#how fucking drunk he gets playing slot machines like the old man he is

[jrmblob]

its in the folder 📁

[jamminvroomvroom]

777.

ln x fem!reader

in which lando has a wild week in vegas

on a bit of a roll whoops! had to write something slutty for vegas week/lando’s birthday so here it is! enjoy my loves and please please pleeeeease tell me what you think! 🎲💘 have literally been thinking about this since vegas was announced and i couldn’t stop listening to silk sonic lol

posting this with the @lavenderlando seal of approval 🫡🤍

inspired loosely by 777 by silk sonic

warnings: 18+ minors dni i am so serious!! listen it’s smut. it’s a lot lot lot of smut. alcohol, swearing, fuckboy!lando, one night stand vibes, choking, unprotected sex, general sex acts, some kinky shit, fluff, minor angst bc lando is a moody little shit

5k words

lando had gotten used to the taste of champagne.

the golden bubbles had grown on him over the course of the season, they tasted like success. so, he didn’t protest when several magnums showed up at the round table, some ridiculous happy birthday remix being blasted over the casino speakers.

it was the night of his 24th birthday, and the drinks hadn’t stopped flowing. he was surrounded by his friends, max and ash joining him, as well as the drivers that had arrived in vegas. the crisp white sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows by now, midnight fast approaching, the material half unbuttoned.

they’d started the night in a bar, drowning in a river of alcohol, and now they were in a casino, one of many on the strip. it was all a bit predictable, kitschy decor everywhere he looked since he’d arrived in las vegas, but that’s what made it iconic. the tackiness seemed to mesh well with the old money vibe, and lando knew this would be a birthday to remember. 


everything was mahogany, gold or red. nothing didn’t twinkle in the lights. his suit jacket was slung over his shoulder, curls messy already from the light breeze of november in the desert. his cheeks were champagne rosy, the alcohol going straight to his head and he felt so fucking good.

everyone toasted to the birthday boy, slot machines rattling in the background. lando didn’t usually enjoy this sort of environment, but he was too drunk to care, deciding to embrace the insanity of his life and live on the edge for one night.

he found himself hunched over a gaming table, fingers drumming against the green felt. his eyes scanned the embroidery, taking in the game that was being played. blackjack, he assumed. this really wasn’t his type of place.

by then, as if by some sort of divine intervention, it was.

a flash of red. a swish of hair. manicured nails on a martini glass.

suddenly blackjack seemed like the best fucking game in the world.

lando couldn’t look away from you.

you were stood right opposite him, drink in hand, red satin draping over every curve of your frame. the dress seemed to cover everything, and nothing at all, perfect for the environment you were in. it was daring, enticing, and lando sure liked being enticed.

from the very second he laid eyes on you, he was picturing what you’d look like against a clean, white bedspread, how his name would sound rolling off your tongue in the form of a desperate whimper. it was a crude thought, but he’d become a crude man.

things had changed a lot since his last breakup. he was messy, leaving a trail of clothes and kisses across every country he stepped foot in. he didn’t get off on the number of people he’d slept with, he got off on the rush of someone new, and he knew before he’d even touched down in vegas, a week earlier than he needed to, that this would probably be the messiest week of his life.

but then he saw you, and it felt weird. he didn’t just want to learn your name and bend you over the nearest surface, gone from your bed before the sun was even in the sky. he was addicted at first sight; he had to take you home, at the very least.

his fixation on you was broken by the dealers voice; it seemed like you were up to play next and you needed at least another player. lando’s eyes flitted back to you, wondering if he even knew how to play blackjack before he offered himself up to you on a glaring shiny platter. you took the decision away from him, because this time, you were staring right back at him.

internally, he was choking on air. externally, he was mentally undressing you with a filthy smirk on his face.

“wanna play, birthday boy?” you smiled coyly, an eyebrow quirked seductively. he could have fallen right to his knees at just the sound of your voice. sweet and spicy.

lando realised that you’d seen the embarrassing display the boys had put on for him. maybe you even knew who he was. he definitely wanted to know who you were, and that’s why he decided to give in to your electric stare.

“you’re on.”

he lost.

every. single. game.

numbers were never lando’s thing.

it was hard to care, though, when he had you sprawled out on the desk of his hotel room, his lips all over your neck.

the walk from the casino up to his room had been short, a bottle of champagne in his left hand and the curve of your ass in his right. there’d been very little small talk, very little convincing needed to seduce you, not with the way you’d been eye-fucking from opposite sides of the table, cards laid bare before you both.

he’d kissed you in the elevator, sloppy and desperate, pressed you against the door to his suite, and quickly pinned you to the other side of it once you were finally inside. you tasted like fruit liquor and cigarettes, your dress slowly bunching at your hips as his hands roamed the silky material. lando was restless, craving everything you had to offer, so he picked you up effortlessly, spreading his palms across the back of your thighs.

it had been a short walk to the desk from the door, and he placed you down carefully. lando slid the dress up your thighs, his finger grazing your calf as he did. you were arching into him, pushing his jacket off his frame and frantically tugging at the buttons of his dress shirt until it was hanging undone off his shoulders.

the look in your eyes sent his blood rushing, frenzied and desperate for him as much as he was for you. taking your jaw in his hand, he tilted your chin towards him until you were looking up at him through your lashes. lando tucked your hair behind your ear, continuing to graze down your neck until he reached the flimsy strap of your dress.

“are you gonna let me have you?” his grip on your jaw tightened and he studied your face.

he gulped when your lips twisted into a smile, conniving, dangerous, red lipstick smudged deliciously. you hadn’t caved into his touch, fallen into submission, and suddenly lando was swimming way out of his depth.

it seemed he’d finally met his match.

you pushed him away, giggling as he stumbled backwards towards the bed, and stood from your place on the desk. slowly, you made your way towards him, until you’d backed him up all the way to the foot of the bed, at which point he collapsed. he scrambled up onto his elbows, smirking up at you.

your eyes raked over his frame, swollen lip caught between your teeth. he looked disheveled in the best way, shirt framing lean sun kissed skin.

slowly, you unzipped your dress, letting it fall off your frame. the material pooled at your feet and you stepped out of it carefully, kicking it away. lando had moved up the bed so that he was sitting against the headboard, watching you hungrily. you were left bare, aside from a lacy thong and red stilettos. lando could have cried tears of joy.

happy fucking birthday.

lando’s eyes lit up like 777 had spun onto a slot machine. he may have lost at blackjack but he’d definitely hit the jackpot.

you crawled onto the bed towards him, not stopping until you were sat on his lap. his hands scaled your thighs, stroking up and down the soft skin. you rolled your hips, experimenting, toying with him, and he groaned, low and loud.

“does this answer your your question?” you whispered, leaning into him so that you could loop your arms around his neck.

lando kissed you, slow and sloppy, sitting up even further just to feel you closer. he could feel your nipples brushing against his bare chest, low whines breaking through the kiss your shared every time you felt too sensitive. your bodies were rolling together in unison, friction building nicely between your legs.

he was growing impatient, itching to get rid of the remaining barriers between you. lando held you still, tight, flipping you both over so that he was hovering over you. his lips worked your neck, hickeys littered down your neck and over your collarbone, while his hands moved down your body. he toyed with the band of your thong, snapping the material against your waist.

lando left you there, keening for his touch, while he peeled his shirt off. his trousers went next, along with his boxers, and then he was right back where he’d left off. your panties disappeared in a flash, his kisses punctuated by a splotchy purple mark sucked below your left breast.

and then he was buried between your legs, licking stripes into you like he was starving. he moaned into your pussy when he felt the first pull on his hair, spurring him on. he applied more pressure, taking it slow, revelling in the way you tugged harder and harder with every swipe. lando slid two fingers through your folds, coating them in your slick.

when he slid the digits inside of you, his mouth latched onto your clit, flicking against it relentlessly. he found the perfect rhythm, balance, everything he was doing made you see stars behind your eyelids. you were thrashing, helpless, and he was getting off on it.

you jaw went slack when you raised yourself onto your elbows just to find him grinding against the mattress, groaning into your cunt at the sensation, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. you couldn’t even hold yourself up then, dropping into the mattress as you fell apart beneath him.

lando resurfaced a few moments later, a glint in his eyes, his mouth glistening in the dim light. your vision was hazy, body shattered, but you ached for more of him. the feeling only intensified, your legs tightening around his waist, when he raised his coated fingers to his lips, lapping up every last drop of you. his tongue swirled around his digits lewdly, and you shuddered.

lando didn’t mind at all when you pushed him onto his back, clambering on top of him. you looked wild, animalistic even, as you guided the tip of his cock through your folds, and he folded his arms behind his head to enjoy the view. once you’d slicked him up, not that he really needed it, you sunk down on him.

fingerprints stained your hips; his grip on you increased tenfold as you adjusted around him, your walls throbbing around his swollen cock. lando sucked in a harsh breath through his teeth, holding you down on him. your movements were stuttering, trying to hold yourself together and ignore the way he fit inside you so damn perfectly. you tested the waters, rolling your hips a few times, and his eyes rolled back in his skull.

you felt heavenly, like velvet and butterflies.

he lost all sense of control, every fibre keeping him from wrecking you. his grip didn’t loosen when he fucked up into you, bending his knees for any extra leverage he could get. your nails scraped down his chest, his abs, dripping at the way he tensed under your touch. you tried your best to keep up with him, to meet his thrusts, holding your own for longer than you thought you would.

and then you were folding, melting into his chest, one of his hands pulling both of your behind your back, holding you down as he fucked you into your orgasm. your whines were panted right into his ear, sending him hurtling towards his own high.

lando couldn’t help himself, spilling into you, your body pressed helplessly into his. you were exhausted, wrecked, grinning lazily against the thrumming of his heartbeat.

with your hands held behind your back, you couldn’t stop him from planting you on your back, snaking down your body, burying his tongue deep inside you. the room was filled with the sound of sex, his tongue dragging over you like you were the last meal on earth and he was ravenous. he cleaned up the mess he’d made quickly, sounds that would make the population of sin city blush bouncing off the walls.

your vision was white, maybe your were screaming, it was hard to know what was going on when he had you about ready to ascend. when you fell over the edge, you were boneless, at one with the bed. you watched as he licked his lips, flopping onto the bed beside you.

he stroked your hair and you hummed, content and satiated.

lando didn’t dare look away from you while you came down.

apparently, it was rare to wake up after a wild night in vegas and remember the events of the night before.

lando remembered everything.

the exact shade of your eyes, the feel of red satin and black lace, the way you tasted.

your lips on his skin, hips in his hands, the way you moulded pliantly to his touch.

the way you gave as good as you got.

he was smiling before he’d even opened his eyes, reaching blinding across the bed, ready to propose round… four? five? lando had lost count.

warm hands met cold sheets and suddenly he was wide awake.

lando sat up dead straight, searching for a sign of life in the room. there was none. no shoes on the floor, no dress to match, no thong hanging from the door handle. a pit formed in his stomach.

is this how he made people feel?

waking up alone after the best sex of his life and no trace of the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on was quite miserable.

he thudded back into the mattress, hands shielding his eyes from the burn of daylight. he felt like shit, that was undeniable. when he’d fallen asleep, naked and with you nestled into his side, he couldn’t wait to wake up, perhaps arrogantly thinking that you’d be waking up with him. what was that saying, again?

hope breeds eternal misery.

his brain was wracked with the image of you and him, champagne flowing right before he’d taken you again, bent over the desk. and then again in the shower, a harmless attempt to clean yourselves up ending up with you on your knees before your cheek was pressed against the shower screen.

lando tried to fathom why you’d leave after the night you’d shared. there was something about it, something more intimate in the desperation you’d shared, that left him senseless as to why you were gone before the sun was in the sky.

just like he usually was.

it dawned on him, quite quickly, that the habits he’d made of quick fucks and fast getaways was not good form. it was reckless and casually cruel, and he felt guilt for the first time since his string of one night stands had begun. perspective was a crazy thing.

when he sluggishly made his way out of bed, he felt even worse.

-

“where’d you get to last night? we lost you after that terrible game of blackjack.” max teased, sipping his coffee.

lando found himself at the breakfast table, head rested on his hand and hoodie pulled tight. he wasn’t in the mood to talk, but max was like a dog with a bone; there was no avoiding this conversation.

“met a girl.” lando mumbled, aimlessly stirring the tea he knew he wasn’t going to drink.

“ah, understood.” max said, grinning knowingly. but then, as if lando’s bad mood finally clicked, he continued. “wait, why are you in a mood then?”

“tired.” lando replied, monotonously. he wasn’t quite sure how to unpack this one.

“bullshit.”

“woke up alone.”

“oh.”

“she was- i don’t know. just thought it would be different, that’s all.” lando couldn’t disguise the deflated tone of his voice.

“don’t tell me you caught feelings from a shag.” max rolled his eyes, chomping away at his toast. lando could barely stomach the sight of food.

“shut up, i’m not saying i fell in love. just liked something about her.”

“well, anything can happen in vegas. you never know, mate. she might find her way back to you.”

lando was getting ready for the netflix cup before he knew it. he’d managed to shake off max, escaping to the darkness of his room, the curtains drawn and the lights off.

he pretended it was the hangover that had him laying face down on his bed.

the last thing he wanted was to go and play corporate circus on the golfing green, but he figured some fresh air wouldn’t hurt. and so, he was in the backseat of a car well on his way to the tournament.

carlos couldn’t distract him, neither could alex or pierre. rickie fowler was much less interesting that he hoped, or maybe he wasn’t and lando just wasn’t interested enough. not even zak’s mclaren printed trousers could cheer him up.

lando was leaning into his golf club, starting mindlessly into the crowd, waiting for this garish event to begin when he caught a glimpse of someone he recognised. in a sea of influencers and obnoxious businessmen, there you were.

there you fucking were, in your knee high boots and a mini skirt, sunglasses perched on your nose, skintight top under an oversized blazer and hair shining under the warm sunlight. he lost his balance, the golf club slipping from underneath him, and the only thing that kept him upright was the burning urge to keep his eyes on you.

just who were you?

lando didn’t need to clarify whether or not you were looking at him, too. no, you made it abundantly clear by the way you winked at him, before pushing your sunglasses back up the bridge of your nose.

you fucking winked.

he took a step in your direction, shaky legs ready to carry him all the way over to you. he only had your first name and he craved your second, your phone number, anything really. he’d just take the small talk, to be completely honest.

but then the klaxon screeched, knocking him out of his trance and he whipped round to discover that they were ready to tee off. lando cursed under his breath, rapidly turning to search for your face but you were nowhere to be seen.

had he imagined you? had he imagined all of it?

every golf ball hit was hit with frustrated vengeance.

the week disappeared in a bittersweet blur.

lando had achieved multiple hangovers and about zero dollars in winnings, but he’d successfully managed to take his mind off of you.

okay, so that was a bare faced lie, but if lando didn’t lie to himself, he wouldn’t be able to lie to anyone else.

he wouldn’t be able to lie to max that he was no longer moping. he wouldn’t be able to lie to the media when they asked him if he was oh so excited about the race. he wouldn’t be able to lie to his team when they asked him if he was still suffering the consequences of his week long hangover.

lando had been rushing around all day, after a solid p4 in qualifying the night before. the entire day had been horrendous, sequins and bright lights being shone in his eyes. all he wanted to do was hide, get in the car and then go to bed.

fate had other plans.

lando was rushing to the front of the grid for the national anthem, certain that whatever display that was about to occur would make him nauseous. he was derailed on his journey, caught by rachel brookes in the pitlane, and then accosted by martin brundle once he’d made his was onto the grid.

“good qualifying yesterday and good luck today!” martin called to lando, turning to wrestle another insufferable celebrity.

as lando was making his getaway, ready to jog through the masses of people to his place at the front, he went barrelling into another body, putting his hands out to steady himself and the poor person that had become his collateral damage. as he regained his balance, he must have looked like a cartoon character, eyes bulging out of his head.

“are you stalking me?” was all he could choke out when his eyes met yours.

what the actual fuck were you doing here?

lando had given up on the possibility of ever seeing you again, and yet, here you were, stood under the bright floodlights on the grid, his office. this was the last place he’d expected you to show up, paddock pass swinging from your neck. again, what the actual fuck were you doing here?

“might as well be, at this point.” you teased. “hopefully you’ll do better today than you did at golf on tuesday.” you smiled coyly up at him, tucking your hair behind your ear.

lando was on quite the time crunch, glancing at the time on the clock at the front of the grid. he had a minute to spare, if he was lucky, but he had to talk to you, before you inevitably disappeared again.

“thought i’d get at least your phone number before you left.”

“from what i hear, you don’t usually stick around long enough for those.” you smirked.

well, his reputation certainly proceeded him. he couldn’t really argue with that.

“maybe i’m trying to change that.” lando attempted to flirt but really, he sounded desperate. you didn’t seem to mind.

“i’ll make you a deal,” you proposed, leaning in just a little bit closer. lando’s breath hitched in his throat. “get on that podium, and i’ll be waiting in your hotel lobby.”

“and if i don’t?” lando’s mouth was dry.

“maybe i’ll see you next year.”

lando watched you walk away, your hips swaying tantalisingly, wondering if the hefty fine he would be bollocked with would be worth it if he didn’t move his ass for the national anthem.

this would be the drive of his fucking life.

lando couldn’t recall a time he’d left a track faster in his life.

media duties were rushed, so was the shower he had before he fled. it was lucky he was already on the strip, so the walk to his hotel was blissfully short.

he entered the lobby with a shit eating grin and a comically large bottle of champagne in hand.

a string of second places had gotten rather frustrating, but this one felt particularly good. a podium was a podium, fair and square, and assuming you’d kept to your end of the bargain, he was in for the best celebration of his life.

sitting pretty at the bar that stretched through the lobby, you were waiting for him, heels swinging from the stool you rested on. denim clung to your hips, a dark corset style top moulding to your curves. he wondered if love at first sight was real; lust at first sight certainly was.

lando’s eyes beckoned to towards him, and you slipped inconspicuously into the elevator together, not wanting to draw too much attention to your rendezvous. it was a futile attempt, frankly, because he had you backed into the mirror before the doors had even fully shut.

kisses on your neck had your eyes fluttering closed, one of his knees slotting comfortably between your thighs. one of his hands was clasped tight around the neck of the neck of the bottle, giving lando the fantastic idea to find your neck with his free one. he held you firmly, forcing you to look at him.

“i’m gonna make you wish you never left.”

-

hours on the mattress pulling countless orgasms from one another left you both weak, exhausted, a little bit clingy.

lando felt electric. no other person had ever left him so feral, so euphoric.

he’d had you first against the door, pulling your jeans off and pinning you against it, your thighs in his firm grasp as he fucked you into the wooden panel. then, he’d taken you to bed, your knuckles turning white from your brutal grip on the headboard when he’d planted you down on his mouth. two orgasms later, you were face down in the sheets, ass in the air for him while he slammed into you like his life depended on it, pulling you into his chest by your hair when you reached your climaxes.

all that hard work called for a bath, where you both found yourselves now. it had started off quite innocently, sat at opposite ends of the extravagantly large bathtub amongst the bubbles. but then you’d given him those eyes, and then your back was pressed against his chest, your body draped over his. his head was nestled into the crook of your neck, one arm slung over your waist. his other hand brought the bottle of champagne to his lips, the liquid going down smoothly. lando pressed the bottle to your pursed lips too, trading backwards and forwards while your bodies relaxed into the hot water.

lando’s hand on your waist was getting restless, fingers drumming over your abdomen, up, up, up, until he found your breast. he circled your nipple with his finger, not quite touching the bud yet, but he could feel it hardening from his scarce touch. your hips rolled backwards into his, feeling him hardening once again against your lower back. lando cupped your breast, massaging it in his hands before he switched, flitting between your tits.

you slumped somehow even further into him, not a millimetre of space between your bodies. he was winding you up beautifully, heat burning between your legs once more. you didn’t know how you did it, how you could be so ready for each other after the eventful evening you’d already shared.

lando was flicking your nipples between his finger, switching back and fourth until you were moaning quietly. you took charge, the sensitivity building too quickly, and so you rolled over in his arms, clambering into his lap.

the bath water splashed around you, moving in small waves across the tub as you situated yourself on top of him, grinding down on him until he was buried deep within your walls. he found that spot, rolling your hips against his, and then you were rocking up and down on him, nice and slow. he touched parts of you that never had been before, the pace and the angle intensifying every little sensation. your head was thrown back, hands clawing at his shoulders for something to hold onto, just for the feel of him.

lando reached over the edge of the bathtub, blindly searching for the bottle he’d discarded while you’d been switching positions. he felt the green glass grazing his fingertips and brought it back to his lips, eyes trailing over your body in sheer awe.

he couldn’t help himself, taking a sip before tilting it towards you, pouring the golden bubbles over your clavicle, jaw tightening - just like your cunt did at the sensation - as he watched the sticky alcohol drip down over the curve of your bouncing breasts.

you quivered when you felt his tongue lap over your nipple, then the other, dragging over your sodden flesh until he reached the junction between your neck and your shoulder. he bit down, hard, eyes rolling back at the taste in his mouth and the way you clamped down around him, whimpering out between breathless pants.

lando felt you let go, stuttering on his cock and sinking down on top of him, the water - now lukewarm - soothing your tired limbs. he held you close, basking in the intimacy of the moment, his hearing honing in on the dull hum of ecstasy you expelled.

the bath grew colder and colder as you sat there, comfortable silence filling the air along with the quiet rush of water that came with any movements made. when the time came, lando held you up as you got off of him and stepped onto the plush rug, quickly following suit. you were eyeing the shower when he turned to hand you a towel.

“i think i need a shower, as much as i enjoyed the bath.” you spoke, opening the screen and stepping in to adjust the knobs.

lando weighed up his options, agonising over joining you or doing his back in. he couldn’t exactly tell his trainer that his back gave out from too much sex.

“am i invited?” lando asked, stepping in behind you, hands on your waist.

“seems like you’ve already invited yourself.” you teased, looking at him over your shoulder.

“no funny business, you.” lando rested his head on your shoulder.

“from me? you’re just as bad.” you quipped, letting the hot warm stream all over your flushed bodies.

lando stayed as he was for a second, but then you turned your head again, looking at him from the corner of your eye and he needed to kiss you. he couldn’t help but, and so he twisted you round to face him and leaned in. you were more than receptive, fingers raking through his wet curls.

the hot water rained down on you while you stood there, holding each other close. lando couldn’t put his finger on it, why he didn’t want to let you go. he couldn’t even begin to process the idea of having anyone else in his arms like this. it was absurd, really, but he was too caught up in the moment to care.

when you were both clean and dry, you laid down in bed, gazing mindlessly at one another. his eyes followed the lines of your face, the curve of your lips. he learned a lot about you, a formula 1 fan with who ran her own business and took herself on holiday to vegas. the conversation flowed like the champagne had and you were laughing at all his stupid jokes. in turn he grinned like a fool at your quick wit, the sound of your laughter.

“so what are you doing next? back to work?” lando asked, an idea forming in his mind like a tornado.

“nope,” you popped the p. “giving myself some well deserved time off.”

“have you ever been to abu dhabi?” lando asked, lips quirking mischievously.

-

inbox me your thoughts bc aaaaaaaa 😨😨

-

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[justthehiddleswrites]

Accidently Married | Tom Hiddleston x OFC | Chapter 1 |  Living Well is the Best Revenge or Just Trip Her on the Red Carpet

A/N:  Tom makes certain comments about an ex (who is unnamed).  It is a fictional girlfriend, take from it what you will.  Keep your hate to yourself.  

SERIES MASTERLIST HERE

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x OFC (Molly Bishop)

Summary: Tom is stuck in a news cycle from hell; Molly is stuck in the dead end job of bartending with a pile of student and credit debt.  Tom has an idea to solve all their problems.  Get married, get the paparazzi off his back, divorce after a year and Tom pays off Molly’s debts.  Tom has everything figured out, that is until he sees Molly as more than a just a friend and so does someone else.  In this vying for affections who will win, the handsome Brit or the boy from Boston?

This Chapter: Tom is in Vegas to present at a music awards ceremony and what do you know his high profile ex girlfriend is nominated for two awards.  And the press are having a field day.  Molly Bishop is grateful for the awards show because it means extra tips and getting her closer to paying off her student debt.  An offhand comment by Luke coupled with an encounter with his old girlfriend has Tom’s mental wheels turning.  Perhaps he and Molly can solve each other’s problem.  All they have to do is get married.

Warnings: fake marriage, smut (vaginal sex), mentions of:  child abuse/neglect, foster care, substance abuse, cheating.

TAGLIST IS OPEN! PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED!  THANK YOU FOR READING!

--

Tom dreaded turning his phone back on when the plane landed at McCarran airport. He knew what waited for him on the other side. Tom wondered if his publicist would buy the story he left his phone back at the bar in Heathrow. Probably not, he had tried that earlier in the year and Luke went ballistic until he came clean. He did not want a repeat of the earful he got back then. With a sigh, Tom switched on his mobile and shoved it into the front pocket of his jeans, vibrating as messages and emails came in.

Tom never imagined the relationship would end like this. He thought he was in love. He thought she was in love. But it had all been what were the words she used “escape hatch”. Tom had been a means to an end. And the punishment for his naivete was a news cycle that would not die. And that photo.

He waited until he was in the car on his way to the Bellagio before checking his messages. There were a series of several text messages from Luke.

Call me when you get to your hotel room.

Don’t read the papers.

Don’t talk to any reporters.

Don’t do anything until you talk to me.

Tom pinched the bridge of his nose underneath his sunglasses.

“Fuck!” he hissed under his breath.

This meant only one thing. Another story. Maybe more pictures. He shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, she was attending the same awards show. It ventured to guess the papers would play that up. Tom slumped against the car seat for the rest of the ride.

Check in went fine at the VIP check in. One perk of not only being a celebrity, but a presenter at the awards show. The bellhop delivered Tom’s luggage and garment bag. He pulled the outfit for tomorrow and hung it up, just like Illaria told him to. It was only when he flopped onto the sectional couch, Tom called Luke.

“I’ve been waiting for your phone call.” Luke deadpanned. “I started to worry you would pull that ‘I left my phone at the airport bar’ story.”

“I did cross my mind.” Tom let his head hit the back of the sofa. “Do I want to know?”

“Not really.” Luke winced. “They used the photo again.”

“Of course they fucking did!” Tom punched a nearby pillow. “I look like a twat. Luke, I need this to stop.”

Luke sighed. “Until something comes along that is better than this, expect it to hang around for a while. Unless you are planning on getting married in the next two days.”

Tom chuckled darkly. “Not bloody likely.” He sighed again. “Thanks for everything Luke.”

“It’s my job, mate. But you’re welcome.”

After Tom hung up, he stared first at the phone in his hand and then at the ceiling. He wasn’t sure how he got here, and he sure as hell didn’t know how to get out. Tom decided instead to wallow in self-pity and eat a ridiculously expensive room service steak.

-

Weekends were always busy when there were special events over at the MGM arena. This weekend was no exception. And while it may not be good for Molly’s back, her bank account greeted every penny with a smile. Vegas may be a cheap place to live, but it still costs money. And her college did not accept IOUs for student loans. She shoved more tips into the jar behind the bar and helped the next person.

“What’ll be?”

“Whatever you have that is strong and on tap.” Tom’s smooth voice cut over the din of slot machines and video poker machines.

“Coming right up.” Molly poured him a beer, and he signed the receipt with his room number before sliding to the end of the bar.

Three hours later, Tom still sat at the end of the bar, nursing the same beer. Most of the crowd dissipated at this point. Celebrities needed their beauty sleep. Or at least most of them.

“Would you like to switch that one out for a cold one?” She leaned over, smiling. “On the house.”

“Sorry.” Tom blinked and glanced around, looking for a clock Molly imagined.

“No clocks.” she commented. “Or windows.”

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Really?”

“The whole point of casinos is to keep people inside. Clocks and windows help people realize how much time has passed.” Molly replaced his beer. “The whole place is set up like a maze.”

Tom took a long draw of the fresh beer. “You seem to know an awful lot about casinos for a bartender.”

“You seem awfully forward for a movie star.” she snapped back. Tom’s eyes met yours. She shrugged her shoulders. “I have a friend who works at Regal Cinema, they let me in for free.”

“I’m having a bad day.” Tom muttered back. “You still didn’t answer the question.” He took another long draw, leaving the glass half empty.

“Oh, so we are adding pushy to your resume. I thought Brits were supposed to be charming. If you must know, I have a Bachelor’s and Master’s in Tourism from Arizona State.”

Tom opened his mouth to comment, but Molly cut him off.

“Funny thing about the tourism industry. You need experience to get a job, but you can’t get experience without having a job. Classic catch-22. Which does not pay my bills. So I bartend until I get hired somewhere.”

Tom felt like a prize idiot moping about his problems. He cleared his throat. “Apologies for my earlier behavior. I have been in a poor mood for the last several weeks and it has made me a terrible companion and customer.”

Molly smiled at him. The first truly friendly face in a while. “It’s fine. And you are entitled to a bad day.” She filled up his glass. “Once or twice. Share your troubles with me. Unless it is about which supermodel you should date next, then I don’t want to hear it.” she joked. Tom’s face fell. “Oh shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

Tom held up a hand. “Please don’t apologize. I take it you don’t read the magazines.”

“As a matter of course, no I don’t.” Suddenly a lightbulb went off. “Oh…”

Tom twisted his face into an exaggerated expression. “‘Oh’ is right. Usually followed by the words ‘shit’ or ‘fuck’.”

“And is she…”

Tom drained the glass. “Yep. Nominated for two awards.”

“Yikes! Well, if there is anything I can do, I am here all weekend.”

Tom stood up and left several twenty-dollar bills. “I might take you up on that. Thank you again for the conversation… I didn’t catch your name.”

“Molly Bishop”. she said, clearing his glass.

Tom offered his hand, and she shook it. “Tom.”

“I know.” she leaned in, her dark brown hair falling to the sides of her face. “Remember, you’re a movie star.”

Tom laughed. A real belly laugh. So loud that it jolted the old man at the other end of the bar awake. “I needed that. Thank you again. Have a good evening, day, morning.”

“It’s evening. Goodnight, Tom. Sleep well.”

Tom headed back towards the bank of elevators. He glanced over his shoulder to watch Molly wipe down where he had been sitting, shove the twenties into a tip jar, while tucking her hair behind her ears and help an obviously drunk couple. Tom made a mental note to find her again before he flew back and leave an even bigger tip.

-

Tom woke up the next morning and headed down to the gym to run on the treadmill. He would have preferred running outside but wanted to avoid people. After running five miles, he switched the machine off, wiped it and him down and headed upstairs to shower and change for the day. Tom wandered back downstairs in search of Molly, but the bartender on duty, a guy named Seth, mentioned she wouldn’t be back until the evening. Tom thanked him and headed back upstairs.

He was restless until it was time to get ready. After dressing, he took a selfie in the mirror and sent it to Illaria who confirmed he did it right. Now came the waiting game. Tom wanted to time it to avoid having to see her at all. Finally deciding he had wanted long enough, Tom called for the car and headed downstairs. What Tom forgot to account for was his incredible bad luck.

He arrived right after her and was forced to walk the red carpet, watching her out of the corner of his eye, with her arm linked around whatever man, boy, prey she ensnared for the evening. Tom plastered a killer smile on his face and continued to repeat the mantra in his head “Living well is the best revenge” when all he wanted to do is either trip her or return to his hotel room and eat an inordinate amount of chocolate cake.

The rest of the awards show blurred together into moments of white hot rage masked by a cool exterior and numbness. Thank god for the teleprompter or else Tom wondered if he would have made it through his presentation. But he did and thought he made it through the entire event without running into her and then…

“Tom!” her voice called out.

Tom froze and stiffened. What a difference a few weeks can make.

“Darling!” He spun on his heel to face her, smile firmly in place. He leaned forward and kissed her cheeks. “It’s good to see you. You look good.” he lied through his teeth.

“You too. I thought I might miss you. I just wanted to say—”

Tom waved her off. “Water under the bridge.” Another lie. Perhaps he missed his calling as a barrister or even a publicist. “Your date seems nice.”

She smiled. That smile that once melted his heart. “Thanks. He is. Where’s your—”

“Back at the hotel.” He checked his watch. “Which reminds me, I should head back. Big plans for the night.”

She blinked, and stutter stepped back. “Oh. Right.” She composed herself. “Well, it was nice to see you again. I hope we can be friends.” She held her arms open.

Fucking friends! Tom howled inside his mind. What was she playing at? More fodder for her songs? Tom seethed on the inside. He stepped forward to awkwardly hug her, praying there was no one around to snap a photo. Knowing her, though, she probably had someone in the balcony with a zoom lens.

“Of course, love.” He squeezed her a little too tight until she let loose a small yelp of pain. Tom allowed a genuine smile to come across his face. “I won’t keep you any longer. Enjoy the after party.” He walked away before she could continue on the conversation.

He waited until he was well out of earshot. “Bitch.”

-

The crowd started waning around 9:30 as the awards show let out. Molly figured most of the attendees would hit the after parties and things would pick up around 1 or 2 a.m. Until then, it would just be the regulars. She turned around to arrange the glasses she just cleaned when a now familiar voice rang out.

“Marry me.” Tom asked, his tie loosened.

“I don’t know you.” Molly teased back. “Now what will you have?”

“You as my wife.” Tom repeated, his palm flattened against the bar.

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Are you drunk?”

Tom shook his head. “Stone cold sober. Hear me out.”

She glanced around, seeing no plausible escape. “I’m listening. But if another customer comes up, I’m walking away.”

“I need something to move the paparazzi off this current news cycle with me.”

Molly smirked. “You ran into the ex. Did she have a new boy toy on her arm?”

“Yes, but that is beside the point.”

“It is entirely the point.”

Tom slammed his hand against the bar, rattling the container of nuts nearby. “Can I continue or are you going to keep interrupting?”

Molly crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“I need something to move the press off this story. You need money. We are the solution to each other’s problems.”

“You may be gorgeous, but if you think I am sleeping with you for money…”

“I never said sex. I said marriage. The last I checked, they could be mutually exclusive.” Tom’s expression softened. “Listen, you are clearly unhappy here. I am unhappy too. If us being together could alleviate a bit of that unhappiness, why wouldn’t we seize the opportunity? We get married. Get the paparazzi off my back. I would pay off your student loans and credit cards. And then after a year of living together, we quietly divorce. No sex. Just a business relationship.”

Molly chewed over what Tom said, while chewing on her bottom lip. He wasn’t wrong, she was unhappy. Vegas was supposed to be a brand new start, but it was more of the same. Dead end job and no career prospects on the horizon.”

“Did you say live together?”

“In London, yes. I have plenty of room. Your own space. You have a passport.”

“Yes.”

Tom’s face broke out in a wide grin. He couldn’t believe this was happening. The blood pounded in his ears and adrenaline coursed through his veins. He looked up at her with his bright blue eyes.

“Will you marry me, Molly Bishop?”

“Yes.” she smiled back.

Tom leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Then let’s get going, because the licensing bureau closes at midnight.”

Molly headed over to the manager, Nick.

“I quit.” she shoved her apron at him.

“What? You can’t quit, Molly. The big rush is coming.”

“You heard the lady.” Tom called. “She quits.”

“And who the hell are you?”

“Her fiancé. Come on, darling.” Tom held out his hand. She lifted up the bar at the entrance and took his hand.

-

The two of you were full of nervous energy the entire cab ride to the licensing bureau, fitting right in with the other couples waiting to get a license. While you waited in line, Tom made some calls to several chapels until he found one open and able to squeeze the two of you in.

“Now all we need is to get you a dress and some rings.”

“Oh!” Molly dug through her purse. “My friend’s kid gave these to me.” She pulled out two plastic rings. “I think these will do in a pinch.”

Tom closed his hand over hers. “I’ll buy us proper rings tomorrow. Now a dress.”

“There’s a mall on the way. I can grab something on the way.” Tom kissed Molly’s forehead.

“You are brilliant.”

“Thank you.”

Within an hour, Molly was wearing a simple white slip dress, Tom still in his suit from the awards show, although he did straighten up the tie. She smiled like a fool, holding onto a fake bouquet and Tom’s wedding ring, complete with a plastic spider in her hand.

Tom slipped on the plastic gem ring when the minister told him to, and she did the same with the spider ring. Tom giggled and so did Molly .

“I now pronounce husband and wife, you may kiss the bride.”

Tom leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her lips. His lips were warm and soft. It was… nice. Under other circumstances, she imagined Tom would be an excellent kisser.

Tom gazed down at her. “Hello, Mrs. Hiddleston.”

“Hello, Mr. Hiddleston.”

[bodyswapmischief]

Jiggalo In Trouble

Well, I don't fucking know what to do. You see ... this isn't my body. This morning I was a hairy, obese, 50 year old man. Not, this muscled, latino, bad boy you see now.

You could say my life was pathetically tragic. I grew up in a time and place where I couldn't be myself. I was gay but, stayed deep in the closet. I even forced myself to marry a woman and have 3 beautiful children. I had a decent life and most days I was happy. But, I always knew I was lying to the ones I love. Yet, I knew the truth could never come out. I had to live the rest of my life playing a straight man.

But, there was always one thing on my bucket list. I wanted to have a sex with a man. Just once, and I could die happy. I tried many times, with gay dating apps, but I always chickened out at the last minute.

But, then the opportunity showed itself. I was selected by my boss to go to Las Vegas, for a work related convention. I would be the repsentive for this branch at some booths, panels, and meetings that were going to happen.

It didn't seem to stressful. Working for the company for so long, I knew I would be able to handle it. But, what I was really excited for was the possibilites. "Whatever happens in Vegas; stays in Vegas."

So, I get there and I work at the convention. It was okay. I met some cool people. I networked. But, the long days always left me tired. I had no time or energy to look for a fast one night stand. Or maybe that was just an excuse for me chickening out again. Outside of the convention, I just spent my time eating at th hotels buffet and watching TV in my hotel room.

As the paid trip was coming to an end, I had a free day all to myself. It started off the same. I went to the buffet and ate till I was full. Then I waddled back to my room. Looking through my suitcase, I saw my special clothes I packed. In case I did manage to get the courage to do a one stand, I pack some leather gear. I sighed disappointed in myself for chickening out.

But, a thought popped in my mind. I might not have the courage to have sex with a stranger. But, I could walk around the casino dressed up as a fat leather daddy. I put on the tight leather pants. I put on a plain white shirt and leather vest. I looked at the mirror and smiled. Finally, I could express myself. I put on the rest of my gear and sighed. My heart was racing. And then I opened my hotel room door.

No one was around so, I walked into the elevator. Through the sound of my heartbeat, I was screaming inside my mind. "What the FUCK am I doing." As the elevator went down people started getting in. I wanted to cry, I was so embarrassed. But, nobody said anything. No one laughed or said something mean. Some people even smiled at me. I began to relax. I began to feel happy and maybe even sexy.

It felt like the stars aligned. And maybe they did. I went to see some shows. I ate at the buffet. I got compliments from guys. I got some numbers and some invites to clubs. I even danced with some guys at a leather bar. But, I knew I wasn't going to take the next step. I was still scared. And, it was getting late. With beer in my stomach and altering my mind. I stopped at the slot machines and put a coin in, before going to my room. And, luck really was on my side. As the machine lit up, it announced I won the 20,000 dollar grand prize. I was still drunk. Staff and other people surrounded me. They were cheering and giving me balloons, a crown, and the check to collect my winnings when I was ready.

I got up, still tipsy, and stumbled a little bit. People laughed and cheered little bit. The staff slide the check into my vest pocket. "Don't worry I got him." A hot young man came to myside. He used his strength to help me stand. He had tattoos on his arms. He was wearing a tight shirt and pants. A gold chain hung from his neck.

Everyone dispersed as this Latin stud led me to the elevator. "Okay, Papi, what room are you in." To drunk I just handed him my key card. He lead me to my room and laid me on the bed. He started taking off my clothes. I don't fight back. In my drunk mind this is the fantasy I always wanted. "Okay big boy, it looks like your going to get luck again tonight."

I can't see over my giant stomach but, I could feel him take off my pants then underwear. Suddenly, I felt him push my fat pad and start sucking my dick. He started off slow and I moaned with pleasure. He kept sucking using his tongue to play with the head of my penis. My breathing became heavier and the pleasure starts to sober me up. I felt my dick about to burst with cum. I tried to warn him but he ignores me. And, I shoot my load into his mouth. I gasped in ecstasy.

Suddenly, I felt a dick in my mouth. My mouth is covered with semen, as the dick keep pulsating with cum. I swallowed what I could and then took it out of my mouth. Right in front of me was a familiar sight. I saw my penis surrounded by my fatty pelvic region. From this outside perspective I could see how fat I really was? I look down and saw that I'm in the young man's body. My dick was rock hard and my body was now lighter and stronger. Adrenalin rushed through my muscles. Tattoos covered the body.

My body finally started talking, "Like what you see?"

"What did you do to me ... to us?"

"You see I'm a juggalo and I saw you ... a man who needed to get lucky, if you know what I mean. And, after tonight's big win down stairs I know you have the money to pay me."

"But... but.... I'm in your body and you ..."

"Oh, I have a fetish. I like giving men the opportunity to be me. I mean look at you now you are stud. You are turned on just by being in that body. Just existing in that body is orgasmic for you. So, that makes sex so much better, at least for me. And, then experiencing new bodies is always fun. I haven't been in a person this fat in awhile. And your breast are so sensitive. Oh, and this tight asshole. What do you say do you want to fuck yourself, with my body."

My old body spreaded its legs, revealing its asshole. My dick was raging hard. I slowly inserted my long dark dick. It felt so good. I started going a little faster. I watch as the muscles in my caramel body flexed and relaxed. The whole experience was hot. I started touching my old body the way I knew I liked to be touched.

"Fuck this is so good. Faster, faster, faster." My old body cried out. Feeling the strength of the muscled body, I go full speed. Both of our bodies were sweating, panting, moaning. Then everything stopped, as we both cummed.

We laid side by side, a big smile on my face. My old fat body started kissing my buff chest and then up my neck. "Let me freshen up, and then it's my turn to fuck you." He whispered sexually.

I watched as he struggled to get to his feet and then as he waddled to the bathroom. I laid there exploring my new body. My dick already getting hard from my excitement.

Then, I heard the front room door open. A man with a gun walked in.

"Fuck Enrique! Cover up or something." My heart racing, I grabbed a blanket and put it over my naked body. "Good, now this is you last fucking chance. The boss wants his money and necklace back"

"You ... you ... I'm... um." I try to talk but I can't think straight. The man walked closer and grabbed me by the neck. He started choking me. I tried to fight back. But, then he grabs me by the balls. He starts squeezing them. The pain is intense, I lay still. "Good now talk or I ripped out your prized possessions." He says as he pulls out a blade.

Then from the corner of my eye, I saw my old body enter the room. "Hey! Hey! Hey! Ryan leave him alone. It's me Enrique. He has nothing to do with this."

The man on top of me looks over his shoulder. "Really!? Your in that fatass. I guess it suits you for being such a pig in the first place." He laughed. "So, where's the boss's money."

"Here, I have part of it here. This guy just won it big downstairs. And, with access to his memories, I have access to his bank accounts." Enrique smiles.

The man begins to aim his gun at Enrique. "What ... what are you doing. I ... I have the money." Enrique starts to panic.

"What is your name," the man motions to me. "Andrew," I nervously replied. The man turns his attention back at Enrique. "No you don't have the money. You have Andrew's money. The boss is fucking tired of your shit. God! I've been waiting to do this for so long," with that last word Enrique, in my body, was shot in the head. Blood splattered on the wall and was quickly pooling on the floor. I saw in shock as my old body laid thier lifeless. What the fuck was going to happen, now.

The man walks to me and I prepare for the worst. Instead, he just ripped the golden chain from my neck. "Well it looks like it your lucky day. You got an upgrade on your body.." He said, as he looked down at me. "Don't worry about your old life. There is no going back now. I'll make sure your wife and kids get what you saved in your bank and I'm pretty sure the boss will throw a little extra."

"S ... so your just going to let me go?," I asked.

"Yeah, why not? You didn't do anything wrong., besides cheating. But, we've all been there. Plus, that body has made a lot of enemies so, you won't exactly have a peaceful life. Don't get me wrong the boss will spread the word of what really happened to Enrique, but some people just really like seeing the actual body dead. So, take your winnings and find some small town to lay low and start a new life."

A new life, one that was in constant danger. This seemed more like a punishment, but in a way I guessed I deserved it. I could never go back to my old life. I knew at this point there was no use in protesting. "What about him I pointed to my dead body."

."Oh, he was a pig in life. Now he's being tortured as a fatass in hell. But, if you are talking about the body; well we have people who will take care of that. So, I recommend leaving as soon as possible."

The man patted me on the back and started to leave. "Good luck with your new life. But, if things get to out of hand for you or you are in desperate need for a job give me a call." He places a business card on the desk, before he leaves.

Now, I'm sitting here. Memories flood my mind. I saw every bad thing this body did. Using that necklace, the man took, to rob people of everything they owned, even killing people in the process. I looked at my hands, then my arms, and then my muscular torso. I had my dream body, but at what cost. I look at this memories with disgust, I knew that I wasn't capable of those acts. But, it didn't matter, the memories felt so real.

I hear a buzzing sound and snap back to reality. I start putting on Enriques clothes and feel a cell phone. It buzzes again. LAST WARNING: Destroy this phone and get out of there now!. I easily snap the phone in half and submerge the broken pieces into a nearby glass with water. I take the the business card and walked out of the room. I didn't know where I was going. I just knew Las Vegas was no longer safe for me. I need to get some where far and collect my thoughts about what the fuck happened.

[moskaisley]

fear and loathing

gif: @pedroispunk​

pairing: javier peña x reader

rating: NC-17!! explicit!!! this is literally porn!!! if ur under, 18+ go away.

warnings: mentions of drugs, alcohol, crime, SMUT MSUSTMSUMUT

word count: 2.9k

summary:

“Oh, maybe I was a little too wild in the 70s Back down to earth with a lounge singer shimmer Elevator down to my make believe residency From the honeymoon suite Two shows a day, four nights a week Easy money”

In the years before Agent Peña was shipped to Colombia, he spent his time lost in the lights of Las Vegas, entangling himself with the lounge singer of the Flamingo Hotel and Casino.

a/n: aka me romanticizing my own city knowing it’s actually a piece of shit town. i would highly recommend u listen to star treatment by arctic monkeys bc i had that record on repeat while writing this :) enjoy space cowboys!

masterlist

The neon lights of Las Vegas were so bright they could burn skin with sin. 

People called New York the city that never sleeps, but the Big Apple couldn’t hold a candle to the mirage of chaos situated in the heart of the Mojave. This place was hotter than Hell and the citizens were like snakes, hiding from the beating sun at dawn and slithering out to hunt at dusk. The city was designed to overwhelm its “guests” with temptation. What happens here, stays here: an empty promise disguised as a secret. People talk, and the name had its own proud implication.

You didn’t have to say what you got up to in Vegas, everyone already knows.

The year was 1979. Javier Peña sat in a smoky lounge of the Flamingo, eyes lazily trained on a suited piano man playing away on stage.

He’d never come here willingly, but the DEA had him sent to Sin City investigating its suspicious abundance of every drug under the sun. Though Bugsy Siegel and many of the mobsters were long gone, the mafia still held Vegas by the balls. Their influence was atomic, going so far as to halt Metro in making any sort of move against them. Javi noticed it immediately on his first day in the office; the officers on the force only ever responded to petty crimes and traffic violations. Any call involving suited men and blow were brushed off and away. When Javi confronted one of the detectives, he only laughed in his face,

“Their lawyers are too good, Peña.”

It was only when Javi took a walk down to a shitty convenience store for a pack of cigarettes did he realize the state of the city. He saw a group of kids who couldn’t have been older than 22, high off their ass and stumbling along the sidewalk. He did his best to ignore them, but the group suddenly got louder as a girl was tripping over her heels into the street, an oncoming car only seconds away. He acted quickly grabbing her arm and pulling her flush against him, Rolls Royce tearing down the road, horn blaring at the two of them.

“You saved my life there, Mr. Mustache,” she cooed, “How could I ever repay you?”

When he looked back to her, he tried his best not to cringe. Her pupils were so dilated, he was surprised her eyes didn’t pop out of their sockets. Then, he saw the white powder off the corner of her nostril and his stomach turned. She cackled at him, and he pushed her back to her coked out friends.

Javi learned two things that night: Vegas has horrible drivers, and anyone who came close to this town rotted from the inside out. 

He figured that, in order to make any progress here, it would have to come from Hell itself. If he stuck around long enough, maybe he’d find something amongst the fields of ringing slot machines and gaudy carpet.

“Lose all your money already, son?” A voice drew him out of his thoughts. He turned to see a sharply dressed older man.

Javi faked a smile for the sake of being polite, “No, not yet. Maybe in a bit.” 

The man chuckled and sat in the leather chair to the left of him, “You should stay. They’ve got quite a show coming up.”

Fancyman bristles beside him reaching inside his breast pocket. The little bag that he pulls out is unmistakable. The high roller notices his stare, “It’ll be especially good with a little bit of this.”

Javi cocks an eyebrow at him and waves him off, “No thanks. I think I’ll just stick with these.”

He gestures to his pack of cigarettes on the small table.

“Suit yourself,” the man settles. He takes the powder on his pinky and snorts it into his nostril.

Javier holds back on rolling his eyes and instead leans into his seat. He pulls a cigarette to his lips, settling in for this magnificent show that Fancyman promised. He rifled through his leather jacket for a lighter, but nothing turned up in his pockets. 

“Let me get that for you,” a new, sultry voice whispers into his ears.

Heat creeps up his neck as a hand splays itself across his chest, tracing the exposed skin under his black button up. A golden zippo in perfectly manicured fingers appears before him, flickering to life with a tiny flame. He leans in and takes a drag, acutely aware of the lips inches away from his ear. 

“Speak of the devil,” he nearly forgot about his company for the evening, “if it isn’t our little songbird.”

“Always a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Hughes,” Javi is strangely disappointed to hear the voice had drawn away, “Who’s your friend here?”

He turns around to introduce himself, but his name dies in his throat when his eyes catch yours. You could easily be a movie star with your bright red lipstick and perfect waves of hair. His mouth goes dry when you round the corner of his chair and sit on the armrest, lighting your own thin cigarette and storing away your zippo in your fur coat.

“I don’t know, darling, but I think he’s in love.”

“Is that so?” Your perfect lips form a smile as you curl them around the filter, “What’s your name, lover?”

He coughs into his sleeve in an attempt to prevent his voice from rising three octaves.

“Javier,” he says, “It’s just Javi, though..”

Idiot. 

“Javier,” he could get drunk on the way you say his name, “Well, just Javi, could you hold onto this for me?”

His breath hitches when you slide the coat off your shoulders, revealing your body in a silk black strapless dress and a gold necklace with diamonds spilling onto your collarbone. You all but throw the fur onto his lap and stamp out your cig in the ashtray in front of him. 

“Enjoy the show, lover.”

-

Describing you as a “songbird” was a serious understatement. Javi found your voice fucking heavenly with the way it crooned out some old torch song from the 40s. He wasn’t the only one who felt this way; sober or not, the audience hung onto every note that left your lips and the room was at your command. Your smooth, honey-sweet voice melted through one melody to the next. Soon enough, you were thanking everyone for coming out and wishing the crowd a lovely stay at the Flamingo.

And then your eyes met Javi’s once again, and blood rushed to his ears.

Eyes glittering mischievously, you point directly to him, “This last song is dedicated to that man right there.”

The spotlight whips away from the stage, landing directly on Javi’s chair. He tried his best to remain stone cold, jaw clenched and dark eyes boring into yours from across the room. But his embarrassment was quite literally on display as he shifted uncomfortably under the white hot heat of the light behind him.

“Just Javi was kind enough to hold onto something very special to me,” you purred into the mic, “Please give him a round of applause.”

Thank God, for your coat. Had it not been there, the world would’ve seen the way Javi’s cock strained against his jeans.

He finally let out a huff of relief as the spotlight left his back and veered its way back to your place on the stage, your last song starting. Javi was quick to scramble for another cigarette. He looked at the coat in his lap, pausing in contemplation. His eyes darted between the fur coat and yours as you began to sing again.

“I found a place

Full of charms

A magic world

In my baby's arms....”

His hands slithered their way to the folds of the coat on his lap, dipping into the pocket and pulling out the golden lighter. He flicked the sparkwheel, a tiny fire illuminating his the curves of his face as he kept his steely gaze on you.

“Her soft embrace

Like Satin and Lace..”

Javi took a long drag, nicotine setting his chest aflame. Your black dress ripples along your legs as you cross the stage. You’re smooth in the way you pull yourself onto the grand piano, lying down and arching your breasts upward as you belt out the lyrics, shooting a dazzling smile to him.

“Wondrous place”

-

“Excuse me, miss? There’s someone here to see you.”

“Tell him he needs to get in line.”

You see Tom, the baby-faced stagehand, bristle in the reflection of your dressing room mirror. He’s heatedly whispering with the person next to him. You always felt bad for giving him the chore of turning your suitors away.

And while you expect Tom to close the door and leave you in peace, he presses on.

“He-uh-he says he has your coat, ma’am.”

Your lips curl into a devilish smile, and you turn to your sweet blushing assistant.

“Oh, send him in then. He’s okay.”

The kid obeys, pushing your door further open. The man you’ve had your eyes on all night walks through, your fur coat wrapped along his forearm.

“What a lovely surprise, Just Javi.”

You watch him in amusement as his Adam's apple bobs in his neck. You relish in the paralyzing effect you have on him.

“I just came to return this,” his voice is tight as he tries to return your fur to you. You don’t miss the way his eyes trail over your body; your black stage dress was replaced by a cream silk robe loosely tied at your waist.

“Sure you did,” you tease. His jaw clenches. A small laugh spills from your lips, “Tom, could you give us a bit of privacy?”

Silence follows after the door shuts closed. You cross the room to stand inches before him, raising a hand to caress his cheek. The other rests on the coat in his arms. His ragged breathing is music to your ears. 

“You were great tonight.”

“I aim to entertain,” you rub your thumb over his cheekbone, “Thank you.”

He clears his throat, voice growing low, “That was a pretty mean stunt you pulled out there.”

“Not a fan of the limelight, Javier?”

“No, not particularly.” 

A coy smile creeps on your face when he leans in closer, lips parting in an attempt to catch yours. You slyly dodge Javi's mouth, and it connects with the crook of your neck instead. In his frustration, he bites down hard. A satisfied mewl escapes you.

“You’re driving me insane,” he huffs against your clavicle.

“What can I say?” he pulls away to look at you with wild eyes, “I like to play with my food, Javier.”

Chest heaving, Javi throws the damn coat onto the plush velvet chaise behind you. His strong, calloused hands are at your waist, feeling the curves of your body and pulling you closer towards him. You giggled in delight at his touch and your hands flew to clutch the back of his neck, fingers entangling themselves in his hair. You squeal when he goes to grab your ass, hoisting you up and wrapping your legs around his torso. He makes his way over to your vanity, and with a sweep of his right hand, he pushes off the contents of the table to the floor. Javi sits you up against the mirror, and takes your face in his hands.

“Let me kiss you, mi amor.”

Your body swells with warmth. You didn’t plan on kissing him, but the way his accent echoed in your ears made you dizzy. Your hands drop to the opening in his button up, and you pull him in, lips crashing together. He shudders against you, tongue swiping across your bottom lip. You let Javi in with fervor, huffing against his lips. Your fingers work their way down his torso, unbuttoning his shirt. They come back to his shoulders, desperately pushing his leather jacket off his shoulders. Javi’s hands leave your face and shrug off both his garments onto the floor. Your face flushes with heat at the sight of his bare chest. He pushes himself closer between your legs, and traces his right hand towards your inner thigh. His other hand pulls the bow at your waist and your robe spills open revealing your naked body.

Javi groans at the sight before him, and his hand palms at your breast.

“Fuck, you’re stunning.”

“Take a picture. Lasts longer.”

“I intend to do way more than that, cariño.”

Your heart flutters when he pulls your vanity chair in front of you and takes a seat. He spreads your legs out wide, hooking one of them over his shoulder. You hold your breath as he kisses along the inside of your thigh. Two fingers come up to your dripping pussy, massaging against the folds and spreading them open. His fucking tongue traces against your opening and you nearly cry at how good it feels. Javi drinks in every part of you as you squirm under his mouth like any parched man would in this desert. He moves his lips upward to suck gently on your clit, and inserts two fingers into you. 

“Javi!” you croon, “Javi, baby, it feels so good.”

“Yeah? Sing it for me, sweetheart. I love hearing your voice.”

You gasp when his digits curl inside you. You wrap your hand in his hair, and pull him back up to face you. He’s still pumping into you when he stands from the chair, and your leg falls back onto the table. Trouble flickers across your face as you reach down and grip his wrist. You pull his fingers out of you and take them into your mouth, swirling your tongue and tasting your cunt on his tips. 

“Shit, baby,” Javi grunts and uses his free hand to pull you flush against his hips. You moan at the feeling of his cock through his jeans. He presses his forehead against yours and removes his fingers from your hot mouth. Your deft hands fly to unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants. You claw at the waistband of his boxers, dipping your soft hands below to palm his thick cock.

Javi’s eyes shut at the contact, cursing under his breath when you wrap your fingers around the tip and squeeze.

“I knew I was gonna fuck you the minute I saw you,” You shift under him to whisper in his ear, “I’m so glad you don’t disappoint.”

“How?” Javi is barely holding it together, head spinning as you slowly stroke his shaft, “You couldn’t even see my face in the lounge.”

“No, I couldn’t. But I saw you in the lobby,” you push down his underwear and his cock springs out, “It was just my luck you came to see me.”

You pull him into another searing kiss, dick still in hand. His heart races as you rub him along your wet entrance. He leans forward and his arms pin themselves beside your head against the vanity mirror. He thrusts his length fully inside you, and the sound you make is ungodly. Your tight cunt is so warm and tight and he begins to move faster. The slapping of his torso against the back of your thighs reverberates around your dressing room, and your vanity table shakes with every push into you. Anything remaining on your table shifted and fell to the floor with the rest of Javi’s clothes. 

He pulls his hands away from your mirror, and he presses them into your shoulders for stability. His lips move from yours and attack your neck, sucking at the supple skin below your jawline.

You let out a strangled mewl, but chide “Not on my neck, lover. I’ve got a show tomorrow.”

Javi nearly whines in frustration and pushes you backwards, forcing you to arch your chest into him. He kisses along your sternum instead, sucking down hard and marking you with a purple hickey between your breasts. The sight riles him up further, and he plows into you faster.

“Fuck, Javier, I’m gonna cum!” 

“Look at me, mi amor. I wanna see you,” he tilts your chin upwards with his finger.

A wave of pleasure washes over you and your lips are chanting his name as you ride your orgasm. Javi has his own shortly after you, cum spilling into you and leaking around the sides of his dick. He pulls out of you and leans against the table, arms flexing next to your legs.You sit up and kiss the corner of his mouth. Pushing yourself off your vanity, you push past him and bend over your chaise lounge, shuffling through your forgotten coat. You turn back to Javier leaning against the armrest and you light one of your slim cigs. You take your first drag and pull it from your lips, offering it to him as you exhale. When he goes to take it from your fingers, however, you abruptly tug at his arm, throwing him onto your chaise. 

His bewilderment made you chuckle, “What are you doing there, sweetheart?”

Your mischievous smile returns as you twist the cig in your fingers, 

“Hold onto this for me, Javier.”

You stick the filter into the corner of his mouth as you straddle his legs, and you peel off your robe to reveal all of yourself to him.

“I hope you’ve enjoyed your stay,” you coo as you lick your lips “but I don’t think I’m quite done singing for the night.”

You were no songbird. You were a siren. A succubus. Like everything else in Las Vegas, you would take and take and take and leave nothing but dry bones and dust in your wake.

.

a/n: disclaimer: las vegas is actually lame as fuck. 

but i hope u liked the very basic history lesson i peppered in there anyway haha. fun fact: the lawyers for all those mobsters actually became mayor at some point. 

the song mentioned in this fic is wondrous place by billy fury! 

the title is totally ripped from fear and loathing in las vegas! because we love references.

idk if there’s gonna b another part for this?? mayb if y’all rly want it i have a few ideas but after this i want to focus back on to migraine. lmk if u like it!! bc it was actually fun just writing about a place i know. hope you all enjoyed!

taglist 

@starkstranges​  @mysterihoeee​

thanks for reading! see u space cowboys <3

- leo

[msjr0119]

The Greatest Show

“I wish for happiness like this forever.”

In this series all chapters are based on each song and quotes from ‘The Greatest Showman’

Characters belong to Pixelberry except MC - Amber Smith-Beaumont and Brett Parker

Warnings: Swearing, smut 🍋, gambling

Tags - using combined tagged list, if you want to be removed please let me know 👍🏼

@pedudley @kacie-0156 @loveellamae @annekebbphotography @burnsoslow @ladyangel70 @kingliam2019 @bbrandy2002 @butindeed @bascmve01 @drakewalker04 @captain-kingliamsqueen @duchessemersynwalker @insideamirage @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @kozabaji @texaskitten30 @ibldw-main @kimmiedoo5 @nikkis1983 @cmestrella @gnatbrain @walker7519 @lodberg @hopefulmoonobject @addictedtodrakefanfic @angi15h @liamxs-world @rafasgirl23415 @notoriouscs @yukinagato2012 @dcbbw @qammh-blog @nz1091 @cordonianroyalty @custaroonie @seriouslybadchoices @rainbowsinthestorm @princess-geek @jared2612 @desiree-0816 @gardeningourmet @twinkle-320

******

“What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas huh?” She said, barely able to keep her eyes open.

“It doesn’t have to? Where are you from? We could meet up again. I wish for happiness like this forever. You gave me the chance to be free, let loose.” Looking at him, she was unsure about what he meant by being free, but she didn’t have the time to question it. It wasn’t important.

“John, I have just started seeing someone back home, you know this. This was just a stupid one night stand. I drank too much.”

“We were both drunk. But you remembered everything right? Is your boyfriend as sexy as me though?” He winked at her, whilst flexing his pecs.

“Of course I remember! Some bits were blurry. But I remember. Don’t flatter yourself.” Standing up, he held her close to him- sharing one last lingering kiss.

“I hope our paths cross again Pocahontas.”

“Keep dreaming Prince Charming.” If only she knew.

“What’s your full name. I’ll find you on social media, we can keep in touch.” Quickly thinking of a surname, she knew they would never cross paths again.

“Marie Walker.”

*****

The night before

Everyone was on a high, ready to celebrate their friends twenty first birthday- deciding to go to Vegas they dread to think what mischief that they would get up to, but you’re only twenty one once.

Arriving at Caesar’s palace, they checked into their villa that they were sharing- the villa that nearly made them all bankrupt. Hoping to be successful with their gambling later on in the night, this would help them retrieve some of their money back.

“Okay, so we need fake names.” The friends all looked at each other confused as to why they would need a fake identity. “We are now known as; Marie, Mel, Kim, Elsie and Mitchell.”

“Okay, so I understand Elsie and Marie - family members names. I’m using my surname. But Mel and Kim?”

“Takin' chances, bold advance-e-es, Don't care if you think we're out of line.’ We sung Respectable at the karaoke bar the other night. Besides Mel and Kim were sisters like we are. We need fake names, in case there are any creeps or we get arrested or something.”

“Or married!” Mitchell said winking at the girls.

“Come on its my birthday! I need to get hammered!” Playing a few drinking games in the room, they were all instantly becoming gradually tipsy. Walking to the elevator, they all put their hands together- What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, they all reminded each other in unison.

*****

Leo wandered around the slot area, throwing money away as quickly as he was he may as well of flushed it down the toilet. Every time he won, he placed it back into the machine. It became busier as the night drew in, the playboy prince kept declining incoming calls from Bastien- knowing it would only be a matter of time before he would catch up to him. Leo was gradually becoming more intoxicated- people watching whilst leaning against a machine- his focus lingered on all the women around him.

Nice ass.

Nice tits.

Nice lips.

Blonde- no avoid blondes, especially if they are like Madeleine- my future wife. Eurghh.

She’s curvy, but still okay looking.

Too tall.

Too small.

Too drunk.

Too boring.

Bride to be- what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas though.

Too young.

Too old. Way too old- cougar though.

Leo shook his head, even considered giving himself into Bastien- that was until a group of people walked closer towards him. His eyes lingered on towards the brunette, the red dress that she was wearing flaunted all of her assets. Plucking up some courage- not that he needed it, he decided to walk over to the group of friends.

“Hello beautiful. Do you want a drink?” She looked at him, their eyes locking- before she focused her gaze to her drink before back to him.

“I’m good thanks. Save your dollars, it’s my birthday so I’m sure I could get a few drinks free.”

“Happy birthday!” He said enthusiastically, ignoring the fact that she had rejected his offer.

“Thanks. See ya.”

“Wait!” She looked at him, knowing he was probably just a ��creep’- undeniably he was a handsome man but she wouldn’t admit that to anyone.

“Hey.... Marie.... we are going to head to the tables... you coming?” Kim shouted from a distance.

“Yeah, I’m coming. See ya around.” Pulling her closer towards him, he wanted to get to know the stranger.

“I’ll tag along, Marie.. beautiful name.” Shrugging her shoulders she released herself from his presence- she followed her friends- Leo soon became their shadow. Smirking at her, stealing glances every so often she shook her head- this awkward situation would soon disappear as the drinks flowed she believed.

“So you know my name, what’s yours?” She asked, to be polite- now knowing that he was like super glue- insisting on sticking with them.

“John Smith.” Rolling her eyes, she let out a slight giggle.

“I bet it is.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“Maybe? It’s just a generic human name that is used- like John Doe. I suppose that makes me Pocahontas then.”

“Well you can be my princess for tonight then?” Placing his arm around her waist, she felt his warm breath linger around her ear and neck.

“This isn’t some fairytale. This is Vegas baby. I’m celebrating my birthday with friends and you’re intruding.”

“Don’t you believe in fairytales?”

“No.”

“Ill tell you what, why don’t we both go over to the roulette table. If you win more I’ll leave you alone....”

“And if you win more?”

“Then you’re stuck with me all night.” Great. I don’t know how to play. It’s just fluke on the roulette. Right?

“Fine deal, I’ll let my friends know.”

Walking over to her friends, they knew exactly what was about to happen- all smirking at her then at the mysterious man.

“What?” Marie snapped at them.

“You’re going to ditch us... it’s written all over your face.”

“I need to win more on the roulette, he said he would leave us alone if I did.” Maybe she was being naive, or maybe he would genuinely leave them if she did win the bet- her friends all laughed in unison, the could already predict exactly how her birthday was going to end. It wasn’t going to end with them, like they originally planned.

“Of course he did. He isn’t leaving you at all- he’s providing you with ‘fuck me eyes’.... a certain man back home won’t be happy.”

“No he’s not- his flirting skills are atrocious. And regarding a certain man, we aren’t together officially yet. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. But nothing is going to happen. I’ll ring you once I’ve got rid of him.”

*****

“Fuck!” Marie muttered to herself after an hour on the roulette table, knowing that she had now lost the bet- dramatically.

“So babe, I assume I won the bet then...” Sighing she knew this was a bad idea to begin with, now knowing that he would be acting all smug.

“You’d assume correct, stop smirking at me like that...”

“Like what? This?” He asked in a seductive tone of voice whilst placing his hands around her waist again. He continued smirking- her heart began fluttering, not knowing if it was due to the alcohol. Brushing a stray strand of her brunette hair behind her ear, she froze not knowing how to react- her breathing rapidly increased due to the handsome strangers touch. He leaned down claiming her lips taking the plunge. Wrapping her arms around his neck, one hand tangled through his hair as she pulled him closer- as if they were a magnet, attracted to each other immediately. His hands hovered at the sides of her tiny frame before gripping her hips, pulling them flush to him. Moaning into the kiss, she felt as if she was hypnotised- in some type of spell. In the back of her mind, she felt guilty as she had just started a relationship back home, but in this moment in time she felt lust and desire towards the stranger. Breaking the kiss, she looked at him feeling breathless- feeling his hardening length pressing on to her, she didn’t know what to expect for the rest of the night.

“You could carry on throwing your money down the drain, or there’s another option...”

“Oh... what would that be?”

“Ditch your friends and spend the night with me..” The angel on one shoulder was trying to convince her to not stray from her loyal friends, however the devil demanded that she gave in to temptation.

“What would you say if I ditch you instead?”

“That you’re a let down, I mean you’ve already kissed me... wouldn’t you like to experience the whole package?”

Guys I’m really sorry but have a good night, I’ll see you in the morning - please don’t respond. I’m fine. I’m okay. I’ll send an SOS if I need you. Love you all x

“Lead the way then John Smith... but....”

“But what?”

“I Erm... I’ve just sort of started seeing someone back home...” Grabbing her hand, he led her up to his room ignoring the information she had just provided him with- hoping that she wouldn’t back out due to this. In the elevator, they were alone- pressing the button, he then turned to her. Pushing her against the wall, his hands frantically roamed her body as he crashed his lips onto her- opening her mouth gasping for air he took the opportunity to place his tongue next to hers. Their tongues were dancing along with each other until the doors opened and other people entered, immediately letting go of her- he smirked at her- feeling frustrated as he would have carried on if they hadn’t been abruptly disturbed.

Opening the door, he welcomed her into his penthouse- her eyes widened at how a single man could afford this on his own.

“Help yourself to the mini bar, I’ll just get ready.” Nodding her head, she headed towards it- bending down scrutinising the options Leo became immediately distracted gawking at the view in front of him. Fuck she’s got a nice ass, why do I need to get ready? I’ve got a beautiful girl in my room. These thoughts kept roaming through his mind, usually he would open his bedroom door and immediately demand that for his date to get into bed, straight to business- he was known as the playboy prince after all.

“Hey, what did you choose to drink?” Turning to face him, she admired his toned muscled body and sparkly baby blues now that he had removed his shirt and glasses. “Erm... I’m ... undecided. Maybe you could help me?”

Walking over towards her, deep down he wanted her - not a drink. Caressing her cheek, she felt weak at the knees immediately. “Or we could decide to avoid the drink?” She barely whispered, into his ear. Leo’s hands gently roamed up and down her body, whilst placing gentle kisses on her bare skin that was on show- as she stood frozen hypnotised by his good looks. “You are beautiful, how about we take this over to the bed?” He asked confidently, knowing his charm had never failed him before. Gulping she agreed, carrying her over bridal style- he gently placed her onto the bed - feeling his erection against her immediately again as he hovered over her, she wanted him - there was no doubt about that. “I think you’re a bit overdressed Marie...”

“Maybe you could sort that out for me?” Standing her up at the edge of the bed, he unzipped her red dress- the material effortlessly fell to the ground, she was standing in front of him in her matching red lacy bra and thong which turned him on, not that he wasn’t already. Unclasping her bra, he cupped both breasts- before pushing her back on to the bed.

Marie arched her back, moaning quietly but loud enough for him to hear as his thumbs rubbed her nipples in gentle circles, whilst kissing her neck. His lips began to wander down from her neck, along her shoulders before taking one nipple into his mouth- flicking his tongue around it, before swapping to the other one. Once he had finished, his hands wanted to explore the rest of her body. Sliding down her petite body- reaching her inner thighs- he spread them open taking full control. Pushing her lace thong to the side- his fingers teased her at the entrance, even with a brief touch she was immediately damp. “So wet already baby. It must be my good looks.” He winked at her. “Of course it is, your ego could explode if you carry on talking like that.”

“Do you want me or not Marie? Because I could always back out if you carry on with this sarcasm...”

“Don’t you dare stop John, I’ve ditched my friends for you- so you better carry on....” Forcing a demanding kiss on to her lips, he tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth. Moving his thumb over her clit, she couldn’t contain her moans- these light touches soon changed as he plunged his fingers deep inside.

“You like that baby?” Ignoring him, she just nodded, removing his newly coated fingers- he licked them seductively in front of her, this gesture aroused her at once. Leo smirked knowing he was showing how to treat a girl with fantastic oral sex. Seeing her breathless already, he removed his fingers. Removing her lacy thong, he threw it- not really noticing which direction it landed in- kissing her inner thighs, he now replaced where his fingers previously were with his tongue instead.

“You taste so good.” He said before plunging his tongue deeper inside. “Fuck! Don’t stop please.” She screamed, as she dug her nails into his back leaving a slight mark. Removing his tongue, he placed his fingers there again giving her that bit more pleasure- smiling at her, her whole body was now trembling. Her fingers brushed over his chest, before arriving at the waistband of his jeans. Seeing the bulge- she bit her lip- their eyes focused on each other, showing his infamous smirk he stood up removing his jeans and boxers knowing that they were both thinking the same thing. Whilst he did this she sat up- watching him releasing his growing manhood. Fuck he’s going to break me in half with that. “Like what you see?” He asked noticing her gaze was down below, before giving him full eye contact. “I like what I see, but I’d prefer to touch and feel you...” Leo let out a sigh, as she wrapped her hand around his length- even though he loved her hand expertly stroking him, he didn’t know how much longer he would last. Licking her lips, she stroked his length, before taking it fully in her mouth.

“This feels amazing, but I believe you said you wanted to feel me as well...” Looking up at him fluttering her eyelashes, she did want him- but wanted to finish what she had started. Feeling his cock pulsate at every move- knowing she was pleasing him as he did her, she picked up her pace, before removing his cock. Laying her backwards he forcefully placed another passionate kiss on her lips. His firm muscled chest, was now pressed against her bare skin- separating her legs as if she was an expert gymnast, he thrust against her- teasing her at her wet entrance. Lining himself up, he didn’t think about the consequences- he was hoping that she was on contraception, as she didn’t stop him. Slowly pushing in, he heard her moan- pausing for a brief second allowing her walls to get used to him, he began with slow gentle thrusts. This slow yet steady pace soon turned powerful, every thrust hitting that specific spot. “Fuck.” She kept whimpering, was it worth ditching her friends- yes. In her mind this was the best sex she had received, but she wouldn’t admit that to the already confident stranger, if he asked she knew she would play it down. Her hands remained on his back, every thrust she would unknowingly scratch her nails deeper into his skin.

Arching her back, her legs felt like jelly- her whole body fluttered, hoping that this night would never end. Kissing her on the lips, he was ready to finish- not wanting to, he felt slightly embarrassed at how quickly this was occurring. Slowing his movements down, he gripped her hips tightly as he felt that sudden rush of semen, his warm seed soon exploded in her. Staying in that position, he rest his forehead against hers- sweat was now dripping from his forehead and down his body. Slipping his cock out of her, he gave one last thrust against her wet folds- the remainder of his cum was now mixed along with hers. Laying next to her, they were both breathless and remained silent, both fixating their eyes towards the ceiling. “Could your friends provide you with a fantastic birthday present like that?” He asked before turning to face her.

“Would be slightly weird if they could...” She laughed at him, before snuggling into his embrace still trying to catch their breath. “Four girls and one man- you never know... he could share you all.”

“I don’t think his girlfriend Lo- Kim would agree with Mitchell sharing us all...”

“Fair enough, so you’ve already technically cheated on your new boyfriend.... we could make the most of the night?” The cheeky grin that appeared on his face was too hard to ignore, not knowing if he was being sincere or just having a joke. Rolling onto to him, she straddled him- gripping on to her hips, she leaned down for another kiss- it was her new addiction- an addiction that she would never taste again. Why not? She thought. “I’ll take control this time.”

*****

Coming out of her trance, Maxwell noticed Amber wasn’t her usual self. Drake had left them with Leo to get some drinks.

“Ambs? What’s up?” Placing his hand around her, he knew her the best out of everyone- he could see she was worrying and over thinking.

“I’m Marie.” She responded looking out towards the horizon, not making eye contact with her brother but instead resting her head on his shoulder.

“Yeah I know you are, Amber Marie Smith-Beaumont. My baby sister.”

“No... I’m that Marie. Leo’s Marie. Leo’s Vegas one night stand. If Drake finds out, he’s gonna leave me.” Finally looking him, he believed she was pulling some practical joke- until he felt her take a long breath.

“What? Rewind... you went to Vegas... slept with Leo... neither of you have recognised each other?”

“I was twenty one, I’m sure I’ve got a few more wrinkles due to stress in those four years. He was wearing glasses, I was drunk. He was drunk. I remember it though. I went with Riley, Lola, Beth and Daniel. Lola insisted that we had fake names... he did a bet with me, then I ended up in his bed. Fuck.”

“Shit, you just need to sleep with Liam, Rashad, Neville, Connie and Godfrey- then you’ve done them all. Id say you’ve done a full house, but obviously it would be wrong if you slept with me and Bertrand. But it’s as close as a full house.” Cheekily grinning, he was having a joke until he felt her punch him in the shoulder.

“MAXWELL!”

“Sorry, Sorry.” Holding his hands up- he wished he had a white flag to surrender- he didn’t want a replay of what she did to Madeleines nose. Drake and Leo, joined the pair- Drake kissed Amber making her heart flutter instantly.

“Drake? Can I have a word in private?” Maxwell asked, seeing Drake become frustrated before eventually agreeing. I’ll be back soon beautiful. Leo laid next to Amber, admiring the beautiful view in front of them- remaining in silence, she knew she had to tell him the truth.

“So John Smith, had anymore Vegas flings?” Leo looked at her confused, before his eyes widened.

“Pocahontas?”

“Leo, please don’t tell Drake.”

“This is so fucking funny!” Hysterically laughing, she provided him with looks that could kill.

“It’s not funny Leo! I never thought I’d see you or should I say John, again.”

“No the whole situation isn’t funny, but you have to admit it was a good shag. The funny thing is you called yourself Marie Walker. Marie I assume after your mother. But now it’s funny because you used Walker as your surname. One of these days you could actually be a Walker.”

“How do you remember that?”

“I tried to find you, why did you use Walker? I thought that kiss you gave me in Lythikos was slightly familiar.”

“Because if I said Smith- Beaumont you’d find me straight away as my middle name is Marie. So technically I wasn’t lying unlike you. My mom always spoke about Jackson Walker, I panicked. A kiss is a kiss surely?”

“I had to lie, I was on the run from Bastien. Listen, as you said before what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Our secrets safe, although you do know where to find me if you want round three though.”

“If you wasn’t a Prince even though you’ve abdicated, I’d be tempted to punch you right now. Thank you for keeping this between us. Still friends Zimmer?”

“Of course suture. But the offer is still there- ya know if you get bored of Walker.” Hugging her, they both had closure and both eventually laughed at the awkward situation. She now realised why Olivia kept running to him- Leo was great in the sac, she couldn’t deny that and she would never admit that to anyone. But he wasn’t Drake. Her boyfriend.

“Hey baby.”

“Hey you. What did Maxwell want?”

“He gave me the protective brother lecture. Begging me to not hurt you or leave you- I wouldn’t do that anyway. I’d rather have this ‘lecture’ from him than Bertrand. Are you ready to go back to the palace?”

“Im ready for you.” One of these days you could actually be a Walker. Leo’s words kept repeating in her mind, placing a kiss on his lips, she melted into his embrace.

“C’mon then m’lady.”

*****

Arriving back at the palace, Amber wanted to go to her room first to collect some ‘sleepover essentials’. Opening her door, there was a box surrounded with holes and a ribbon in the middle of her bed. Peering in her mouth was agape believing this wasn’t reality- more like an hallucination, tears began pouring down her face.

“Jackson!” Opening the box eagerly, the puppy jumped out of the box- excited to see his mom.

“You have a pup? Called Jackson?”

“When I got him I couldn’t think of a name, my mom suggested Jackson. I think she had a crush on your father, the name kind of stuck with him.”

“Well who wouldn’t have a crush on a Walker? But how has he got here?” They both looked concerned at each other, in the back of her mind she just assumed that one of her friends sent him. Scrutinising the box, Drake found a note- passing it to Amber she read it out loud.

I think he’s missed his Mom, meet me in the ballroom. I’ll be waiting for you. Come alone X

[sadistic-second]

Raw meat; Your blood drool attracts the flies

Eat Raw Meat = Blood Drool by Editors

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The back alley smelt like blood. Sweat. Tears. Depression. Desperation. Fear. Cowardice. A mixture of emotions and various other things. Junkies came here to shoot up. Alcoholics who couldn't take no for an answer brought their victims here. Rival gangs settled their business here. Nothing good happened in a back alley past a certain time. The Turk knelt there on his knees, body hunched over. One hand supporting him as blood oozed out of his mouth. Voices echoed around him, but he couldn't make out what they were saying.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The night had started with Reno taking his younger siblings, Axel and Rem, out to Wall Market. Mostly to celebrate the two of them coming home from a particularly difficult mission. Partly because he had some business of his own here and didn’t want anyone to know what he was doing. But really, when would he get to spend a night on the town with his small family like this again?

The appointment that he meant to keep wouldn't be happening until well past midnight. By then he was hoping Rem would be occupied with her usual honeybee girls and Axel might have gotten himself all hyped up for the Colosseum. That way neither of them would be the wiser. So with plenty of time to kill, it was off to dinner first.

They couldn't just decide on one street vendor. No, they had to go to all of them and get something different each time. Reno made sure he paid for all these things. Sure Axel and Rem could have done it, went so far as to offer, but he kept telling them it was fine. Save their money. He could get this. While they ate, they walked around and started talking about all the things that they wanted to do while they were here.

Axel mentioned heading over to the gym. He heard about a squat competition and wanted to see if he had what it took to beat the high score. That really wasn’t Reno’s thing, but he’d let his brother do it if he wanted to. Rem was talking about gambling so that meant either placing bets at the colosseum or going to the casino. Though Rem had made it painfully clear that she would end both their lives if Chocobos got involved somehow. That meant they’d be walking everywhere and Reno just sighed. 

Their first stop was a gambling house. Just someplace to play cards, perhaps a couple of slot machines. For this he let them use their own money, he needed to save at least a little bit of his own. A couple of hours later, the trio was walking out with more than they’d gone in with. Turns out there was a dartboard in the back and well. Turns out that Axel is just really good at chucking darts. From there, they headed for the Honey Bee. 

Now, they were arriving here a bit earlier than he thought they would. Shouldn’t be too big a deal. A glance at the time and he started to chew on the inside of his cheek. They were putting on a show tonight and though the redhead did enjoy sitting front row, tonight he wanted to sit mixed into the crowd. Too bad his siblings weren’t having that. Front and center, wanted to see everything there was to see. Somehow, Reno wasn’t really sure, Axel ended up on stage. Might have had to do with something he heard Rem say. Hadn’t comprehended it at the time, but watching the way his brother moved his hips like that?

“Rem, why is Axel up there?” Honestly, it was weird to watch. But his brother just seemed so good at it. 

“Simon Says.”

Of-fucking-course. Should have known. God, this was going to get them thrown out, wasn’t it? It was a train wreck in the making that he couldn't tear his eyes away from. And yet, there was cheering. Clapping. Something about an encore? Were they really asking that Axel come back for a repeat performance? How drunk was he? Considering he hadn’t touched a single drop of beer or alcohol all night, probably wasn’t in the slightest. 

His siblings, on the other hand, had had a few. That contributed to the giggling and the clinging to his arms as they made to leave. Oh, but they wanted to talk to Axel about his dance. Something about putting him on the schedule? What? No. That wasn’t allo- And there he went. So Rem and Reno would wait for him. Except for one of Rem’s usuals came around and asked if she, too, could stay. So that left Reno all alone. Well, look at the time. Better make it to his appointment.

Hands in his pockets, the Turk left the Honey Bee and took a couple back alley passageways to Madam M’s place. All he had to do was walk inside, collect what he went there to get, and leave. She had even seen him approaching. They’d waved. But she seemed to see something he hadn’t. Maybe she assumed he’d known and that’s why nothing was done about it. Half an hour passed before Reno finally left. She watched him leave just in case. When she noticed that he didn’t even make eye contact with the two thugs following him, that’s when she knew.

And that is what brings us here. A couple of people from the old gang had seen their old pal walking around with his siblings. The departure from the gang hadn’t exactly been the most pleasant. When he was younger, some ShinRa employees in tow, Reno said he was leaving. That he wasn’t coming back. That was his notice. One does not simply leave gang life just like that. The only reason he had been allowed to walk away unscathed that day was the back up that he’d brought.

Well, today he didn’t have anyone with him, did he? Baby brother and sister weren’t here to save him either. The two thugs following him jumped him as he tried to slip back down the way that he had come. Bag over his head, arms tied behind his back. One does not simply get to pull one over on a Turk. But a good blow to the back of the head while distracted certainly does the trick. When he finally came to, Reno was on his knees in the old stomping ground where he used to turn tricks as it were.

“Hey fellas.” Something of a smirk spreading across his face. “Long time no see. How’s the family?” The first blow was a boot to his jaw. Slight dislocation, nothing moving it around wouldn't fix. But the blood from his teeth colliding with his cheek? Oh, it oozed from the side of his mouth. Alright, so not in the mood for chatter. Got it.

“You thought you could just walk into Wall Market like nothing happened between us?” The leader Rocko pushed his way through the small gathering to kneel in front of the Turk. “Nothings changed. You still run your mouth, I see.”

“Do a bit more with my mouth these days if you know what I mean.” A wink and he was mocking the man by blowing a kiss. The second blow to his face was a punch, the bone in his nose breaking. More blood began to freely flow. The laugh sounded a bit gurgly, but when he raised his head to look up, there was that ever-present smile. “What’d I tell you guys about hittin’ my face?”

Rocko went in for another punch, but lightning-quick reflexes took over. Might not have gotten to actually kick the man in front of him, but a small rock backward got him to his feet. A backflip got some space between the two of them. They hadn’t taken all his weapons from him, if at all. Well. The gun was missing and so was his EMR. But the knife he kept in his sleeve? That was quickly maneuvered into his hand and the bindings removed. 

A hand reached up to wipe his nose at the same time he sniffed loudly. A moment later he was spitting blood out onto the ground. Arms raised, the blade glinting in the faint street lamp, the Turk was ready to take on the group of about fifteen guys. Now, what should have happened was that Reno killed them all. But for whatever reason, he tried to show them mercy. Injure them enough to leave him alone. But that just didn’t happen. Too easily overpowered. 

The current battle was one to twelve. He’d managed to take at least three of them out. Dead or passed out, he wasn’t sure. Just knew they probably weren’t going to be getting up any time soon. But there was Reno, on his knees. Hunched over, blood oozing from his face. Taunts filled the air, but they fell on deaf ears. Though he knew for a fact he could outrun them, it would only be for tonight. What about the next time he came into Wall Market? What if they pursued him outside of it? Something needed to be done, but he wasn’t sure he had the energy for it right now. 

Someone stepped on the hand that had the knife in it. Kicked it out of his grip. The Turk refused to scream. Someone else gripped a fistful of red hair and forced him to look up. Blood like drool leaked from the corner of his mouth. At least his nose had stopped bleeding. Face was bruised, probably going to have another black eye. Arms, legs, chest, back. Covered in bruises and minor cuts. Scrapes. Though he didn’t really feel it right now, something was definitely broken.

“Any last words before we give you a traitor’s death?”

“Just one.” A pause to catch his breath. “Get fucked.”

“That’s fou-” But the guy who started didn’t get to finish. A shot rang out, a hole appeared in his head. Down he toppled. A series of gunshots, fire coursing through the air, shouts, screams. Bodies dropping left and right. All Reno could do was laugh even as he was dragged up by his hair. A hand to hold him in place, the other pressing a knife to his throat.

“I’ll slit his throat from ear to ear. Don’t come any closer.” Rem took a step. The knife steadied itself and pressed more into the pale skin of his throat. Axel’s hand burned brighter, “And you, you fling anything at me and I’ll do the same.” For effect, the blade cut into the skin to stain the flesh with blood. Neither sibling moved forward. They took a step back and waited for the man’s demands. And all the while Reno just kept laughing.

“You’re gonna die and this is how you’re choosing to do it?!” Confusion on Rocko’s part. But the other two, they weren’t stupid. In the midst of the fighting, Rem had thrown one of her knives to Reno. It was sticking out of his arm. Now had that been her intention? Or had that been Reno’s? Either way, the laughter covered up that he was reaching for it. The blade was so sharp that he never felt it come out of his arm. Bonus points because Rocko never felt it go into his side either. It was only after the Turk twisted it, throwing his head backward to hit his capture in the face that he realized the damage had been done. Now, the redhead would have let him bleed out right there, but his siblings had other ideas. Something about an eye for an eye.

Bruised, broken, bleeding. The limping Turk reached into his sister’s coat with bloodied hands and tugged out a pack of cigarettes. Getting one out for himself, he used the still burning hand of his brother to light it. Then he brought it up to his lips, let that sweet taste of nicotine fill his mouth, overtake his lungs, bring him to peace before exhaling the smoke from his nose. He didn’t have to ask, he knew why they were here. Who sent them. Perhaps he’d have to pay her a visit a bit earlier than expected to say thanks.

“Come on, let’s go home. I am absolutely trashed and would like a shower.”

[puckleisdreaming]

The bar was empty apart from one old man over by the slot machine in the corner. He’d been there all night as far as I could tell and hadn’t so much as gotten up to relieve himself in at least the two hours I’d been here. Every now and again he’d post another coin in and pull the big red lever on the side of the machine and it would light up and play a little tune as the wheels spun and then ‘thunk, thunk, thunk’. Sometimes this was followed by a metallic trickle of change as the machine begrudgingly vomited forth some coins only for them to find their way back inside as the man continued to play his games. I couldn’t understand it. They say the definition of madness is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results, I can’t remember where I’d heard that. But if that’s the case this guy had to be absolutely fricking nuts, like out of his mind crazy considering how many times he’d pulled that fucking lever. Again and again he’d yank it and the machine would make that noise like an old washing machine with a brick in it. I’d come to brood and here was this old nutcase throwing money away over and over and for what? What was he hoping would happen?

I was getting wound up over nothing, I turned back to my beer. It was a miserable night and the damp that the patrons of the evening had tramped in and out of the place had suffused the air with a nasty humidity that fugged up the back of my throat. I kept sipping this beer to try and clear it but it didn’t work.

“You must really hate yourself.” Anette took the stool next to me and looked right at me. The way she was staring it was like she could burn holes in my temple, I just kept staring straight down at the beer. Ca-chunk went the lever as the psycho in the corner pulled it again and tumble tumble tumble went the wheels.

“What do you want, I’m busy.” I took another sip and glanced at her through the corner of my eye. She must have been on a job dressed up the way she was. Her freckled face was framed by crinkly blue black hair. She’d died it a few months back and now it reminded me of the ribbon inside cassette tapes all scrunched up the way it caught the light sometimes. New glasses and boots too, someone was paying her good money. I wasn’t used to seeing her in a dress and the sleek black number stuck out painfully here, if it wasn’t so empty, the attention she was drawing would have made me feel sick. My palms started itching.

“I can see that, just like you’ve been busy every night for weeks.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

“I’ve got better things to do than watch you every night but you know we’ve got eye’s and ears, you weren’t going to be able to just stop calling us and hope to slip away”

“I don’t see why not, it’s not like you need my help.”

I dropped a handful of coppers on the bar for a tip and headed out leaving the beer half drunk, Anette cannoned it down before following me out the door. I pulled my collar up against the rain hoping the foul weather would dissuade her, she had a U-field up. No such luck. I stopped and turned to face her watching the rain as it got caught in the static field being projected by the small device attached to her wrist. The droplets got within a foot of her head before slowing to an eery stop about two inches from her hair. They vibrated slightly caught between their momentum carrying them forward and the static field pushing them away before they spat off the field like water splashed on a hot pan. She stood there fizzing and spitting water out in every direction forming strange rainbows caught in the neon light of the nearby bars and casinos.

“Wasn’t it you who told me only assholes use U-fields? Spraying every passerby without one in the face as you walk by.”

“That was before rain water became the leading cause of skin cancer. Got sick of stabbing myself with a syringe full of Oncoligon every time I got caught in a shower.”

“Rather that than give some poor sod ocular just for passing me in the street.”

“Are we going to do this all night? You’ve been in that bar every evening for three weeks. If you were drinking yourself to death I’d be less concerned but you’re not and you’re not returning our calls so tell me what’s going on with you.”

She was more pissed off than I thought she was, crackling there like a live wire out in the rain. I’d known Anette long enough to know not to get her too wound up, she had a tendency to lose it and like all Neomancers when she lost it people tended to end up needing retinal surgeries. It had been a while since I’d seen her at work but I was watching for the tell tale signs, flickering electrics nearby, a slight glow to her skin.

“We’re friends, I think I’ve been very generous with the time I’ve bought you, but people are starting to wonder when you’re coming back into the fold. I’ve told them all you’re good for it, that you’re just getting your head together but when you took off you made a few people look very stupid and you know what happens when certain people are made to look stupid.

“I told you Anette. I don’t have it. I don’t know what happened in that vault but I don’t have it. If I’d made it out of there with a mancy like that don’t you think I would have made use of it by now? A sorry sap like me I could have sold it for a fortune, paid everyone off, and still had money left over to make a break for it. If I’d collected what we were looking for that night and wanted to make a getaway I would be gone.”

She moved like lightening. The world exploded in agony as ice picks were smashed through my eyeballs and my brain burst with white. Lights out.

I came to on a cold concrete floor, as my eyes began to focus I was aware my clothes were still damp, couldn’t have been long since our little chat. The headache I had was splitting and my vision was fuzzy, my periphery dropping away to a hazy blackness like I had weird tunnel vision. From what I could make out I was in a small room with a steel door, the only light was a fluorescent tube up in the ceiling and there were no windows. Guess I was staying put. I crawled over to the wall and placed my forehead against the cool concrete hoping to curb the oncoming migraine. I hadn’t been hit by Anette before but I’d seen her wipe out others, I found a sudden deep well of sympathy for her victims. She’d been training with someone as well. She’d always been tougher than a carrier like me but I was quick at least and made a living off of being able to get out of trouble. Sure I was a few weeks out of practice but she had definitely gotten faster.

Without moving I considered my situation. Concrete walls, no windows, probably a basement. As it was Anette who picked me up it was most likely one of Desto’s spots but without more information I couldn’t guess where. There were hundreds of Desto’s places all over Avon and I could have been bundled to any one of them whilst I was out cold. Up until fairly recently Desto had been my employer and ever since Anette had joined two years ago she’d been Desto’s number two. Most of Desto’s income came from snatch jobs and implantation surgeries so she had plenty of carriers in her employ. Her mancer’s were always there for when she needed a little more muscle but she preferred to keep a low profile for most of her work. I found a small crack in the concrete wall next to my cheek and traced it with a finger, feeling the rough texture and waiting for the beating that would inevitably be coming. It was the best gig around if you could get into a boss’s good graces but pissing them off was verging on suicidal.

Thinking about that stupid man and his stupid slot machine, how many times had he been there in the weeks I’d been frequenting that place? Every time I’d gone I knew it was stupid to keep returning to the same spot but I’m a creature of habit. I don’t like change. What happened in the vault had shaken me and suddenly the dashing high life of working for a boss didn’t seem quite so desirable. I wanted out and I had let myself dream that word would get back to Desto that the job had gone to shit but all she’d lost was a carrier. She had hundreds of me in her employ, no skin off her nose if one got caught by the enemy and beaten to a bloody pulp. Maybe, just maybe, she’d decide to cut her losses and forget about it, forget about me.

It had been a risky job, we always knew that, but word had gotten out that Jacob had some crazy mancy stored down in his vault whilst he tried to find someone who could make an implant that could carry the thing. Mancies came in all shapes and sizes and the more powerful the mancy the more complex the implant you needed to integrate it. Any sucker can carry the thing around but to properly integrate a complex bit of Arch tech with the human nervous system took serious technology. Most bosses have vaults to keep mancies they find whilst their techs fabricate integrations for them. Even when the tech was done you had to pretty much just hope you were compatible with it. Different mancies integrated with different people. Anette was a neomancer, her little bit of Arch tech that sat in a chip at the base of her skull allowed her to project and control, to some extent, visible light. How? I don’t know, ask the techs, but it’s all because of that micro chip at the top of her spine.

I’m no mancer, I’m a carrier. Outfitted with an all purpose petabyte microdrive in my forearm I can carry pretty much any non integrated mancy as long as I can get close enough to download it. No one fully understands Arch tech but the one thing we do know is the file sizes are enormous. Stupid big. Even the flashest of new computers couldn’t come close to needing the kind of square footage these things needed in dataspace. So they load up people with massive drives, hook the drives up to our metabolics for fuel and send us around to carry them from place to place. Wireless would take years and a simple portable drive won’t do it. You need something with some serious horse power and you know what’s easier than lugging around a hard drive hooked up to a car battery? Knitting a microdrive into the cardiovascular system of a human being.

[wildflower-daydreamer]

Chapter 13 - Don’t Blame Me

Don’t Blame Me by Taylor Swift

Don't blame me, love made me crazy / If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right / Lord, save me, my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

I've been breakin' hearts a long time / And toyin' with them older guys / Just playthings for me to use / Something happened for the first time / In the darkest little paradise / Shakin’, pacin', I just need you

For you, I would cross the line / I would waste my time / I would lose my mind / They say “She's gone too far this time”

Don't blame me, love made me crazy / If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right / Lord, save me, my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life / Don't blame me, love made me crazy / If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right / Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

My name is whatever you decide / And I'm just gonna call you mine / I'm insane, but I'm your baby / Echoes of your name inside my mind / Halo, hiding my obsession / I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy

And baby, for you, I would fall from grace / Just to touch your face / If you walk away, I'd beg you on my knees to stay

Don't blame me, love made me crazy / If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right / Lord, save me, my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life / Don't blame me, love made me crazy / If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right / Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

I get so high, oh / Every time, yeah every time you're lovin' me / You're lovin' me / Trip of my life, oh / Every time, yeah every time you're touchin' me / You're touchin' me / Every time, yeah every time you're lovin' me / Oh Lord, save me, my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life / Usin' for the rest of my life, oh

Don't blame me, love made me crazy / If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right  / Lord, save me, my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life, oh / Don't blame me, love made me crazy / If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right / Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life 

I get so high, oh / Every time, yeah every time you're lovin' me / You're lovin' me / Oh, Lord, save me, my drug is my baby / I'll be usin' for the rest of my life

Jon - March 2018

“I can’t believe this is happening!“ Sansa exclaimed as she and Jon entered their suite. Arya and Gendry had shocked everyone the day after Valentine’s Day by announcing they were going to elope in Vegas. As much as Catelyn tried convincing her youngest daughter to have a real wedding, Arya was set on their decision (’As my lady commands’, Gendry had affectionately said and received a punch to the arm for it). If Arya were to ever marry, eloping would be her style. No fancy pomp and circumstance. It was a miracle she was even letting the whole Stark family come and witness it. That was more of Gendry’s doing. He was like Jon, his parents had passed and he had no other family he knew of; Gendry loved the closeness the Stark family had. Sansa insisted on helping Arya plan it and booked the family their flights and hotel rooms at the ARIA Hotel and Casino because she thought it would be cute to stay there. She forced Arya into shopping for a bridal outfit with her and was proud that she found something Arya actually loved.

“You have a thing for windows, don’t you, my love?“ Jon said with a laugh as he put their bags in the bedroom and saw the floor to ceiling windows.

“I have a thing for you fucking me up against them.“

Jon lustfully groaned, pulled her to him and kissed her roughly. She knew how to get him started with just words and he knew she loved it. She grabbed the bulge in his jeans while he raised her shirt over her breasts to grope them. Sansa brought him closer to the window and she leaned back on it. The hunger in her eyes drove him wild and he dove down to his knees, undid her jeans and dragged them and her panties down to her ankles so she could step out of them. The scent of her wetness was heady and like a drug to him and every time he caught the scent, whether it be during their sexual romps or while he vividly daydreamed about her, it washed over him like a high. Jon buried his face in that gorgeous cunt, the sensual noises she made and the leg she draped over his shoulder and down his back spurred him on. After she came, he got back to his feet and with his mouth covered in her wetness, she licked at it and kissed him.

“Fuck me, baby,“ she whispered breathlessly.

Jon gave her a sexy smile, grabbed her hips and spun her around to face the window. Sansa bit her lip as she looked back at him. She leaned her forearms against the window while spreading her legs a little and sticking her ass out towards Jon. He grabbed his hard cock and eased it slowly into her wet hole. He took her gently at first, feeling her stretch around him. But then he picked up the pace, thrusting harder and harder into her. Jon’s fingers dug into the flesh on her hips. Sansa’s animalistic grunts picked up as he slammed fully into her, the window fogging up from her breath. When Jon felt himself getting close, he reached his hand around her and circled her clit furiously until she came with him.

“Maybe we should hop in the shower before we get ready, huh?“ Sansa teasingly said once she came back to her senses. She took his hand and led him to the bathroom and started the shower.

“Are you trying to get me hard again?“ Jon asked with a crooked smile. “Because that might be what you get if you want me in there with you.“

“Maybe.“ She bit her lip, she knew it made him weak.

They showered, amongst other fun things that resulted in Sansa’s moans reverberating in the bathroom acoustics, and began to get ready for Arya and Gendry’s big night. 

Once finished, Sansa came out of the bathroom in a sexy, short sequined dress that made Jon’s mouth slightly drop.

“I’m the luckiest man alive.“ 

“Well maybe we should use that luck while we’re here in Vegas,“ Sansa said, sauntering over to where he sat on the edge of the bed in his suit. She stood  between his legs as he grazed his hands down her sides, feeling her curves and long legs. He kissed the cleavage that showed in her low cut neckline and they left to meet with the rest of the Starks.

Sansa

Arya and Gendry picked the ARIA’s poolside garden for their venue. It was beautifully lit and the aisle led to a pretty draped canopy with silver Chivari chairs were set out for the family. Arya refused to pick out the details so Sansa had chosen what best suited her little sister and the end result was simple and understated, yet elegant. 

Sansa caught her mother’s disapproving eye at her dress. “We’re in Vegas mom!”

“It’s still your sister’s wedding,“ Catelyn said in a huff and took her seat. Sansa knew her mom was just emotional. Catelyn had insisted on spending alone time with Arya before the ceremony to help her with her hair and makeup.

Gendry settled himself under the canopy, next to the officiant, and the wedding march began. Arya came out, arm in arm with Ned. She looked radiant in her white pantsuit. Sansa had picked out one that had some small lace touches and the perfectly tailored jacket created a deep-v neckline with no top underneath it. Sansa was shocked when Arya tried it on and fell in love with it. She looked beautiful with a dash of powerfully sexy. Sansa, Catelyn, and Margaery dabbed at their eyes a few times during the short ceremony. Sansa swore she even saw Arya’s eyes become a little misty.

After the ceremony and picture time, they all headed to their dinner reservation at a fancy restaurant to celebrate with steaks, wine, and whiskey. Sansa had never seen her sister be so lovey towards a boy until now and she found it downright adorable. Bran told them about his new girlfriend Meera. Everyone teased him that he’d be next to marry and it made him blush. Rickon was grumpy that he was one year shy of 21 and couldn’t completely enjoy the Vegas nightlife yet. For Robb and Margaery, it was one of their rare nights out since the baby was born and they were soaking it in. Little 5 month old Ben was up in their large hotel suite with his nanny and they were determined to get in as much fun as they could before going back to the hotel. Jon sat close to Sansa’s side, one hand on her thigh and a glass of whiskey in the other. Sansa looked around the table and couldn’t be happier.

After dinner, Catelyn and Ned took Bran and Rickon to a Cirque du Soleil show while Sansa, Jon, Robb, and Margaery treated the newlyweds to bottle service at the ever popular Hakkasan nightclub. The alcohol flowed freely to the point where Jon had lost his inhibitions and was trying to dance sexily for Sansa in front of everyone as she sat in their VIP booth. By the time they were out of drinks and their feet sore from dancing, the couples went their own ways. Robb and Margaery went back to their room to relieve the nanny and sleep. Arya wanted to soak up the alcohol with some greasy food before bed, so she and Gendry stumbled along to Denny’s. Sansa and Jon decided to go explore the rest of the strip, ignoring how drunk they were. 

They went up the strip, going through casinos as they passed them. They played a hand of blackjack as they left MGM and a couple of slot machines at the Cosmopolitan. As they were exiting the Bellagio, another newlywed couple entered, extremely happy, wasted and loudly shouting about their elopement.

“Let’s do it!” Sansa exclaimed, turning to Jon.

“Do what?” Jon asked confusedly as he tried to focus his eyes on her.

“Let’s get married. Right now.”

“How drunk are you?” he asked towards the blurry vision that was Sansa.

“Very. But who cares? I love you more than anything.”

“And I love you more than anything.” Jon said while booping her nose.

“Come on!” She pulled him to the taxi line and waited their turn.

“Are we crazy?”

“I think so!” But Sansa’s alcohol soaked brain told her this was her best idea in forever.

They hopped in a cab and asked the driver to take them to whatever wedding chapel that was still open. The driver brought them farther up the strip to the famous Little White Chapel. Just as Sansa exited the cab, she heard Jon ask the driver to wait before he got out too.

“Sansa, this isn’t right,” he said quietly, his eyes trying to stay focused on hers.

“What do you mean? Of course it is, we belong together!“

“Sans. I know you want more than this. I want more than this. And we both want your family there.” He took her hand in his, brought it up to his lips, and kissed her knuckles.

“You sure? We don’t even have the marriage license to make this real, this could just be for fun!“

“I’m sure that when I marry you, we’re going to do it right, at the right time, and it’ll be perfect. I’m sure that when we say ‘I do’ it’s going to be for real.“

She’d do anything for him and she knew he’d do the same for her, but this might be crossing the line a bit too soon. She bit her lip trying to gather her thoughts.

“Well, I guess there are other things we can do tonight,“ Sansa said with a naughty little smile. They got back in the cab and had the driver take them back to their hotel.

He said ‘when I marry you’. Not ‘if’ but ‘when’, Sansa happily thought to herself as she lightly slid her fingers up and down the bulge in Jon’s pants. Sansa just knew they would end up marrying each other in the long run, but it still thrilled her to hear his choice of words. 

They half stumbled out of the cab and up to the dark little paradise that was their room. As soon as their door closed behind them, they began shedding each other’s clothing and fell into bed. 

“What do you want, love?” Jon asked softly, his hot breath against her neck.

“I just need you,“ Sansa sighed. Jon went to his knees on the floor, pulling Sansa’s body to the edge of the bed. He drunkenly ate her out, it wasn’t as smooth as he usually was but it still gave Sansa the lustful high he always seemed to give her. Her body trembled and came apart with an orgasm.

“You taste so sweet, my Sansa,“ Jon said, kissing her inner thighs.

“Mmm, I need to taste you but I’ll wait til after you fuck me.“

“Fuck. How do you want my cock in you tonight, baby?“ Jon was making his way up her body, kissing and licking at her salty flesh.

“I want to be bent over again.“ In a swift movement, Jon grabbed her hips and flipped her around so she was on her knees. He gently pushed her shoulders down so her chest and face were pressed against the bed with her ass high up in the air. “Mmm, just like that,” she purred. She felt him ease himself into her pussy and build up to a rhythm. She moaned his name and felt that high come upon her again as he pulled his cock out almost completely before quickly sliding it fully back into her. “Spank me, baby.” The request made Jon lustily groan and he spanked her, making Sansa cry out and rock back on Jon’s dick harder and faster.

“Oh, God, Sansa,“ Jon breathed and slid out of her. She flipped over and shimmied down the bed, between his knees, until her head was under his cock and she took it in her mouth. His cum ran down her throat as she looked up at him. Once he was spent, he collapsed onto the bed. “You’re perfect,” he sleepily sighed. 

The next morning Sansa groggily opened her eyes. She was wrapped in Jon’s arms and she could feel a hangover coming on.

“Morning, love,“ Jon muttered and kissed the top of her head.

“Morning, baby,“ Sansa said and kissed his chest.

“Remember how you wanted to elope last night?“ he teased her.

It all came rushing back to her mind. “Oh God,” Sansa laughed. “Can you blame me? Love made me crazy.”

[theliterateape]

“HELP! I Can’t Shit!”

by Don Hall

Something must be in the air. Or maybe it’s an electricity thing. Hard to say.

As the world seems to teeter at all times on the knife’s edge between sanity and lunacy, I suppose there are just certain fulcrum points that tip the balance. An ordinary enough day in the tides of pandemic. 

My mind filled with barbed wire jabs of the comically inept president as he lurches forward toward full-out and unapologetic white supremacy in his flailing attempt to be elected again. Of watching the Right side of the political spectrum drown itself by remaining chained to the anvil called Trump. 

The gaslighting by the Left as the Twitter monolith screams that the surge of coronavirus had nothing to do with the hundreds of thousands in protest and a smaller cabal still improbably trolling J.K. Rowling for questioning their orthodoxy. The looming Depression that no one seems to take too seriously as the Culture Wars have also canceled even the realities of the hottest days on the planet slowly boiling us like frogs in the experiment of a psychopathic sixth grader.

Just a (new) normal Saturday at the West.

****

Until...

1.

SLAM! Crunchacruncha SLAMSLAM!

A man’s voice. “Get the fuck...stop it...fucking crazy ass...”

SLAM

“Gimme my motherfucking money!”

The men’s room. Two sinks. Two urinals. One stall. Because there are no surveillance cameras in the toilet, our men’s room is a focal point for quick drug deals, pimp meet john meetings, and the occasional blow job. The women’s room is where the prostitutes wash their bits and pieces and charge their phones but the men’s is where the action is.

I pop in at the sound of slamming and screaming. Despite the sometimes sketchy clientele the music of true violence is remarkably rare in the casino. A woman — black, six foot or so, probably 250 lbs — is kicking the living shit out of the locked stall door. On the other side comes the squalling of a man cowering behind with only an inch of plastic partition held by a $0.45 lock.

“Whoa! Lady this is the men’s room! You need to get out of here!”

It’s the first thing that comes to mind, the idea that a woman shouldn’t be in here rather than the kicking and screaming. She sees me and stops. She stomps out and declares “He stole my fucking money!”

The radio on my hip. “MOD to Security. I could use your help at the men’s room right away, please.” Even in the microwaves of conflict, I still try to say please when using the floor radio. My wife wishes I did that more at home.

After a moment of confusion, the clouds part and the sunlight of understanding starts to seep out. She claims she dropped money on the floor and the white man picked it up and ran into the bathroom, locking himself in. He claims she’s crazy but only through the still locked stall. He ain’t coming out.

Her friend (boyfriend?) who looks like his skull is made of all bone, like a human pit bull with eyes glazed with one too many Hennesy’s, keeps trying to muscle past me into the john to extract the money. I do that thing I do when I raise up my arms and slowly push the energy down to my sides, effectively conducting this orchestra of human chaos.

“OK. Let’s take a beat. How much money did you lose?”

“I don’t know.”

“I need a number.”

“$400.00.”

“Cash or was it a slot ticket?”

“Cash. It fell out my pocket and he took it.”

“Did you see him take it?”

Pit bull barks “Yes!” at the same time that she says “No.”

Meanwhile, two security officers are in the toilet grilling the accused. His face mask is wadded up under his chin. It’s pretty dirty. He empties his pockets. Some gum, a wadded up slot ticket for $19.00 and change, rolling papers. No $400.00. She starts to get loud again.

“Hold on. We can’t do a search on him but if you want, I can call surveillance to see if you dropped some money and if he then picked it up. Take me five minutes.”

She looks at the pit bull. She looks at the freaked out bathroom evacuee. “Nah. He looks like he needs the money. He can keep it.” and she turns, mutters “...c’mon...” and the two walk with purpose out the west doors. 

The white man with the rolling papers I ask my security guys to escort off the property to the east. I’m not entirely certain what scam was being played but the stink of chicanery is too strong. Best to be rid of the full trio.

2.

“HELP! HELP! H-E-L-P!”

What is it about the men’s room today?

Again, I walk into the toilet. Engineers have come and gone and repaired the stall door from the kickboxing woman. I don’t know what to expect (do I ever in this joint?) so I’m prepared for just about anything.

“I CAN’T SHIT!”

It’s as likely you’d be sold a Chia Pet by a man wearing nothing but a fur coat, leather cowboy hat, and a diaper in Saks Fifth Avenue as see me rendered speechless but here it is. I have no words. My mind is struggling to find purchase with this information and is failing.

“Did you hear me?”

“I...I heard you.”

“I can’t shit.”

“Yeah. I got that part. I’m not sure what it is you’d like me to do about that.”

“Well...” A pause. “I can’t shit. It hurts.”

My security supervisor (one of the officers before) comes in to see what’s up.

“Sir. We don’t have Ex Lax in the Gift Shop. I suppose if you could unlock the stall I could jump up and down on your stomach...” The officer looks at me like he’s trying to divine meaning from a three-holed brick with a wig. “If it really hurts, we can call paramedics...”

“NO!”

“Alright then. Maybe try relaxing. Breathe some. That works for me when I have one of those tree trunk shits.” And the officer gets it. And starts to giggle.

“I’ll try that.”

Eight minutes later, the guy exits the men’s room, a full 350 lbs of Heart Attack country in a t-shirt and suspenders.

“Everything come out alright?”

I couldn’t help myself.

3.

Ordinary cat strolls into the casino. Nice black face mask. Slacks. Dress shirt. A plastic baby doll clutched to his chest like it was his child...wait. What?

He wanders around the floor in between the Game Kings and the Buffalo Golds. One hears the word “wander” and this is what it actually means. No specific place in mind, not really noticing anything around him, this guy is wandering. 

Sure enough, as has been the destination point for most of this afternoon, he heads to the men’s room. At this juncture, our gentlemen’s toilet has become like the sewer in Derry, Maine conjured by the Master of Horror.

Five minutes later, he comes out, still holding the doll like a Fabergé egg. He wanders a bit more then strolls out the way he came.

4.

WHAM! WHAM!

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

At least it isn’t coming from the bathroom.

In the middle of the casino an older man is balling up his fist and punching the Game King Multi-game screen hard.

I say older man as if that indicates anything about his age. Time has a bizarre effect on the body and he is in the odd zone between fifty and eight-five. I’m fifty-four and still get the random assumption that I’m a decade younger. I know fifty-four year old men who have been ravaged a bit by bad genetics, bad nutrition, and maybe too much desert sun and could be confused with sandstone and leather. Who the fuck knows how old this guy is? Suffice it to say he ain’t a kid anymore for some time and back.

I half-jog over and, as he goes in for another WHAM, I grab his wrist.

“ASSAULT! He’s assaulting me! You’re assaulting me! ASSAULT!”

“Dude. You can call it assault if you want. Seriously. Or you could call it, I don’t know, “defense of property.” Or maybe you could call it me protecting your hand. Maybe I’m just trying to make sure you don’t hurt yourself? Whatever you call it, what the hell did this machine do to you?”

“It stole my money!”

This generally translates to “I made a bet and lost” and it means exactly that in this case.

“Listen. Ordinarily, I’d just 86 you off the property and you’d be prevented from ever coming back but I can tell you’ve had a few cocktails so how about you call it a night and come back when you’re in a better headspace?” 

I like to use the pseudo-religious phrasing of the pretentious as a means to nudge these types off balance. Makes me seem quasi-mystical like a therapist or a warlock. It seems to work as the word ‘headspace’ causes him to blink a few times.

“You know what they’d do to you in 1963, punching the equipment, right?”

“What?”

“They’d pry three of your teeth out and break your left knee cap. We don’t do that sort of thing today, even if we want to, you see? Go home. Sleep it off.

When you come back, we need to be clear. When you lose a bet, do not hit the machines. Understand? When you lose a bet, Do. Not. Hit. The. Machines.”

5.

In my office. It’s dark outside but it’s still 102 degrees. I’m working on forecasting my bar sales. The Nevada Governor shut down all bars in the state last week and I’m doing my best to order product to compensate for this.

A call on the radio for a guest opportunity at the front desk.

I’m not the hotel manager but I am the manager on duty so when someone needs an authority figure to intervene, I’m the guy.

At first glance, she’s a prostitute. Tall, incredible legs, a long black wig. Skin tight dark blue dress that looks fantastic next to her luminous ebony skin. Her shoes (what my wife would call “stripper shoes”) give her at least two inches of lift. So much purple and pink eye shadow that it practically floats up and in front of her face. Her appliqué nails are the same color and, like a hot, black Wolverine, are at least three and half inches long.

She seems pretty worked up about something.

“You seem pretty worked up about something. How can I help?”

“Oh, I’m worked up! I’m trying to get a room for my friend. She’s out in the car. She’s drunk. Drunk drunk. Like, very, very drunk. And they won’t rent me a room for her.”

She’s attempting to rent the room with her drunk drunk friend’s ID and credit card which is not allowed.

“Well, we can’t use your friend’s ID or credit card without her approval. If you want to rent the room for her, we’ll need your ID...”

“Nah! I ain’t paying for it. I’m tryin’ to be a good friend by making sure she can get a room.” And then the crocodile tears. One can see the difference between the performative tears and the real deal because the theatrical weep comes solely from the eyes. The genuine article starts from the mouth. “All I want is to take care of my friend...”

“I hear you. Unfortunately, we can’t rent the room without her approval. Is she able to at least come in here and tell us we can use her credit card?”

“I can get her but she’s DRUNK AS HELL. She might be real out of control.”

“Oh, I think we can handle out of control. We see plenty of drunk as hell around here. Do you mind?”

She leaves. I call over a security officer — the one with the blonde mullet who has recently been told he needs to cut his hair if he wants to move up to supervisor — and let him know what to expect.

A few minutes later in comes a tiny tornado, a plastered five foot Tasmanian Devil, surely drunk as hell, DRUNK drunk, and full of spite and unfocused outrage.

“Ma’am...”

“What the fuck you calling ‘Ma’am’?”

“I just need to see if you want to rent a room tonig...”

“FUCK, no!”

Foxy Brown pipes in. “She needs this room. I told you she’d be this way.”

“We need your approval in order to rent you a roo...”

“I don’t wanna stay here! I don’t want your fucking room, cracker!”

I look at her friend. She shrugs as if to say “Told you.”

“Do you want to rent...”

And her face balls up like a fist. Her mouth opens wide and she bellows at a volume one would not expect from such a tiny package “NO FUCKING WAAAAAAAYYYY!” She clumsily spins and stumbles out of the casino.

Foxy’s eyes do that thing when a woman wants to make a man’s chub move. “You see. Is there any way you could just ignore the rules just once?”

“I’m really sorry. We can’t. If you want to rent it yourself, we can...”

Like a flash of static electricity, she goes from cooing to hissing. “I’m not paying! She ain’t gonna pay me back. You are cold-hearted. That’s all. Motherfucking COLD-HEARTED. I can’t believe you’d just say no to her when I’m just tryin’ to be a good friend.”

She’s still ranting as she heads to the exit so I follow. She turns.

“You don’t gotta walk me out like that! I ain’t done NOTHING wrong. You don’t gotta walk me out like you kicking me out or nothing!”

“Oh. I wasn’t. I thought you were still talking to me.”

“Then go away. Don’t walk me out.”

“Alright. No problem.”

“LEAVE! Go do something! If you ain’t leaving,” and she turns and plops down at one of the Keno machines, “then I ain’t leaving. Imma sit right here til you gone.”

I back up a step. She stares at me defiantly like a teenager refusing to stop texting at the dinner table. In fact, she pulls out her phone and starts playing with it.

“OK. Well, that’s fine. If you want to sit there, I have no problem with that but you’ll need to put a few dollars in the game and gamble if you want to stay. How about this? You have about two minutes to start gambling and, if not, then we’ll escort you off the property.”

She sticks out her chin and looks like she’s trying to make her density increase.

Two minutes later.

“Time to go.”

She gets up fast and starts walking. I don’t realize it but she’s now using her phone camera and is talking to the six YouTube subscribers she has. “This little bitch is kicking me out. If my friend who is DRUNK gets hurt it’s on you, little bitch!”

“I am, indeed, a little bitch and you are right. Earlier, it was me who forced liquor down your friend’s throat.”

“I didn’t say ‘little bitch’. I said Little DICK!”

“Well, I am Irish so you’re probably right.”

Finally we get to her car. She gets in, yells out one more “Motherfucker!” and drives off.

Officer Mullet looks at me. “Hey. I’m Irish and I don’t have a little dick.”

6.

In Vegas looks can deceive.

A guest opportunity at the cage.

The couple — a heavy-set, white trailer park looking woman with her tall, gangly black boyfriend are looking pretty sullen. We have a thing called Cash Club at the cage. Gamblers with a Players Card can do a cash withdrawal based on their level of play out of their bank account. Usually this is for larger cash amounts.

These two do not look like they have six grand in the bank but that’s the withdrawal they’re attempting. Unfortunately, her Player’s Card indicates no level of gambling. Zero. Nada.

I recognize them from other times they’ve been in. I ask if she uses her card when she plays. She doesn’t. I explain to them that without some sort of record of her play, we can’t cash the marker. While the dough is marked as “pending” in her account, it will be released in a few hours. They are not happy about this but still more sullen than pissed.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s pissed.

She claims she called her bank and they tell her the funds won’t be available for ten business days and goddamnit, why can’t I just cash it already. She keeps walking in a tiny circle as if to de-steam her anger. I tell her this isn’t up to me, it’s between her and her bank. She throws a cup. She huffs. She says “This is shit. C’mon” and storms out the west entrance, slamming the door hard enough to shake the frame.

Her skinny boyfriend looks at me apologetically, turns, and skunks his way after her.

7.

It’s getting late. Almost time for a shift change. I’m walking the property.

We managers, along with security, walk the entire perimeter of the property in part to catch things missed and in part to show guests that there are, in fact, sober adults around to help them should help be required.

I round the corner of the 900 building and I hear what sounds like a man growling like a dog. As I turn I see an oak tree of a man, huge and bearded like Paul Bunyan wearing a wife-beater and basketball shorts, shaking the head of what looks like a sizable Irish Setter and growling. Then he lurches forward and bites the canine on the ear. Hard enough for the mutt to squeal a bit.

“HEY! What...?”

The man stops. He looks up, still holding the dog.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.”

“I’m not talking to you.”

As if he understands me, the dog begins wagging his tail.

****

The looking-glass world of constant news is one of frustration and despair. As we stare into our personal voids surrounded by digital newsies hawking the latest thing to be horrified by, the machine starts to glitch out like an incandescent bulb on its last life.

Humans are bizarre in normal paintings but the world is being drawn by Escher and Dali just lately so the phrase “expect the unexpected” is now more a dire warning than a piece of self help. Every staircase winds in upon itself, every clock is melting.

The “why” of behavior is an endless fascination but I ain’t Freud and my job isn’t to figure out the mania but to deal with it as best I can. My wife tells me the night is a success because no police were called, no one was hurt, and I made it home in one piece (and, knock on wood, free of COVID).

Tomorrow will be, as the redundancy dictates, another day and you’ll find me at the corner of I-15 and Tropicana in the Casino at the End of the World. All things being equal, it’s not a bad place to hang my hat, have a smoke, and curate the looney bin.

At least the view is spectacular.

[jackfollmanwriter-blog]

PTSD

I heard about how dangerous the drive between Baghdad and Fallujah were a million times, yet I still wasn’t as worried as I should have been. Riding in the back of the Humvee tended to zone me out and made me feel like I was riding in the back of my mom’s Suburban and not an armored truck filled with ammunition and unstable men with guns.

I didn’t even know what happened when we hit the roadside bomb. I suddenly felt myself flying through the air and my legs were burning. I landed hard on the side of the road in a pile of sand.

My legs felt like I had stuck them on a barbeque grill and left them there. I laid on the side of the road in the dirty sand, listening to the sound of the vehicle I had been riding in burning up and the sound of my comrades screaming out in pain. I wished I could have helped them, but I couldn’t even move my neck enough to look at them and see exactly what was happening.

I sucked in about 10 breaths before everything started to get blurry. At first I thought it was just tears welling in my eyes, clouding my vision, but I quickly realized my overall consciousness was being affected. I was slipping away.

The red hot cloudless sky of the desert faded. The burning hot landscape was replaced with a dark alley lined with brick walls on each side as far as the eye could see. I didn’t recognize the setting and it didn’t feel natural. It felt like part of a waiting area for a ride at an amusement park. There was nothing but the puddle-splashed dark asphalt at my feet and the endless walls of red brick that stretched as far as the eye could see in each direction.

I felt a warm splash of rain fall on my skull of buzzed hair. I looked up and saw a night sky of grey clouds hovering over me. A soft tap on my back interrupted my gaze.

I spun around and laid eyes on my younger sister, Bonnie, standing soaking wet in a white t-shirt fully stained with red blood and sopping wet with rain and her own bodily fluid. I jumped backwards when I noticed a savage, gaping wound on the side of her neck.

The sight before my eyes made me feel like my skeleton was going to run out of my body and turn me into a formless puddle of blood, guts and skin. My little sister Bonnie had been murdered three years before in Las Vegas and no one had the slightest clue as to who had done it.

Bonnie wrapped me in a soft hug. I felt blood trickle from her neck and run down my bare arm.

“I need you to help me,” Bonnie whispered into my ear.

Bonnie pulled away from me. The setting changed to that of a bustling casino. My nose tickled with the scent of stale smoke and cheap bourbon. The jingle jangle of the slot machines put me in a slight trance. I was almost knocked over by a cocktail waitress in a short skirt carrying a tray of watered-down drinks.

“Come find me,” Bonnie’s voice whispered in my ear, even though she wasn’t anywhere in sight.

“Where?” I muttered to myself.

I scanned the casino without an answer. All I could see were endless blackjack and poker tables and grizzled gamblers. Based on the quality of the health of the clientele and the casino’s decorations, I assumed I was at one of the lesser hotel casinos on the strip, or maybe one of the ones on Fremont Street.

“Bonnie?” I called out into the crowd.

My scan stopped at a blackjack table a couple of rows into the floor from where I stood. I saw Bonnie’s back in a white shirt. She sat at the table by herself, playing cards and sipping her signature drink - vodka-cranberry-lime.

I walked through the tables until I was to the side of Bonnie’s table. I looked over at her. Her neck was now intact, soft and delicate with her favorite thin, silver necklace draped across, ending at the bottom with a pendant in the shape of a bunny. Her white t-shirt was clean. Her face focused on the cards in front of her in a grimace with her tongue slightly sticking out.

Bonnie motioned for a hit when I sat down next to her. She took a sip of her bright red cocktail and shook the ice afterwards. She asked for another hit.

The dealer - a swarthy young fellow with one of those haircuts where it is buzzed on the sides, but long on the top and flopped to one side with a small tattoo on his neck gave her another card.

Bonnie busted. The dealer gave her a sympathetic smile. She finished the rest of her drink. Her eyes glazed over just a little bit more. She exchanged a long look with the dealer.

“Watch,” I heard Bonnie’s voice in my ear, even though her mouth didn’t move at the table, she just stared at the dealer, whose nametag said Timothy..

The image of an empty, upscale hotel room flashed before my eye. The materials the furniture and counters were made of clearly too expensive for me to ever afford. My view of the room started in the doorway and slowly panned into the heart of the room.

I flashed back to the blackjack table. I watched Timothy deal Bonnie a couple of more cards. His hand lingered on her’s for a few seconds.

I flashed to the hotel room again. My view was past the initial tight corridor of the entrance and into the larger room with the king size bed in the middle and the sliding glass door of the balcony on the far end.

The pristine white comforter of the bed was soiled with the face-down body of Bonnie. A thick stream of blood had poured out of the gash in Bonnie’s neck and puddled on the comforter next to her head. I felt liquid rush to the back of my throat.

A blink. Back to the casino floor. I watched Timothy close down his table. I watched Bonnie polish off another vodka cranberry. I watched them walk away from the table and towards the entrance of the nameless casino.

I got one last flash of Bonnie lying still on that hotel room bed. Then it all started to fade away…

*

That was almost a year ago. That roadside bomb ended up taking my legs below the knee. What my brain showed me as I laid disoriented on the side of the road until I was brought to a base to have my life saved was much worse. Not a minute has gone by that I haven’t thought about those images. I was convinced I was shown the sequence of Bonnie’s death.

I went back to my hometown of Reno with my artificial legs and made my home back in my childhood bedroom at my mom’s house. I had plenty of time to rehab physically, but was stranded alone mentally with an absentee father and a mom who now had an amputee son just a few years after losing her daughter to an unsolved murder and a dead-end job as a grave shift blackjack dealer in the Silver Legacy Casino.

I wouldn’t stop talking about the visions of Bonnie I was given. I told me my mom. She told me to stop. She had come to terms with never solving the mystery of Bonnie’s murder and dismissed my visions as PTSD. I told my friends. Same indifference and excuse. I told the Reno Police Department and called the Las Vegas Police Department and got the same treatment, but not in such words. I was mainly dismissed because Bonnie was reportedly in the Los Angeles area when she went missing and her body was found less than an hour outside of LA. No clue ever linked her to Vegas anytime around then.

The only thing I wanted to do since I arrived back in the states was to go to Vegas and conduct my own investigation into Bonnie’s murder, armed with the information of knowing what the inside of the casino I saw looked like, the name Timothy, and the look of Timothy’s face. Problem was, I had no money, hadn’t learned to drive with my new legs yet and no one I knew was signing up to escort the guy they thought had a serious case of PTSD to Vegas to look for a murderer.

I did the only thing I thought I could do. I hitchhiked the seven hours from Reno to Las Vegas, until a guy with a mouthful of Red Man dropped me off at the end of the strip by Circus, Circus. The baking, 120-degree sun greeted me with a sizzle. I felt like a pile of steak on a fajita platter.

I made my way up and down the strip. Not a single casino floor looked familiar. I trekked to Fremont Street with no luck. I was 400 miles from home. Dog tired. Without a single clue. Without a single dollar in my pocket and a maxed out credit card as the sun set on the city of sin.

The only thing I could do was check into a hotel off the strip which almost looked worse than some of the bombed-out places I saw in Iraq. I laid down on top of the stained blanket and figured I would spend the next day checking the rest of the casinos in the city that are off the strip and then find a ride back up to Reno.

*

A hot cut of dread sliced into me as soon as I woke up to the sound of a knock at my motel room door. Nothing good ever starts with a knock on the door of a cheap motel room

I checked the clock on my phone - 3:30 a.m. I heard the hard knock again. It was not a - I’m a drunk 25-year-old with the wrong room knock, it was a, get the fuck up and strip off everything you own shitbag, knock.

“Look, I can get the key in forty-five seconds if I really want it so just open the door piece of shit,” a powerful male voice boomed on the other side of the door.

“Fuck me,” I whispered to myself.

“You better get moving or I’m gonna spray this door with bullets.”

“Okay, okay. I’m coming,” I announced when I walked to the door.

I opened the door to reveal a guy covered in sores and tattoos with an irritated scalp of buzzed hair. He clutched a sizable handgun and carried an empty laundry bag.

“Sorry, it’s your unlucky day fucko,” the guy announced when he stepped into the room.

“Look man, I’m a disabled Iraq War veteran with nothing but the clothes on his back, a credit card with a maxed-out nine hundred-dollar limit and half-fake legs. You might have better luck robbing somebody else,” I explained.

“Ditch the sob story prick. I don’t give a fuck.”

The guy pointed the gun right between my eyes.

“You said fake legs. Titanium?”

I let out a defeated exhale.

“I think....

The guy squatted down and examined my artificial calves like a doctor who knew for a fact were titanium. He prodded them with the muzzle of his gun.

“They look removable.”

“Please man…

The butt of the gun hit me hard across the nose.

“Lay down. I’ve done this before,” the guy instructed.

I laid down. Blood gushed from my nose and down the back of my throat. I struggled to breath.

The pain from my nose blocked out the shooting pain from my legs. The guy wrenched on my false appendages until I felt them slide off of me.

“Nothing personal man. I’d rob my own mother...again,” the guy said.

I opened my eyes again to get a look at the guy. I only got a split second of vision. What I saw was the end of my own titanium foot coming hard at my face.

*

I came to in a darkened corner booth at the steakhouse in one of the casinos in Reno. The smell of one of the five or so restaurant-cooked steaks I have ever had in my life made my mouth instantly start to water. My hunger and its savor made me almost forget where I was.

My sad, pathetic trio family was clustered around the table. My mom to my left, probably just dying for a smoke and and for someone to order chicken so the bill would be a little smaller and Bonnie, clad in blue and white high school graduation garb to my right. I could tell Bonnie probably felt a little bit embarrassed that my mom was making such a big deal out of just graduating from high school. Her and I both knew it was just the bottom of the bar now, not an accomplishment that warranted aged ribeyes and Shirley Temples.

Nonetheless, we sat there, looking about as normal as we probably ever looked. A sharp sadness cut into me when I looked to my right again and saw Bonnie staring into the bottom of her pink soda. The girl never had a chance.

“Yes, I did,” Bonnie’s voice whispered into my ear.

I looked at Bonnie again, she stared at me with wide eyes and a straw stuck in her mouth, her lips sucking up the Shirley Temple.

“You should have been there,” Bonnie said to me, the straw stuck to her bottom lip.

“What?” I was in fucking Iraq,” I shot back.

“You two never took care of me. You think it sucks being a guy who had to grow up a poor piece of shit...well, it’s ten times worse for a girl. You have any idea how hard it is to turn down any guy who can ever offer you something, no matter how scary he is just because you’ve never had anything,” Bonnie went on.

“Bonnie, please. I’m try,” I felt tears hit the warning track in my eyes for the first time in a long, long time.

“And you’re fucking up again. You can’t even figure it out.”

“Please. I’m trying my best.”

“Well your best was never good enough,” Bonnie said just before my vision cut out again.

*

I opened my eyes and found myself back in a different dirty motel room. The layout of the room was almost identical, but the contents were different. A pink suitcase laid open, overflowing with women’s clothes on the floor next to the bed I laid on. A menagerie of unlit candles dotted the landscape. The smell of cheap perfume burned my nose.

“Thank God. I was worried you were dead, or in a coma, or something,” I raspy female voice cut off a heavy groan from my mouth.

I looked up and saw a woman I identified as a prostitute in .5 seconds standing at the foot of the bed. A tan face that looked like a hearty piece of beef jerky, teased blonde hair, a sloppy body cased in dirty jean shorts, a pink tank top and a few bad tattoos, she looked like a vixen from an 80s hair metal video who never left the strip club.

“I was going to take you to the emergency room, but I know that’s a risky move around these parts. Warrants and all. Plus, figure no one in this place has a sniff of insurance,” the woman said.

I focused in on the gal for a few seconds and let her come into full focus.

“The guy robbed me and hit me with my own leg?” I muttered, still dazed, phrasing it as a question.

The woman chewed on her lip for a few moments.

“If you say so. I didn’t see it. I was just walking back to my room and saw your door open with you lying bleeding on the bed. It was a bitch to drag you in here. You’re a few doors down now. You were out for about a half an hour since I found you,” the woman explained and then extended a hand with rings on each finger. “I’m Bobbi, by the way.”

I gave Bobbi’s dried-out hand a loose shake.

“Thanks.”

A shot of pain rushed to my head.

“I think I’m kind of okay,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’ve definitely fought through worse without having to go to the hospital.”

I wiggled around on the bed. Remembered that I no longer had my false appendages. Moving around was going to be very difficult.

Bobbi sat down on the bed next to me.

“I’m so sorry about everything that happened to you,” Bobbi said, what seemed like genuine empathy marinated her words. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

I laughed.

“Do you have a time machine that can go back and get me out of that fucking recruiter’s office five years ago?”

“Sorry,” Bobbi shot back, not sounding the least bit amused.

“Sorry, sorry, but no, really. You don’t happen to have a ride back to Reno, do you?”

“I actually gotta ride leaving to LA in a couple of hours,” Bobbi said.

I pushed myself backwards to the back to the bed and sat up. My vision was still cloudy. I felt dried blood plastered to the side of my face. I looked at the bleak picture of Bobbi’s face at the foot of the bed. She had one of those looks where just a glance at her made you feel sad and this is coming from a guy who is missing the bottom half of his legs.

My options were limited. I could stay in Vegas, without a cent, and keep on the trail of Bonnie’s death and try to find some way to live and/or make money there. I could call up my mom like a beaten dog and beg for the money to go home. I could hitch hike back to Reno. Or, I could go with this broken women to LA and try and figure it out from there.

LA won. I always meant to check in with Bonnie’s friend’s family where she was staying that summer it all happened. She was supposed to be down there for a summer job at a waterpark and to stay at the house of her friend’s dad somewhere in the suburbs. I was always wary of the whole thing. I heard rumors from the older brother of Bonnie’s friend that the water park job may have been a ruse, they may have actually been going down there to dance at a strip club, or turn tricks. I dismissed it as bullshit at the time.

I was friends with Bonnie’s friend on Facebook and figured I could hit her up to at least talk to her. She responded to my messages in the past and said that she didn’t really want to talk about what happened, but she would meet up with me to discuss as much as she could if I was ever in LA. I thought this might be my broke ass’s only chance to ever get to the City of Angels. I took up Bobbi on her offer.

Bobbi set me up in the shotgun of her 2004 Chevy Malibu with no air conditioning. I stuck my head out the window like a dog about every 10 minutes to feel the wind in my face and find some relief from the sun which baked us on our way out of the city.

From the moment we set off, Bobbi seemed set on being some kind of therapist for me. She kept prodding at me with difficult questions. Growing up with my single mom, Bonnie’s death, the tours in Iraq, losing my legs and going back home. I felt that I almost wanted to jump out of her car and let the flying asphalt take care of me, and not just because of the oppressive heat.

I was tempted to ask Bobbi about her past. I was sure it was probably somehow even darker than mine, but I fought through it. I just machine gunned short answers to her heavy questions and looked out at the burning desert, those old demons rattling my soul until I started to fade out again.

My eyes opened back in Iraq. That burning hot Nevada desert was replaced by the sparse landscape outside of Baghdad, the joshua trees and dead shrubs all around replaced with crumbling buildings of a dead town. I didn’t remember the name of the village, but I definitely remembered the image of it. It was not something I wanted to remember.

I didn’t want to go there, again, but I quickly found myself paralyzed. I drifted through those dirty streets lined with homes which bordered on rubble. I could hear people milling about inside them, inside their pockmarked walls. I was always amazed at the resiliency of people who would live in a place even if it had just been carpet bombed.

I heard the distant chatter of gunfire. I heard the powerful shake of bombs dropping from closer than from where the gunfire came. I knew what was coming next. I put my arms out in a Jesus Christ pose and let it happen again.

The bomb hit about 10 feet behind me. It sent me flying in the air, through a thin wall of rotted wood and into the shell of a meager home built around a single stove.

I landed hard on the ground. The wind knocked out of me. My brain rattled like the bits inside of a maraca.

I could see the image in my mind before I even opened my eyes. It had haunted me since the day I was tortured by it.

I opened my eyes. There she was. Dead. A dead girl. Dead teenage girl. A, literal, dead ringer for my younger sister. Her eyes were just inches from mine, still wet, but gone. I could smell her breath.

It was not just a dead ringer this time. I was instead face-to-face with Bonnie’s actual body. I recoiled and tried to crawl away in the sand, but just kept sinking deeper and deeper into the coarse floor.

*

I woke up in the passenger seat of Bobbi’s car covered in a coat of sweat, my arms tensed and convulsing. I was fighting a battle against the seat belt and cloth interior of Bobbi’s car.

Bobbi’s giddish laugh welcomed me back to the real world. She stood outside my window, looking down at me with the hot sun burning behind her.

“Are you so fucked that your dreams are twisted too?” Bobbi asked.

I shook my head. Felt as I might faint from the heat and exertion.

“Why’d we stop?” I asked.

“It had to take a piss and it’s too hot. We need a break.”

I looked out the window and saw what looked like a lone casino behind Bobbi off in the distance. It looked to have some kind of half-assed Wild West theme.

“Where the hell are we?”

“Primm. Ever heard of it?”

“No.”

“You know how Laughlin is for people who like can’t afford Vegas?”

“Yes.”

“Primm is for people who can’t afford Laughlin.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“It’s a good enough place to take a piss, that’s about it.”

“I could go for that.”

Bobbi lifted me out of the car and into a motorized wheel chair.

“Snagged this in the lobby for you. Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Bobbi said once I was set into the chair.

I drove and Bobbi walked to the mouth of the casino through the blistering-hot sun.

That rush of sweet, sweet air conditioning never felt better when I walked into the dark, smoky casino and surveyed the lay of the land. A cold too deep to just come from the AC came over me.

This was the casino from the visions I had of Bonnie. Where she played cards. Where she left with the swarthy dealer. Timothy. Where I believe she met her demise. At Buffalo fucking Bills in Primm fucking Nevada.

This was what I came here for. That piss could wait. I made my way right to the blackjack tables. Combed through each, looking for Timothy.

Only about six or seven tables were staffed in the dregs of the day, but I decided I needed to stay. I waited outside the ladies room until I could inform Bobbi of my plan. She decided she would stay with me through the night. She could probably find some work for the night and make some money before she went to LA.

It took about eight hours and about 12 watered-down Jack and gingers to catch a glimpse of the man I was looking for. I was fantastically drunk when I saw Timothy walk up to an empty blackjack table and start setting up. I watched him prepare his table from over by the penny slots Bobbi and I were patronizing.

“I need some cash,” I asked Bobbi.

“You’re gonna ask someone who is ninety-five cents down on a Jimmy Buffet slot machine for cash?”

“I’m serious. He’s here.”

Bobbi’s eyes followed mine over to Timothy and his blackjack table just as he turned on his green OPEN light.

I started to head towards Timothy’s table. Bobbi stopped me.

“I have a better idea of how we can do this.”

I watched Bobbi saddle up to Timothy’s table from over the slot machines. I could tell she went right to work on him. I watched her lean over much more than necessary to pull her chips closer to her side of the table. Saw her whisper something in his ear.

Bobbi’s plan was to lure Timothy up into a room she had booked for another client she met earlier in the night. I could confront him there about everything. I wasn’t so sure Timothy would go for what I considered to be spoiled bait, but Bobbi assured me she could make it happen. She had drugs to ply him with if her body wasn’t enough.

Bobbi quickly walked away from the table. I followed her over to by the bathrooms where she said to meet if things were going well.

“Go up to the room. Three-twenty-three,” Bobbi said and handed me a key. “We’ll be up there in a minute.”

I cranked the AC in the room, but it just wouldn’t seem to chill. I sat in my chair staring out the window and listening to the hallway. I couldn’t wait to hear two pairs of feet coming up the way.

I had my script all ready for what I was going to say to Timothy as soon as he walked in. I couldn’t wait to just start blurting it out. I couldn’t wait to hit dial on that number to the Las Vegas Police Department. Tell them we had the guy. I couldn’t wait to tell my mom that I wasn’t mad with PTSD. I was actually a magician.

The ding of the elevator arriving outside the door make everything suddenly become real. I heard footsteps approach and suddenly lost all my confidence.

The door opened and Bobbi ushered Timothy in. He was initially relaxed, but his eyes flew into panic as soon as he saw me.

He stared down Bobbi.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked.

I tried to launch into my glorious solique, but couldn’t.

“Uh, uh, uh…”

“What gimp?” Timothy spat at me.

“You killed Bonnie,” I blurted out.

“Who the hell are you talking about?”

Timothy was still talking tough, but I could tell my question rattled him. His posture tightened. He started to blink rapidly as he stared at me.

“Bonnie Bagwell. You met her in this casino. Three years ago, in July. She was never seen again.”

Timothy let out a single laugh. He was out of breath.

“What did you do to her?” I yelled.

“Does it really matter,” He muttered under his breath. “She was a whore just like this one right here.”

I rolled off of the bed and onto the floor. Timothy went for the door, but Bobbi sealed it off.

“You shouldn’t have said that,” Bobbi screamed in Timothy’s face.

Bobbi pushed Timothy. His slender frame fell over mine on the floor and he fell between me and the bed.

I pushed myself around and came face-to-face with his dark eyes. I closed mine.

I opened my eyes in a dark tent. The air was unbearable hot. I could feel my clothes had already been sweated through. I couldn’t see a thing, but I could feel that someone was in there with me.

My senses were confirmed when I felt the cold blade of a knife slash across my arm. I screamed out and recoiled until I was stopped by the thin plastic of the wall of the tent.

“Who is there?” I screamed into the dark.

“Ah fuck, I was just trying get that fuckin camel spider that got in here,” a raspy voice I didn’t not recognize answered back.

I felt the wind of the knife swipe at me before I could react. It seemed it barely missed the bridge of my nose.

I dropped down and put my hands out, reverted to my high school wrestling skills. I grabbed the dark assailant around the waste. I felt the knife flail over my shoulder. I had him in a hold which would prevent him from getting fatal leverage with his weapon.

My attacker gave me a hard kick in the gut, but I didn’t flinch. I drove my shoulder into him until I pummeled the wind out of of him and was lying on top of his panicking body.

I felt the knife fall out of his grasp and slide down my back. I grabbed the six-inch blade from behind me and wrapped it up in my hand, poised it at my side.

My wrestling partner fell on his own sword before I even had to do anything. I lost my breath when I felt the weight of the man slide onto the sharp blade of the knife. Based on the weight and tension on the end of the thing, it felt that it must have slipped just beneath the man’s rib cage.

A pained gasp let out in the dark, followed by a flurry of horrified screams. I yanked the knife out and felt the man fall hard on the ground next to me.

I slowly caught my breath as I listened to the man scream bloody murder next to me until I had to put my hands over my ears.

Light came back to my vision. I was no longer in that hot tent in the Middle Eastern desert. I was back in that steamy hotel room with the shitty air conditioning. I was on my knees looking down at the crumpled body of Timothy, forever stuck with his arms clutching his upper stomach/lower ribs. Blood flowed from his wound and onto the already-stained carpet of the room.

I looked at the knife in my hand. A thick coat of blood oozed down the blade. Timothy must have pulled the thing on me, I wrestled it from him and the blade ended up in his insides. Now he was dead.

“Ah fuck, what do we do?” I screamed at Timothy’s body.

“He came after you with the knife and then just fell on it,” Bobbi said from behind me. “I was a witness.”

“Shit. What do we do?”

“We should get the police involved. I can vouch for your story of self defense, but there’s something I think you should look at on this guy before we do that,” Bobbi said.

Bobbi walked around me and over to Timothy’s body. She unbuttoned a few button on his shirt and yanked down the collar area. She waved me over.

“Look at this. I saw a glimpse of it when he was dealing,” Bobbi said.

I joined Bobbi by the bed and saw what she was talking about. Tattooed just below Timothy’s collarbone were what looked like latitude and longitude degree numbers. Bobbi took out her phone and snapped a picture.

*

We called the police. It was messy. Luckily, Timothy had a lengthy rap sheet which kept the police from accusing us of too much. Bobbi mentioning that I was a freshly-mugged and disabled veteran about five times might of helped as well. We told them of our accusations about Timothy’s potential involvement in the death of Bonnie, but they didn’t seem to care. She was an already-forgotten dead person in another state.

The good news about the police’s disinterest was it left Bobbi and I to explore on our own. We punched the latitude and longitude marks into her GPS and set off back into the deep desert.

Our points took us to the a lonely road off a lonely freeway, off a lonely highway which eventually turned to an unmarked dirt path which Bobbi’s car could barely traverse. The points stopped next to a cluster of shrubs a few paces off of the road.

Bobbi hooked me up with some crutches before we left town, so I was able to push myself out to the points with her and squint against the sun and brace against the hot wind.

What waited for us was a patch of dirt with a tiny little black ball sticking out of it. Like one of those markers you might find on a golf course which marks where you can tee off. I pulled the thing off and got to work digging with my hands. Bobbi joined in with the crowbar which was in her trunk.

We found what Tom’s tattooed points led us to in the dirt. A dirty white arm bone, a couple of feet long, with a faded diamond ring hanging off of her ring finger and a silver pinky. I didn’t know the diamond ring, but I recognized the pinky ring as the one which came from her high school boyfriend on a Valentine’s Day that she always wore.

All that was left of Bonnie were some dirty bones in the desert. They never found her left arm, when they originally found her body in California, so it made sense that all we found was that piece of her body. The police always figured her left arm had been carried away by scavengers, not stashed in the Nevada desert by the man who had killed her.

What the police later discovered was that Timothy has been pimping Bonnie after he lured her into a relationship. He lived in LA, but worked weekends sometimes as a blackjack dealer in Primm for extra cash. He became enraged when he found out that Bonnie was going to go back to Reno in September to go to school after she had told him she was going to run away to be with him. The police suspected that he had given her an engagement ring and that’s why he buried her left arm closer to where he lived and tattooed its coordinates on his chest. They discovered old text messages on his phone and social media messages which confirmed everything.

*

Solving it all gave me some comfort, but it didn’t bring Bonnie back to life or stop me from getting horrific visions which seemed to be a mix of my past, my future and traumatic things connected to me even if I didn’t directly play a part in them. Every day is still a struggle.

Bobbi has helped. We bonded over the trauma of our destroyed lives. We went to LA to spend time together and cool off from the ordeal in Primm. I eventually convinced her to try and give up her profession for a while and get into therapy. She convinced me to do the same.

Bobbi and I live together with my mom in Reno, for the time being. It’s a difficult life, but it gets a little bit better most days.

The biggest positive development has been the evolution of my visions. No longer am I mired in the haunting violence of my time in Iraq, or of Bonnie’s bloody death. They have become more helpful visions of the future.

The best vision yet came last night. I saw Bobbi and I on the porch of a cabin, older. I watched as we held hands and supervised the sun as it set behind mountains in the distance above a glossy blue lake. I felt like this was a vision of things to come. It felt pretty damn alright with me.

Originally published by Thought Catalog on www.ThoughtCatalog.com.

[aqlyrics-blog]

Beats Keep Callin

New Post has been published on http://purelyrics.net/lyrics/royce-da-59-beats-keep-callin/

Beats Keep Callin

–Part 1: “Bad and Boujee” Remix–

–Intro– Whatever, whatever, whatever Mr. Porter don’t trust you, I’m gon’ bust you, nigga That thang pop, pop pop Whatever, whatever, whatever (If Young Metro don’t trust you, I’m gon’ shoot you) Whatever, whatever

–Verse– This that “your career’s over” flow, for real This ain’t four-wheelin’, roll with coke, heroin, ‘caine Bone chilling, cold with no feelings Bangin dope-dealin-Hov and No-Ceilings Wayne Started out like Nas, shoot gun, heavy is the head with the crown Slaughterhouse, my mind’s two tons, hardest out like John Q’s son And everything you say greasy and made up like a piece of cheesesteak And everything I say come natural, in this thing of beauty, like Alicia Keys face How can I be hated in the streets, when I’m on even on my off day I’m creative when it’s beef, while you throw salt, I’m your baby mama and them new salt bae I’ll assault they a la carte tray Molotov through your restaurant window Mr. Hyde, Dr. Jekyll, Nickel Nine, Ricky Grimes I’m Sylvester Mindbender I spark fours, that’ll arch floors That’ll have whoever acting hardcore Doing parkour, I’ma dog Porter Brought the dog for, recording harsh thoughts for the art form Taking me to your leader is like showing Chuck Norris where a glass door is While I’m just tryna stay outta jail Last war I stay strapped for it Y’all can run while the gats blowing And if I miss your ass, then I guess you saved by the bell, like Zack Morris I’m on bando time when I ride through cities Before my time R.I.P. Bobby Krissy Or Bobby, Whitney, flow K-Ci, JoJo Let the Tech N9ne go KC, MO., bro I don’t stand my ground, I just demolish niggas Simple you against me you ain’t ridin’ with me Bitch not only do I kiss and tell, I’m Orlando Brown when I describe them titties I’m the rubberband man, but I do more than count bands Fuck sipping 40 ounces, I’m sober out here, fucking hoes like 40 oz Van Nigga I’m Pusha T doing quiet numbers, getting silent money, I’ll retire from it, I don’t dress loud, I throw the flyness on it Let the labels talk and Desiigner mumble like Donald Trump Throwing money hitting everybody and they auntie up Trying to find someone to come perform for me ‘fore I fuck the whole entire country up I’m the first one gunnin’, last one runnin’ Too enlightened for a check (yeah) Any rapper that want it, I’m Wack 100 Invite ’em to a scrap (yeah) I narrow down shit the Farrakhan way You can find me anywhere the crime wave I’m Schwarzenegger, you Sarah Conner And your favorite rapper act like Eric Andre Ryan’s still alive, played nice ’cause the drama still flies Even when you shoot your lil uzi vertical in broad day Like you still tryna kill God I’m French kissing with a “bitch you” mentality Voodoo and como talle vous While I’m hula hoopin’ dollars for that snarly tooth My future look like juju in a body suit When you niggas gon’ admit it? That I’m better than the youngins, that I’m better than the legends Never did I dumb it down or did I settle I’m Rick the Ruler in every different measure I ain’t just the R, I’m every different letter I can give your chick eleven inches if she let me get the leverage I can be president of hip-hop which is let me switch endeavors And I’m just having an open workout in Heaven, tryna get me a good sweat I’m Jae Millz looking up at the sky like, “Ayo B.I.G, am I good yet?”

–Part 2: “Lockjaw” Remix–

–Interlude– When you a fiend for the rhythm and the beats just keep callin’ ya They keep callin’ ya They keep callin’ ya

–Chorus– When it’s hard to understand me ’cause my jaws keeps lockin’ My parents keep callin’, the Lord keeps watchin’ I’m standing on the corner with my boys, beat boxin’ And anywhere I go, all of these whores be jockin’

–Verse 1– The dogs keep barkin’ at the top dog They already lost it, nigga, it’s a lost cause I remember when I had to pawn all my jewelry Was so embarrassed by the help that no one offered to me Zoning off the bottle, we only taught to fight back We only talk survival, walking home, we just might scrap All we did was write raps, tryna get so drunk Had to get my sight back, product of the old gun Made some bad decisions so early on in the process I had people out to get me, my album wasn’t even out yet I’m talking ’bout the self-proclaimed “King of Detroit” I seen some people reaching they dreams, some people destroyed I seen people die at the hands of the violence of man Seen people shot out the sky, being fly as they can Seen ’em split the pie up and Pam sniff her entire two grams Slipping, now we in your crib to tie up your fam ‘Cause it’s hard to really focus when you’re tryna stack for ya Lawyers, with those in power tryna blackball ya It’s hard to find employers like accountants that’s loyal With those who told ya they adore tryna back-door ya You ain’t on-point though, one minute, you popping trunks Next minute, you happy man, next minute, you sloppy drunk Every January 1st, the ball keeps droppin’ And I’m just celebrating it at the mall, we shoppin’ Celebrating friendships, “Bro” this, “Cuz” that “Fam” this, borrow that, loyal this, trust that Comas after comas that were alcohol induced If I ain’t wake up from ’em, I won’t ask what y’all would do

–Chorus– When it’s hard to understand me ’cause my jaws keeps lockin’ My parents keep callin’, the Lord keeps watchin’ I’m standing on the corner with my boys, beat boxin’ And anywhere I go, all of these whores be jockin’

[Refrain] I had to bite down, bite down A nigga had to bite down, bite down All I could do was bite down, bite down, down Bite down, bite down, I had to

[Verse 2] Hundred yard dash through the hood, talking money runs Using that money counter, getting rid of them funny ones You know the ones, too wrinkled to go in them slot machines Throw ’em on the titty bar floor to lower a thot esteem You could be the hottest thing and still have the wrong team Sometimes to see the bigger picture, you need a wider screen I got the arm out the black beatle, beating the drum Mannequin challenging whole families, viva la drunk It’s Nickel Season, the fever’s begun I’m savage, even though my tat issa knife, I’m keeping a gun Loaded cartridges, stolen cars with the Lowenharts Rip the game apart and you are not worthy like Wayne & Garth By now, my life’s so righteous, I don’t even sleep with groupies I move like that nigga Spike Lee when he was Mookie Back in high school, I really clowned I said I’d do the right thing if Rosie let me ice cube them titties now But this is realer than movie depictions What you niggas know ’bout making a move in a beef and truly committin’? It ain’t no squashing it after you push a certain button Make sure everything under your lip cut and your shirt is tucked in Burning your beard away with Magic Shave COs frisking your pregnant bitch, turning your kids away, thataway That’ll in a shallow grave, casualty of a cabaret Daughter calling some wack nigga “daddy” at movie matinees Even when we deal with Saturdays, my children still know that I don’t want another man’s cheap-ass ways on my doormat And anything I do from legal to illegal I do this shit the ski mask way, like I’m Lil Kodak

–Outro– When you a fiend for the rhythm and the beats just keep callin’ ya They keep callin’ ya They keep callin’ ya

[faiteach]

170116

no care - dear reader I can’t remember the last time I felt this good for this long. It’s gotten to the point that I’m beginning to doubt its authenticity. I mean, if all my deep, dark patches could be attributed to chemical imbalances and oceans of hormones, then what’s to say my highs couldn’t be too? The other possibility is that I’ve finally learned how to handle my bullshit. Now, I’m not saying I will never get depressed again, or that I’ll never split again, or that I’ve stopped dissociating in times of stress and fear. I still do all those things. Repairing and coping with my PD is all about perspective, self-care, and time management. I take a lot of work. I’m aware of that now. So I’ve started focusing on doing the work. I expect that it will never be easy, but I believe that it can get easier, especially if I keep trying. The effects of these things, they kind of snowball, you know? So I’m trying. And in the meantime, I’m focusing on my successes, admitting to my mistakes, and doing what I have to to feel better about them---that is to say, confronting the issue as honestly as possible and approaching any solutions with sincerity. Sounds simple, when you put the words in order, but honestly the actual thought process can be daunting when you’re avoidant and socially anxious. It helps to have good people around who are willing to show some understanding. Part of my self-care includes reminding myself of how valuable my current, positive relationships are and putting dedicated effort into trying to show them that I feel that way. Especially when I have the urge to torch everything I’ve built and run the other way. Again, much harder than it sounds. That’s the trouble with these mental deviances. The mindset of the established order doesn’t leave a lot of room for...what is it? What can you even say about it? The Slip’n’Slide of Terror, the Sudden Sink into Suspicion, that blank wall of static that roars into the mind as the salty waters of anxiety short out every circuit in your mind at the very thought of expressing emotion, empathy, commitment, need, affection, nah need nobody, trust no bitch, s’all good *blink* s’all good *blink* --zzzzt. Reanimating after shut down takes time. And effort. What was I saying? Perspective. It seems to me, this has been the most helpful tool that I have against the things that attack me in my mind. I still get emotional, but now I channel it into safe outlets that allow me to fully express myself without causing any damage. I almost feel like a tourist in my own emotional states. Part of that, is perspective. Instead of getting swept away feeling lonely and sorry for myself, I am able to remind myself of exactly where I am in life, how hard I had to work to get here, and how little I achieved in the past, when I let myself get distracted by the desire to use somebody else to fulfill my needs. I remind myself that in every relationship I ever entered into in the past, my motives were entirely selfish and if I were to pursue the impulses that tells me I need a relationship now, then I would be doing it for selfish reasons because deep down---not even deep down, it’s pretty fucking obvious in every sense of the word that I do NOT have the capacity to care for anyone besides myself. I just don’t. People tend to assume, when I say I don’t want a relationship now, or possibly ever, that it must be because I’m scared. They think I don’t want to risk the rejection and lose the fragile self-confidence I’ve gained. They think I’m just not ready to put it all on the table and start looking again. Eeeeeeh if I’m being truly honest, they’re at least one-third right. The real reason that stops me in my tracks, every time I really feel the urge to go out and look for “love”, is that it’s never made me happy before, and there’s no way it could actually make me happy now. A relationship, of any kind, is a terrifying thing to me---no matter how short lived it is. The briefest interaction can leave shockwaves in my consciousness that take real time out of my day to recover from. I have to be drunk to do the kinds of impulsive things that my urges have made me do in the past, and the shame that I always woke up to was scalding. I’m done with that. Over the last year, I have learned to love myself. I like who I am, warts and all. I enjoy my company. I make myself laugh. I feel beautiful like, 95% of the time, even when I feel disgusting, I just….like it. For the first time in my life, I’m allowing myself to move my body however I want, without caring if I look stupid from some other angle. I’m allowing myself to sing, to hoot, to holler, to take deep breaths, to get up and pee whenever I want, to dance around in full view of other people, to laugh, to snort, to make bad jokes, to make myself heard, to expect better for myself. It has taken so. long. to get here. Of course, I say all that and then, do you know what I did? Let me set the scene. Friday the 13th and my boss has arranged for the entire office AND their significant others (everyone had one but me) to spend the night at a casino/resort for a quick retreat. Just something fun to end 2016 and kick off 2017, right? It was a great time. All of us get along great and we partied like professionals. No one threw up, no one got arrested, no one got into a fight, and while some people lost their bonuses to the slot machines, no one actually went bankrupt. And at 3am, sitting alone in my hotel room, my dumb ass texted KK. I said: “You should call me sometime.” I figured he wouldn’t answer and by morning I would have come to my senses enough to ignore any response. Maybe I’d do the intelligent thing and block his number again. I’m not even sure why I unblocked it in the first place. I’ve thought about him almost every day for a year. Not sad, or hurt, when I do, but with a little regret. He’s been one of my closest friends for my entire life. He’s the only person I’ve always felt happy to be around, except for the times (the many, unfortunate times) when our relationship has become...complicated. And we’ve never even dated in any kind of official capacity. But the truth is, if I’m capable of real love, then I know I love him. I have zero illusions about our romantic compatibility. We want different things, and he’s always had a deep network of friends that I just don’t fit into. Meshing our lives together wouldn’t work, logistically. But is the feeling real enough to try and make it work? Probably not. At the end of the day, I know myself now, and I know I’m capable of doing horrible things to other people just to get what I want. If what I want is more space, then I will cut away parts of my life to make it happen. In any case, he responded right away. “I will. Later in the day though. Haha.” And then he texted me again, first thing in the morning, 5 hours later. We talked a little, like I hadn’t iced him out for a year. He asked what’s new with me and I told him if he really wanted to catch up, he could call me or we could meet up later. As far as I was concerned, that would be the end of it. Every man I’ve ever known has run the other way when I say things like that. They try to do everything from a distance, try to keep me far away on the other side of the screen, because they know if they get too close, I’ll latch on like the succubus I am and demand more than they’re willing to give. He asked me if I wanted to get dinner on Monday. I said sure, and I figured he wouldn’t follow through. They never do. But here we are, on Monday, and he texted me first thing in the morning to suss out the details. We’re meeting up right after work to get food. It’s not like him to ask me to go out for anything. Normally, we’re both too casual to give a shit. We’ve been friends forever, why go out when we can just sit on the couch and play video games? Something about it feels weird, not wrong, just...different. Formal, when we’ve never been formal before. I have no idea what to expect. I have no idea if my absence affected him at all. Before I cut him out, we talked everyday. I have no idea if me missed me, if he cared, if hearing from me was an exciting relief, or if it’s all just par for the course to him. Maybe none of it was a big deal, and he’s just happy to hear from an old friend, with no idea how deeply his actions affected me, or how important walking away from him was to my mental health. It’s entirely possible that after tonight, I will resolve to truly never see him again. It’s entirely possible that after tonight, our relationship will evolve. And if it’s going to stay the same? Do I want it to? I honestly don’t know. I just want to get it over with.