlobe and placed it on his mouth. You smirked grabbing the lighter from your nightstand and flicking it. The flame busted and you lit his cigarette. You watched him inhale from the cigarette as he locked eyes with yours. Oscar let out the cloud of smoke, you took a deep breath in. 

“¿Quieres?” He arched his eyebrow taking another drag in. 

You waited for him to finish the drag and just when he was going to exhale the smoke, leaning forward inhaling it in. “I gotta hit the shower,” you stood up from the bed. 

His eyes were piercing on your ass, teasingly you slapped your gluts walking down. “Are you going to sit there all sonso (dumb) or join me?” you turned to look at him all seductive, “Biatch.”

Oscar flashed a devilish smirk standing up and pulling the bright towel off his sweatpants and getting rid of his clothes as he followed your steps into the shower. He watched you through the shower glass, hot water running through your body. Turning around your eyes met with his lust filled eyes. Smirking, you ran your fingers through your wet hair, watching him get inside. He took a last long drag before throwing the rest of his cigarette in the hand wash. 

You chuckled, “You better pick that shit up after we are done.” 

The shower was small making your body be close to his. Your body temperature began to get warmer the longer he admired your nakedness. His hand touched your waist, gripping tightly, “You know I love it when you’re so fucking bossy?” Oscar’s voice was deep and seductive. 

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you pushed him into a wet and full of passion kiss. He returned the kiss with the same intensity. You took a pause and watched him breathe heavily, “I know.” 

/ / / 

Walking out of the bathroom with a robe on, you rolled your wet hair into a towel and placed it on top of your head. You reached the kitchen counter and ate another of the gourmet crackers with tuna that Oscar had made. 

He walked out with a towel wrapped low around his hips. “Gotchu,” Oscar whispered, hugging you from the back, pressing his body onto you and your body pressed against the counter. You grabbed one of the crackers and fed it to him. “Fuck, I’m good.” He praised himself.

“Show off,” you turned.

Oscar chuckled for a bit as he chewed to his creation. He seemed so happy. There were so many thoughts in the back of your mind as you gazed at him. There was so much history between you and Oscar. So much had happened in the last six years of being apart. 

“You good, ma’?” he took a step back but your bodies were still close to each other. 

“Mhm,” you nodded brushing the thoughts away.

You were standing between his both strong arms. He clenched his jaw with a small smirk on his lip, “So… Tonight. Got any plans?”

“Aside from doing more of this,” you kissed his lips, “when I come back from the school dance. Nope, nada, mi amor.”

He smirked, leaning for another kiss. “School dance? The Annual Valentine's dance?”

Nodding you grabbed another cracker, “Yep. “ You mumbled as you chewed, “Coach Ronald is making me be his co-chaperone.”

“Wanna ditch it and go to the beach?” He asked.

Your head dropped backwards, “I wish but I am the newbie so I gotta do it. If not those viejitas won’t let me be.”

Oscar clenched his jaw, “Are they giving you a hard time?”

“Not really,” you told him, “they’re just old and bitter.”

He nodded softly, “How about tomorrow? Any plans mama?” 

You squinted looking at his face and trying to figure out what he was thinking. “Are you trying to get me on a Valentine’s date?”

Licking his lower lip, he shrugged, “Guilty. Just trying to spend some quality time with my girl. That’s all.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle, wrapping both arms around his neck and kissing his lips. “We can do something tomorrow. Meet and get out of Freeridge for a couple hours.”

“I’ll pick you up here,” he said.

“You know that can’t happen,” you told him, “too many eyes.”

Oscar sighed harshly glancing to the side, “I’m tired of hiding, Y/N.”

His words pierced into you like sharp knives. “I-,” you sighed, looking into his eyes, “we’ve already talked about this, Oscar. My family and your family can’t know we are together and neither is the neighborhood.”

“Are you ashamed of me?” He spat, his eyes starting to get clouded with anger. 

“What?” you looked him in the eye, not believing he’s asking you that. 

He backed away and stood tall in front of you with both arms crossed onto his chest. “Dime, are you ashamed of me and who I am?”

You took a step forward trying to reach his arm but he backed away. “Oscar I am not ashamed of you. How can you even say that?”

“How can’t I? It’s been months, Y/N and we are still with this hiding shit. I’m tired of it. I want to be with you inside these walls and outside of them. I want you to be with my family, hell - I even want to be with your family but you won’t let me. You don’t let me in.”

“I don’t let you in?” you cocked an eyebrow. 

Oscar shook his head, taking a couple steps in forward. “No estoy aquí,” he gently touched your head. “And I don’t know if I’m actually here,” he then touched your heart, “at least not like it was before.”

Oscar’s words left you speechless as he got dressed and walked away. Oscar was hurt, you could see it in the way his eyebrows were furrowed and his body was so tense. You could hear it in his voice. 

/ / / 

Millions of mixed up feelings also traveled around your mind as well as Oscar words. You cared about him so much and daily he was the only person you could think about but it wasn’t that simple. His life, his gang, everything could change in one snap and you didn’t know if you could deal with all of that. You felt safe with him but you weren’t sure about everything else that came with his life.

“Sis?” Jasmine pulled you away from your thoughts. You were in the school gym watching all the teenagers dancing and having a great time. 

“Yeah?” you took a sip of the punch, wishing it was spiked. 

Jasmine squinted, noticing there was something wrong with you. “Everything okay?”

“Si,” you took another mouthful, still scanning through the crowd carelessly, “just trying to make sure no one sticks it in tonight.” 

“Bullshit,” she spat standing in front of you, “there’s something wrong.”

You glared at her and said with sass, “Jasmine - I am okay, go back to your friends.”

“Is it about Oscar? Are you guys fighting?”

When she mentioned him you stood straight and took a deep breath in. Her eyes were showing you how much she cared and that she wanted to help. “Why should I be fighting with Oscar? Haven’t seen the man in weeks.” 

“Now that’s some bullshit,” Jasmine said with cockiness, “I know you guys are boning.”

You cocked an eyebrow trying to fake she was in the wrong. “I’m not with Oscar.”

Jasmine raised her phone showing a picture of you two kissing on your bed. “Like I said, bullshit.” Quickly you tried to grab the phone but she was fast and pulled it backwards. “Let’s try this again, what’s wrong?”

Sighing, you shook your head, “We got into a fight this morning.”

“About?”

“He says I’m not letting him in…” you looked around.

Jasmine shrugged, “I mean - he ain’t wrong.”

You glared at her, “Jasmine you don’t know shit about my situation with Oscar.”

“It's true, I don’t know shit because you won’t tell me shit but what I know is that you two dated in high school. Then you left and broke his poor cholo heart.” 

You sucked your teeth glancing away for a second before regaining your focus on Jas. 

“You got him sneaking in like a freaking teenager! Always leaving his car at his house and sneaking through the back. It’s been months,” Jasmine told you.

“And here I thought I was fooling you.” 

Jasmine smiled proudly, “No. You know who you need to stop trying to fool?”

“Who?” you looked at her eyes.

She caressed your chin, “Yourself. Tell him how you really feel and fuck everyone else.”

“What about his affiliations?” you asked. 

“I don’t know much about relationships or Spooky but I know this, he would never put you in danger. He scares the hell out of everyone but that guy? He is a ride or die and he loves you, mana.”

“You’ve been peeping through my window a lot haven’t you?” 

She shrugged smiling like the mischief she is, “Got a couple videos if you want them.”

“Walk away,” you pointed to the crowd and she quickly ran to her friends.

As much as you wanted to be in the right about the whole situation your teenage sister was right. Oscar would never put you in danger and he would always protect you. Grabbing your cell phone out of your purse, you found his name in your contact list. 

Taking a deep breath you wrote “Perdón por todo lo que dije hoy. Can we please talk?” You contemplated the words on the screen for a moment and felt how your heartbeat rose. Oscar was a man with a strong character and high pride, you honestly did not know if he’d reply or just ignore the text. You wished to God for him to reply, you wanted to see him and tell him how you really felt.

PART FOUR 

let me know if you want to get tagged

@flamingweasly @dolanackles @lcandothisallday​ @mmelissarenee @donnaintx​

[nomoregoldfish]

Imagine Pacho Sends You as a Gift to (Spy on) Amado 2/3

This is getting out of hand again, smh. (Not really) Warning: everyone loves Pacho. Un-betaed, I’ll post the entire thing on AO3 later. For now, you can find part 1 here.

Amado is occupied with all sorts of business affairs after you land in DF, leaving you to his younger brother Vicente. You quickly learn Vicente is in charge of security of all cartel business, that's something, you assume.

When asked why you don't go to Juárez directly, Vicente tells you Amado has several meetings with some important figures in DF. You have to figure out a way to infiltrate the plaza to learn more about Amado, staying at a luxury apartment owned by the narcos won't get you anything useful.

"She's crazy!" Vicente's whining when Amado finally shows up late that night, "She woke up at 5 in the morning for a fucking jog and dragged my ass to a wet market before it even opened. And that's not the end of it, she bought so much fish and my car still smells like a stinky fish tank right now."

Vicente is a bit exaggerating but you do have a fruitful trip to the local market. 

"Yet you finished everything she cooked." Amado points at the empty plates on the dining table, not annoyed at all.

"Do you have some leftovers?" The tall Mexican turns to you. Vicente interrupts, "No, we ate all salmon sashimi because Ryoko said salmon has to be served as fresh as possible, and I ate all wasabi. Oh man, that shit is hotter than serrano peppers. But don't worry, we have a lot of more fish in the jacuzzi." Right, it comes handy to have more than one bathtub in the luxury apartment.

Finally Amado sends away his bratty little brother. Then it's just the two of you. 

"I've got something for you." You remember to smile, which seems to work fine as Amado approaches. "All done?" He asks, you haven't figured it out what he's asking about, the dishes? Yes. Then the Mexican lowers your ponytail, running his fingers through your hair. 

"You don't wanna hair in your grilled pacific saury." You joke, bringing him another set of hot meal you specifically make for him.

"Tell me more about it." Amado takes a large bite, looking satisfied and more relaxed.

You two are chatting over some mezcal and a plate of edamame afterwards. Amado asks about your day, and trades some anecdotes about Vicente when you tentatively ask about his. The fucker is smart and vigilant. 

"I have to tell you something," Okay, you get his full attention, "The bluefin tuna you ate three days ago wasn't served in the best condition. Pacho wanted a show, everything grand and pretty, so I had to cut the red part of the fish and make a bright-colored akami plate right away. It's meaty and chewy, which should have been aged for three days in the fridge to allow the texture to soften and release more flavor," You opens the fridge, showing Amado several chunks of tuna you already cut out, "You can have friends over in three days, I bought enough for a full table."

"What about the pink ones?" He seems genuinely interested. You continue to explain that different parts of tuna offer variable tastes from super fatty pink otoro around the head and collar to chutoro, mixture of fat and meat from the back and belly.

To your surprise, Amado asks for a slice of the fat part, "You said it's the most expensive one. I shouldn't waste your hard-earned money, right?" Both of you laugh.

You take a really fat cut. When you're looking for a plate and the soy sauce, Amado just eats it from your hand. Your fingers are freezing from the tuna and when he swallows them with the slice, the hot and soft sensation around fucking turns you on like nothing else. The sashimi-hater even licks your fingers a few more times, "to clean the fat."

As he claimed, "It's better."

"Now you're gonna show me how you destroy my jacuzzi on day one."

You feel great sitting by the edge of the jacuzzi a.k.a. your temporary fish tank and checking out all the aquatic animals you bought earlier.

"It could've been us in it." What a tease. You laugh then get up, "I don't think it's a good idea to get naked with lobsters and octopuses." 

"Wait," Amado turns you around, still sitting by the edge, "Let me make it up for you."

When Amado decides to give you a head, you simply don't say no. It's like sitting on his face because you can barely stand still. He notices then pulls you closer. The lips used to wrap around your fingers now make you feel like in heaven, and God bless his fucking tongue. The Mexican is driving you mad.

"Shh, you wake up the octopus." You're at the tipping point and the fucker pauses. You open your eyes, an octopus is on the move, two tentacles approaching the edge of the jacuzzi, sucker rings very close to your bare legs.

Then imagine Amado gets up and pushes you up against the tiles in the shower, silencing you with a rough kiss. You taste yourself, and something raw, could be the tuna or the cigarettes he smokes. You get even more aroused by that. 

You're desperate for more of his touch. So you grab his big hand and put it between your thighs, and he's willing to comply. 

This is too much. You cum just after a few rubs against him.  

"I'm sorry for the other night. You're a genius." Amado's playing dirty, sweet-talking while he continues to rub against your oversensitive part, "Would you do me favor? I'm thinking about hosting a few guests, somewhere private, the tuna will be ready by Friday, right?"

You can't believe he falls for the trick. This could be an important business meeting and you're gonna be there.

"Sure. Can I ask something in return?" You already come to your senses while giving Amado a painfully slow handjob.

"Anything you want. Flowers? Jewelry? Cars? I have some better collections than Pacho's Corvette C4. Too flashy." Amado offers generously.

You can't help laughing, "Gosh, how could men make everything a dick comparison contest?"

"You saw his dick?" Amado bites your lower lips. He's rock hard, throbbing.

"I thought you did, too. You two seem very close. I mean, Pacho is a gorgeous man." You keep going, and teasing. You enjoy the fact that you just plant something really dirty in Amado's head. You bet he's having an imaginary threesome with you and Pacho. Not a bad idea though.

By the time you make him come, the Mexican almost forgets what you're asking.

"I ask 'Do you have some dumbbells?' I need my daily training and I don't have time to find a new gym here. What? How do you think I'm able to handle a 150lbs tuna in a line of work mostly for men?" You give Amado a little squeeze before licking it off.

You have a dream that night, being penetrated by Amado in some warm water while a giant octopus sucks you off. You wake up with wetness down there.

You visit several Japanese restaurants in town, unsurprisingly boring. You get the idea that local middle-class see Japanese cuisine as an exotic and cultural novelty. 

You even invite Amado to have lunch at one of those restaurants during his break. He frowns at the food after the first bite, "You can't do this to me."

What? "Asking me to eat this crap is inhumane. I'm spoiled." Amado makes it sound like you're the bad guy, but these smiling eyes give him away. He looks at you the way that makes you feel wanted.

You two end up eating cheap Mexican street food and that's where you find some early blossoms of jacarandas with excitement.

"You want those?" Amado asks, picking up some dried petals from the street. All you can think of is jacarandas flower could be an interesting alternative to sakura, which adds a domestic touch to the food you're gonna prepare for Friday. 

"Yes, please." Amado must find it weird but he just nods.

Once being brought to the outskirt location of the private meeting, you spend more time making rearrangement of the decor, trying to create an authentic Japanese ryotei experience. 

You call Amado once for extra resources. It's tricky because you don't know if you're in a position to ask anything when he's away, busy.

"I'm glad you called. I may not be an Asian culture fanatic like Pacho but I promise you will have anything you want. Whatever rare shit he's bought you, just name it. I'll have an entire Boeing 727 team ready to fly it in from every fucking corner of the world." Yeah, the dick measuring thing is still going on. 

What you don't mention is that you're also glad to hear his voice. "Will you come over?" You almost let it slip, "I mean, to see if you like everything."

"No. I trust you," Amado pauses, "I'll be an hour early."

"Mind the traffic." Bright laughter breaks from the other end of the line.

And thanks to the highly efficient Carrillo Air Express, stuff you request is brought to you the next day including a whole box of violet jacarandas petals.

You ask for a guest list before starting to set the table. "Just set tables for eight people." Vicente clearly has no idea of being a host. You explain that it's part of your job to make sure no one is allergic to seafood. "How the fuck do I know that?" The young man is still complaining.

"Don't worry. Give me a list. I'll look for their office numbers, call their secretaries and find out."

Vicente is easily convinced. You get what you want, a list of high-up politicians and business executives. Not sure how this is relevant but you memorize the names and companies anyway.

Amado makes his arrival almost cinematic. With a chopper still swirling outside, the man in black steps out from the driving seat on the right and waves to you like a king. 

"You're early." You can hide your smile this time.

"Because someone suggested I should 'mind the traffic.' It happens I've owned a few choppers." The fucker looks like a dashing pilot out Hollywood movies. 

You joke that he's nothing like what Pacho used to say, "Low-profile my ass." 

"Oh, Pacho talks about me?"

"Stop. I'm really not interested in which one of you has a bigger dick."

Later Amado hands you a wrapped frame. "I heard you're looking for some Japanese art for decoration. I don't know anything about art but..."

You can't believe he brings you a shunga, tradition Japanese erotic painting, depicting a giant octopus performing oral on a woman with pink tentacles all over her naked body. "You're ridiculous." You frown, it's too explicit you're not sure if it's appropriate for such an occasion.

"I saw something similar at Pacho's house. Well, minus the woman. Just boys." The cheeky bastard winks at you, "You're also serving octopus sashimi tonight? It's a fit then." That's how a print of the famous Octopus and Girl Diver ends up in the main room.

Dinner starts at 8 and everything is ready. You're asked to briefly introduce each dish to the guests when one's presented. Guests praise everything from the chopstick rest made of porcelain with traditional Mexican patterns, to the floral-shaped bream sashimi slices. The tuna sushi is a hit, everyone loves it. You give Amado a knowing smirk when you catch him taking a few himself. The octopus sashimi is a bit tricky but the guests are so "polite", they still pretend to enjoy the exotic food. 

The rest of the time you stay outside the room. You hear things but not in a coherent manner. Amado mentions NAFTA, export-oriented furniture and auto parts factories in Juárez, and two of them are head of the biggest tequila exporters of the country. Nothing makes sense for the drug business. Is the most successful Mexican drug trafficker gonna shift to other legitimate businesses? That might have an impact on Pacho's business.

When dessert is brought to the table, everyone wows — the improvised jacarandas mochi with dried petals is a nice surprise to end the dinner. You tell them the story that instead of the much-anticipated sakura which wasn't well-adjusted to the Mexican weather, how jacarandas was introduced to Mexico City by a Japanese gardener in the 1930s. All the guests finish their plates while giving you a few nods.

Amado seems very pleased with everything you've done. He lowers his voice to ask you to wait for him afterwards.

"Where are we going?" You ask through the headphones. Seems Amado is flying you back to downtown DF.

The Mexican smirks, "To the sky."

You finally land atop the roof of a skyscraper, "This is the tallest building in Mexico." Amado holds you tight when you exit the chopper. The wind at night in early January is insane, let alone you're 700ft above the ground.

It must be some five-star hotel but turns out it's an office building of Pemex, Mexico's state-owned oil company. WTAF? "Put it this way, the biggest exporters of the country hang out sometimes." Amado's sense of humor is something you didn't expect, "Well, I'm not saying they bring as many unattached US dollars as I do, not even close."

When you let the fact sink in — that the Juárez cartel probably earns twice as much as the biggest oil company in the country through exporting "goods," having access to a secret suite on the top floor of the Pemex Tower is not surprising at all.

"You bring people here often?" You ask when Amado pops a bottle of wine. The city view from the 54th floor is stunning.

"I didn't know you're the jealous type." He brings you a glass. You two stand in front the giant window, raising your glasses like you're celebrating. 

"You haven't asked what we're celebrating." Amado takes a step closer.

You put index finger on his lips, which are incredibly soft. Immediately remind you last time you kissed, "I don't want to get myself killed in a foreign country."

"Did Pacho teach you that? Not asking questions, just do your thing." Amado starts kissing your hand.

"Oh, my God. You're so obsessed with him, and it's kinda cute."

"Nonsense." The Mexican disagrees, and turns to the window. 

You sets both of your glasses aside, then leads Amado to the bed. You get undressed first, lying on the bed, waiting.

"You're sure this is something you want?" You ask, completely stripped. Amado stares at your flat-chested body like the first time he found out who you are. 

"You make it sound like I haven't sleep with supermodels. That funny?" The fucker tickles you, "You have no idea..."

Imagine Amado makes you feel adored, marking every inch of your body with his big hands and soft lips. He takes time, mapping your body till he finds the most sensitive spots and makes you moan, shivering.

"Let me warm you up." Amado probably thinks you're cold, so he spoons you. The long limbs of his are like tentacles wrapped around you, fuck, you can feel his erection grinding against you.

You're so wet for Amado. When he finally pushes in from behind, neither of you can resist the sensation.

"Wanted to do this to you the whole week. You're such a fucking tease, aren't you? Dropped at my door in that kimono robe then left without letting me even touch you." Amado pounds into you, with hand reaching your little bean from behind, making you a total mess.

 "Why didn't you make me stay then?" You're nearly breathless, "Is it...because it's within Pacho's territory?" You obviously cross some line with that. The thrusts become harder, feels like Amado is gonna fuck you senseless.

You're not sure if Pacho wants to know you are talking about him when you reach orgasm. 

You decide to leave it out before you pass out.