#la marketing firm

[tackmediaus]

Digital Marketing Agencies Los Angeles

Explore the top digital marketing agencies in Los Angeles? Tack Media offers a range of services including SEO, SMM, branding, graphic design, website design, development, and multimedia. For more information, please visit our website.

[lurkingshan]

Helloooo, Shan! This is a bit out of left field but it’s something I’ve been wondering for a while. BL has developed more as a genre and shown itself to be increasingly sociopolitically aware (whether or not it effectively engages with that awareness beyond marketing is another thing), do you have thoughts on any sort of progression of how women and girls have been portrayed? Or observations on the general state of women and girls in BL? It seems to me their roles have become meatier, not just one-dimensional femme fatales or fujoshi. Or am I projecting a false narrative of genre evolution? 🤔

Hey Megan, thanks for sending! I love an out of left field ask. And I agree with you, I do think there has been a clear evolution in the way women characters are portrayed in BL, and I have been making note of it where I see it.

It used to be that female characters in BL were mostly just there to be antagonists, either as villainous femme fatales trying to break up the couple (like Plern Pleng in TWM) or fujoshis inserting themselves into the main couple's relationship in really inappropriate and fetishizing ways (like Pang in Love Sick). Even the precious few decent women characters from early BL (like Manow from UWMA) are still really only there as side characters who provide support to the boys and/or a bit of comic relief. Women in early BL were either problematic or kind of an afterthought in the narrative.

But more recently there have been BL dramas featuring women who are more fully fleshed out and actually a crucial part of the story. This is not linear and consistent, of course--there are BLs airing as we speak, like Knock Knock Boys and Blue Boys, that are still relying on women as primary antagonists--but there has been some growth. Here are some of the characters I find particularly notable in regards to the role they play in the narrative:

Ae Ri, The Eighth Sense

Ae Ri was a notable character because the narrative set us up to think she was going to be a typical femme fatale. She seemed to like Ji Hyun and we were naturally inclined to assume she would be an obstacle to him pursuing Jae Won, until the show completely turned that on its head and made her a knowing ally instead. It was a delightful surprise and she remained an important support and get a grip friend for Ji Hyun throughout the story.

Nara, La Pluie

Nara is another in the category of the subverted femme fatale trope, but this show took that much further by writing her with so much empathy and making her a fully fleshed out character with her own arc and even the start of a new romance by the end. It is still the best treatment of an ex-girlfriend character I have ever seen in a BL.

Fujisaki/Pai, Cherry Magic

Speaking of trope subversion, let's give a shoutout to these two corrective takes on the fujoshi archetype. Each version of this story did it a bit differently, but the common thread was that Fujisaki and Pai only wanted the best for their friends, and kept a firm line on how much to interfere in their relationship. Fujisaki is gentle and kind, offering small encouragements and nice gestures. Pai is much more of an enthusiastic fangirl so I was a bit weary at the start of her story, but the show used her fannish interests as an opportunity to model respectful fan behavior and I was quite pleased in the end.

Yiwa, Wedding Plan

And of course, I have to mention the current title holder for best female character in a BL, Wedding Plan's Yiwa. She is not only a great character in terms of having a fully formed personality, clear motivations, and a great set of relationships, she is also the engine that drives the entire narrative. I am still kinda amazed she exists.

This is separate but related to the recent increase in GL content and GL side couples in BLs, which is also getting steadily better. And I want both! I want solid GL dramas where the girls own the narrative, and I want BLs to write women better when they choose to include them in the story. I'm encouraged by the progress we've already seen.

[centrally-unplanned]

To fulfill my insufferable grey tribe quota after the antitrust post, there are some industries where the inherent monopoly is strong enough that corporate management is always going to be rent extractive in some form. Exclusive infrastructure is the most common form of this - many in the US live in broadband internet monopolies, where since private providers own the actual wire connections and building duplicate connections is incredibly wasteful, a lot of areas have only one provider who by metrics offers worse services at higher prices than in peer countries (tangent note: breaking them up nationally does nothing to address this locally) . There are still constraints - you can get hotspot internet, satellite internet, etc, these do bind prices - but they are weak.

Similar things apply to some public transit; private companies owning a subway line have a monopoly because you absolutely should not build a second line for competition's sake. They still have to price around alternate modes of transit, for sure, but depending on the city there is a "cost gap" they can extract rent from.

All of this is to say that some countries address this via price controls, and it works just fine! Tokyo's subway is managed by private companies, but the government directly intervenes in their pricing strategies, capping profit margins. Dozens of countries have price controls on various utilities. Any publicly owned company is, in a sense, doing price controls unless they are operating as a purely for-profit entity. There are costs paid by these policies, of course, but they absolutely can provide greater benefits than those costs.

Like everything else, price controls are actually just a tool in the box. They are often portrayed as theoretically impossible; that they are the slippery slope to central planning a la the USSR, and that they will necessarily blow up. If you were doing it for the whole economy it is true enough (*puts the 20 page essay on the evolution of GOSPLAN to the side with a sigh of remorse and longing*), but for individual goods it just isn't that hard to calculate the marginal price of a good, understand that price, and then subsidize it or w/e for your social end without blowing up your entire supply chain. This happens all the time, it is called a firm; all of them do internal price controls.

The problems with price controls are not that theoretical calculation debate stuff, but instead that governments just generally aren't very good at things and fuck shit up all the time. Sometimes you need to do some kind of policy anyway, for some things markets do not work at all so you just gotta do your best. But price controls are exactly the kind of thing governments fuck up the most, and so using them needs to clear an exceptionally high bar. In practice, most problems never do. There is almost always another, better way to address the problem that will fuck up less. But it is just costs vs benefits in the end, it isn't a magic box. You can price control subways, it's fine enough. Don't price control groceries, that is not going to work. Different industries, different policies.

[bangtan-in-black]

VIVE LA RÉVOLUTION

Chapter 1: the beginning.

‘Many many years ago’

That's how most stories start, right? Stories that entail a damsel in distress unable to do as much as defend herself, or would be so ditsy as to leave her magical shoe behind.

Yes ‘many many years ago’ is used to tell stories, these olden folk tales. Stories that are told to make village daughters work for their happily ever after. A happily ever after in which all likelihood would never come to them. Would never arrive on the common girls doorsteps like they so desperately desired.

These are all they are, tales and stories promising a better future that would never come.

~~~~~~~~

Another day rises over the mor. The soft light awakens the village's inhabitants.

A tired sigh leaves your lips as you are one of the first to rise on this new day.

A dull ache remains at the bottom of your back from the injury acquired days ago, where you had slipped over a glistening wet rock on the way back uphill from the town market, on your way back to your workhouse.

The red lion workhouse.

Far from the life you'd heard and even imagined as a child hearing the stories of lower class peasants like you, as you were often called by nobles passing through the shacks and muddy barren fields. The peasants in the stories were able to leave their station with their gentry and noble husbands. A glint in their eyes as they walked towards their new life with their husbands. A ring on their finger and a life in the lap of luxury secured.

Time.

Time had been the one to slap that dream out of your head. The cruelest reality of all, indeed. The one where you realized that no prince on a white stallion would come riding up the mountains for you.

Any hope of that happening died that day, 15 years ago.

The moment the king's soldiers, the knights came to town.

They had stormed into your small village where your family lived. They came marching towards your shack, dragged your parents out of bed and mutilated them where they stood while they made you, their child watch on in horror as they were tortured and finally being thrown into the blazing flame that ate away at your home where you'd all lived.

Your tiny body held back despite the struggle against the stoney like hold of the royal pests holding onto you.

You screamed out for your parents to come back to you from the fire.

You were found in front of your burnt down home after the knights had ridden off into the dark distance.

Madam Rouge, the village wealthiest resident, was the one to find you after the tragic events of that night. Scandalous red lipstick painting her lips, the torch in her hands highlighted the gleam in her eager eyes, eyes eager to help.

She dragged you back to the red lion that night.

Her kindness was what kept you alive, but you were too young, too young and naive to realize her kindness came with a price.

Yes, that was something you soon learned. Everything came with a price.

Madam Rouge's greatest pleasure in life was dolling her girls up as if the young peasants were royalty.

You were a particular victim of this. Often being pulled away from the other girls working.

Madam rouge may have been many things, but cruel to the ones she took in was not one of them.

She was firm but fair.

She gave you and many other girls homes through the years. Food and water being given to you when you could've been lying dead in the streets.

The girls, of course, had to work for what they had. And you worked the hardest, so happy to be alive. To be given a chance to have a family again.

But of course with every good thing comes a bad, many of the girls found it unfair. These girls were Madam Rouge's least favorite girls.

Spoiled, entitled and quite frankly, dull.

Of course a woman of her refined elegance would not take kindly to such behaviors.

The morning sun poking through the windows with the worn wooden frames. This was truly a sight accustomed to you by now, a surefire way to know it was time for the workday to start.

Getting up before the rest of the girls had become pure routine by this point. It was something you'd always prided yourself on ever since you first came to the red lion workhouse, your work ethic outshined any others in the shared house of labour.

There was something about the way madam red looked at you when you did the job better than everyone else.

Pride. A pride strongly glistening in her dark brown eyes.

If such a thing was possible you'd even describe her gaze as shining. A genuine pride that she held for you made you feel worthwhile, it almost felt motherly.

Almost.

You knew she could never ever be your mother, and she didn't try to be but that didn't stop you from reaching for her highest praises. They were the closest thing you'd experienced to parental pride for 13 years.

The closest you'd have for the rest of your life.

Getting ready for another tiresome workday was as tantalisingly mundane, as usual. Throwing your H/L H/C hair up into a scruffy loose ponytail. The birds continued singing, the cows kept mooing.

Walking down the olden wooden steps that were practically breaking apart. First thing on the agenda today was to help feed the rest of the girls in the mess hall.

It seemed as if fate had other plans as you were distracted from your path to the kitchens by the mistress of the red lion herself. Lady Rouge, much preferring her former title of madam, but was still three times the lady compared to most snobby nobles.

“Y/N i thought that was you? Come sit with us for a moment dear, you deserve the break. A proper lady like you should never have calluses.”

That was something that had always confused you greatly. You were going to get calluses working in a workhouse, but Madam Rouge seemed to believe that you were the only one above working hard enough for calluses. You were also the only one she ever called a lady, you'd never thought to question why. It must be because you were the youngest girl she'd ever brought into the red lion. She still sees you as the baby she had taken in.

She sat there with her posture perfectly poised, sipping a sweet smelling tea from a delicately painted teacup. She was adorning her usual attire with her hat placed splendidly on the solid oak coffee table.

Sitting opposite her was a face you had not seen for almost a year and a half. A woman wearing a navy blue hanbok. Her outfit was sophisticated for the village, but you doubted that nobles from the capital would ever even set their eyes on the scruffy silk patterns embedded on the course material. The brunette smiled, her hands caressing her large stomach.

“Oh my! Congratulations” you smiled brightly, truly elated at the sight of one of the older girls from the house doing so well. Sylvia smiles, her eyes creasing in the corners as she takes a sip of an equally sweet smelling tea.

“Oh well it's a lot of work but it's worth it to raise a future knight.” Sylvia says excitedly but her excitement makes you pause.

“A knight?” you couldn't help but ask incredulously.

Sylvia's eyelashes fluttered as her gaze fell to you and her smile dissipated.

“Yes, a knight, my little boy is already so strong.” she said with a certain look in her eye and the way she spoke had an edge, a colder, more stern edge than before.

“Boy?” you asked again, a little confused as to how she was so sure of her baby's sex.

Sylvia's eye twitches as she forces an almost unbearably noticeable smile on her pale pink lips. “Yes, a boy. I would never dishonour my husband, the man who gives me such a good life by giving him a girl.” her eyes look down at you as if you had killed her unborn child. Her eyes were filled with something akin to pure hatred.

Madam Rouge smiles as if not noticing the newly tense atmosphere in the workhouse common room. “I knew you'd bring honour to the red household” Lady Rouge smiled brightly as if all the village's problems had just been solved.

You’d stopped paying attention by this point, too entranced by something that Sylvia had said earlier.

Many thoughts swirled around your head at once. But the one most prominent was the one screaming at you to take this woman's baby from her as she clearly had no regard for anyone other than herself and ‘honour’.

Of course you knew you couldn't really take her baby away, but it hurt your heart to know of the future that this child will be forced into. Never feeling enough unless he becomes a knight and brings his mother honour.

“You'd really wish for your son to become a knight? Even after the royal platoon burned our homes to the ground?” You were unable to keep your tongue to yourself it seems as the words that spill out of you cause a huge sense of panic at the realisation that you’d voiced your thoughts. The question was asked sharply, something whic clearly bothered the mother to be.

“Y/N, they burned your home to the ground, not mine. My son will do as I say and you will keep yourself out of my business because you are pathetic. You hold onto hatred of the people who govern us. They give us everything an youre still not grateful? . Spoiled brat, even after your parents died you had everything handed to you. Didn't have to do anything but be as pathetic as you are to become madams favourite." There was a sick enjoyment in her eyes as she spluttered off her filth.

A deep ashamed feeling creeps into your stomach as you mutter a quiet apology.

“That's right, respect your betters. I worked for everything I have. You're just a sad little girl whose parents died and so madam pitties you because of your losses. If I want my son to bring honour to his family, he will do as I say.” Sylvia felt a sick sense of pride seeing the tears gather in your waterline.

Madam rouges face, once painted with a pleased smile, turns to solid stone as she watches the exchange between her favourite and a former girl of hers.

“My son will even bring honour to you, everyone in this rat infested squalor in fact.” Sylvia sneers.

You thought that out of everyone that Sylvias would be the most likely to understand her stance and the horrid resentment that you held towards the royal knights. Sylvia's story was perhaps more harrowing than your own so you simply couldn't understand why she was jumping so gallantly to the knights defence.

“That's enough Y/N, go and get some eggs from the chickens and some milk.” Madam Rouge raises her voice bitterly, even as she spoke to you, her fiery gaze was trapped on Sylvia. “And Sylvia,”

The brunette perks up, foolishly expecting to be praised.

“I’d not speak of honour while you force your own desired future on your unborn baby, a future in which he's with people who slaughtered your whole family.” Both you and sylvia became silent at madam Rouges outburst. Her breathing now gone ragged.

“This is not how I raised either of you. Start behaving like the proper ladies I've raised. Sylvia id like to have a word with you before you go. Y/N you'll need not stay here or help to cook this morning, go and gather ingredients from outside." Madam Rouge huffs.

“Yes madam.” Y/N curtsies apologetically, before rushing to go to the chicken coop and cow pen.

The room suddenly becomes eerily silent. Madam rouge looks at Sylvia with her sharp cold eyes. Sylvia shivers as madam Rouges cold demeanour becomes altogether something much darker.

“She was always your favourite” Sylvia starts, wildly off put by Madam Rouge's new frightening demeanour, Sylvia couldn't describe it. But she felt unsafe in the presence of the sole woman who raised her, a feeling that she didn't like.

Madam Rouge goes to speak but she never gets the opportunity as she is barraged with Sylvia's sudden emotion.

“Don't deny it.” there's a long period of silence,

“If I've ever treated that girl differently it's because she's deserved it.” Rouge defends.

Sylvia's resolve cracks and she utters a quiet and croaky “why? What makes her different from me or any of the other girls that've been here over the years?” Sylvia indeed felt threatened.

Madam Rouge stands firm. “Have a safe trip home little one.” she says, already turned around, prepared to walk away.

“It's always been the same! Why her! I worked hard too! I lost my family too!”

Madam rouge stops. A manic smile paints her blood red lips as she turns around, launching her sharp cruel words like a bullet.

“She's simply more beautiful than you my darling. Always has been and always will be. Do you even know what a pretty penny she'd fetch in the world of nobles looking for sluts to add to their expensive collections? You'd never be worth a sixteenth of her price.”

Sylvia stares with an unplaced hurt.

“But my dowry-” she begins to argue

“Your dowry was nothing but a cruel joke. Alas I knew it was the best offer you were going to get. You are not the prettiest girl like you believe yourself to be.” Madam Rouge retorts, un bothered as she picks at her pristine nails.

Sylvia could only nod as she fought back tears. She took a deep breath and then left quickly out of the red lion workhouse and into her chief husband's carriage that awaited her. Ready and eager to take her back down the steep hill on which the red lion was situated.

Madam Rouges expression returns to peace.

[qwainte]

Headcanons/speculation about how the preps acquired their wealth and current source if income:

The Harringtons: "Harrington Oil" can be seen advertized on the go-cart racetrack so we can assume they are oil tycoons. Derby is featured in Aquaberry advertisements so perhaps his family are shareholders and invest in other luxury clothing brands as well.

The Gauthiers: It's hard to say. Chad mentions Pinky's father bought her an entire ice cream factory so maybe he owns a major food manufacturing company a la Nestle. I also guess her parents are philanthropists considering that she has no qualms about donating to charity

The Taylors: Bif mentions his dad possibly bulldozing some low-income housing so I'm going to say land development and real estate. If he gets hit by a car Bif will mention his father being an attorney. I'm also going to consider Derby's little jab about him being a Democrat and say his dad is a political attorney.

The Spencers: "Spencer Shipping", a shipping manufacturing company; Tad says his father is a self-made man but perhaps his mother is old-money, hence the inbreeding. She may have came from an old British aristocrat family, and Tad does his best to replicate her accent.

The Vanderveldes: Sounds like "Vanderbilt" so imma say railroads

The Vendomes: Gord's dad is an attorney and owns a law firm that specializes in criminal cases. He also owns several hotels so he's in the hospitality business

The Montroses: Bryce's dad has gambled away most of their money and whatever source of wealth they have isn't enough to get their family out of debt. The best guess I can give is that his father is an investor and is currently seeing little to no returns on his investments (after more digging I found a quote were Bryce states his father told him he "lost a bundle in the stock market").

The Ogilvies: Literally no dialogue hints at his family's business so let's say his father owns a large vehicle manufacturing company and his mother is a professional conductor.

The Morrises: Chad mentions his father a lot like he's a really important person so perhaps he's in politics or works on the board of education. He mentions not receiving his usual care package from his mother, meaning that she may not live nearby in the Vale. She may have a profession that requires her to travel a lot. Judging by Chad's quotes about the environment I'd say she's an environmentalist.

[christian-dubuis-santini]

Tout était faux, ceux au pouvoir et leurs complices ont menti de bout en bout, ce n’était pas une "pandémie", la guenille faciale ne sert strictement à rien contre un virus respiratoire, les "vaccins" n’étaient ni sûrs ni efficaces, n’empêchaient pas de contracter la maladie ni de la transmettre, ils ont des effets secondaires redoutables, ce n’était en vérité qu’une monstrueuse opération de marketing planétaire qui reprenait les mêmes ingrédients que la campagne H1N1 qui avait échoué (regardez les extraits, Bachelot dit les mêmes mots, sur le même ton…) La différence entre 2007 et 2020 ? La sophistication des moyens de contrôler les populations liée au développement du numérique… Ces opérations n’ont rien à voir avec la santé de quiconque qui est l’affaire de chacun, ce sont des opérations fascistes (lisez la définition qu’en donnait Mussolini) destinées à habituer les citoyens à se voir priver de leurs libertés fondamentales pour les livrer à la domination d’un appareil d’État lui-même inféodé aux firmes privées et à des intérêts particuliers… La politique ne se définit-elle pas précisément de ce qui échappe au diktat économique, d’autant plus lorsque l’économie est dominée par l’abstraction réelle des marchés financiers ?

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Kashmir Hill’s “Your Face Belongs to Us”

This Friday (September 22), I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. That night, I'll be in person at LA's Book Soup for the launch of Justin C Key's "The World Wasn’t Ready for You." On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

Your Face Belongs To Us is Kashmir Hill's new tell-all history of Clearview AI, the creepy facial recognition company whose origins are mired in far-right politics, off-the-books police misconduct, sales to authoritarian states and sleazy one-percenter one-upmanship:

https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/691288/your-face-belongs-to-us-by-kashmir-hill/

Hill is a fitting chronicler here. Clearview first rose to prominence – or, rather, notoriety – with the publication of her 2020 expose on the company, which had scraped more than a billion facial images from the web, and then started secretly marketing a search engine for faces to cops, spooks, private security firms, and, eventually, repressive governments:

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/01/18/technology/clearview-privacy-facial-recognition.html

Hill's original blockbuster expose was followed by an in-depth magazine feature and then a string more articles, which revealed the company's origins in white nationalist movements, and the mercurial jourey of its founder, Hoan Ton-That:

https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2021/03/18/magazine/facial-recognition-clearview-ai.html

The story of Clearview's technology is an interesting one, a story about the machine learning gold-rush where modestly talented technologists who could lay hands on sufficient data could throw it together with off-the-shelf algorithms and do things that had previously been considered impossible. While Clearview has plenty of competitors today, as recently as a couple of years ago, it played like a magic trick.

That's where the more interesting story of Clearview's founding comes in. Hill is a meticulous researcher and had the benefit of a disaffected – and excommunicated – Clearview co-founder, who provided her with masses of internal communications. She also benefited from the court documents from the flurry of lawsuits that Clearview prompted.

What emerges from these primary sources – including multiple interviews with Ton-That – is a story about a move-fast-and-break-things company at the tail end of the forgiveness-not-permission era of technological development. Clearview's founders are violating laws and norms, they're short on cash, and they're racing across the river on the backs of alligators, hoping to reach the riches on the opposite bank without losing a leg.

A decade ago, they might have played as heroes. Today, they're just grifters – bullshitters faking it until they make it, lying to Hill (and getting caught out), and the rest of us. The founders themselves are erratic weirdos, and not the fun kind of weirdos, either. Ton-That – who emigrated to Silicon Valley from Australia as a teenager, seeking a techie's fortune – comes across as a bro-addled dimbulb who threw his lot in with white nationalists, MAGA Republicans, Rudy Guiliani bagmen, Peter Theil, and assorted other tech-adjascent goblins.

Meanwhile, biometrics generally – and facial recognition specifically – is a discipline with a long and sordid history, inextricably entwined with phrenology and eugenics, as Hill describes in a series of interstitial chapters that recount historical attempts to indentify the facial features that correspond with criminality and low intelligence.

These interstitials are woven into a-ha moments from Clearview's history, in which various investors, employees, hangers-on, competitors and customers speculate about how a facial-recognition system could eventually not just recognize criminals, but predict criminality. It's a potent reminder of the AI industry's many overlaps with "race-science" and other quack beliefs.

Hill also describes how Clearview and its competitors' recklessness and arrogance created the openings for shrewd civil libertarians to secure bipartisan support for biometric privacy laws, most notably Illinois' best-of-breed Biometric Information Privacy Act:

https://www.ilga.gov/legislation/ilcs/ilcs3.asp?ActID=3004&ChapterID=57

But by the end of the book, Hill makes the case that Ton-That and his competitors have gotten away with it. Facial recognition is now so easy to build that – she says – we're unlikely to abolish it, despite all the many horrifying ways that FR could fuck up our societies. It's a sobering conclusion, and while Hill holds out some hope for curbing the official use of FR, she seems resigned to a future in which – for example – creepy guys covertly snap photos of women on the street, use those pictures to figure out their names and addresses, and then stalk and harass them.

If she's right, this is Ton-That's true legacy, and the legacy of the funders who handed him millions to spend building this. Perhaps someone else would have stepped into that sweaty, reckless-grifter-shaped hole if Ton-That hadn't been there to fill it, but in our timeline, we can say that Ton-That was the bumbler who helped destroy something precious.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/20/steal-your-face/#hoan-ton-that

[lopsided-whiskey-grin]

Flashbang

Ghost x Soap

Word count: 7.4k (i got on a roll and couldn’t help myself, much like the poor boys in this fic ;)) 

Summary:  Ghost and Soap stumble upon one of the Las Almas Cartel's drug labs trying to escape from the Shadows. They get much more than they bargained for when a vial of a new powerful drug on the market breaks open at their feet. It's going to be one long fucking night.

Tags:  sex pollen, mildly dubious consent, blow jobs, size kink, anal fingering, anal sex, choking, bottom Ghost, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, rimming, first time bottoming, frottage, praise kink, spooning, fluff, shameless smut, PWP, top switching, +18 only!

also on AO3

"Goddamn truck is losin' power," Ghost muttered.

Soap groaned and ran a hand roughly down his face. Three days worth of stubble rasped against his gloved palm. He looked over at Ghost. The dashboard was lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree and even with Ghost's foot pumping the gas pedal, the truck was barely lurching forward. 

This was one of those times where everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. Murphy's law or some such bullshit. It felt like the day was never-ending and it appeared that they still had a long way to go. 

They had not even made it out of Las Almas.

Soap glanced out the window to get his bearings. It was still dark as hell and pissing down rain and he had no idea what part of the city they were in. He hoped it was the outskirts, at least. 

Doing his best to ignore the ache in his arm from the gsw he'd gotten courtesy of Graves' team, Soap readied his rifle. He knew they were going to have to bail and most likely fight their way through another wave of Shadows. Would this day ever end? Christ, he was so fucking tired.

The truck pitched forward and Ghost tried to gun it one more time, but the engine only sputtered. They rolled to a stop. "Bloody fuckin' hell," he growled, slamming his hands onto the steering wheel. "Looks like we're walking, Johnny. You ready?"

Soap sighed and squared his shoulders "Aye." He nodded to Ghost, hand holding steady on the door handle, awaiting L.t's orders.

"We need to get off this main road and look for another vehicle. We'll move interior to that building there," he jerked his chin toward a darkened mechanic's shop about 10 meters ahead of them, "and hope we can find something in the alley behind."

"Rog. I've got your six." Soap took a deep breath and opened the door. 

The street was quiet as they exited the vehicle. Except for the sound of the pouring rain and occasional crack of thunder, it otherwise would have been a lovely fucking autumn evening. Soap rolled his eyes at his own sarcasm and fell in line behind Ghost. Please, let's just get the hell out of this in one piece. 

Soap's eyes darted to every shadowed corner, hypervigilant. He had just barely gotten through the town alive when he was trying to find his way back to Ghost at the church not but ten minutes before; he hadn't had a chance to catch his breath or even dress the wound on his arm, which still stung like a motherfucker, thank you very much. And now here he was again, stuck back in the goddamn rain. 

Ghost crept quietly ahead of him, lit dimly by the occasional streetlight, his cargos soaked and clinging to his firm arse. Soap had to admit, the view wasn't half bad from this vantage point. At least he had that going for him. 

They finally came to the mechanic's shop and Ghost gave the signal to pull up and wait. Johnny did. He kept a look-out while Ghost jimmied the door. This side of the town was quiet, eerily so, and it made him uneasy as hell. C'mon, Ghost, crack on with it, mate. 

In less than a minute, Ghost got the door open and they were inside. It was darker than the street outside and just as empty of people. Soap wasn't sure if that made him feel better or not. 

Looking around, he realized that although it had looked like an auto shop on the outside, it was a front for something completely different. It was cluttered inside, but not with cars or tools. He's clicked his headlamp on. 

"What's all this then?"

There were rows of tables with various bottles, tubes, bunsen burners, and scientific instruments. Along the back wall were hundreds of boxes, neatly stacked, ready to be shipped. There was a faint burnt chemical scent to the air mixing with the muted smell of old motor oil. 

Ghost stepped along beside him, studying the tables. His hand rested on the butt of his holstered sidearm. "Must be one of the narcos' drug operations. Their laboratory."

He carefully picked up a small vial off the table and turned it in the light of his headlamp. Even with the mask covering his face, Soap could see the curiosity glinting in Ghost's eyes. It made his stomach flip, not unpleasantly, to be able to read his Lieutenant's expressions so clearly when many others had a hard time just getting a read on him. He felt like he knew Ghost better than most, but even then he wanted to get to know him on a deeper level. He wanted to know everything about him. 

The liquid inside the vial was faintly pink and rolled and shimmered in an almost mesmerizing way as Ghost tipped the glass this way and that. "It's got a label on it," he murmured. "Flashbang." 

Soap stepped closer, wanting to get a better look. "Some kind of heroin, maybe?" he asked. 

Ghost shrugged and started setting it back down, but then pulled it back up, eyes narrowed like he was trying to remember.

"Wait. I've heard about this. In a classified brief I read last y—"

A loud crash at the back of the room cut him off and both men spun with weapons drawn. Soap's heart was in his throat as he aimed at the intruder. 

It was a cat. Only a goddamn cat. After yowling at them, it leapt from a table of metal bowls and canisters then disappeared into a small hole beside the back door with an indignant hiss. Soap let out a shaky chuckle and turned back toward Ghost, but Ghost was not laughing. 

"Shit," Ghost murmured. 

Soap followed his line of sight to the floor. The vial that had been in Ghost’s hand was now on the ground, smashed open, its contents in a little puddle at their feet. A soft vapor coiled up between them and Soap instantly felt a little dizzy.

"Oh, this is not good, Johnny." 

"What is it? Some kind of poison?" Soap took a step back, starting to panic a little from the concern Ghost was relaying. And that lightheaded feeling was only getting worse. 

Ghost shook his head and hooked a finger in his collar, swallowing thickly. "No. A sex drug."

Soap huffed out a breath. "Is that all? What, like Ecstasy? Viagra?" You had to swallow those for it to get in your system, Soap knew that. So what the fuck was Ghost freaking out about then?

Ghost brought his head up, his gaze centering on Soap. There was no humor in his expression. Soap's stomach dropped. He was really starting to not feel well. "Fucking talk to me, Ghost. What are we dealing with here?"

Ghost squeezed his eyes shut and turned away. He made a bee-line across the room to a closed door that said oficina on it. Soap followed close behind, rattled and angry at Ghost for not answering him. His cheeks suddenly felt flushed and warm and he didn't know if it was from his exasperation or some reaction to the drug. 

He watched as Ghost reared back and kicked the door in with a rough grunt. The door swung open violently, the knob clattering to the ground in a shower of wood splinters, and Soap realized with a shock that he was suddenly and inexplicably very aroused. What the bloody hell was going on?

Ghost stalked into the room but Soap only stood at the threshold, momentarily frozen. He was sporting a serious half-chub in his tactical pants and he couldn't decide if he should be embarrassed by it. He watched Ghost closely, feeling his pulse tick up to a rapid flutter. 

The office was pretty small, with most of the room taken up by a cluttered desk on one end and a loveseat and coffee table on the opposite side. Ghost sat down on the couch with his elbows on his knees and his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. He sounded a little out of breath behind his mask and Soap's heart rate went higher. Ghost looked huge on that small sofa, looming, imposing, like he could fold Soap like fucking origami with no trouble at all. 

Soap swallowed against a suddenly very parched throat and flicked the light switch on the wall next to him. A lamp on top of a filing cabinet clicked on, casting the room in a soft, almost romantic light. He took one step into the room. And then another. 

Ghost had not taken his eyes off of him. He slowly lowered his hands so that his palms were clasping his knees. "S-soap. This drug..." He stopped, cleared his throat. "For lack of a better word… it makes people fuck." 

Soap stopped and stood just on the other side of the coffee table from where Ghost sat. Molten heat pooled low in his belly and he adjusted his trousers. They were suddenly very tight. "What?" His brows shot nearly to his hairline. His brain felt a little too fuzzy, a little too light. 

Ghost squeezed his gloved hands over his knees. "Inhaling even just a small drop induces… unyielding arousal. You can't help yourself and you can't stop." His deep voice shook over the last word. He dropped his gaze to his hands. "Johnny, we breathed in almost that whole vial."

The gravity of the situation came crashing down on Soap in a split second of clarity. He blinked and ran a hand through his hair. "Christ." If they did this, everything would change between them, even if it was something they had no control over. "How long do the effects last? Can we just wait it out?"

Ghost shrugged wearily. "There weren't many specifics in the brief. I don't know." He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and Soap felt his judgment start to cloud again.

Soap shook his head to clear his thoughts. Unchecked arousal continued to simmer just under the surface, crackling like a slow burning fire in his veins. If he didn’t get his hands on Ghost, and soon, he felt like he’d literally die. 

Silence hung between them for what seemed like seven agonizing hours but was really only seconds. 

"So, we're really doing this then?" Soap finally asked. Please say yes. Please say fucking yes.

"If by 'doing' you mean each other, I guess so, yeah. Don't look like we have a choice here, Johnny." Ghost's gravelly voice saying his name rasped across his nerve endings, making him tremble.

Soap looked at him, met his eyes. He took a deep breath and let it out. "For what it's worth, I've been wanting to. For a while." He almost couldn’t believe he said the words out loud. But it was the truth, finally, for better or worse. 

Ghost stared at him for a moment. Soap's heart was in his throat. Nervous anticipation thrummed through him like an ungrounded live wire. For all the times he'd stolen glances at L.t. or dreamt of touching him, he had never once let it show. He didn't know if it was pride, or fear, or something else entirely, but he had always been so careful to hide it — until now. 

And now here it was, all laid bare. All it took was an accidental overdose of fucking Flashbang, his brain unhelpfully supplied. 

Ghost's eyes were dark. He squeezed his knees again and finally said, "Me too."

The admission felt like a dam bursting loose, flooding Soap with a desire he had never known. He reached down, grabbed the coffee table before him and threw it to the side of the room. Ghost hardly had time to move at all before Soap was falling to his knees before him and spreading his Lieutenant's legs. 

Ghost sucked in a sharp breath as Soap eagerly reached for his zipper. He leaned back on the couch, arms spread wide along the back of it, eyes heavy lidded and drilling into him. Soap wasted no time in tugging off his gloves, opening Ghost's cargos, and fishing out his erection. It was massive. With his hand wrapped around the base, Soap's fingers barely touched. 

He looked up at Ghost in awe. "You've been hiding this thing all along? Sweet Jesus, how do you even walk around with this dick swinging between your legs?"

Ghost chuckled but put his hand on Soap's head and guided him forward. "Push on, Johnny. Enough chatter."

Soap licked his lips and sank forward. "Yes, sir."

This wasn't the first cock Soap had ever sucked, but it was one of the biggest. There was no challenge he'd ever backed down from, though. Holding the shaft steady, he drew the head into his mouth. 

Ghost bucked at the contact, digging his fingers into Soap's hair. The sharp tug instantly drove Soap wild and he took the length of him (or as much as he could possibly fit) to the back of his throat in one go. The weight and taste of him on his tongue was pure fucking perfection -- a mixture of salt, and heat, and Ghost flooded his senses. He took a moment to savor then started bobbing his head up and down on Ghost’s cock, his lips feeling every delicious ridge and vein.

The groan Ghost let out above him was utterly unreal and sent a shock straight to Soap's stomach like a gut-punch. How long had he been waiting to hear exactly that? Too fucking long. 

It quickly became a sort of game to him then, licking and sucking in all different ways, just to hear how many sounds he could pull from Ghost. He was intoxicated by it and his own cock jumped within the confines of his tactical pants in response. He'd see to that soon enough; for now his only mission was to make Ghost come. 

With that one goal in mind Soap worked Ghost’s length with his hand in opposite time to the laving swipes of his tongue all along the underside of his shaft. He swallowed him down like he was a starving man being given the best meal of his life. And truly he was -- there was a hunger churning within him that made his insides ache.

It wasn’t long until Ghost was a panting, moaning mess above him. Soap slowly pulled off, then ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of Ghost's foreskin. A full body shudder wracked through him that reverberated all the way to Soap’s hand. 

"Shit, Johnny, I'm gonna —"

That was the only warning Soap got before Ghost cursed roughly and painted his face with stripes of his release. Panting for breath, Soap looked up at him slowly with a grin and licked at a droplet clinging to his bottom lip. Ghost's chest was heaving and he looked like his brain was about to catch fire.

He gently stuffed his softening cock back into his cargos, but didn’t bother zipping up. "Your turn, MacTavish." His voice was hoarse and deep, rough from the noises Soap had just wrenched from him. 

Soap quickly stood and undid his tactical vest. He tossed it aside then tugged his shirt over his head and used it to wipe his face clean. His boots and the rest of his clothes came off just as fast. Ghost's gaze raked over him with an undeniable greed that sent a shiver through his whole body and held his hand out for Soap, presumably to help him stand up from the couch. But Soap had another idea. 

"I thought you said it was my turn?" he asked, finally giving attention to his neglected cock with a languid stroke. 

"I do believe that's what I just said," Ghost replied, amused. 

Soap smirked, giving himself another stroke. He felt so warm in this cool room and knew he was undoubtedly ruddy from his chest to his cheeks, thanks to his damnably fair Scottish skin. "Sit on the floor." His voice sounded thick and heavy to his own ears. He wasn't used to ordering anyone around like this, much less his own fucking Lieutenant, but the drug seemed to be bringing out a side of him he’d always kept shoved deep down. 

Ghost complied, sliding down from the couch until his arse was seated on the ground. Soap stood before him, unabashedly naked and hard as a goddamn rock, with his feet on either side of Ghost's hips. He then pulled one foot up and set it on the couch to the side of Ghost's head and kept the other on the floor. 

Heady arousal scorched through him as Ghost looked up at him then slowly pulled his mask up to uncover his mouth. He didn't go any further, but Soap didn't need him to. His plush, soft lips were all Soap needed at the moment and they were going to look downright sinful wrapped around his cock. 

Ghost kept his eyes locked on Soap as he opened his mouth and let Soap sink right into him. He wasn't as well endowed as Ghost but he was just enough to make Ghost gag when he brushed the back of his throat. 

"Fucking christ," Soap moaned. Hot, wet heat enveloped him completely, short circuiting his brain. The relief of the skin to skin contact was indescribable. 

And then Ghost's hands, still gloved, came up to Soap's hips, encouraging him to start moving. Soap gulped in a breath and then move he did. He cupped the back of Ghost's head and rocked slowly at first, letting him get used to the feel of him in his mouth. But the pace was too slow for the urgency pounding through Soap's veins and he quickly kicked it up a notch. Ghost did not seem to mind at all -- welcoming it in fact, with muffled groans that vibrated right into Soap's core. 

After a few thrusts, Soap pulled out, knowing he was getting close but not wanting this moment to end. He held his cock loosely in front of Ghost's mouth then ran just the tip across his lips. Ghost's eyes slipped closed.

From this angle he could see the glint of saliva and precome shining on Ghost's chin. It was one of the sexiest things he’d ever fucking seen. He couldn't hold back any longer. Feeding his cock back into the warmth of L.t's mouth, he began to snap his hips forward roughly. Ghost tightened his hold on Soap's hips, riding it out. Nothing else mattered in that moment, not the Shadows, not Graves, not even his duty to his country. Everything -- every fucking thing was reduced down to just Ghost and Soap and the incredible surge of pleasure arcing between them. 

Soap continued pounding into Ghost's mouth, racing closer and closer to the precipice of his orgasm. He felt tight, coiled, ready to snap. 

"Ghost." His name was a strangled plea.

Ghost's hand moved from Soap's hip to slide up between his legs. He cupped Soap's bollocks, rolling and tugging them with just the right amount of pressure and Soap was as good as fucking gone. 

He came hard, shooting his load straight down Ghost's throat with a strangled shout. He could feel the constriction of Ghost swallowing around him and he spasmed once more. He felt blissfully sated and wondered if they had already worked each other through the drug's unrelenting grip, not knowing they were far from over. 

Soap could stay upright no longer and sank down on shaky legs, straddling Ghost's still clothed body. He framed Ghost's partially masked face and dove in for a kiss. Ghost met his open mouth, hungry, searching. Soap could taste himself on Ghost's tongue and it nearly drove him out of his goddamn mind. He took and took and took until they were both breathless.

After a moment, Soap broke the kiss to press his lips and tongue and teeth to Ghost's exposed neck, making Ghost gasp. He could feel the rapid jump of Ghost's pulse just under the skin and felt it kick higher when he sucked a small bruise to the tender flesh below his ear.

Ghost tugged off his gloves finally and ran his hands all over Soap's back. "Johnny," he rasped, dipping lower to squeeze Soap's arse.

Soap couldn't help the surprised grunt that fell from his lips. He arched his back and squirmed down into Ghost's lap and felt the hard press of his cock. His own had barely had a chance to get soft and was already stiffening up again. His refractory period on this drug was nigh on non-existent. Bloody hell. 

Ghost squeezed his arse again, hard enough to be just on the pleasurable side of pain. "I need to feel you inside me, Johnny," he growled. A cresting wave of desire plowed through Soap mercilessly at Ghost's words. It wasn't a mewling plea — it was a fucking order. 

Soap scrambled up off Ghost's lap and hauled him up from the floor by his tactical vest. He slammed another kiss to Ghost's mouth. They worked together to undo his vest, untie his boots, pull off his trousers. It was all taking too long. The arousal screaming through his veins wouldn't let him take one more second undressing Ghost, and so, with his shirt and mask still on, Soap pulled him across the small room, cleared the desktop with one swipe of his arm, and bent Ghost over it. 

Ghost was breathing hard, they both were. Soap's fingers trembled as he grabbed two handfuls of Ghost's ample cheeks. He shuddered beneath Soap's touch. Soap gave them a little squeeze and pulled them apart, ready to just dive right in. But then the fog clouding his brain briefly lifted. Lube. Christ, dinnae forget that at least, you dolt.

Hands abandoning Ghost's arse, Soap began frantically pulling desk drawers open. Ghost looked back over his shoulder.

"Soap, what the fuck'r you doing?"

"Lube," he said, still rummaging through drawers. 

"Christ, Johnny, we don't need all that. You're fuckin' killing me here, mate," Ghost chuckled. 

"We do need it. I dinnae want to hurt you, Ghost."

"I'm a big boy, Soap. I think I can take it." Ghost shook his head and chuckled again, but Soap could tell he was coming to the end of his patience. Soap was too. He needed, so fucking badly, to be buried in the perfect hole. 

Finally, in the last drawer he opened, Soap saw a bottle of pure aloe gel. He held it up proudly. "Bingo."

Ghost glanced back to see what he had found. "Resourceful." 

"You taught me well, L.t." Be smart with what you got -- Ghost’s words from earlier echoed in his mind and he smiled to himself. He wasted no time in cracking open the bottle, squeezing a generous glob of it onto Ghost's crack, and smearing it around. 

Ghost jerked hard enough to shake the desk. "Christ," he swore under his breath. 

Soap smiled devilishly and held him apart with one hand. He trailed his index finger over Ghost's entrance twice before sliding it in to the second knuckle. Ghost sunk his head down and slammed his fist onto the desk. He muttered something Soap couldn't make out. 

Deciding he needed to put them both out of their collective misery, Soap quickly finished prepping Ghost by adding a second then third finger to scissor and stretch him open. Even for the short amount of time it took, it was agonizing. Though he couldn’t complain too much because even this, the feeling of Ghost's wet heat drawing at his fingers, was damn near enough to make him come again. 

Ghost's thighs were shaking by the time Soap pulled his fingers free and lined up the head of his cock in their place. "You ready for this, then, Ghost?"

Ghost looked at him over his shoulder. "Johnny, I swear to fucking god if you don't get on with it, I will break your fucking legs."

"A simple yes would have been nice," Soap said with a grin, then pushed himself inside. 

Both men moaned in tandem when Soap bottomed out. The sheer pleasure of it was staggering -- pure, feral connection. Soap squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing. 

"Fuck,” he choked raggedly, pulling out halfway then slamming back in.

Ghost grunted, his hands scrambling for purchase on the desk, as Soap gripped his hips and began thrusting. He quickly set a punishing pace, pounding into him hard, chasing his body's unrelenting demand for completion. On one particularly brutal stroke, Ghost arched his back, pulling Soap in impossibly deeper and Soap swore he saw stars. They both gasped. Soap was not going to last long if they kept this up. 

"G-ghost. Holy shit, you feel so fucking good," he stammered. 

Ghost's answering growl echoed off the walls in the small room, ratcheting Soap's arousal even higher. Soap rubbed Ghost's hip soothingly then brought his hands once more Ghost's arse cheeks. He spread him open and looked down, needing, with everything inside him, to see the place where they were joined. Ghost was glistening and stretched tight around Soap's cock, pulling him in, accepting him easily into his body. Soap was utterly captivated.

"Shit, Johnny." Ghost's desperate voice snapped Soap back to attention. "I'm nearly there, but I need to see your face. I - I need to watch you come."

Soap moaned his eager agreement, knowing at the same time he wouldn't see Ghost's face because of the mask. Being denied that twisted something in his chest painfully, but he shoved it down. Swallowing hard, he said, "Aye. Yes. Please."

He gave Ghost one last thrust, then pulled out. The loss of contact left Soap bereft, so he quickly found a spot on the dirty rug on the floor and laid down. He stroked himself in the absence of Ghost and watched, fascinated, as Ghost pushed off the desk and stalked toward him. He knelt down beside Soap and hitched a knee over his middle to straddle him. 

Without a word between them, Ghost grabbed Soap's cock by the base, then guided him back inside. 

Soap grit his teeth and threw his head back. The feeling was incredibly wet and tight but lax and giving all at the same time. How did he get so fucking lucky to be able to experience this? With Ghost? He'd be eternally fucking grateful to whatever divine entity had decided to grace Soap with this experience. He’d cherish it forever. 

Clamping his hands down onto Ghost's thighs, Soap looked up at him with a tangle of emotion tightening around his chest like a steel band. Ghost's mask was still scrunched up to expose his mouth and he had the bottom of his black t-shirt tugged up and clenched between bared teeth. His flexing  stomach fascinated Soap and he couldn't resist running his hands along his warm skin. Ghost's eyes slipped closed and he began rocking his hips, his cock bobbing in time to the motion. He moved slowly at first, then rode Soap in earnest, bracing a heavy hand on Soap’s chest for leverage. 

The weight of Ghost pressing him down, the squeeze of him surrounding him, the roughness of his movements abrading Soap’s back with rug burn, the thick scent of their coupling filling the air, all of it, every single last fucking detail was scorched into his brain. He tucked it all away, hoarded it deep inside, because if this was to be the last time, the only time this would happen between them, he needed to be able to replay it over and over and over. 

Soap did his best to keep up, bucking into Ghost with a rhythm that was quickly devolving into an erratic spasm. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to focus on breathing, on feeling the moment. He didn’t want to come yet even though his body screamed and howled for it. But he honestly had no control over any of it and he had no choice. He was blazing a trail to his orgasm faster than he could possibly try to prepare himself for.  

But before he could process another thought, there was suddenly a hand enveloping his throat. Soap's eyes flew open. Ghost was locked on, his gaze dark and hard as obsidian. He gave Soap’s throat a gentle squeeze, cutting off his blood flow just enough to fade his vision at the edges. “Look at me, Johnny.” His voice was deeper than Soap had ever heard it before. “Look at me when you come.”

Soap nodded and Ghost released his neck. He pulled in a deep breath through parted lips and dug his fingers into Ghost’s thighs where he had been holding on for dear life as Ghost rode him into oblivion. Then he watched in awe while Ghost sat back, pulled his shirt up over his head, tossed it aside, and finally, finally, slipped his mask off. 

Soap’s next breath got strangled in this throat even though Ghost’s hand was no longer on his neck. His face was not what Soap was expecting but that was simply because he was far more handsome than Soap had ever envisioned. Quite the opposite indeed.

He reached a shaky hand up to Ghost's cheek, caressing his thumb across a deep scar there. Ghost nuzzled into the touch, continuing to grind down onto Soap's cock. Then he turned his head just enough to draw the tip of Soap's thumb into his mouth. 

And with that, Soap was lost.

"Ghost," he choked. His climax blazed through him like an unchecked wildfire and he slammed up into Ghost one last time, emptying deep inside him. 

But despite the frenzy of pure sensation knocking the literal breath from his lungs, Soap did not once take his eyes off Ghost. 

Ghost rode him through it, chasing his own release, swirling his hips until Soap was bordering on overstimulation. It was too much — and far from enough. Soap shuddered and took Ghost's cock in hand and pumped until Ghost was shuddering too. 

And then Ghost was coming, spurting across Soap's belly and chest. His hole constricted around Soap, still embedded inside him, and Soap moaned weakly. He was wrung out, blissed out, in the best fucking way possible. Surely, they had finally broken the drug's hold now. 

Ghost slumped down with a hoarse sigh, covering Soap's whole body with the delicious weight of him, making a mess of the spend smeared between them. Soap fought to catch his breath. He brought his hands to Ghost's broad back, sliding his fingers along the perspiration there, feeling the delicate dips and valleys of the smattering of scars peppered across his skin like a road map of his life. Soap had scars of his own, of course, and had gained many of them on missions with Ghost by his side, but he wanted to know the story behind each and every one Ghost carried. 

But he didn't even get a chance to form a question or even another thought before he was being rolled over onto his stomach. He was so numb from his post-orgasmic state he could hardly process what was happening. 

"Up on your knees for me, Johnny." Ghost's voice drifted from behind him. 

Without thinking, he complied to the command from his Lieutenant as best he could, but his arms were too shaky to support him, so he tucked his knees up under him with his arse in the air and his face resting on his forearms. And then the haze of pleasure and exhaustion lifted slightly. 

"Ghost, wait." His voice was husky and frayed. Ghost stilled behind him immediately. 

I don't think I can even get it up again he wanted to say, but he knew, just as soon as he thought it, that it was a lie. His cock was already starting to harden once more. Jesus fucking Christ, seriously?

But that wasn't his only concern at the moment. 

 "I haven't…" He swallowed, tried again. "No one's ever, uh…" How was he even embarrassed to say it after the unabashed intimacy they had been sharing? With his arse currently in the air like a bitch in heat, no less?

Ghost was quiet for a moment. "Johnny, are you trying to tell me this arsehole is untouched?" He asked breathlessly. It sent a shiver racing down Soap's spine. 

He sighed. "Aye."

"Well, we'll just have to remedy that, now won't we?" Ghost's warm hand settled on his back. "Will you let me?"

Soap screwed his eyes shut and nodded. 

"I want to hear you say it, Johnny." His hand rubbed from Soap's lower back down to cup an arse cheek. He gave it a little squeeze. 

Soap's cock throbbed and he sucked in a sharp breath. "Aye, Ghost. Yes."

In the very next moment, Ghost was spreading him open and licking a hot, wet stripe from his bollocks to his hole. Soap could not stop himself from letting out the most pathetic whimper of his life. 

He could feel Ghost smile against his skin. "Atta boy." 

The praise first went to Soap's head then straight down to his cock. Well that's interesting. He filed that little bit of information about himself away for later use. 

"Fuuuck," he moaned into his arms. He pushed his arse back at Ghost's face, quickly obsessed with the feeling of Ghost's mouth on him.

After laying a few nips and kitten licks to Soap's skin, teasing him to the point of madness, Ghost dove in earnestly. He probed his tongue against Soap's quivering hole, lapping at him over and over again. 

Crying out at the sensation, Soap rocked his hips to feel more. His brain could hardly begin to comprehend that it was Ghost back there — fucking Ghost. Was this really happening? He wasn't unconscious in a ditch somewhere dreaming this, right? 

Ghost murmured more praises against his skin and then started spearing his tongue inside, slamming Soap's focus back immediately. 

"Relax, Johnny,” he heard him say. “Let me in.”

Soap's breath hitched painfully in his chest and he concentrated all his effort on loosening up. Taking inventory of his body, he realized how tightly wound he really was. He drew in a big gulp of air then let it out slowly, allowing his muscles to go slack. 

"That's it, love," Ghost rasped against his sensitive skin. Warmth bloomed low in Soap's belly and he pushed back tentatively. 

And with that, Ghost began licking deep inside. Soap quickly became a sloppy, shuddering mess under the relentless press of Ghost's mouth. His thighs were trembling and he was moaning uncontrollably by the time Ghost was able to spear his tongue almost all the way inside.

After plunging in a few more times he pulled back, giving Soap a moment to catch his breath. “Fuckin’ hell, Johnny. Judging from the noises you’re makin’ I’d just about bet you can come from my mouth alone.”

Soap’s heart knocked heavily in his chest. He was exhausted, tapped out, but there was still an unrelenting current of arousal roiling just under the surface, demanding it all. He was starting to worry that this was how he was finally going to cark it -- fucked to death by his own Leiutenant. 

He shook his head. “I think I’ve run dry, L.t.,” he panted hoarsely.

Ghost kneaded his arse cheeks, keeping them spread open, and dipped just the tips of his thumbs into Soap’s spit-slick entrance. Soap quaked at the touch. “I believe you can, Johnny. For me.” His voice was a deep, liquid heat. Soap was struck momentarily speechless.

Ghost shifted behind him then dove back in and all Soap could do was groan against the onslaught. His cock was hard yet again, aching to be touched, aching for completion, aching more and more with each press of Ghost’s lips. Soap felt like he was about to fully lose his mind.  

He was sweating and swearing and shaking and utterly falling apart under the continued ministrations of Ghost's tongue. He wanted to come, he needed to come, he'd die if he didn't fucking come, but he just didn't know if he had another one in him. This damned drug was pushing him harder and farther than he'd ever gone before in such a short amount of time. 

"Ghost, please."

Ghost pulled his mouth from Soap's arse but only far enough to speak. "C'mon, love, I know you can do it." Soap could feel the hot rush of his breath against his already overheated skin. 

He shook his head where it was buried against his forearms. "I can't, Ghost." He was on the brink of tears. He had nothing left to give. 

“Yes, you can, Johnny,” Ghost coaxed. “I know you can.”

Soap bit back a sob. He was a soldier, his only job in this life was to follow orders, and all he wanted, the only thing he fucking wanted was to make Ghost happy. So, for Ghost, he would find a way -- for Ghost he would.

Blowing out a fractured huff, Soap squeezed his eyes shut so tightly he saw stars. He drug in one more deep breath… And then let go.

His orgasm hit him like a goddamn gut punch. He clenched up from the intensity of it, feeling like the wind was knocked clean out of him. And truly it was. He gasped air into his lungs, feeling like he had just finished running a marathon. His cock spasmed but produced only one weak spurt. Bloody fucking hell. 

"Good boy, Johnny. I knew you could do it." Ghost patted Soap’s hip gently. The soft adoration in his voice made Soap's heart soar. He'd never felt more fulfilled than he did in that moment. 

But he was also utterly knackered and could no longer hold himself up. He crashed to the floor in a graceless heap with Ghost following seconds behind, both men struggling for oxygen. Ghost pulled him in close, spooning against his back, skin to skin. 

Soap melted into him, eyes slipping closed, on the very edge of sleep. But then he felt the hard column of Ghost's cock pressing on his lower back. He looked over his shoulder, meeting Ghost's dark gaze. 

"Did you finish?" he asked. 

"Not yet." Ghost rolled his hips forward. 

Soap pulled his gaze away, huffing out an incredulous laugh. "I can't do it again, Ghost. I'm serious this time."

"You don't even have to do anything, love. Just lay still." 

Soap was about to give another protest until he felt Ghost's thick member suddenly pushing between his arse cheeks. He was still a slippery mess from Ghost's mouth so he was able to slide into the crease easily. 

"I — Oh," he moaned.

Ghost pressed heated kisses to his shoulder blade and the back of his neck. Gooseflesh prickled up his skin in the wake of Ghost’s mouth and he suppressed a shiver. “You have no idea how long I’ve dreamt of having you like this.” He rasped the words against the sensitive shell of Soap’s ear. 

Soap shared the sentiment. He’d thought of little else since meeting Ghost. It was a shame to think that Flashbang was the only thing that finally made it happen, though Soap supposed they would have jumped each other’s bones eventually. Their stubbornness was the only thing that had stood in their way.  

Ghost’s hand snaked up over Soap’s side, then slid slowly up his chest while he rocked his hips, pistoning his cock through the wet channel of his cheeks and thighs. Soap arched into it, tangling his feet with Ghost’s, entwining their fingers together, holding on so tightly. He knew that it would all be over soon. He knew that even though the drug had made it feel like the night would never end, it would peter out at some point; it was only a matter of time. And then they would go back to the way it was before. The joking and teasing and stolen heated glances were fun to an extent. But Soap felt gutted, realizing that they would soon wash up, get dressed, and get on with their mission, chalking tonight up to nothing more than a fluke. Soap himself knew he wouldn’t -- he knew in his heart that drug or no, he had wanted this more than fucking anything. He just wasn’t sure Ghost felt the same. 

“How long?” Soap breathed, almost afraid to ask. His pulse thundered loudly, awaiting Ghost’s answer. 

Ghost tightened his hand in Soap’s where it lay right over his pounding heart. He nuzzled his lips to Soap’s ear. “Since the moment I laid eyes on you, Johnny.” He said it simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

A weight he didn’t know he’d been carrying lifted from Soap’s shoulders and he blinked back the sting of tears. He huffed out a watery chuckle and pushed back against Ghost’s next thrust forward. “Took ya long enough to finally say something, you great British bastard.”

Ghost grinned into the crook of Soap’s sweaty neck. He snapped his hips forward a little faster. “I never should have waited this long. I promise I’ll make it up to you, love.”

The very next second, Ghost came. He pushed one more time with a soft grunt, then pulsed his release, spurting the warmth of his spend between Soap’s closed thighs. It was nearly enough to make Soap climax again, nearly. He would have, if he had the strength to do it. 

They lay quietly for a few moments after that, tightly intertwined, catching their breath, until the drug demanded satisfaction yet again. Soap was not sure how he did it, but he and Ghost both came again three more times (the last two being completely dry orgasms) before the gray light of early dawn began brightening the windows of the mechanic’s shop. Each time was more spectacular and more depleting than the last, until finally, fucking finally, the drug cleared their system. 

Soap had hoped they would be able to rest after that unending night, because he had never been more drained in his entire life, but of course they were not quite so lucky. Having only just barely thrown their clothes, boots, and tactical gear back on, Ghost and Soap were forced to fight their way out the back exit when a group of Shadows burst into the shop, because why the fuck not.

They were somehow able to find a working vehicle in the alley to Soap’s utter surprise. At least there was that. After he jumped into the passenger seat and Ghost cranked the engine, they shared one heated, albeit exhausted, kiss, and peeled away from the encroaching enemy. 

Soap gave his middle finger out the truck window to the shop as they sped down the alley amongst a hail of gunfire. Ghost laughed heartily beside him, pulling his mask back in place. 

“Get me to the nearest bed fucking bed you can find, L.t,” he sighed, flopping back against his seat. He couldn’t remember a time in his life he had been so tired. 

“You’re not sick of me yet?” Ghost asked, amused. One hand gripped the steering wheel while the other cupped his crotch suggestively. 

Soap turned in his seat, shaking a threatening finger at him. “Ghost, I swear to fucking Christ, if you don’t keep that cock away from me for the next two days at least, I will break your fucking nose.” Soap was sore everywhere, from his scalp to his heels, and he was not joking. 

“What, and risk ruining this handsome face?” Ghost rumbled, a cheeky grin clear in his voice. He turned the truck out of the alley and onto a side street. 

“I’ll take my chances.” Soap crossed his arms like a petulant child and sank down into his seat. He was already feeling the heavy pull of sleep trying to claim him. Looking out his window, he watched the rising sun peek over the horizon. There was not a cloud in the sky -- a stark contrast to the ceaseless rainstorm yesterday. 

“Well, what about after two days?” Ghost’s voice drifted over to him. The rough timber of it coiled warmly in Soap’s stomach.  

He pulled his gaze away from the window and centered it on Ghost beside him. His heart fluttered when Ghost met his eyes for a moment before looking back to the road. “After two days, L.t., when I’ve had some time to recuperate, I’m all yours. As long as there’s no fucking Flashbang involved.”

Ghost chuckled deeply and gave Soap a little salute. “Copy that, MacTavish. Copy that.”

[harrrystyles-writing]

Little Family

Sinopse: Onde S/n assisti a uma entrevista onde Harry diz que ainda a ama.

Personagens: Ex!Harry X Leitora.

Avisos: Um pouco ou muita angústia com final feliz?

Frases: Você foi embora e eu implorei para que isso nunca acontecesse porque eu ainda te amava, você não acha que merecia alguém que estivesse disposto a ficar? /Você é um maldito narcisista. /Por favor, eu não posso, eu não quero discutir esta noite./ Por que você esperou tanto para me dizer como se sente ?

NotaAutora: Juntei dois pedidos, com muitas frases kkkkk mas achei que elas se encaixaram tão bem, então espero que gostem🥰

Pedido anonimo| Pedido: fluff n14º aqui

MASTERLIST

Você saiu do carro e respirou fundo, tentando acalmar todas suas emoções, já era muito difícil ver Harry após decidirem dividir a guarda de sua linda garotinha quando ele terminou o noivado, mas após ter visto aquela maldita entrevista, certamente não sabia se conseguiria vê-lo sem desmoronar.

Às palavras dele ainda ecoavam em sua mente.

— Então, Harry, você agora é pai, certo? Como está a paternidade para você?

— Eu amo ser pai, minha pequena Anne é a melhor coisa que aconteceu em minha vida.

— S/n, é uma boa mãe?

— S/n é uma mãe incrível, ela é muito compreensiva com minha carreira, à dedicação e amor que ela dá a nossa filha é admirável e eu a amo mais por isso.

— Ahhh! Que lindo, mas vocês estão separados, certo?

— Sim, infelizmente, mas S/n é o amor da minha vida, é a mãe da minha filha, um amor desses não desaparece assim.

— Se arrepende pelo término? Se não for muito difícil dizer.

— Todos os dias, mas acho que não há salvação para mim.

— Oh! Harry Todos nós merecemos uma segunda chance, tenho certeza que se ainda se amam acharam o caminho de volta.

— Quem sabe um dia, eu realmente gostaria muito de consertar as coisas.

Segurando firme todo ressentimento, apertou a campainha, suas mãos não conseguiam ficar quietas nos poucos segundos que esperou a porta ser aberta, Harry com um sorriso no rosto apareceu, ele estava tão bonito como sempre, com seu cabelo recém cortado, a barba feita, foi impossível não sentir aquela pontada de saudades ao olhá-lo.

"Oi." Disse tímida.

"Oi" Ele parecia feliz em vê-la.

"Anne está pronta?"

"Bem, na verdade, estamos jantando."

"Eu disse que viria às 20:00, ela já deveria estar pronta, Harry." Você suspirou irritada.

A cada minuto perto dele era uma tortura.

"Nós perdemos um pouco a noção de tempo enquanto brincávamos, me desculpe." Ele coçou a cabeça. "Por que você não fica um pouco? Você está com fome? Se quiser pode jantar com a gente?" Sugeriu casualmente.

Como se não tivesse destruído seu coração.

"Não estou, mas posso ficar um pouco."

Sentar naquela mesa era estranho, parecerem uma família, quando agora não passavam de dois estranhos.

Mesmo você insistindo que não, Harry preparou um prato para você, ele ajudava a pequena Anne a comer os legumes.

"Muito goxtoso papai." A garotinha de 2 anos agradeceu.

"Obrigada minha pequena." Ele sorriu.

Era agonizante ver aquele momento feliz entre pai e filha.

Você não tocou na comida, mas o ajudou a tirar a mesa, depois que sua filha terminou de comer, e o observou terminar de arrumar as coisas de Anne para levá-la para casa.

"Eu vi a entrevista." Não conseguiu evitar dizer assim que viu Harry amarrando os sapatos de sua filha.

"O quê?" No mesmo instante ele virou-se para você.

"À entrevista que saiu hoje, sobre você, sobre nós, às pessoas não param de me marcar."

"Me desculpe, eu só…"

"Tudo bem." Você o interrompeu. "Mas não nos mencione de novo, eu não sei que tipo de marketing você pensava ganhar com isso, como bom pai ou noivo arrependido, mas por favor não nos envolva nisso."

"Eu não... Eu nunca faria isso com vocês."

"Como disse que nunca ia nos deixar? Mas olha o que aconteceu não é?"

"S/n!" Ele se levantou, tentando se aproximar.

Ele estava tão arrependido. Não foi intenção menciona-lá na entrevista, apenas saiu.

"Não me toque, por favor." Ele se afastou no instante seguinte. "Obrigado."

"Eu quero muito poder esclarecer as coisas, podemos ter essa conversa, hoje?" Ele disse tímido. "Uma hora temos que conversar."

"Por favor, eu não posso, eu não quero discutir esta noite."

"Não tenho essa intenção, eu só quero conversar, eu prometo que depois disso você pode só ir embora sem dizer nada, se quiser."

"Você faz muitas promessas para alguém que as quebra na primeira oportunidade." Isso foi como uma facada no coração de Harry. "E não acho que seja uma boa ideia, eu preciso levar a Anne para casa, já está tarde."

"Ela pode dormir aqui, um dia a mais não fará mal, eu faço uma xícara de chá e podemos conversar como dois adultos, só me dê essa chance, por favor?" Ele implorou com seu olhar triste. Era uma ideia estúpida, mas você gostaria de ouvir o que ele tinha a dizer, vocês nunca tiveram uma conversa após o término, talvez essa fosse a hora certa. "S/n?"

"Tudo bem."

Demorou um pouco mais de meia hora quando Harry apareceu na cozinha novamente, você não se atreveu a ficar com ele para fazer sua filha dormir, era muito doloroso, então em um abraço apertado e um beijo você se despediu dela na porta do quarto improvisado que ele fez, antes dele começar a contar a história de ninar.

"Oi." Ele sorriu ao vê-la sentada em sua banqueta.

"Oi."

"Ainda gosta de chá de frutas vermelhas com um toque de mel?"

"Sim." Seu rosto corou.

Ele ainda lembrava.

Já faz um ano desde que ele simplesmente foi embora e tem sido os piores meses de sua vida, mas estar ali sentada vendo ele preparar o chá, você não sabia por que, mas a fez se sentir em casa.

"Aqui está." Ele passou a xícara fumegante antes de ficar em pé recostado ao balcão em sua frente.

"Obrigado."

"Está... Está tudo bem se eu disser que eu realmente... Eu realmente sinto sua falta?" Ele gaguejou sentindo seu peito apertar.

"Não, acho que você perdeu esse direito no momento em que me abandonou."

"Eu não abandonei você, eu continuo aqui, cuidando de Anne."

"Você continua aqui por ela, não por mim, então não diga que sente minha falta, não fale que me ama em rede nacional quando você nem merece dizer meu nome depois do que fez." Você despejou todo ressentimento guardado em cima dele.

"Me perdoe, eu não queria que as coisas fossem assim, eu realmente não queria."

Um silêncio se instalou no ambiente por alguns minutos.

"Eu só quero que você saiba S/n, você não sai da minha mente, é uma merda, eu não consigo te esquecer, foi difícil para caralho esse ano sem ter você por perto e eu vivo de migalhas, só esperando você aparecer para trazer e pegar a Anne e eu poder te ver, eu sinto falta de como éramos, vocês significam muito para mim, você significa muito para mim."

"Você está brincando comigo?!" Você riu amargamente. "Você é um maldito narcisista." Você apontou o dedo para ele. "Se eu realmente significasse muito para você, você teria ficado." Você não queria brigar com Harry, mas não conseguia parar de sentir toda a dor e raiva que ele causou. "Você foi embora e eu implorei para que isso nunca acontecesse porque eu ainda te amava, você não acha que merecia alguém que estivesse disposto a ficar?" Você pensou que nunca mais iria chorar por Harry, mas estava errada.

"Eu estraguei tudo, eu sei, mas não há um dia que não pense e me arrependa disso." Diz cabisbaixo. "Você não merecia, eu sei disso." Ele levantou o rosto, você pôde ver que ele também tinha seu rosto molhado pelas lágrimas. "Eu só fiquei com medo, medo de estragar tudo e, no fundo, eu realmente fiz isso."

"Do que você tinha tanto medo? Porque eu não entendo Harry, eu fiz de tudo para que déssemos certo." Você se levantou, não conseguindo mais se manter parada naquela cadeira.

"Eu sempre achei que nunca seria o suficiente para você, para nossa filha, eu não poderia te dar uma vida normal à vocês, eu queria, como eu tentei, o primeiro ano em que passamos com nossa filha juntos foi incrível, aquela bolha que criamos em volta de nós era perfeita, eu nunca fui tão feliz em passar todo aquele ano com vocês em casa, havia aquela maldita pandemia, mas eu estava com vocês, em casa e eu nunca me sentir tão normal, porém quando eu precisei sair de novo, voltar para minha vida de shows e mais shows e isso foi me consumindo, me fez sentir inútil pra caralho, como um pai ruim e um noivo ruim, então pensei que fosse melhor só deixá-la livre para achar alguém que pudesse te dar tudo o que eu nunca poderia dar."

"Por que você esperou tanto para me dizer como se sente?" Você aproximou-se um pouco mais, não o suficiente. "Se você me contasse isso, nós poderíamos darmos um jeito em vez de deixar chegar tão longe."

"Porque assim que tivemos a Anne, você sempre fazia planos sobre a casa perfeita, sobre nosso casamento perfeito e nossa vida perfeita e era assustador, eu sentia como se você esperasse que eu fosse outra pessoa, sempre mencionado o casamento perfeito e monótono de seus pais, como você invejava a vida normal que eles tiveram, era como se eu não pudesse me encaixar nesse papel perfeito de pai e marido que você tanto sonhava."

"Harry! Eu nunca pedi para você mudar por mim, eu sempre amei você e nossa vida como era, sim, talvez não fosse como eu queria muitas vezes, mas ainda era você e ainda era nossa pequena família e era isso que importava." Você se recusou a acreditar nele.

"Você nunca disse, mas era como eu me sentia perto de você e era realmente muito difícil para mim então eu só precisei ir, mas eu arrependo todos os dias por isso porque eu pensei que seria melhor assim, que era o certo a se fazer, mas depois de um tempo eu realmente comecei a me perguntar se havia feito a coisa certa, porque o vazio em meu coração não parecia ter fim." Ele deu um passo em sua direção e você não se afastou desta vez.

"Eu sinto muito, eu nunca quis que se sentisse assim, se eu soubesse talvez eu pudesse só mudar e consertar o que estava errado."

"Eu sei que não, mas não havia como consertar porque o problema não era você nunca foi você, hoje eu entendo que projetei todo meu medo em nossa família." Às mãos dele viajaram até suas mãos, envolvendo-as levemente, quando você não se moveu, ele soube o que precisava dizer. "Eu te amo"

"Não diga isso, por favor, não."

"Você não precisa dizer nada, eu só quero que saiba."

"Harry, você não sabe que dizer coisas assim me machucam?"

"Me deixa consertar as coisas, fazer isso passar."

"Eu não posso simplesmente deixar você entrar na minha vida de novo, entende? Você causou essa dor!"

"Eu sei, eu sei e sei que sou o único que posso fazer ela ir embora."

"Não é tão fácil, você foi embora por um motivo, então por que desta vez seria diferente?"

"Porque eu vou fazer dar certo, eu não me importo com o que tenho que fazer, eu deixo minha carreira de lado para viver uma vida com vocês se for preciso, porque eu odeio o que nos tornamos, odeio não acordar todos os dias ao seu lado e não suportaria vê-la com outro alguém, eu to aqui agora implorando por uma chance, eu quero consertar as coisas, por favor, me dê a chance de mostrar que mudei, me dê a chance não apenas por nós, mas também para a nossa Anne, ela merece crescer e ver seus pais juntos, você pertence à mim e eu pertenço a você, nós dois sabemos disso, não há como negar que nascemos um para o outro."

Ele pareceu tão sincero, tão desesperado, você sentiu isso no fundo da sua alma, sua confissão fez seu coração se apertar, você realmente queria acreditar, mas seu ego ferido ainda a deixava desconfiada.

"Eu não quero que você se sinta pressionado de novo em dar a vida perfeita para mim, eu não quero que você desista do seu sonho, Harry, eu nunca quis." Você murmurou tristemente. "Eu não quero que se sentia como se sentia, então do que valeria a pena estarmos juntos se você não estivesse feliz?"

"Porque eu não me sinto mais assim e nada disso importa se eu não tiver você, eu não sou feliz sem você."

"Harry, eu... Eu estou com medo."

"Tudo bem ter medo." Ele pegou seu rosto entre as mãos. "Eu também estou." Aqueles olhos verdes estavam focados nos seus como se visse sua alma.

"Podemos ir devagar?" Suspirou fechando os olhos. "Ainda preciso de um tempo para conseguir olhá-lo sem que meu coração doa."

"Eu esperaria mil vidas por você, porque vale a pena esperar por você, então , quando você estiver pronta, estarei bem aqui." Harry proferiu descansando sua testa na sua.

"Obrigado."

Você se aconchegou nos braços dele em um abraço e Harry não conteve o sorriso que invadiu seus lábios, era tudo o que ele mais queria, ter sua pequena família novamente.

Muito obrigado por ler até aqui! Se gostou por favor considere deixar uma ask aqui, com seu Feedback, isso é realmente muito importante pra mim e minha escrita 🥰

Taglist: @say-narry @umadirectioner @harry-sofrida

[tackmediaus]

Digital Marketing Firm

Grow your small business with Tack Media. We are a full-service integrated digital marketing firm specializing in creating robust strategies for franchises, multi-location businesses, and large enterprises, including those in high-stakes industries.

[beardedmrbean]

A Los Angeles social justice advocate was killed on Monday when a homeless woman, who lived out of her car, broke into his home and shot him.

Michael Latt, 33, the founder of the social justice group Lead With Love, was the victim of a “tragic act of violence” after he was found suffering from a gunshot wound before being transported to a local hospital, where he was pronounced dead.

The suspect, identified as Jameelah Elena Michl, broke into the Mid-Wilshire neighborhood home around 6 p.m., the LAPD announced in a statement.

Michl, 36, remained on the scene and was taken into LAPD custody while she was standing outside the home.

A motive behind the shooting — as well as whether Latt and Michl knew each other — remain unknown, but the incident is being treated as a random act of violence, according to the LA Times, citing police sources.

Michl was arrested and booked on a murder charge and is being held on $3 million bail, as her vehicle was booked as evidence.

Latt’s family paid tribute on his Instagram page, saying he spent his career helping others, especially from minority groups.

“Our beloved son, brother, grandson, fiancé Michael Latt, fell victim to a tragic act of violence Monday night,” the post read alongside a photo of Latt, his brother and his parents. “Our family, Michael’s extraordinary friends and colleagues are shattered by the profound grief of losing our Michael.”

“He devoted his career to supporting others, championing organizations that raised up women and artists of color, along with leveraging storytelling, art and various mediums to create enduring change and instill communities with hope, love and inspiration. Michael will never be forgotten and we can all carry on his legacy of love, compassion and fierce dedication to positive and lasting change.”

Latt’s neighbors didn’t hear the gunshots but remembered the activist as a sweet guy who lived with his partner.

“I’m heartbroken, I’m shocked,” Avarie Shevin, Latt’s next-door neighbor, told to KTLA. “I was looking out my window and saw a female standing in the walkway with her hands up and they took her into custody.”

“He is a super-sweet guy,” Shevin said. “He and his girlfriend lived there with a dog and a cat. He’s just very mellow. I can’t wrap my brain around what could’ve happened that caused him to be shot and killed. I keep picturing his face and I cannot believe he has passed.”

Latt founded Lead With Love, a marketing consulting firm focused on elevating black and other underrepresented entertainers in Hollywood.

He was photographed with rapper Common in 2020 at a rally in Kentucky for Breonna Taylor, the black EMT killed by police inside her own residence during a raid.

[theculturedmarxist]

China’s path to reducing carbon emissions should be determined by China and not controlled by anyone else, President Xi Jinping told dozens of officials, at the same time as US climate envoy John Kerry is in Beijing seeking consensus on global warming.

Xi was speaking at a two-day national conference on ecological and environmental protection that started on Monday, Chinese state broadcaster CCTV reported on Tuesday night.

“China’s commitments are unswerving, but the path towards the goals as well as the manner, pace and intensity of efforts to achieve them should and must be determined by the country itself, rather than swayed by others,” he said.

“[We should] actively and steadily work toward carbon peaking and carbon neutrality, foster a clean, low-carbon, safe and efficient energy system, accelerate the formation of a new power system and strengthen the country’s capability of guaranteeing oil and gas security.”

Xi also urged the country to safeguard ecological security and nuclear and radiation safety to “ensure that the natural environment and conditions, which are the foundation of survival and development, are not threatened or damaged”.

He asked for a concerted legal, market, technological and policy effort to achieve his goals.

The conference was attended by all seven members of the Politburo Standing Committee, the pinnacle of the party’s decision-making apparatus, as well as a wide range of party and government bodies.

Kerry, whose four-day visit concludes on Wednesday, has met Premier Li Qiang and top diplomat Wang Yi, as he seeks consensus on the fight against climate change.

There are also hopes his trip will add positive momentum to US-China relations, in their worst shape in decades.

Kerry tweeted on Tuesday that he appreciated the opportunity to have “an important discussion” with Li on how the US and China can work together to keep the pledge to limit global warming to 1.5 degrees Celsius about pre-industrial levels – a commitment of the 2015 Paris agreement – alive.

Li called for both sides to stick to climate commitments made in the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate Change and the Paris Agreement.

Xi promised in September 2020 that China’s carbon emissions would peak by 2030 and become carbon neutral by 2060. In 2021, he said China would tightly control coal consumption and gradually reduce it after 2025.

China has repeatedly emphasised the need to secure its energy security and deliver on its climate commitments.

The most recent government work report to address the issue – submitted to the National People’s Congress, China’s legislature, in March by the previous premier Li Keqiang – said research and development of clean energy was a priority for 2023.

In April, the National Energy Administration announced plans to add 160 million kilowatts of installed wind and solar capacity by the end of this year, boosting the share of wind and solar electricity to 15.3 per cent of society’s energy use.

“Three years after making its carbon-reduction pledge, China’s energy and industrial transitions are still far from complete,” said Ma Jun, director of the Institute for Public and Environmental Affairs, a non-profit environmental research firm.

While China’s renewable energy is increasing, China has approved more coal projects recently, noted Ma. “Due to complex geopolitical changes, China has shifted its focus to energy security,” he said.

A major stumbling block to an agreement between the US and China on climate issues is China’s use of coal power. Washington wants China to reduce its domestic reliance on coal to cut more methane emissions. But Xi has reiterated many times that it is a matter of “energy security”.

There has been a significant increase in approvals for coal power projects within China since last summer’s extreme heatwave, which led to power supply crunches in several southern provinces. The rise in domestic approvals has sparked international concern about China’s ability to deliver on its climate promise.

On Kerry’s last visit to China in August 2021, he asked Beijing to stop funding coal power projects outside its borders. A month later, at the UN General Assembly, Xi announced that China would no longer build new coal power overseas.

Regarding China and US’s differences in climate issues and carbon reduction, Ma said, “What we have to see is what kind of cooperation the two sides are going to go for, and whether they can achieve a win-win situation on what each side is good at.”

[shadow13dickpistons]

I’m also requesting Ryou Bakura.

Another one of these.

Sexuality Headcanon: I actually greatly go against the fandom on this one in that I actually think he's mostly straight. Like a 1-2 on the Kinsey scale. About the only mxm ship I've considered is for Bakura x Yugi, and that's less about sexuality and more that only Yugi can really understand what he's gone through.

Gender Headcanon: Again, cis.

A ship I have with said character: HOSTSHIPPING!!!!! Check out Broadway is Dark Tonight, which will someday be updated again!!! It's been a really hectic....nine months for both Ink and myself.

I could also totally see Bakura x Isis/Ishizu. I actually came to the conclusion the other night those two would be perfect in the EOSWOM verse.

A BROTP I have with said character: Again, Bakura and Kaiba, I know it in my soul.

A NOTP I have with said character: So, to me, a NOTP has to give me a gut squick reaction. I wouldn't say I have one of those like I do with Kaiba, but yeah, the more popular ships for him aren't my cup of tea. I am neutral-positive on puffshipping, though.

A random headcanon: The "dead family" thing was such a hamfisted retcon I completely ignore it. I have a very solid family backstory in my head, and honestly, it's gospel. Japanese Dad meets English Mom studying antiquities/archaeology in Oxford, but while Mom is a Good Museum Scientist, Dad gets into selling antiquities for private collectors in a bid to make money for the family, and slowly gets into more black-market choices. Leads to divorce, Ryou goes with dad, Amane stays with mom, which is pretty common in Japanese families. You get a lot of this in "Broadway is Dark Tonight," actually.

Oh gawd, talking about bad retcons, what they did to Bakura's dad in DSOD (honestly, a lot of bad retconning on top of retconning in DSOD). I go with that one tiny glimpse we get of him in DM.

General Opinion over said character: Deserves so much more attention and so much less whumping. Please stop making him a sopping wet kitten, he's so much more interesting than that. I'm a firm believer that the Yamis reflect their hosts a la Persona, and boy do I miss the more active, witty Bakura we see in Duelist Kingdom.

[terrence-silver]

Beloved surprising Terry with honey cake and apple cookies she baked herself for the new year's dinner. She's a bit nervous because she's not Jewish herself and she's not even sure if she can participate in the celebration but she just looked up the recipes online because she wanted to do something nice for him.

---

It was strange, perhaps, to be with a man who was frequently the subject of tabloids.

Newspapers.

Business insiders and the LA Times reporting on his bankruptcy.

On rumors lined together like a string of pearls, creating a torniquet. Dynatox under fire. Mass sackings. An international conglomerate sliced in half, into countless branches and his personal revenues and failures making headlines on the daily. Sport scandals. Cobra Kai and local Tournament losses. The stock market tanking in lieu of the backlash in the aftermath of so many skeletons in the closet. Talks of bribery. Corruption. It was the September of 1992, --- the beginning of a new decade and the latter part of the year Or the 1st of Tishrei, 5753, and it seemed that even for the Holidays, the media onslaught wouldn't cease. Especially when he downsized, deliberately moving his address from the coveted slopes of his Beverly Hills Ennis mansion overlooking the city, somewhere more compact and amenable. To Malibu. The 80's ended and Terry said, with you distinctly remembering his exact words that all the fun ended with it. Things would change. People would change with it. They'd have to. And things did change, you felt so in your bones as the black limousine waited outside along with the chauffeur and you rushed in from the mansion being secured and locked behind you with not a single piece of luggage on you. Terry made sure everything you needed was already transported by his men. All you carried into the parked vehicle with you as you scooted next to him on the leather backseat was a warm plate covered with a napkin as the last bit of cookery the workers didn't load in previously, catching your breath as you closed the door behind you shut.

Taking one last look at your colossal Mayan temple of a house.

There was no Margaret. No Milos. No Snake. No Dennis.

The stony courtyard stood empty.

-"What's this?"-

Terry pointed his nose at the China in your lap. You weren't moving to the surface of Mars. He made that clear multiple times. Everything you ever needed he'd replace and buy again by the tenfold. He'd make things anew. Better. -"The last thing I cooked in our old home. A sort of goodbye."- You explain as the limousine moved forward and the secured iron gate and its walls started moving with it, disappearing behind you and into the dusky streets of Glendower Avenue. -"Sentimental."- Terry chuckled, peppering the ash of his cigar into a nearby crystal ashtray. He told you he'd quit soon. It was falling out of fashion, he explained. It was like he had a third eye capable of predicting these things. If you don't change, he said, you die. You remove the napkin covering the plate, revealing what you were busy tinkering with this last day here. You were pretty certain the manor still had the scent of sweets lingering in the air when you left. The idea of that made you feel a certain way, even though Terry told you, with as much firmness as you remember him having, that one day, he'll avenge himself and everything he was giving up now. Weirdest thing was, you entirely believed him. -"Apple cake and honey. You know? For Rosh Hashanah."- You explain carefully, finding his eyes stilling in the darkness of the car until he wasn't blinking anymore, perfectly calm as the chauffeur in the front turned left. -"For you. Before we settle into our new place and celebrate properly."- You add once he says nothing, observing you and your offerings, cigar in hand, suited up, insisting he leave this place in grand style. You gulp, feeling a bit nervous, fidgeting where you sat. His expression perfectly cool. You talked about religion before. First time you decided to do something like this for him.

He needed that, you felt.

After everything.

-"Are you upset? You seem upset."-

-"For the most talked about man in the country, huh? Perfect."-

His mouth melts upward slowly, into a smile, until his teeth are on full display.

-"For the most talked about man in the country, yes."-

You repeat with a chuckle of your own, relieved, offering him a dessert from your plated entree. He sets down his cigar, affixing his cufflinks, taking one and bringing it up to his nostrils, inhaling the scent. His gaze meeting yours, hooded, from under his brows. His eyes were smiling too. -"I won, you know. I always win."- Terry practically purrs. You adjust yourself in your seat, finally finding a comfortable place, shaking your head, slightly confused. He dips the slice of apple into the tiny, honey filled glass container, never separating his stare from you. You follow suit, taking a slice yourself. -"What do you mean?"- You ask, scooting closer. -"They indicted me five times this year. That's four times more than last year."- He's all emotive and energy, even as he chews with distinction to the point where it was hard to pinpoint if Terry felt beleaguered by the fact, or entirely proud. Knowing him, you'd guess proud. -"Then there's Dynatox."- He adds, his mirth fading into something more serious until he becomes distant for but a moment. You knew how much that company meant to him. -"Cobra Kai. John."- He includes, holding your eyes with a peculiar sort of fierceness. The fallout with John too. If anything, you knew that part possibly hurt him more than what was going on with Dynatox. -"But, here you are, huh --- all cookies and cream for me on the Day of Repentance."- You lower your head, oddly humbled and bashful. The honey symbolized and alluded to a sweet beginning of a New Year and you hoped for just that, for you --- for him. You just wanted things to be alright again, nearly gasping when you felt his finger under your chin, lifting your face up to look at him, Griffith Park bypassing you through the tinted windows. It was the end of an era; the least you could do is commemorate it, even if it was on the backseat of a limo.

-"Terry..."-

You whisper, flattered, watching him reach for the minibar, producing a bottle.

A pair of glasses. Pouring you and him a glass of white wine each.

Handing you yours, grinning from ear to ear.

-"Baby, that smells like winning to me."-

He declares, throwing his arm around you, clinking glasses.

Dipping another slice of apple cake into honey.

[rjmartin11]

I'm Aaron

Chapter Twelve

Pairing: Elvis & female!reader

Summary: You're a workaholic who decides to take a private mini vacation in Las Vegas. While there, you stumble into and befriend a handsome stranger at a bar. This handsome stranger is more than meets the eye. He wants to show you a great time... privately. It's an experience that you've never had before. You soon realize that you're in over your head, and your heart is falling fast.

Word Count: 5.1K

Warnings: The End... with some Smut!

Author's Notes: All great stories must come to an end, but at the end of things, there is a beginning of other things. To all you beautiful souls that have liked, followed, commented, and reposted my story. A big thanks to you! I appreciate you from the bottom of my heart. This is all for the love of E.P., that beautiful man with the gorgeous soul and amazing voice. I have one more story (Just One Kiss) to complete. After that... who knows. Thank y'all again!

✧❁❁✧✿✿✧❁❁✧❁❁✧✿✿✧❁❁✧

A month has passed since you last saw Elvis. You miss him dearly, but you know in your heart that you had to make the trip to Florida to see your parents.

In that month's time, you worked to save money up for the trip to Jacksonville and to Memphis. You put a month's notice in at your job. You even helped train your replacement. The law firm would have paid you more if you stayed, but you wanted to seek more opportunity. At least that's what you told them. You sold a lot of your household things you didn't need. You put your home on the market along with your furniture.

You were living out of your little nook until a suitable buyer purchased it. The little things you couldn't get rid of like your books and clothes you put in storage until the time was suitable to leave.

You went to a record store and bought one of Elvis' albums and a record player. You played it constantly, just so it felt like he was around you. You want to memorize every song. One song in particular made your heart soar. You heard him sing it in Vegas, but you came up with a plan and surprise for him when you'd see him in Memphis.

You wrote him three times a week. Talking about how you missed him, but not informing him of your plans. You kept your letters romantic and always ended them with "I love you."

You stand on the beach, letting the waves kiss your feet as you walk up the shoreline of Jacksonville Beach. The sun is just right in the afternoon sky, and you indulge in the rays as they touch your skin. The sound of the waves crashing over the sand comfort you along with the scent of ocean breeze. It had been years since you saw the shore.

With your mother gone, there was not a reason to go to the beach. The beach was your place that you and your mother shared together. Your safe haven.

It's been years since you've stopped by your mother's grave, and you aren't ready to see it. But you know you must stop by to see her before you see her father.

You left the beach and held a cab to the resting place of your beloved mama. You bring a small boutique of tulips with you. Her favorite. As you approach her grave on foot, your heart starts to sink. You feel the tears collect in your eyes and burn as they leave the tear ducts.

There she is. Your mother's final resting place. Rain and humidity have tarnished her tombstone, but these pretty small daisy like flowers grew around her grave, making it look extra special. You fall to your knees and wept.

"Hey, Mama." You say, placing her flowers on your grave.

"We talk all the time, but to be here. To see your name on a tombstone is not my favorite thing. I like to imagine that you're somewhere else. Dancing with the angels or cooking in the kitchen. On the beach..."

You cover your mouth as you cry. Time doesn't truly heal all wounds. You just deal with it. You live life the best you can. You work and hustle and ignore the enjoyments of life, which is why Las Vegas opened your mind so much. Why Elvis means the world to you.

You think back to the day of your mother's funeral. You came in two days before the day of her burial. You decide to rent a hotel room for the time being because you couldn't be around your father. When you did show to your parent's house, you were surprised to see your father with his arms around another woman. That hypocrite. That sinning, two-faced, cheating bastard.

You didn't jump and scream like you wanted. Your mother's family embraced you with open arms. You stayed with your loving aunts and uncles and cousins. They gave you the love you needed at that time. The love of your mother's family was the love your mother gave you in your life.

You made eye contact with your father a handful of times, but the two of you didn't speak. The fear you once felt for him was dissolved into hate, and he felt it. Once the funeral concluded, you said your goodbyes, caught a cab, got your things, and got on your plane back to Atlanta. You had no plans to return to Florida. The one you loved the most in the world was gone.

"Mama..." You wipe your tears away and start to speak as if she was physically in front of you. "I came here to tell you about Elvis. The love of my life. I told you about him when I was in Vegas. That's where we met. He... Mama, he is so incredibly amazing and kind. Elvis is so much fun, and he asked me to move in with him. He hasn't asked me to be his wife, but I don't care. I just want to be with him and all it entails. I love him, Mama. I just wanted you to know. I'm happy and in love. I wish you could meet him. I'll never stop talking to you. Even if I don't come here. I will always speak to you."

You stand to your feet but not before you kiss your hand and place it on your mama's tombstone.

"I'm leaving now, Mama. I have one more person I have to see before I catch my flight. You were right. There's so much more to life."

You walk away without looking back and head to the road. You walk a little ways and spot a cab. You ask the cab driver to drive you to Della's Restaurant. You say a quick prayer as the car drives you to the restaurant.

Your cab driver pulled up to Della's, and a part of you froze.

"That'll be $15.00, Miss." The driver said.

You pass him the money, thank him, and get out of the cab, shutting the door behind you. You looked at the door of Della's. Should you really go in? You know you should. You take a deep breath and open the door.

You look around for him, but you don't see him. If he doesn't show up, you would be upset because he was never good for anything except letting you down. If he didn't show up, the sooner you could catch your plane and head to Memphis.

"Hi, ma'am." A hostess happily greeted you. "Welcome to Della's. Is it just you dining in with us?" She asked.

"I uhh..." You look down at your watch and consider the time frame. You can wait fifteen minutes. "It's... for two, ma'am." You finally tell her.

"Right this way." The hostess grabs two menus and two things of silverware. She guides you into the dining room. She sits you in a window booth where you can view the streets of busy Jacksonville.

"Your waitress will be with you soon, ma'am."

"Thank you." You say to the hostess as she walks away.

You make yourself comfortable and consider what to drink and eat before your waitress comes by. Everything on the menu looked delicious. A part of you was too nervous to eat. You remember a time when you couldn't eat this fancy. You laugh at yourself because it's funny how times change.

You glance out the window, thinking on the past. Something close to the Grapes of Wrath.

It was best of times. It was the worst of times.

For you, it was the best of times because of your mama. Your mama did everything to make life spectacular. It was the worst of times because of your father. He was the opposite. Cold and hard as ice. You wondered if he ever loved you. Try as you may, you can think of a good memory with him. You remember walking to him for love and attention, but he would walk away. Or he would pick you up and hand you to your mother.

The church preached on love, but it was as if your father lacked love. You mama was full of love and compassion and grace. She had a strength that you, yourself, prayed for. A strength you want to hone in and use for your own.

"Hi, ma'am. I'm Jenny, and I'll be your waitress for today. What can I get to drink?"

"Oh, I..." Your waitress, Jenny, snaps you back into reality. "May I have some water with lemon, please? And I'm ready to order."

"Yes, ma'am. A water with lemon and what else can I get you?" Jenny took out her pen and order pad.

"May I have a small grilled chicken sandwich with everything on it except for onions?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be back up with your drink in a moment."

Your waitress takes your menu and walks away. Two minutes later, she comes back with your water and lemon.

"Your order should be ready in ten minutes. Oh, did I miss your friend?" Jenny refers to the menu on the other side of your booth.

"He's not here yet. If he's not here by the time my food comes. You can take the menu." You state.

"Yes, ma'am." She says.

"Thank you, ma'am." You say, squeezing the freshly cut lemon into your drink.

Five minutes later, you hear the front door swing open, and there stands the Old Man. Your breath leaves you, but you can't look away from him. A part of you is shocked that even came. He approaches your table, and you don't stand to greet him. You just stare.

He's aged. A part of him looks torn down and weary. His clothes are worn, and his hair is more gray than when you saw him last.

He stops right in front of you, and for a moment, the look in eyes reads something dark. Like he wants to hit you, but you just look at him.

"Hello, Y/N." He finally speaks.

"Hello, sir." You answer back. "Please, sit down. Can I get you anything, sir?" You ask.

"Yeah. I could use a drink." He says, sitting across from you.

You stare at him again as he says this, and you think there lies the issue.

"Hi, sir. I'm Jenny. Can I get you anything to drink?" Your waitress pops over to help him out and passes you your grilled chicken sandwich.

"Yeah, a Coke." He says to Jenny.

"Yes, sir. Coming right up." Jenny says, never losing her sweetness.

"Thank you, Ms. Jenny." You say, viewing your sandwich and fries.

"Yes, ma'am. I'll be back with your drink, sir."

Jenny leaves you two alone for a moment. You wanna tell him how badly he looks, but that's not only disrespectful. It's not the reason you came here. You notice the wedding back on his finger. It's not the one he wore when your mama was alive. You know now that he remarried and moved on.

"How are you, sir?" You ask, breaking the ice.

"I'm making it." He says. "You look..." He pauses.

You raise your eyebrows. Is he really about to tell you how you look?

"You look grown. Like an adult." He finishes.

"Thank you."

Jenny places his Coke in front of him and takes out her order pad.

"Ready to order, sir?"

"Order whatever you want. I'll pay for it, sir." You tell him.

A look of shock plagues his face. Are you really going to pay for his meal? He looks back up at Jenny and orders a burger medium well loaded with everything and steak fries.

"Thank you for coming, sir." You say to him. "I won't hold you for too long. I just wanted to talk to you."

"For what? What do you want?" He speaks to you so harshly.

"I want your time. I came to tell you that I fell in love and I'm moving to Tennessee to be with him."

The Old Man puffs his lips at you and takes a sip from his Coke. He rolls his eyes and steals a fry off your plate.

"So what? You choosing to live in sin?" He says.

Your dear old dad. There he is. You were huff at his actions, wondering when he was going to speak out of term.

"Don't preach to me. I didn't come here to fight or argue. I came to let you know... I'm in love with a good guy. I don't need nor want your approval, but I do think you should know. Know that I'm okay. I'm great, in fact."

"Y/N, you can barely take care of yourself. How you gonna be with a man you barely know. Why are you telling me?"

"Because you're the only other man that I've loved in my life." You speak to him calmly but firmly.

You see something shift in his eyes.

"Sir, I don't call you daddy or dad because you've never ever felt like a dad. If I speak about you to others, I refer to you as my father because you are. Yet, I think I'm your shame. You tried to do right by me and my mother, but you didn't want the life we had."

A tear streams down your cheek. You quickly rip it away.

"I don't wanna think about the blatant disrespect you displayed at my mother's funeral. Parading your girlfriend around. Being such a holy, God-fearing man, and you..."

You stop yourself. You are verbally judging the Old Man and know your mother would never approve of that. You see the shame on his face, but you won't apologize for what you said. You got all your burdens off your chest. You feel completely liberated.

"Sir. A father is supposed to show a girl what a real man is, but we both know the truth. Don't we? I see you remarried, and you didn't bother calling me."

The Old Man looks down at his wedding band and slides his hand out of sight.

"Don't be ashamed. I hope she makes you happy. As happy as... Aaron has made me. You'll never hear from me again."

You dig in your purse, taking out $50.00 for your sandwich and your father's sandwich, plus his drink and then some. You never touched your food, but you leave it there. Maybe the Old Man was hungry. You get out of your seat and head for the door, but not before saying your final words to your father.

"Sir, I forgive you. I know you tried your best. The best you know. Live a beautiful life. Goodbye... dad."

You pat his shoulder and leave. Never ever looking back. You catch a cab for the last time in Jacksonville ever and head to Jacksonville International Airport.

You catch your flight to Memphis, and your heart is pounding with the thought of surprising Elvis.

"I'm coming to you, E. Please wait for me. I'm coming." You whisper to yourself.

Four hours later, you land at Memphis International Airport. You hail a cab to Graceland, and you're on your way.

Nine minutes later, you're at the gates of Graceland. It's more spectacular than you ever imagined. Elvis described it to you perfectly, but this is truly a little patch of heaven.

There are people all in front of the gate, and you fear there's no way of passage for you to enter. You move toward the security guard to see if you can get inside. You remember what Elvis told you to do if you received any hassle getting into the show.

"Excuse me, sir."

"Yeah, can I help you?" The guard says.

"Yes, is Joe Esposito around or Jerry Schilling? I'm a friend." You briefly explain. Still trying to surprise Elvis.

The guard is shocked that a friend is asking for Joe or Jerry. Or maybe he's confused about you being a friend and no car to drive up the hill. Either way. You wait patiently as he dials the phone.

"Hey, Ms. Nancy. Is Joe or Jerry around? I have a young lady here claiming to be a friend."

...

"Thank you, ma'am."

You look at the guard and wait. Anxiousness has taken over your body, and you bounce your leg a bit. You want to act crazy and do something unbelievable like jump over the fence. For fear, you'll never see Elvis again. You remain as calm as possible. The thought of seeing the inside of Graceland is overwhelming.

The guard starts to speak again.

"Hey Jerry, there a young lady who says she's your friend.

...

"No, sir. She hasn't given me her name."

You hold your hand out to take the phone from him.

"May I, sir?" You ask with you small smile on your face.

"She wants to speak to you."

...

"Here you go, sweetheart." The guard hands you the phone.

"Jerry, it's me. Y/N. If he's around, don't say anything."

"Well, hey stranger. Fancy catching you here. He's not around me, though. We're safe." Jerry says.

"Good."

"I'll get someone to drive down to pick you up."

"Thank you, Jerry. You're the sweetest."

"Hand the phone to Mr. Paul."

You hand the phone back to the guard and wait to be picked up. Mr. Paul opens the gate to let you in.

The taxi cab drove through the crowd, and the gates of Graceland. You were in awe at the draping moss from the oak trees. The house. The house is breathtaking. It was just as Elvis described it. Four large pillars. Green shutters. Cobblestone. Triangle frame with a window. It's just magnificent. You pay the cab driver and get out of the car.

"Miss? You think I could get an autograph from the King?" He asked, excitement brimming through him.

"Maybe." You said.

Jerry came out of the house and down the stairs, a smile on his face.

"Hey, Y/N." Jerry said, giving you a hug.

"Hi, Jerry."

"The taxi driver need a fee?"

"No, he wants an autograph from Elvis."

"Oh, we can fix that. Do you have bags?"

"I do. In the trunk. Where is he?" You whisper to Jerry.

"He's upstairs. Just go in the front door and go up the stairs. His room is at the end."

An excitement fills your insides, and you feel as though you could float to Elvis. But you don't. You calmly walk up the steps as Jerry grabs your luggage.

You open the front door, and the house is simply magnificent. You look up and see the chandelier. Right where Elvis told you it would be. Front and center as you walk in the door. You look to the right and notice the living room and the little music room with the piano. You look to the left and notice the dining room.

You then walk upstairs to find Elvis. Jerry said at the end of the hall. You see the door. This is it. You take a breath and knock on his door.

"Yeah." You hear his deep Southern drawl behind the door, and you sing:

Wise men say, "Only fools rush in," but I can't help falling in love with you.

The door opens, and you see Elvis standing there in awe. His eyes are wide with surprise and delight at your presence. You sense a little shock, too. He smiles at you and places his hands on your arms.

"Please, don't stop. Keep singing."

You smile and sing some more.

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? For I can't help falling in love with you.

As you continue to sing, he gently takes you into his arms, swaying you both slowly into his room.

Like a river flows surely to the sea Darling so it goes som things are meant to be.

Elvis holds you close, kissing your forehead as you continue to sway a little ways.

Take my hand take my whole life too, for I can't help falling in love with you.

You stop moving and look at one another for a moment.

"Hi, E." You say.

"Hey, Y/N/N. You're here. You're here."

"I'm here. I missed you. I didn't stop thinking about you once."

"You were always on my mind, Y/N/N. I received all your letters."

Elvis grabs your face, crashing his soft velvet lips into yours. They are so soft. Oh, how you missed this feeling. The heat at the pit of your tummy. The goosebumps raising on your skin.

"I missed this." You speak out of breath.

Elvis shuts the door to give you both more privacy.

"I missed you, Y/N/N. I missed you so much." Elvis says, walking you over to the bed.

Elvis sits you down and sits along with you. He continues to plant kisses on your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck. He plays in your curls as he starts to kiss your neck.

"Elvis?" You speak out of breath.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Is that offer still open?"

"What offer?" Elvis pulls away from you. A confused look graces the ethereal features of his face.

"To move in with you? Is it too late?" You ask him. Hope liters your voice. God, please don't let it be too late, you think.

"No... no, Y/N, it's not too late. Please move in and be my girlfriend. Love me. Share my life with me. Be a part of my crazy world. Please." Elvis says.

"Yes, E! Yes! A thousand times, yes!" You shout, placing your arms around his neck once again. You kiss him deeply, hoping it leads to something more.

Elvis kisses you back slowly. He's taking his time to show you just how much he missed you.

He wraps his index finger in the strap of your dress, and he slowly pulls the strap down your arm, exposing your shoulder. Elvis repeats this action with your other arm, allowing your dress to fall down.

He leaves your lips and moves down your neck. You close your eyes and indulge in the feelings that come over you. Those splendid feelings from Las Vegas. The goosebumps. The longing of love. The butterflies at the pit of your tummy. The moisture in your sacred cavern. Elvis just sets you all a glow. You're ready for him.

Elvis moves from your neck to your chest. He removes your strapless bra and tosses it to the floor, leaving you bare before him. The cool air of the bedroom has your nipples handen. Elvis pulls away to admire your body. You don't shy away. You know better. Elvis likes your confidence.

You unbutton Elvis' night shirt. This will be easier than the first night you both met, being he was fully dressed. This is like the times you slept over in his suite, but so much sweeter. You expose his chest to you, easing the shirt down his arms with your fore fingers.

"You're so beautiful, baby." Elvis says, catching your attention.

You look him in his eyes and smile.

"Thank you, E." You say. "It's only because I'm so in love with you."

"Is it? You were beautiful before you loved me, Y/N/N. The moment I saw you at the bar in Vegas."

"That night that started this story. Our story."

Elvis nods his head and smiles. He kisses you once more on the lips with vigor. Then, he pulls away from your lips and goes straight to your chest and licks your nipple on your left breast.

You moan as the thrill of his lips and tongue sends you railing. You wrap your hand on the back of his head and fall back on the mattress.

As Elvis works his way to your other breast, his hand is moving under your dress past your panties and to your clit. As his long fingers gaze your panties, you gasp with pleasure. He rapidly rubs circles clockwise on your clit. At least, it seems like he is winding you up for what's to come.

"Oh, Elvis! I missed you." You exclaim.

"I missed you too, Y/N/N. So much." Elvis says, kissing your chest in between speech. "Just wishing for the time I get to plunge my dick in that pussy of yours."

At the moment, Elvis leaves your clit and dips into your deliciously wet pussy. You moan in excitement. Your free hand slips into Elvis' pants, rubbing his firm ass and then slipping it near his hardened cock.

Elvis moans at your touch and pulls your dress, plus your panties all the way off. He slides himself down to the entrance of your sacred place and licks your vaginal lips. Then he French kisses your clit slowly bringing you closer and closer to the pinnacle of love.

You grind against his tongue, feeding your cravings you've longed for since you left him in Vegas. It's so much pleasure after a month of separation. You writhe under the sensation Elvis brings you. Obscene words and sounds passing vocally through your lips.

Elvis stops himself as you feel yourself coming undone. You try to catch your breath from the unwanted break. You look at him as he stares at you with love filled eyes.

Elvis then pulls off his trousers, and his dick bounces forward. He gives his dick a few tugs before he he climbs on top of you, kissing you. You both start to softly make out. You put your arms around his shoulders; wrapping your legs around his waist.

"You ready for me, baby?" Elvis whispers to you.

You nod your head.

"Y/N, no more shyness. There's no need. Use your words."

You take a breath and say,

"Yes. I'm ready, Elvis." You slide your hands up his back, putting your right hand gently through his hair.

Elvis nods his head in acknowledgment to your plee. You help line him up to penatrate your sweet spot. He softly enters inside of you, and you both breathe out in sexual bliss. You wrap your legs around him, bringing him closer to hit that spot deep inside you. Elvis hits that spot continuously. Again and again. His penis getting reacquainted with your vagina. Your walls forming and molding to his perfect hardened cock all over again.

You feel the ambers in the pit of your tummy set your blood a blaze as Elvis fucks you silly. You writhe under him once again. Yes, Elvis, yes. This is what you needed. To make love to the man you love.

Still sensitive from earlier when Elvis was tonguing your clit, you feel yourself cumming. You don't want to. You want Elvis to love you all night into the next day.

"I'm... AHHH! FUCK, ELVIS!" You shout to him, cumming all over him.

Elvis pushes himself quicker and deeper as your pussy begins milking the goodness from his cock.

"Holy... Fuck!!!" Elvis says, collapsing on top of you. His dick still buried deep within you.

As you both catch your breath, you feel him soften inside you. Just that sends a thrill within you. Elvis starts to kiss your arm. Then your shoulder. Then your neck. He works his way up to your lips. You both kiss one another. You both look at one another with admiration.

"You're staying right?" Elvis asks you.

"Yes, I am. If you'll have me."

"Good." Elvis says, planting another kiss in your lips. "Let's go for a walk. I wanna show you the meditation garden."

"The meditation garden?"

"Yes." Elvis says to you.

You both get out of bed and get dressed. Elvis takes your hand and leads you down another case of stairs. The staircase leads you to a different room than what you recall. It leads you outside to the back of the house. You see the pastures and the horses.

Elvis leads you by the pool, and you hear a fountain running. You turn to look, and you see a garden with small pillars and stained glass windows on a wall that shields the garden. The fountain in the middle has crystal blue water and three small fountains running in the middle of this pool. It's quite peaceful. Then, you notice the bushes of wildflowers that surround the fountain.

"Elvis, are these forget-me-nots?" You ask him, closely inspecting the flowers.

"Yes, they are. I thought I'd surprise you. I had these planted for you when you first told me about them in Vegas."

You look around at all the forget-me-nots brushes surrounding the garden. You're at a loss for words. Elvis sees the smile on your face and is pleased with his choice.

"Elvis, this whole garden is amazing. Those stained glass windows are beautiful."

"Thank you. I had the garden placed here a few years ago when I was on my mission of seeking God and why he put me here. Seeking answers to life."

"Have you found any, E?" You ask, holding his hand.

"Maybe. A few. Like you."

You look down at the forget-me-nots in front of you, trying your best not to blush at his words.

"Y/N/N?" Elvis places his index finger under your chin, looking you in the eyes.

"Yes, E?" You reply. Somehow, his touch softens you.

You place your hand on his and smile.

"Baby, y-you think. You might w-wanna get married? Someday?"

Your eyes widen, and your heart drops like you're on a rollercoaster.

"Yes, I would love to get married one day. To you."

Elvis smiles and plants a kiss on your lips.

"Good. I love you so much, Y/N." Elvis says, hugging you.

"I love you too, Elvis." You embrace him back. He feels so warm and smells so amazing. A thought floats through your mind about something once said to you, and you have to tell Elvis.

"Elvis, promise me something?" I say, removing your from his arm to look at his ethereal face.

"What is it, Y/N/N? I'll promise you anything." He says, moving your curl out of your eye.

"If you ever..." You pause and take a breath. "Ever fall out of love with me, please let me know."

Elvis is shocked, to say the least.

"Y/N, I..."

"Promise me." You boldly say.

"I promise, but I'll never ever stop loving you."

"Good." You say, grabbing his face and kissing his precious lips. He tastes so delicious. "What do we do now, E?"

"We live. We take care of each and travel. I'm going international, and I'm taking you with me, Y/N/N! London, Paris, Japan! The works!" You feel his excitement and join him.

"Everywhere, Elvis. I'd love to go! When do we leave?"

"In two months. I'm on vacation now with my girl!"

Elvis grabs you and kisses you. You put your hands around his neck and kiss him back.

Elvis takes your hand, and you both go back into the house. You're so excited to start this new life with Elvis, the love of your life.

Taglist: @missmaywemeetagain @beeandheroddobsessions @headfullofpresley @everythingpresley @epforeverohyes @plasticfantasticl0ver @pianginferno @powerofelvis @ab4eva @foreverdolly @searchingforgravity @thatbanditqueen @daffieapple @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @epsgirl @richardslady121 @literally-just-elvis-fics @thememphisflash1935-1977 @vintageshanny @iloveelvis

[gossipgirloff1]

Carmen literally still works in finance and talks about it all the time …. She never quit //

Just check her linkedin, she's no longer working at ruffer. No need to defend her because she got caught lying that she was pretending to work during las vegas or mexico gp when she already quit the job. Also, it's impossible to be a finance freelancer or open a finance firm (just like she said) with her work experience because she's still in entry level and her role in her prev company didn't require any deep finance skills. It's literally an account executive or marketing representative job💀

👀